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starsailorstories · 3 years

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I’ve mentioned the grammatical registers of Altamaian here and there but I just now pulled together Info About Them and I’m really excited to share it because it’s one of the main ways it differs from Latin (which it’s a predecessor of in the SC universe) and also just a fun bit of worldbuilding that informs a lot of exchanges in the stories

Modern Standard Altamaian is notable for the way its grammar and vocabulary change based on social context and the expressive style of the particular speaker. Obviously the best Earth analog to this is probably Japanese, but Altamaian differs in that registers are conveyed solely through highly regular affixes and changes in syntax, rather than that + whole new polite forms of words. Shifts to simpler or flowerier vocabulary occur with shifts in speaking style just as in English, but they are not a grammatical part of the register--one can speak in a very formal register and use very simple language and vice versa. While some features exist in more than one register and features of different registers are often mixed to convey a particular tone, the basic divisions are:

Casual/direct: The most notable feature of direct speech in Altamaian is that it tends to be more topic-forward, ironically similar to Classical Syfrae considering its association with the uneducated masses. It uses direct forms of words with few augmentative or diminutive affixes (although there are exceptions in dialect/slang), direct address of listeners, and few separate subject words (relying on verb conjugation to indicate who is doing what). Commonly used among friends or, among the lower lumini, overtures to strangers which may range from friendly to aggressive (to put it in English terms, “Hey I love your outfit”, “Watch out for the snowplow back there!”, and “Put your turn signal on dumbass!” would all, when directed at strangers, be direct-register phrases). Also used for statements aimed at a general audience, such as announcements. Traffic and regulatory signs in the Rings use this register, breaking with the tradition on the planets of the Four Suns of using the formal/polite register (below)--this has led to a lot of memery amongst residents of the old cities around translating them as much more vulgar than they actually are (THE GAP, BITCH! MIND IT!)

Formal/polite: This is actually the most commonly used register for many people, as it tends to be expected of students and in public and professional life, as well as in most media properties funded by the aristocracy. The weirdly hint-of-gender concept of “gentlemaidenliness” is quite bound up with this type of speech although not everyone who uses it would be identified as such--it’s started to be a bit more class-flexible because this is a dying breed but it USED to mean “unbound (and thus not using humble speech) colony-daughter who works for her living (and thus not using benevolent speech) but is nonetheless the Right Sort of People (and thus not using direct speech).” Despite retaining most of the inflections of the regular grammar, polite speech uses rigid SOV word order in the second and third person and OSV word order in the first (so you’re always putting the other person first--an element it shares with humble speech, although formal speech is usually used between strangers/those without any particular relationship regardless of the social status of either speaker) and subject pronouns are generally included. The speaker will still usually address the listener directly unless she is of vastly higher social status (in which case you’d better have a good reason to be speaking to her at all).

Humble (“admiring”): this register goes a step beyond polite speech and emphasizes the humility of the speaker while showing respect--sometimes quite impassioned respect--to the listener. It retains many traits of the polite register like “others first” word order, but in addition, the listener is never referred to by a second-person pronoun--only by a formal address title or phrase, or in the third person--and the speaker will use only diminutive words (including diminutive forms of verbs) to refer to herself, her equals, and her own actions, while referring to the listener with augmentatives. This type of speech is often used in a official context--formal appeals for grants or workers’ benefits, tax papers for businesses, and legal documents all generally exhibit some amount of it, as they’re necessarily addressed from commoners to nobles--yet it remains heavily associated with courtly love, and is often found in romantic sentiments between apparent social equals, especially (you saw this coming didn’t you?) when one party has screwed things up and is trying to salvage them. Although it’s not a formal rule, this register is also associated with phrases and modifiers that qualify one’s statements, akin to the English “I think” although a more accurate translation would be “in my humble opinion,” if a less formal version of that phrase existed in modern English usage.

“Loquelita” or cute humble speech: a subset of humble speech makes use of intensifying reduplication (the exact equivalent of saying “I am so so so so glad” except you do it to the main adjective not the modifier: I am glad glad glad!), doubles up or repeats diminutive and augmentative affixes, and draws vocabulary from youthful and childhood vernacular as well as archaic recitations which are standard knowledge among educated Basilean citizens. This is most often heard in contexts of delicisma or other direct relationships between a high-status lady and a significantly younger and lower-status hanger-on, although it’s associated with literal children (if you’re at a fancy private school this is how you ask your teacher if you can end the lesson early and play heads up seven up lol) and seen as a bit degrading past a certain age and above a certain career level, not to mention inappropriate with superiors who don’t already know and love you. Basically if you’re going to use the “you know how i’m your most favoritest and you love me so much” register variant you’d better be pretty sure the answer isn’t going to be “no? leave.”

Benevolent: Used by high-status leaders (nobles, politicians, some powerful commoners although usually not until their PR consultant tells them to) to speak to or about their inferiors. In Altamaian, “aiko”--the equivalent to the Latin “ego” subject pronoun--is a way of referring to oneself in an official capacity of rulership akin to the royal “we,” although it can be used by anyone in a circumstance where “I” or “me” would be the only word in the sentence (like “Who moved this?” “Me”). The use of this pronoun and of SVO word order are considered proper for describing decisions made from the top of the hierarchy for the (alleged) good of others; such descriptions will also generally use the formal-benefactive noun case to describe the object. Augmentative affixes for such actions, and diminutive ones for those of the listener(s), are also characteristic.

Familiar: Also sometimes called “soft register,” this is commonly used by parents speaking to children and for reassuring or emotional exchanges between close friends or lovers. Familiar word order is often (though not always) object-first: an example is the most accurate Altamaian translation of the English “I love you,” “Esti quos amo,” literally “It is you that I love.” Diminutives are often used for both the speaker and the listener (but not others), and a special set of affectionate subject pronouns may be employed.

Intimate: Some people consider certain forms that can occur in familiar speech a sub-register known as “intimate speech,” reserved for intense moments and relationships. This mode retains the word order and affectionate diminutives but mostly drops pronouns in reference to the listener and employs an archaic, general first-person verb conjugation that blurs the line between “you” and “we”. It is almost always more direct than familiar speech and can be used to express passionate anger or hurt. This means Altamaian has the imo EXCELLENT feature of having a way to say “I love you” REALLY HARD, and it’s just “amaei”, one word, four vowels, GREAT for screaming out windows.

#conlangs #writing #sweet chariot

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valeriehervo · 3 years

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Valérie Hervo runs Les Chandelles, the legendary Paris sex club where members of French high society, politicians, barristers and rock stars (and an increasing number of Brits) come to indulge their erotic fantasies. Can it survive the twin threats of the pandemic and a moral backlash?

Adam Sage

Saturday March 20 2021,

Valérie Hervo is outraged. She has just been listening to a radio station where two male presenters, chatting about her forthcoming appearance on their show, kept referring to her as the owner of a “group sex club”.

“That really is low-class vocabulary,” she tells me. “It’s very macho as well. Only a man would say something like that.

“And it is not what this place is about. To me, it is a journey through the mystery of the senses to a land of sensuality and encounters.”

Hervo is particularly aggrieved at what she took to be the implication that she organised sexual games for the benefit of men.

Nothing could be further from the truth, she insists. “Here, everything revolves around women’s pleasure. This is a place where a woman can do what she wants, when she wants and with whom she wants – and if she wants to do nothing, she does nothing.”

Hervo opened Les Chandelles, her recreational club – as she would prefer it described – in 1993, and it has since become a part of French high-society folklore.

Any Parisian will tell you that this is the place where the country’s political, economic and cultural elites live out their sexual fantasies beyond the sight of ordinary mortals, where government ministers, television presenters, rock stars and chief executives engage in the ancient practice of libertinage.

But what exactly goes on behind the plain façade in a narrow street near the Louvre in central Paris? And what might this tell us about French values? Or indeed about British values, given the steady flow of clients rumoured to have crossed the channel in recent years in the hope of fulfilling their “erotic potential” under Hervo’s stewardship?

With telephones barred from the club (they have to be left at the entrance) and hardly anyone willing to talk openly about their evenings there – “It’s a matter of intimacy,” says Hervo. “You don’t start telling everyone about your sex life at dinner parties” – such questions have given rise to few answers and much speculation.

Now, with the club closed because of the pandemic, Hervo, 53, has written a book that explains what happens when the dancefloor empties, usually around 1.30am, and the salons around it fill with writhing, sighing bodies.

Les dessous des Chandelles, which could be translated either figuratively as The Secrets of the Chandelles or literally as Underneath the Candelabras, is the portrait of a quintessentially French establishment.

Where else would the lost property include designer thongs or customers eat Ladurée macarons off the back of a naked woman, a famous male barrister end up in an alcove with his female rival days after their clash in a criminal court, or Mick Jagger reportedly be turned away for wearing a pair of jeans?

Hervo explains that her club is a bastion of French “savoir vivre”, where a select group of beautiful, intelligent and well-educated people conduct themselves in a way befitting a nation that has given the world some of its greatest suggestive literature, from Molière’s Dom Juan to Laclos’ Les liaisons dangereuses.

Consider, for example, her account of one of the Eyes Wide Shut theme parties she holds from time to time. “A naked woman, her gaze hidden by a Venetian mask, lies on a table,” she writes. “A nymph in a transparent toga joins her. She kneels down and delicately pulls her legs apart.”

She has torrid encounters herself, for instance with a woman whose perfume she found bewitching and whose body she discovered behind a veil in an alcove.

Much of her time, however, is spent looking after her patrons, like the couple of regulars who realised to their horror that their adult son and his partner had also begun going to Les Chandelles. Hervo tells how they begged her to help them avoid what they said would be a “regrettable” meeting.

On another occasion, a male customer arrived with his mistress, explaining to Hervo that his wife was stuck at home because she was ill. An hour later, the wife arrived with a younger man, she writes. “Don’t say anything to my husband,” she told Hervo. “He thinks I’ve got the flu.”

Hervo promptly rushed downstairs where she found the husband, “naked and frolicking with his partner and a few other accomplices”. She advised him to leave through the emergency exit.

I am discussing these and more adventures with Hervo at a table in her club’s pink and white restaurant, which is to be found at the bottom of stairs that wind down from an ordinary-looking blue door on the street.

Opposite us is another staircase that leads to what could easily be mistaken for an 18th- century Parisian literary salon – were it not for the mattress in the alcove at the end of it.

A third staircase, encased in walls painted in gold leaf, descends to a dancefloor, a bar and more salons with their alcoves, benches and mattresses.

It is difficult to find an English word to describe Les Chandelles. Some have called it a swingers’ club, although that conveys none of the cerebral sophistication and cultural aspirations that go with elite sex in France.

Others have used the term wife-swapping (or échangisme, as the French call it), but Hervo is no more happier with that than with group sex.

“For me, échangisme is very reductive and sad,” Hervo explains. “It involves some kind of contract between four people and they all need to agree, which can’t happen very often.”

What prevails at her club, she says, is libertinage, a concept dating back to a 12th-century rebellion against the church by disaffected clerics who were determined to place physical love above the courtly version promoted by troubadours and their ilk.

The contemporary version of this philosophy involves making “everything possible and nothing obligatory”, Hervo says.

One couple might go for sex, either with each other or with someone else, she says. A second might go along to watch. A third could be happy with a turn on the dancefloor.

“For some, it is enough to have an imaginary journey. For others, they will want a little bit more. But what happens in the salons is the icing on the cake and it doesn’t matter if nothing happens, because we’ve had such fun with the preliminaries.

“Everyone goes at their own rhythm. You may be happy with a look, a caress or with voyeurism. But that is all very different to échangisme.”

Libertinage, which has come and gone in France over the centuries – the early 17th and the mid-18th being among the high points – enjoyed a return to fashion from the late Nineties with the emergence of hundreds of clubs amid a spirit of unrestrained freedom.

The number has since fallen, with adepts taking to organising their own house parties. At the last count there were 269 such clubs left, according to French state radio.

The health crisis looks likely to drive many more out of business, their activities scarcely being compatible with social distancing.

Les Chandelles, however, has a status apart, and this should offer it protection against the vicissitudes of fortune.

Hervo says her customers include “politicians from both the left and the right” and “celebrities from across the whole world” (she refuses to divulge their names).

Hervo says that as her club’s fame has grown, so has its allure to visitors from Europe, the US, Asia and “a lot from Britain”.

It is not enough just to cross the channel and knock on the door, though. In order to get in, you need erotic knowhow, Hervo says, along with familiarity with Parisian savoir-vivre.

“It is an alchemy. A way of being,” she says.

In his Histoire du libertinage, Didier Foucault, a history lecturer at Toulouse University who is a specialist on the subject, writes of how the practice became fashionable after 1600 among aristocrats driven “by a haughty refusal to bow either to common law or to any authority whatsoever, be it temporal or divine”.

There may be something similar about the French elite that frequents Les Chandelles. The entrance fee is €96 for two, or €310 with dinner and a bottle of Deutz champagne thrown in. If Deutz is too downmarket, there is Cristal Roederer for €490 or Dom Pérignon Rosé for €470.

But the selection policy is not based on money, Hervo insists. More important to her are “elegance, refinement, education and taste.

“I have a very tough door policy. I turn away a lot of people.”

The badly dressed, the ugly, the vulgar, have no hope of getting past her, she says, while the overweight may struggle as well, at least if they are male.

“I know I shouldn’t be saying this, but I am going to say it anyway. I think I would be more concerned by a fat man than a round woman. Round women can be very beautiful but, in general, men who are fat are… Well, someone who lets himself go physically is someone who does… not respect himself. And if he doesn’t respect himself, he is less likely to respect other people.”

Les dessous des Chandelles is a strange, almost dual work. On the one hand, it is a window onto this secretive world of privilege and exclusion created by Hervo beneath Rue Thérèse in the French capital.

On the other, it is a tale of the author’s personal voyage through libertinage and her claim that the sexual liberation she found along the way, first in other clubs and then in her own, helped to unshackle her from a traumatic childhood marked by incest, guilt and depression.

Our conversation reflects the same duality.

For much of the interview, Hervo comes across as the archetypal Parisian businesswoman, complete with carefully applied make-up, an elegant hairdo, an articulate discourse, a headstrong Yorkshire terrier and a well-trained fiancé – Tom, the maker of an excellent Sancerre white wine, who rushes off shortly after I arrive and returns later with an armful of her outfits for the photoshoot, including an all-white suit and a glittering jacket.

One minute she is talking with off-putting clarity about the female orgasm, telling me in a tone that brooks no argument that “a woman’s sexuality is so much richer than that of a man”. The next she is explaining, with equal equanimity, how she resisted underworld attempts to take over her club following her divorce in 2005.

Like all self-respecting Parisiennes, she knows how to throw a strategic fit of pique as well, announcing that the photographer is driving her mad and that Tom had better summon a friend for help, and be quick about it. The friend duly arrives with a bottle of sancerre to enable Hervo to get through the afternoon session.

Yet, from time to time, there are signs of the scars left by childhood, as when she concedes that she took refuge in libertinage in part because “at night-time, you can’t see the suffering so much… the glitter masks the pain”.

At one point, her eyes fill with tears as she discloses that her relatives have refused to speak to her since the publication of her book, which recounts her rape by her grandfather as a young girl, her parents’ refusal to believe her, her teenage struggles with depression, her toxic marriage to a man 20-odd years her senior, and her salvation in swingers’ clubs.

It was her former husband who introduced her to libertinage. She writes of her first experience in a club where “in a salon plunged into darkness… some couples are making love while others are observing them”.

She did not want to join in – at least not the first time – but says, “My emotion [was]great and my excitement real.”

“I was 24 and I instinctively knew it was right for me,” Hervo tells me. “What I liked in those places was a feeling of freedom and especially a feeling that I was meeting couples who seemed to get on well together.

“That was not the image of the couple I had received as a child because my parents argued all the time. It was like Disneyland as far as I was concerned.”

When her former husband suggested opening their own swingers’ club in Paris, she jumped at the chance. He put up some of the money, they borrowed the rest and she became the manager.

“It was a success straight away, because I think it was the first club to give so much importance to women,” she says. “At that time, in 1993, in other clubs, the women were just treated as objects and it was the men who took charge of the games and who brought along their wives.

“I think that they were probably men of little courage who were not able to cheat on their wives and who went to this sort of place instead. But that was not at all in the spirit of libertinage.”

Les Chandelles would be different, she decided. “Women who are objects are women without humanity. Here, I made sure that the women were subjects.

“In fact, I created here what I never had myself. I tried to encourage women to take their time, to dare to set the tempo, to ask men to be attentive and unhurried and to be gallant, because women adore gallantry.”

She says her door policy has always involved refusing entrance to couples if she suspects that the woman is being dragged along against her will or kept in the dark about the true nature of Les Chandelles. “Even now in 2021, there are boors who don’t tell their partners where they are taking them,” she says. “It’s increasingly rare but it still happens. But if I have the slightest doubt, I question them. You get a feeling for these things.”

Inside the club, no means no, she says, explaining that men can be expelled for repeating a request to a female customer if they are turned down the first time.

“I think women are much safer in this sort of place than in traditional nightclubs where they get hassled all the time,” she tells me.

She says that she herself came to see Les Chandelles – of which she has been the sole owner since extracting herself from her disastrous marriage 16 years ago and buying her former husband’s share – as a refuge from the wounds left by her troubled childhood.

“This has been my bunker and my incubator,” she says. “It was where I revitalised myself, and where I discovered myself too.”

Can her club really be as idyllic as she pretends?

For years, Les Chandelles has been described in the French press as a favourite haunt of Dominique Strauss-Kahn, the former head of the International Monetary Fund, who resigned following his arrest on suspicion of rape. Although the charge was ultimately dropped, reports of his attendance at Les Chandelles have done nothing for its image.

Recently, it has also been linked with Gérald Darminin, President Macron’s interior minister, who, it has emerged, went to Les Chandelles in 2009 with a woman who had asked him for help in overturning her criminal conviction – he was legal affairs adviser for an opposition political party at the time – and who has accused him of raping her later that evening.

He denies her claim, but the publicity has scarcely been an advertisement for Hervo’s establishment.

She says the coverage has been misleading and unfair. DSK, for instance, barely ever visited Les Chandelles, she insists.

“There are many other politicians who came more often than him and who were much more important than him,” she says.

As for Darmanin, she says that when he dropped into the club a little over a decade ago, he was a young bachelor, and that young bachelors sometimes visit “for an evening with – what’s that word they use now? – oh yes, les sex friends, that’s it.

“And there’s nothing wrong with that. If you find yourself on your own for a year or so, you might want a regular one of those. Why not?”

Until now, the interview has gone smoothly enough, interrupted only by the barking of Cerise, Hervo’s Yorkshire terrier, at the emergence of the photographer from below.

But then I make a big mistake. Noting the entrance policy favours single women – who are allowed in on evenings otherwise reserved for couples, when single men are banned – I ask Hervo whether she uses them as an enticement for male patrons seeking a threesome with their wives and another partner.

She looks daggers across the table. “That is really a stupid, male, Cro-Magnon thing to say,” she tells me. “It’s very maladroit of you.

“Single women come because they want to have fun, because they could meet a man who pleases them, or a woman, or perhaps neither. Sometimes, it’s just two women friends who come for a drink because they know that here they won’t be bothered and because they will be appreciated because they are pretty.

“When I began here, I didn’t receive single women in the evening, because society considered that a woman who came alone to an establishment like mine was either a whore or a bitch. I fought to make people understand that life does not work like that, and I am proud to say that today I have single women among my customers.”

I ask Hervo if she is a feminist. “I certainly am not a neo-feminist,” she says, explaining that she laughs off wolf whistles in the street, likes being complimented on her looks and wants to “seduce or to be seduced, freely. But I am feminist for some things. I am in favour of women being able to experience pleasure alone at first, to discover their bodies and to enjoy their bodies, and only afterwards to share all that with a partner if they so wish.

“That sort of thing has not always been possible in the past.”

Pointing out that Foucault’s history of libertinage shows how sexual freedoms have come and gone over the centuries in France, I wonder out loud whether the country is shifting back towards greater restraint.

“You’re right, it is,” she says. “The difference is that today, it is not religion that is trying to cover everything up, it’s our moralising society. There is a very prudish scent around these days.”

In a thinly veiled attack on #MeToo, she complains in her book that the social networks have been transformed into “popular tribunals”, that the law has come to treat women “as weak beings which have to be protected” and that the ancestral French game of seduction is being subjected to new codes and new rules.

It is difficult to determine whether the pandemic will brake or accelerate this trend. Some predict that when the crisis ends, we will see a repeat of les années folles (the mad years), as the Twenties were known in France, with a yearning for freedom, parties and libertinage.

Others forecast the continued spread of the Anglo-Saxon-style feminism that Hervo abhors and the curtailment of French love-making and seduction. She is not overly worried, though. On a personal level, she has emerged from years of therapy able to confront her past and look forward to the future, she says. She has become a part-time therapist herself, has a house in the country, where she has spent much of the past year, and is planning to “marry the man I love” this summer.

Even if the moral backlash gathers strength, she thinks that Les Chandelles will continue to triumph.

“There have always been currents and countercurrents, but if society goes one way, people will need a place of liberty where they can do what they want, where they will have the freedom to talk, to exchange.”

Indeed, she believes that her club may even come to play a role similar to that of literary salons in the 18th century, when they nurtured the ideas that helped to topple the ancien régime.

Only in France could there be dreams of Enlightenment amid the shadows of a basement sex club. Les dessous des Chandelles by Valérie Hervo is published by Cherche Midi

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latristereina · 4 years

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Her womanly nature did not allow her to hide her anguish at the army returning without glory writes Palencia, with most uncharacteristic restraint. For that morning at Tordesillas, the twenty-four-year-old queen delivered an impassioned harangue. And if an anonymous chronicler took license in setting it down verbatim, the gist appears to accord with what else is known of that event and its participants. Although, Isabel began, it may be that women lack discretion to know and strength to dare, and even language to speak—thus did she perfunctorily dispense with rhetorical protestations of modesty—yet she had found that they have eyes to see. Certainly, she had seen a great host depart from Tordesillas. And what greater honor, what greater benefit, what greater service to God could there be than joining battle? If you say to me that women, since they do not face such dangers, ought not speak of them... to this I say that I do not know who ventures more than I do, for I risked my King and lord, whom I love above all else in the world, and I risked so many and such noble caballeros, and so many men and riches that, they lost, what more could I have to lose? Woman she may be, but she was also Castile’s queen, delivering to her subjects, as she thought, a deserved tongue-lashing.

I would wish, she continued at full tilt, to pursue uncertain danger rather than certain shame.… There must first be a battle in order to have a victory. Never would Hannibal, the famed general, have crossed the frozen Alps nor won the great battle of Cannae if his heart had deferred to the weak advice of his brain. Some see as best the rules of philosophy and others those of the sword, she admonished them, but in the highest affairs it is impossible to have compass or measure, but only to take risks boldly and let God guide as he will. War wants more advice from audacity and less from letrados, so that we may commit ourselves to doing things that afterward the brain may marvel at in contemplating; and it may still find impossible after the deed that which, if judged rationally beforehand, we would never have dared to do. For that which seems most difficult the hands and heart may accomplish, and especially kings and their people in defending their land.

As an example to those knights, she held out her own anguished introspection:

I find myself in my palace, with angry heart, gnashing my teeth and clenching my fists, as if, seeking revenge, I am fighting with myself, and if, caballeros, you took unto yourselves such anxiety, the greatest danger from your enemies would be less than that from yourselves. Of my fury, being a woman, and of your patience, being men, I marvel. And excellent King, My Lord, and virtuous knights: if I have extended my words more than I reasonably ought, may your virtue pardon such an error, for with daring to complain I have quieted the passion that naturally grows in the hearts of women.

If the chronicler is to be believed, and even allowing for rhetorical convention, that morning in Tordesillas her impetuosity and emotion overstepped the propriety usually ascribed to her. Yet this was not the first nor the last time she voiced impassioned sentiments, a strong will, even wilfulness, a call for vengeance, a certainty regarding right and wrong, or a plumbing of her own conscience to ascertain divine intent.

Following much discussion among those assembled about who should reply to the queen, all agreed it must be the king, as most credible since best informed about why they had retreated from Toro. So Fernando is said to have responded, and with equal conviction: La gracia with which, Señora, you complain to us and the sweetness of how you say it, may make the very just feel very guilty, and though we were right in the doing we may lack in the telling. If you have been maliciously informed, hear the truth, and then we want you to judge. The adversary, he explained, had equal numbers of men and sat atop a high palisade, its sheer sides impossible to scale; the enemy had artillery to defend that fortress and hoists and blankets and provisions that her army did not have. Those who have to gain honor, said Fernando, have to undertake things in which they are equal to their opponents, and although they may see some disadvantage, it can not be so great as to be so hopeless that God may have to open the sea to the width of twelve carts in order to save them. Strength and time gain victory, he told her, madness hinders it. As Hannibal had crossed the Alps, so he himself would cross mountains although even more frozen, if Hannibal’s enemy, snow, was the only danger. And as Hannibal won the battle of Cannae, so he would win, or at least fight, if his adversary would come out into the field. Now he urged:

Señora, give repose to the anxieties of your heart, for in the days to come we will bring you such victories, that even if they were to defeat us this time, with a thousand won you will pardon this one. … I had believed that returning in despair I would hear from your tongue words of consolation and encouragement.… Women are always malcontent; and you especially, Señora, by being who you are could content us. It is the accusation in the recesses of your will that makes you feel shame; but I and these caballeros are well satisfied in our own wills, and no blame hidden in our souls cries out, nor are we shamefaced. No one is as obliged to content women or to benefit the world as to look to his own honor.

The time was past, he went on, when a battle might be won by walls falling to Earth, as they did for Joshua at Jericho, after he said prayers and took seven turns around a besieged town and the sun had turned back twenty-four hours; rather, today one conquers with strength, diligence, and men.… In equal affairs we ask God’s help, but without expecting a return to the marvels of the Old Testament. She must not think that with many men one performs great deeds, but with few, acting in concert. Prudence is the God of the battles; and, above all let us trust ourselves to that high Judge, without whom, as San Juan said, nothing is done.… And he in manner least expected will give us vengeance, as a just Judge.… God was humbling them, Fernando concluded, but also charging them to persevere and to show piety.

In his emphasis on prudence, Fernando was his father’s son. In his reliance on the God of Battles and on judgment from on high, he touched on traditional royal themes that he and Isabel had taken as their own. Vengeance too was important to them both. Yet his words conveyed a sentiment of incipient modernity: he expected no miracles. And it is noteworthy that it was in his mouth, not Isabel’s, that the well-informed chronicler who wrote for his own contemporaries put expressions of piety. The time had not yet arrived to fashion Isabel as stolid and pious, nor Fernando as devious and Machiavellian. Rather, in the spring of 1475 the chronicler had described them with reason as lord and lady of chivalry, and their verbal interchange after Toro was also a variant on the genre of courtly love, wherein passion and reason are perpetually at war.

- Peggy K. Liss, Isabel the Queen: Life and Times

#perioddramaedit #historyedit #women in history #men in history #isabella i of castile #ferdinand ii of aragon #isabel tve #2x02 #michelle jenner #rodolfo sancho

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softjeon · 4 years

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In love with your dark side | Pt.2

• Pairing: Beauty!Taehyung x Beast!Yoongi • Genre: Fluff, bit of Angst | Rating: Teen and Up | Beautyandthebeast!AU / Fairytale!AU • Words: 5k | AO3 | Gifset Trailer • Disclaimer: anxiety, mentioning of a curse

written with @cassiavioletblue

↳ Yoongi had tried not to think about what would happen if someone saw him but his mind had wandered through all of their possible reactions anyway: screaming, laughing, shock… he’s had so many horrible encounters in his mind and yet the boy in front of him didn’t react like in any of his thoughts.

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“One black coffee, please.” Taehyung said as he searched through his wallet if he had enough money with him, ignoring the baristas weird look as he was already carrying a cupboard try with two cups from a different brand in them. He paid, thanking her sweetly and just as he slipped out of the coffee shop, the young barista closed the doors behind him, locking it firmly.

It was late already, when Taehyung had closed up his own shop and had rushed to the upper side back again to still get one of the pricier coffees. With a bright smile and a naïve mind, Taehyung greeted the night shift receptionist with a smile, before pushing the elevator button with his elbow. Only when he stood in front of Yoongi’s office again, did Taehyung hesitate for a second, taking a deep breath, before he knocked.

Yoongi froze.

Had he misheard or had someone actually knocked at his door? Before last night he would have simply ignored it but with Taehyung in the picture he was too curious to see who it was. Taehyung had no reason to come back, did he? And yet he hoped that the other still came back. Maybe he was the clumsy type and yet accidentally taken a letter from him again. Carefully he pushed the curtain a little aside, just enough for him to take a sneak peek without being too obvious about it. His heart jumped in his throat as he recognized the boy’s face. Outside of his door stood Taehyung - with a tray of coffee in his hands. Yoongi wondered briefly how exactly he had managed to knock without putting the coffee aside but then he hurried to unlock the door.

“Come in. No letter this time?” He greeted the other courtly - but with a small smile on his lips.

Taehyung’s heart did a jump when the door got unlocked and he carefully pushed it open. “No letter,” He smiled back at his boss, “But coffee. Two coffees actually.” Walking over to Mr. Min’s desk, he placed the tray down taking the two cups and placing it in front of his boss. “I wanted to say thank you for not firing me and if you work this late you might are in need of coffee.” A big smile appeared on his lips and he motioned to the two cups, “Though I wasn’t sure which kind of coffee you like...so, I bought two. One from my favorite place and one from the shop downstairs, the overpriced one.” Taehyung took the third cup from the tray and stepped away, “Oh and this is mine.” He never liked the bitter taste of caffeine and a hot chocolate was actually what he needed after a long day of work. “I wanted to apologize again for bursting in last night, so please...take this as an apology and a little thank you.”

He actually broke into laughter at that, a real if awkward laugh that made his gums show. Shocked he covered his mouth with his hand. He waited tensely for a reaction, but Taehyung did yet again surprise him as he didn’t take notice of his awkwardness at all. He just couldn’t figure him out! But coming over with coffee in the middle of the night to say ‘thank you for not firing me’ when it was Taehyung who had control over his life as well had taken him by surprise. However, it was quite a nice one. He reached for the coffee, looking at the logos that were plastered all over the paper cups. He didn’t knew any of them.

“So, what you’re saying is you brought two coffees for me and none for yourself?” He smirked as he went to the corner of the room, opening a shelf to reveal a compartment with a coffee machine inside, neatly stored away. “You can have a coffee in return if you want.”

Taehyung’s eyes widened, cheeks blushing in embarrassment. Of course, he could have thought about how his boss probably had his own coffee machine right in his office but he had been so happy to have something to bring him as a small ‘thank you’. He would have found it awkward to come back with nothing.

“Oh,…” Taehyung bit his lip, “I…I am sorry I didn’t know. You probably like your own better, right? I can take these back or…give them to Jaesung downstairs.” When Yoongi looked at him in confusion, he added quickly, “Your night shift receptionist? Jaesung?” Taehyung chuckled, “It’s okay, you have like a million customers. Though I can tell you each name and where they sit.” He smiled teasingly, “Do you remember mine?”

“Of course, I do remember your name, Kim Taehyung.” He could have added his age, his love for photography and everything else that he had found while searching the web for him. It had actually impressed him to see how present the other was and not in the usual silly social media stuff you found when researching someone in their twenties. His blog was artsy, intelligent and had piqued Yoongi’s interest right away. So, he was all the more curious about his young employee who seemed so fearless while ignoring the norm. “Don’t you dare gift my coffee away! Don’t you have manners? Gifting someone something means they get to keep it; you can’t just change your mind about that!” He snatched the coffees away so quickly that it was a good thing they had a lid on top or else the black fluid would have spilled over on the table.

Taehyung couldn’t help but laugh, when Yoongi talked about manners while grabbing the coffees so quickly from him. “I’m glad you accept my gift then, Mr. Min.” He smiled at his boss and for the first time tonight, really looked at him. The long shirt he wore was nothing of what he usually would expect of someone being the CEO of a company, but then again: Yoongi didn’t expect anyone that late at night and he wasn’t even sure if his boss was still doing meetings. All he knew was the rumors people gushed about in the office and what Yoongi had told him himself, that his health mustn’t been great. The long sleeves reached over his hands, giving his boss sweaterpaws and Taehyung had to keep himself from cooing over the cuteness that the imagery had.

He noticed how Taehyung’s eyes lingered on his hands and he quickly withdrew them, trying his best to not follow the urge to hide them behind his back or stuff them in his pocket. He had learned that showing weakness was the worst you could do because it was like serving your weak spots to others on a silver plate and they wouldn’t hesitate to use this to their advantage. So instead he turned around and stood before the coffee machine, his back to Taehyung. “So how do you like your coffee then? I don’t have fancy vegan milk, but I’m stocked up on the classics.” He liked to drink his coffee black, sometimes with sugar but he had still some coffee creamer left from when he had actually used his office properly.

“Oh, no, please. I don’t want to bother you and I have some of my hot chocolate left.” He pointed at the third smaller cup (he hadn’t enough money to get himself a bigger anymore). “Thank you though,” His cheeks dusted in a rose color at the thought of Yoongi wanting to do something for him in return, “You probably have to get work done. And there’s someone waiting for you to get home soon. I don’t want to bother.”

Yoongi cocked his head. “Hot chocolate, I see. No coffee could compare to that.” The amusement made his eyes shimmer, but it was gone as quickly as it came. The thought of being left alone with his work made him feel all cold and the idea of his empty home - where definitely no one was waiting for him - left a bitter taste. “If that’s a polite way to tell me that you have other plans for the night then I got the hint. If not you are welcome to stay and help me, make some copies for example. It would be paid work, of course.” He quickly fabricated.

He didn’t need copies. But he needed company.

Taehyung’s smile reached his ears when he shook his head. He had no plans at all and staying sounded more fun. He took the coffee cup and walked over to Yoongi and leaned down just enough to look him into his eyes, noticing the habit of the other looking everywhere but him. “Drink this one. It’s not the expensive coffee but it tastes better, believe me.” He smiled, when Yoongi reached for it carefully and this time he kept his eyes on him. Tae had noticed how quickly he had retreated his hand before and did not want to bother him. “And please there’s no need to pay me. I’ll help you anytime.”

Yoongi shook his head. “I wonder how you made it through life so far with your honestly catastrophic sense for opportunities. I insist on paying you. I’m no charity and I don’t want to be treated as such in return. Besides, photography equipment is expensive, and you could use some extra lenses for that macro photography of yours. Money makes all the difference there, believe me, you won’t get satisfying results with cheap equipment.” He didn’t like feeling vulnerable and Taehyung helping him would have definitely made him insecure. He didn’t like owing people, be it money or time or attention. Like this is was a clean, clear business deal. Work for money, just like the hundreds of other employees that worked for him right now.

“My…my photography?” Taehyung stuttered as he was confused on how Mr. Min knew about his art. His heart was beating fast and he gulped against the lump in his throat. “How do you know about my photography,” His confusion was written all over his face. Taehyung couldn’t think of one reason why Mr. Min could know this about him. They hadn’t cared to know about what he did as his main job when he applied for the mail position, so there couldn’t be any papers. “Money doesn’t make all the difference, Mr. Min. You can have the most expensive equipment and still be a crappy artist.”

“I’d like to be informed about my employees,” was his curt answer - which was a blatant lie. He didn’t know anything about most of the people working for him and the things he did know he had acquired by accident or because they had messed something up and therefore stayed in his memory. He had never googled one before Taehyung, but he definitely wouldn’t tell that to his face. “While that might be true it’s also difficult to be a splendid artist with ‘crappy’ equipment. Ideally you have both, talent and the financial resources to fund your dreams. So, stop complaining about payment please I won’t let you work without it.”

“My dreams,” Taehyung chuckled low and for a moment, he let Yoongi see through the façade of his happy smile, where there were too many broken dreams. He replaced it quickly with a grin again and nodded. “Okay, if you insist but I want to ask for something in return.” His heart jumped, when he suddenly felt nervous, but the thought had hit him the moment he had laid his eyes on Yoongi. He didn’t know how Yoongi would react, but he had learned to be trusting of his own instincts and if he saw something beautiful, the urge to take pictures of it was too big to deny. “Will you let me take a picture of your hands then?”

Yoongi’s face fell the moment Taehyung's question left his lip, flinching back as if he had been slapped.

“My …my hands? So, you do want proof for some shady expose! Of course, you do, no one is ever that selfless. Get out. Now!” It hurt. It actually hurt even though he barely knew the other and had only seen him twice but after so long of being lonely and all by himself in the dark he had latched onto the first person who pretended to still see him as human. He had fallen for it so easily. How pathetic he was. He should have known better. No one liked the ugly, everyone strived for beauty. He was an idiot for forgetting.

Taehyung startled effectively when Yoongi shouted at him, hunching up his shoulders in a reflex before he reacted. “No, no, Mr. Min you don’t understand.” He turned around to grab his bag and reached for his phone inside to open a folder filled with pictures and showing it to Yoongi, who was still furiously shouting at him. “It’s part of my new series, look! I just thought…” Taehyung took a deep breath, before he spilled the truth, “They are the most beautiful I’ve ever seen, very delicate and…perfect. And I’ve noticed the habit of little marks on your fingers from the pens you use. Right there on your hand.” Tae would have loved to reach out and show Yoongi, but instead he showed it on his own where Yoongi has smudged some kind of ink all over his palm.

“You... you are crazy!” Yoongi had shrunk back when Tae had pushed the phone forward for him to look at it. He hadn’t lied, there were hands all over, delicate ones and ones with chubby fingers, some colored with something like turmeric and beetroot, others covered in scribbles all over. But they all had something in common: they were healthy, normal hands, not like his: spoilt and rotten and tainted with the darkness inside of him. “Please get out.” He didn’t shout any longer, but his voice trembled from too many suppressed emotions. He couldn’t handle this; he couldn’t deal to be confronted with his ugliness right now.

Taehyung’s eyes widened when he realized that he had cornered his boss with his simple request, completely disregarding how he could feel about it. He was his boss after all. He was in no place to ask such stupid questions. “I am sorry,” He pushed the phone deep in his pocket, “Again.”

Taehyung felt guilty and horrible for being so dumb to see that the other might not want to do this for him. “I should have asked more respectfully but I got excited and I have this stupid habit of talking too much when I shouldn’t.” He bit his tongue and cursed himself in his mind. “You’re way kinder than the people say, and I thought since you talked about my photography that you liked it maybe.” He bowed his head, cheeks red in shame. “I won’t ask again, I promise. But I won’t take it back about what I said about your hands.”

Yoongi stayed silent. He was too scared to talk; afraid he might actually start to cry if he did. The self-hatred tasted bitter on his tongue as it burned through his veins like acid. He was pathetic, weak... he didn’t deserve to be head of a company being like this. He couldn’t be moved by a simple request like that, he should have been impressive enough for Taehyung to not even dare to ask such a question and pull his ugliness out in the open like that. He should start to wear gloves again. Or be above his cursed condition or… or…

He just wanted to be alone right now to figure it out so he pushed a random pile of files in Taehyung's hands and asked him as calmly as he could to make some copies.

Taehyung stood a little awkwardly as he watched his boss disappearing up the stairs. He sighed and then looked down to see what kind of files he was holding, but he figured he had no clue about economics anyways. So, he walked up to the copy machine and started making copies of the files, sorting it perfectly, thinking that Yoongi just needed a little bit of time to see that he hadn’t tried to be mean or get too close. He hadn’t kicked him out in the end after all.

After a while Taehyung couldn’t help himself but yawn with every copy he made. He finished the last file, just like Yoongi had asked him to and put it onto the stack of papers, when a faint melody coming from the room above caught his attention, making him halt in his movements.

Without the noise of the copy machine, he could hear it a lot clearer now and it sounded like something familiar. A piano maybe, something classical. Taehyung bit his finger in nervousness as he tried to figure out what the right thing to do was. He had to tell Mr. Min that he was done with everything anyways and he wouldn’t hear him if he was listening to music. With a rapid heartbeat, Taehyung looked up at the closed door at the end of the staircase and took the first step.

…

With Taehyung busy and his emotions still in uproar Yoongi did what he always did when his heart didn’t seem to calm: He went up to play the piano. He was sure that copying all those files would keep Taehyung occupied for a while, long enough that he could play one or two pieces and then come down as if nothing has happened. He didn’t want him to know that he lived up there even though he had a suspicion that sooner or later Taehyung’s curiosity would make him figure it out. The other was kind of crazy apparently - but he was just as much considering he was risking everything he had just to talk to someone. He pressed the key under his index finger down harder but instead of a sound there was nothing. His stomach cramped in apprehension of what was about to come and with horror he pressed the key again. Nothing. There was nothing even though he had played it like five minutes ago. Yoongi howled in desperation as he balled his hands into fists and slammed them onto the keys. “Can’t I have one fucking day without this stupid curse ruining everything?” His voice was a hateful hiss as he closed the lid violently, trying not to think about how many keys the curse had already taken from him and how little there were left.

Taehyung stood in awe, leaning against the doorframe as he listened. He had closed his eyes, letting the music embrace him and take him away, because Yoongi played with so much passion that it made it seem like he was telling him a story. It broke off so suddenly and it pulled Taehyung back into reality when the song abruptly stopped and instead Yoongi drew the most horrible sound from the piano as he slammed onto the keys. He didn’t really get what Yoongi was hissing to himself, so he just broke through his self-hatred (because he figured that much) with a sweet tone, “I think it sounded absolutely lovely, why did you stop?”

Yoongi flinched so hard he almost fell backwards over the piano stool. “What the hell? You don’t know the meaning of private, do you? First my office, now this.” It was biting and cold and only after he said it did he feel a little pinch of guilt. But he was angry and so he kept going. “Don’t hold it against me when I can’t take much from your compliment. You don’t play, do you? How much concerts have you been too? Classical ones, those with standards I mean.“ When Tae didn’t answer fast enough he groaned, wiping over his face, “This is a fucking waste of my time!” He could feel the tears way too close under the surface, just waiting for an opportunity to spill over and break his last resolve. He was nothing. All that he had built had started to fade the moment he had been cursed and now the curse slowly took his music from him. He couldn’t bear the thought of the day when nothing would be left, and he would be all alone in the darkness - forever.

Taehyung could feel the anger and frustration coming off from Yoongi in waves, the hatred that filling him up. And yet, it hurt when he talked about him so bluntly, judging him from what he thought he looked like: someone without any class.

“You really like to judge people, huh?” Taehyung spat back at him, “Why do you think I’ve never been to a classical concert before? Because I can’t afford it? Because I look poor?” He shook his head with a sigh, before an idea came into his mind as he stared at Yoongi’s back, who had turned away from him on the stool. If this were Jimin or someone else, he might have hugged the person, but from what he could tell Mr. Min wasn’t the kind of person for skin ship and yet, he needed comfort. And Taehyung was great at that.

Slowly, Taehyung came closer and sat down at the other side, pushing his back against Yoongi’s, facing the opposite direction. “My dad used to play the piano actually. I think that’s when my love for art came from. Do you know those finger paints that you can color windows with? I imagined I could paint a wonderful imagery, maybe a flower field or something and run into it.” He chuckled softly at the memory. “When did you start playing?”

The answer Yoongi wanted to spit back at the other (because he was the only outlet for his anger right now) stayed stuck in his throat when Taehyung leaned against him as if they were old friends. His pride told him to lean away immediately and yell at Tae how he dared to cross such boundaries. But the warmth that seeped through his back made him tear up and his throat feel tighter. When was the last time that someone had touched him? It must be almost a year and oh, how he missed it!

It wasn’t like he’s had any long term relationship in the last few years but he had always craved contact as much as he feared it and so he had indulged himself in regular hook ups, never with the same person twice. His voices sounded small and choked when he finally answered, far from the cold reply he had initially prepared. “When I was in high school. We had a piano that was very expensive, so I was never allowed to touch it. And I pretended to obey but whenever my parents were out I snuck in and taught myself how to play. When one of the maids told on me I could play enough to impress my mum, so she got me a teacher. I was punished for breaking their rules of course but it was worth it.”

“That’s very sneaky of you, Mr. Min.” Taehyung laughed, leaning his head back in the process, “That doesn’t sound like the well-mannered CEO I know now.” He let his mind wander, thinking about how a young Mr. Min had been like, if he had dreams, if he still had the same one’s now or if they had changed. “It was truly worth it. I really liked the way you play; it was almost like…you were telling a story.” Taehyung closed his eyes and hummed the melody he remembered, fingertips playing in the air. He could feel Yoongi straightening his back a little, hearing his soft laugh against his back and Taehyung took it as an invitation to just keep on talking and rambling until Yoongi’s voice didn’t sound as broken anymore and his answers were longer than a few words.

“...And then one day, I came home and Jimin had put up all of my photography in the hallway just like that and invited a few of our friends over. There was even champagne,” He was gesturing around as if he was showing Yoongi how it looked, although their backs were against each other, “The cheapest one he could buy though, from the discounter. And he pretended as if it was my first exhibition, interviewing me and my friends just played along. In the end we all just got very drunk but…we were young.” He laughed and raked a hand through his messy hair, before his voice dropped a little. “One day I’ll have my own though.” Taehyung bit his lip as he thought of his little dream and peeked over his shoulder just a little, “Do you still have a dream, Mr. Min?”

It was easy to listen to Tae. He spoke so lively and colorfully that the vivid images rose in his mind all by themselves and a soft smile had stolen its way on his lips without permission. “Dreams?” He sighed deeply. “Well, I’ve got one, to be honest. I long for it with my whole being and yet I can do nothing to achieve it. I want to be free from this… sickness.” He had almost said curse. Luckily when it slipped people just thought he spoke figuratively. “I wasn’t always like this. But I fear I will be now, for the rest of my life.”

“Is there anything you can do?” Taehyung asked carefully, “You must know good doctors, right?” He wasn’t sure how much he could ask without pushing Yoongi away again. “Is it bad for you? Will…will it affect your health?” He hadn’t expected the aching in his heart at the thought of Yoongi being in pain or losing his life to an incurable sickness – now that he had gotten to know him a little.

“Not… really. I guess I could ‘think positive’ and ‘be kind’ and all that new age shit…” He normally didn’t try to curse in front of others, but it slipped so easily from his lips whenever the frustration took over, “...but apart from that I can only wait and hope that something changes before my time runs out. And doctors can only cure what their schoolbooks taught them. As soon as you differ from the norm they’re lost. I might end up in a glass cage if I let too many people look at me. I tried, in the beginning I was naive and thought that there had to be someone who was able to help me, I’ve seen so many specialists. But in the end I had to give up. That’s the worst, isn’t it? Putting all your energy and time and hope into something just for it to mean nothing in the end.” He couldn’t answer Taehyung’s question fully without revealing what he suffered from so he stayed vague and talked only as honest as he dared to be.

Taehyung had turned around slowly, when Yoongi was talking not able to speak up and silence filled the room as he let everything sink in. It felt heavy on his heart to know what he had been through with no one by his side (at least he assumed it from what he knew now). “But you feel no pain from the disease?” He asked again, just to make sure, before shifting completely, so that Yoongi’s back was against his chest instead. Taehyung wasn’t leaning in, yet, giving Yoongi the chance to back away if he wanted to or lean back if he needed it. “C-can I?” Taehyung reached out slowly, hovering over Yoongi’s hand, while being so close that his breath was tingling Yoongi’s skin right by his ear.

“No, I’m not in pain. Not physically.” His cheeks heated at the confession that he hadn’t really meant to share. Because he was hurting, just in places that were beyond the flesh. He tensed when he felt Taehyung shifting, waiting for the other to get up, preparing himself to do the same but nothing the like happened. Instead the warmth came back and suddenly he could feel Taehyung’s breath against his skin. He shuddered, his whole body vibrating with nerves as Taehyung reached out for him. Yoongi tried to mask the nervous tremor in his hand by tilting his palm up but he regretted it the very next second. He had forgotten how dark his palm was, for one single blissful heartbeat he had actually forgotten how ugly he was because Taehyung’s closeness had wiped everything else from his mind. He was about to take his hand back when Taehyung’s fingertips touched his palm and he instinctively held his breath.

The younger could feel it against his chest as he leaned a little closer. His touch was a careful one, soft and light as he traced along a line on the inside of Yoongi’s hand. He shifted closer as he reached around the man’s body towards the other hand and did the same: waiting for Yoongi to relax and then touch him again. Instinctively, Taehyung leaned his head on Yoongi’s shoulder as he drew patterns into palm of his hands; long forgotten that this was his boss he was sitting behind. It was like the moment they had stepped away from the office, it didn’t matter anymore. Right here, by the piano in Yoongi’s makeshift (very expensive looking) home, it wasn’t about the status anymore.

It was just them, in the middle of the night.

Taehyung intertwined their hands softly, letting go again just do repeat the motion because his own big hands, fitted so nicely against Yoongi’s smaller ones. “I still think your hands are beautiful,” He whispered softly, before a yawn drew out of him and he wasn’t fast enough to hide it. “Do you want me to come back tomorrow,” Taehyung released his hands from his, soothing over Yoongi’s arms before he leaned back, “To do the work you wanted me to?” It was written all over Yoongi’s body that he was lonely, and Taehyung had taken a liking in his strange boss and if it would make it easier for him to decide to let him back in if it was “job” related, then so be it.

Yoongi bit his lip before the words could tumble out and he made the mistake of asking Taehyung to stay a little longer. It was amazing - and also a little scary - what some intimacy could do to him and if he was honest he already started to miss the warmth the moment Taehyung leaned back.

“Sure. If you have the time you can come over.” Telling him that he definitely wanted to see him felt like an inappropriate confession, so he tried to keep it casual. His hands twitched as he put them back onto his thighs without anything to hold onto.

“I’ll be there,“ The words were whispered, when Taehyung hugged Yoongi once, before getting up and rushing back to the stairs – this habit of staying up late was really messing with his sleeping schedule. “Oh and, you can call me Tae by the way.” He waited for Yoongi to turn to look at him before he waved, “That’s what all my friends call me.”

A/N: Ohhh, what do you think? ;) Will Taehyung’s natural curiosity will be a mistake or the way through to Yoongi’s heart? ;) Thank you for reading!

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anboringday · 4 years

Text

A Date With Lenny | Part 3

Pairing: Lenny Summers x F!reader/OC

Summary: Lenny and his lover spends some quality time together in Valentine. Head over heels for one another, things get heated between the two rather quickly ;)

Word Count: 3.9k

Rating: NSFW/Explicit

Read on ao3

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Arms linked, Lenny and I sauntered out of the crowded saloon. It was a lively night in Valentine, a constant stream of interested visitors trotted through on horseback. Fellers loitered outside the stores, laughing and chatting boisterously. Penned pigs squealed, stray dogs panted in the heat, and chimes rung as doors opened. The noise and activity of the teeming little town was disorderly and loud, but not unpleasant. In fact, it was quaint. The people here were unfettered, spirited, and unapologetically free.

Normally, I felt rather small and out of place in the company of strangers, but with Lenny beside me, all my silly fears and insecurities melted away. He escorted me through town in his black brushed cotton vest and matching trousers, his shirt and neckerchief both a pristine white. And god, he looked damn fine too, putting every other man in attendance to shame. Ever so often, the women that crossed our path would stare, sometimes tripping over their own feet as they took in his remarkably handsome face.

But he was all mine, and I made it known to the world by keeping my arm hooked possessively around his. Occasionally rubbing his strong shoulders. Stroking his toned biceps. He’d return the affection by showering my cheeks with tiny, playful kisses as we strolled aimlessly along Valentine’s dirt road. We had no destination in mind, no grand plans, or schedules to keep. We were simply enjoying each other’s company, and I couldn’t have been happier.

Cradling a flask of whiskey to his chest, Lenny took a swig. “See, the saloon wasn’t so bad, right? We ate a full course, top-notch quality meal in absolute peace, undisturbed—no bar fights, and only a few drunken bastards got rowdy and ruined the mood. Usually it’s much worse.”

“We have to keep a low profile,” I muttered. “We’re lucky no one recognized you.”

“Have you forgotten that I am the living embodiment of luck—” He tripped over a rock and tumbled clumsily, landing on his backside with a rough thud.

My heart skipped a beat. “Lenny!” I hovered over him. “Are you okay?”

With the cutest, goofy grin plastered to his face, he patted himself down for injuries. “No broken bones…I’ll live, I reckon.”

His wide, bright smile was contagious. Holding the hem of my flowy skirt, I crouched to his level and surveyed him briefly. Besides being stricken with a bad case of the giggles, he seemed fine. “Of course, you’ll live. You have an obligation to keep breathing, Mr. Summers, ‘cause I wouldn’t last a day without you.”

“Is that so? I guess you��re stuck with me then…forever!” His arms enclosed around my waist, he tugged me to the ground playfully.

“Get off, you silly man!” With a hastily suppressed snicker, I squirmed about in his warm embrace. “Release me!”

“Nooo, you can’t get rid of me—not ever! You’re all mine. Just submit already, woman!” He attacked my cheeks with a frantic rush of kisses.

I smothered a chuckle from the sensation of his beard stubble brushing against my skin, but once he started tickling my sides, my voice rang up a scale and crackled hysterically. Whenever I tried to pull away, he’d draw me right back in, fragrantly fun, carefree, and mischievous despite the dozens of onlookers in our midst.

I tickled him back, and Lenny’s laughter was so jubilant, pure as the Heavens above, childish even despite his adulthood and masculinity. His mirth was like the summer sun and the stars at the peak of dawn. Whenever I heard it, no matter the time of day or weather, the world brightened.

Breathing in his tantalizing, uniquely familiar scent, I nuzzled my nose against his. “I love you.”

Stiffening abruptly, a rush of red stained his cheeks. His voice lowered, quiet and shy. “Hey, you’re making me feel all fuzzy and warm inside. There’s folks around—I’m not blushing, am I?”

“You are. It’s adorable.” I stood and extended a hand to him. “Now get up outta that dirt, silly.”

“C’mere, Sugar.” With a captivating smile, he lured me down to his level once again. He tipped his chin toward the sky. “Look at the stars, ain’t they pretty?”

Pinpoints of silver peeped in and out of the masses of gray clouds overhead. It was going to rain soon. I wiped the dust from my skirt. “You’re ruining my outfit, handsome.”

“What does it matter? I’m just gonna take it off you anyway.” He took another sip of his whiskey.

“I think you’ve had too much to drink, cowboy.”

Music blared from the nearby saloon, a live performance it sounded like. There was clapping and cheering, a soulful feminine voice filled the air, blending in elegantly with the strum of stringed instruments.

Lenny’s brows shot up. “You hear that?”

I nodded. “It sounds lovely.”

He tossed his whiskey aside and rose, lifting me along with him. Taking my hand in his, he preformed a courtly bow, pressing a kiss to my knuckles. “My lady, may I have this dance?”

“Dance?” My face heated at the proposal. “H-here?”

“Right here, right now.”

Filled with embarrassed discomfort, I lowered my head. “There’s an awful lot of people around, Lenny.”

“Don’t be scared. We’re in this together. Just focus on me, okay?”

Arms encircling my waist, he anchored me against him, swaying to the music. I was tense and on edge at first, I’ve never danced in public. Let alone in the center of town where just about every neighboring feller, woman, loyal steed, and child could take a gander.

But once his hazel gaze found mine, our bustling surroundings melted away. Hypnotized by the shimmering sparks of gold in the depths of his eyes, all I could see was him. The way his lean body glided with effortless rhythm and fluidity. How his muscles flexed and rippled with every slight movement beneath his shirt. Following his gentle motion, my arms slid around his neck. He was my world, and the moment was ours.

“We coulda done this in the saloon, you know,” I said.

“Maybe,” he mumbled. “I know going to that saloon in particular was my idea, but uh, honestly…I didn’t feel comfortable in there.”

“Why? Did one of those drunkards do something? Say something? I swear, if there are any inbred yokels around here, you just point me in their direction—”

“No, it wasn’t that.” He gave a shaky laugh. “Every fella in there was eyeballing you. It ain’t no crime to look but…” His voice trailed off.

I frowned. “I didn’t notice anyone was staring, I’m sorry—”

“Hey, don’t apologize for being the prettiest girl in town. You got all the women in the West green with envy and the fellas? They salivate over you like a pack of rabid dogs after a bone. And regardless of all that, you chose me. Feels like a dream. The best damn dream.” He dipped me back and kissed my temple. I held onto him as his full lips drifted to my neck, brushing over my sensitive skin. I closed my eyes on a moan when he caught the lobe of my ear between his teeth, the spontaneity of it all warmed my heart, and awakened a fierce ache between my legs.

With he straightened me, I was near breathless and dizzy. There was an applause, and whistling coming from over my shoulder. Lenny’s grasp on me was strong and clinging, as if I could slip through his fingers at any given moment. “You’re mine, I’m yours, and now everybody knows it.”

I flushed, perversely flattered and delighted by his possessiveness. “You know, this isn’t exactly what I’d call ‘keeping a low profile’,” I whispered.

“So, about that…” He grinned sheepishly, a boyish smile so cutely at odds with the wiry, solid sexuality of his body. “I ain’t the best at laying low, never have been. Everywhere I go, something or somebody starts kickin’ up a fuss and I get dragged into it. For example, some fool gets robbed—by no fault of mine, might I add—then that same fool gets brave and winds up with a bullet in his gut. And of course, being the law-abiding citizen that I very much am, I got no choice but to intervene.”

I smiled. “So, all this time you’ve been playing the hero? Everything the lawmen said about you was a lie?”

“The law ain’t never been fair or smart.”

“That much is true.” The sky rumbled, and the clouds began to shed some heavy droplets of rain. Folks began to retreat indoors, while a select few preferred to take shelter under the general store awnings.

“Well, there goes our audience,” Lenny said. “A real shame, too. I was getting used to the limelight.” He took off his brown leather cowboy hat and gave it to me. “Here, Sugar. For your hair.”

“Thank you.” I nuzzled my face to his chest. “We should go. The storm is only going to get worse.”

Seemingly unbothered by the rain, he tilted my chin up and settled his mouth on mine. A rush of warmth flowed through me, the soft sweetness of his kiss weakened my knees. Gradually, the pressure of his lips increased, and I surrendered myself to him. His tongue stroked slow and tenderly over mine. Our connection was wildly passionate and undeniable. I was so absorbed by him, possessed by his sweet love, I hardly noticed the drizzle running down our faces to where our lips connected. The cold rain mingled with the uniquely wonderful taste of him.

The working of his mouth against mine made me hot. Restless. I pushed a hand into his gloriously damp hair and sucked on the bottom of his lip, tracing my tongue over its perfect fullness, nibbling, gently pulling…

The sound of his groan was so satisfyingly deep and erotic, my core throbbed, uncomfortably wet. Lenny broke the kiss, his chest heaving. “Damn…what are you doing to me?”

I smiled innocently. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Gripping my hips, he crushed me to him, the impressive package between his legs brushed my thigh. “I…I-I need to be inside you,” he confessed with some difficulty. “I’m aching.”

Moved by the extent of his longing, I stood on the tip of my toes and reclaimed his lips, my palms sliding all over his lethally sexy body. We were drenched in the chilly, pouring rain, but not even the forces of nature could keep my hands off him. “There’s a hotel next door,” I said between kisses.

Lenny nodded an assent and lifted me off my feet, my legs hooked around his waist. He carried me across the road and through the hotel’s swinging doors. The lobby was empty.

“I’ll be just a minute!” a voice I presumed to be the receptionist called out from down the hall.

Still holding me in his powerful arms, Lenny leaned against the front desk as we made out with reckless abandon. The soul-reaching massage of his lips sent shivers rippling up my spine. Raising my skirt a fraction, his hips started moving, the hard length of his cock grinding sinfully against me through the confides of his pants. Oh, god…a deep hunger stirred inside me. I had to have him—all of him—and it had to be soon. Or else I’d go crazy.

I held onto him for dear life, trembling from the hot, delicious friction. I didn’t care who was watching. I was way past the point of shyness, the primal desire to be fucked by this beautiful outlaw was at the forefront of my mind. It was all that mattered.

My skin burning hot and flustered, I whimpered. “I want you, Lenny.”

Muscles tense and visibly shaking with lust, he uttered huskily, “Fuck, I want—I need you.”

I buried my face in the crook of his corded neck, ravaging his skin with love bites and licks. “How bad do you need me?”

“Real bad. More than anything. I’ll beg if I got to. I’ll plead. I’ll get on my damn knees right now.” He swallowed deep, his expression tight and eyes smoldering. “If we don’t get a key soon, I might just bend you over this desk and fuck you right here.”

I trembled. It sounded like a threat as much as a promise, the scorching intensity of his words so unlike him. He was losing his composure, the desire stripping away his inhibitions and calm, sweet-tempered mannerisms. Only I could do this to him. It was a major turn-on and confidence boost.

“Here I am!” the receptionist finally arrived, scrambling into his rightful place behind the desk. His presence was a blur, I was too preoccupied enjoying the softness of Lenny’s lips. I could probably come like this, just by kissing him if we went at it long enough.

“Good Lord Almighty!” the receptionist gaped at us. “You kids need a room immediately! Luckily for you, we have one available. Just one. It’s been a big night for tourism, with that band of fancy folk from Saint Denis parading through town, playing their music and causing a ruckus. I don’t understand how anyone can get anything done with all that darn noise and commotion—”

Lenny shoved a hand into his satchel and flung a couple dollars at the chatty receptionist. It stopped his ranting, thank goodness.

“Second floor, first room on your right.” Once he passed over the key, Lenny whisked me upstairs. Heedless of everything and everyone, our hot, lingering kisses didn’t break as he fumbled with the lock. A moment later, the door opened, and we were inside a dimly lit room bathed in candlelight, rain softly drummed against the windowpanes.

Lenny dropped me on the bed. I reached for his vest and ripped it open, the buttons scattered across the hardwood floor. “Get naked, cowboy.”

He laughed, shrugging out of his shirt and suspenders, and then unbuckling his gun belt. I ran my hand down his chest in awe. His deep brown skin illuminated by the warm, flickering light, he glowed like flames piercing the darkness, radiant with transcendental beauty and mystery. I wanted him so bad, it hurt.

I nuzzled my face against the solid ridges of his damp, god-like abdomen. “Christ, why are you so perfect?”

“Perfect?” He pinched my cheek playfully. “Aw, you really think so? Arthur told me the same thing once, but he was drunk and vomiting in a pig pen outside the saloon when he said it—”

“Lenny…” Grinning, I swatted his hand off my cheek. “You’re ruining the mood.”

“Oh. Right. Sorry.” Flashing an apologetic smile, he tossed aside the wet hat on my head and helped me out my clothes with gentle finesse. I went for his zipper, freeing his thick cock. My mouth watered. He was rock-hard, and throbbing. I traced the flat of my tongue along the heavy veins coursing his length, slow and worshipfully.

He fisted my hair, restraining me just before I took him into my mouth. “Nuh-uh, Sugar. That can wait. Lay down.”

My brows raised. Apparently, Lenny was in charge tonight. I obeyed, curious of what he had in store.

The heat and clean, woodsy scent of his body took my breath away once he came down on me. “You’re beautiful.” He plumped one breast in his hand, kissing my neck, his lips grazing back and forth over my tender, flustered skin. I squirmed from the heady sensation. My legs locked around his hips, silently urging him to make love to me already. Near mindless with need, I struggled to find my voice, to formulate words. All that slipped from my throat was tiny, helpless whimpering.

He took himself in his hand and stroked my slick entrance, the soft nudges of his cock head agonizingly teasing. I arched my hips, my body straining toward him, desperate for a connection. He was making me wait, avoiding my clit and somehow resisting the temptation of fucking me despite my pleading.

“Lenny, please. What are you waiting for?”

“Hush now,” he said. “You’ll be ready for me soon.”

“I’ve been ready for you for the longest. Since this morning.”

He nipped my neck, sucking feverishly. Surely leaving a mark behind. Inflamed and trembling in distress, I rolled my hips against the rigid column of flesh he so cruelly teased me with. Patiently, he coaxed me to the brink of insanity. I was soaked in my own wetness, creaming madly for the feel of him inside me.

Raking my nails across his back, I pulled him closer. I needed him to fuck me more than I needed my next breath. “Now,” I gasped. “Need you now.”

With an expert shift of his hips, he pushed into me hard, and so pleasantly deep.

“Oh, God, yes,” I moaned, shuddering, clenching around him. Finally. Warmth struck my heart. I’ve been waiting for this for so long, too long—

“Don’t come,” he murmured, his palms slipped under my hips and cupped my behind, squeezing.

“Excuse me?” I was so close to the edge already. How the hell did he expect me not to go off?

“Good things come to those who wait. It feels so much better in the end.” Lenny started to move, his thrusts lazy and tortuously slow. “Can you do that for me, Sugar? Can you make it last?”

The cadence of his soft-spoken, drawling words sounded so sweet in my ears, so delicate. A fierce ache struck my chest. I was hopelessly in love with him, and more than willing to submit to his every need and request.

“It’s not fair,” I mumbled, my vision blurred with tears. “You have no idea how good you feel inside me.”

“Trust me, I-I do.” Lenny’s leisurely rhythm came to an abrupt halt, his body shivered violently. Jaw clenched, a groan slipped through his lips, tension contorted the gorgeous features of his face. Holding back seemed to be affecting him as well.

Quickly regaining his poise, he resumed screwing me. Lenny knew my body so well, all the tender spots that demanded attention and how precisely to stroke them. It was all muscle memory to him at this point. Over and over, his cock rubbed the bundle of quivering nerves clenching, aching for his touch.

Gripping the sheets with white-knuckled force, I smothered an upsurge of sobs, thrashing against the overwhelming need to climax. I was burning from the inside out, our bodies sticky with sweat. Trembling uncontrollably, I couldn’t hold back for much longer…

“Don’t come,” Lenny repeated. “Make this last. Just hold on.”

“I c-can’t. It feels amazing. Jesus, Lenny…” Tears escaped my eyes. I was falling apart, utterly and irreversibly lost in him. “I love you. I-I love you so, so much…”

He kissed away the tear tracks on my face. “Hold me. Don’t you let go.”

I released the covers and clung to him. His heavy-lidded gaze snagged with mine, searing into me. He sighed heavily, from pleasure, tension, or both—I couldn’t tell. His hips still surging at a moderate, deliberately restrained tempo that was driving senseless, I blurted, “Slow down. Please. I’ll come if you don’t slow down.”

“Will you now?” A wicked smile pulled at his lips. “I thought you wanted to come, Sugar. Why the change of heart?”

My back arched as his hold on my behind grew bruising. He lifted my hips into his thrusts, and I cried out, my core boiling and tightening with a pressure so severe, I feared I’d snap in two if I didn’t give into my bodily cravings soon.

“I won’t come,” I panted. “Not—not until y-you say so.”

His hazel eyes softened, sympathetic almost as he watched me quiver helplessly beneath him. One hand clasping the side of my face, he kissed me with a heartrending tenderness, his tongue caressing mine. Yes.

“Come for me,” he fucked me harder, dominating my body, although his voice was honeysweet against my lips. “I need to feel you…”

With his permission, an orgasm erupted inside me like a volcano, molten pleasure spreading from my core and overcoming the entirety of my body in a scorching wave. It was remarkable. Explosive. Unlike anything I’ve ever felt before. I let out a shrill cry, writhing under Lenny’s sweat-slick muscles. His name spewed repeatedly from my lips as he fucked me into blissful oblivion.

The climax surged on and on. I was melting, drowning in the immense ecstasy of being loved by him, pleased by him. He was my everything, and without him I was empty and hollow. I could die in his arms right now and regret not a thing, because I’ve never truly lived a day until I met him.

The connection we shared was incredibly intense, inside and outside the bedroom. But when we were making love like this, intimately linked, giving and receiving pleasure from one another like our lives depended on it…our bond felt unbreakable. It was frightening how deeply I adored him—an outlaw. A man the law wanted strung up by a noose…

A muscle twitching in his jaw, he rode out my climax until the clenches faded; then he slowed down his pace, burying himself inside me languidly. He sucked in a harsh breath, eyes dark and dilated, his strong body convulsed furiously. He was teetering on the edge of an orgasm, still denying himself the pleasure he’s been working toward all night long. The glaring self-control and perseverance Lenny emanated was something to be envied.

I gathered his hair in my hands, kissing the side of his damp throat. “You’re shaking, handsome. Do I feel that good?”

“Yes,” he rasped, pounding into me erratically, his balls slapping against the curve of my behind. “Oh shit, yes.”

A bead of sweat dripped from his chin onto the corner of my lip. I slid my tongue along his sculpted jawline, collecting the saltiness with a soft murmur of satisfaction. He tasted so good, and the scent of his lust smelled even better.

“Why don’t you come inside me, cowboy?” I teased, my voice husky. “You know you want to.”

He clasped the nape of my neck, his gaze burned into mine. “Do you want me to?”

I had just as much control over his body as he did mine and I couldn’t help but smile. “Yes, Lenny. Come.”

With a serrated groan, his beautiful cock jerked, spurting hotly, flooding me with his heat. His hips ground against mine, he emptied his load as deeply as he could inside me. I don’t know how long we laid there holding each other, spent and panting. Eventually, our breathing steadied and our bodies cooled.

“Leonard Summers!” a rugged voice shouted from outside, piercing the calm serenity of the rain. “We know you’re in here! Give yourself up, boy, there ain’t nowhere left to run!”

Lenny shot up from the bed.

Still wrapped up in a sex-induced daze, my brain struggled to comprehend what the hell was happening. Lazily, I sat up, covering my exposed breasts with the sheets. “What’s going on?”

Lenny inched to the window and glanced furtively though the blinds. “Lawmen,” he winced. “A lot of ‘em.”

I shivered, my heartbeat sped up. “You’re joking. Please tell me you’re joking.”

“I wish I was, Sugar. Maybe you were right—coming ‘round here was, in fact, a real bad idea.” His teeth gleamed in a lopsided smile, confident and reassuring despite our unfortunate circumstances. “So, uh…you know how to handle a gun, right?”

My eyes widened. Oh no…

#lenny summers #rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #rdrwriting #rdr fanfic #arthur morgan #red dead #red dead redemption #rdr fandom #romance #lenny summers x reader

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princelestatdelioncourt · 3 years

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Character Name

The Innamorati (Lovers Class)

(The characters of Isabella, Lelio, Flavio and Vittoria are all part of the Innamorati. However since there are so many more Commedia dell'arte characters that are part of this same class that are not fully developed by Commedia dell'Carte, we gave them their own "catch all" page to include research on this vital class of commedia characters that may not be specific to the four characters listed above. If you are seeking general information on the Innamorati, but sure to consult the web pages of the afore mentioned characters as well.)

In Italian, the Lovers (of whom four-two would-be pairs - are usually needed for a full scenario) are called innamorati. The males have names such as Silvio, Fabrizio, Aurelio, Orazio, Ottavio, Ortensio, Lelio, Leandro, Cinzio, Florindo, Lindoro, etc.; the females: Isabella, Angelica, Eularia, Flaminia, Vittoria, Silvia, Lavinia, Ortensia, Aurelia, etc. - Rudlin

Whether their names are Flavio, Ottavio, Orazio, Silvio, Leandro or Cinthio del Sole; Federigo, Lelio, Mario, or Fulvio - all reveal a fatal trace of fatuity. - Duchartre

Status

High, but brought low by the hopelessness of their infatuation. -Rudlin

Costume

The latest fashion. Males sometimes dressed as young soldiers or cadets. Wigs. Actresses would show off their wardrobe in the better companies by changing costume several times during the course of the action. -Rudlin

They had no particular costume, but dressed in the latest fashion of the period to which they belonged. - Duchartre

Wore stunning silk dresses, often in antique Renaissance style with necklaces of gold and pearls. - Gordon

Gentry-class dress, nice looking, modest, cute. Usually with a heart motif -Little

Origin (History)

The aristocracy of the Italian Renaissance courts amused themselves with a form they called commedia erudita based on the plays of Terence and Plautus, for example Calandria by Cardinal Bibbiena which, like Shakespeare's later Comedy of Errors, is based on Plautus' Menaechmi. As the professional improvised comedy looked to extend its range it seemed to have borrowed the Lovers from the amateur form. - Rudlin

The most prominent Isabella, Isabella Andreini, belonged to the troupe of Gelosi. - Laver

Physical Appearance

Had to be young, well set up, courteous, gallant even to the point of affectation - in short, a blade and a dandy. - Duchartre

Young and attractive – Rudlin

The lovers and wooers of the Commedia dell'arte were always dapper and engaging and just a trifle ridiculous. - Duchartre

Mask

No actual mask, but heavy make-up. Mascara and beauty spots for both sexes. The make-up in fact becomes a mask enabling performers to play the role well into middle age, or even beyond - Giovan Battista Andreini, son of Francesco, played Lelio until he was 73. Vizard or loup could be worn for disguise, usually made of black velvet. This was a normal accoutrement for society ladies when walking to a rendezvous and could be half- or full-face. But since it has not expression it does not count as a mask in the Commedia sense, although it does provide plenty of plot potential, enabling, for example, Columbina to attend rendezvous in her mistress's place. - Rudlin

Occasionally wore a mask that just covered eyes or a loop mask. - Laver

Signature Props

Handkerchief. Posy. Fan for women. -Rudlin

Stance

They lack firm contact with the earth. Feet invariably in ballet positions, creating an inverted cone. Chest and heart heavy. They are full of breath, but then take little pants on top. Sometimes when situations become too much for them, they deflate totally. – Rudlin

Always very proud.

Walk

They do not walk as much as tweeter, due to the instability of their base. First the head leans the other way to the body sway. Then the arms have to be used, one above the other, as a counterweight. -Rudlin

Poses

Various depending on individual character.

Movements

Actors would use the same dancing masters as the well-to-do whom they were parodying in order to point up the ridiculousness of exaggerated deportment. Movement comes at the point of overbalance leading to a sideways rush towards a new focus, with the arms left trailing behind. Stop at the new point (usually the beloved or some token thereof) before (almost) touching it. The Lovers have little or no physical contact. When there is any, the minimum has maximum effect. - Rudlin

Exaggerated movements of the hands, like feathers flapping in the wind. -Fletcher

Gestures

Often while holding a handkerchief or flower, etc. in the leading hand. The arms never make identical shapes. Because of their vanity, they frequently look in a hand mirror, only to become upset by any minor imperfection which is discovered. Even in extremis they are always looking to see if a ribbon or a sequin is out of place. A button found on the floor or a blemish in the coiffure equals disaster. - Rudlin

Speech Language

Tuscan, making great display of courtly words and baroque metaphors. Well read, knowing large extracts of poems by heart (especially Petrarch). They speak softly in musical sentences - in contrast with the zanni. Their sentences are often flamboyant, hyperbolical, full of amorous rhetoric. By the end of the 17th Century in Paris, the Lovers spoke French. - Rudlin

Animal

Various depending on individual character.

Relationships

They relate exclusively to themselves - they are in love with themselves being in love. The last person they actually relate to in the course of the action is often the beloved. When they do meet they have great difficulty in communicating with each other (usually because of the nerves). And they relate to their servants only in terms of pleading for help. The Lovers love each other, yet are more preoccupied with being seen as lovers, undergoing all the hardships of being in such a plight, than with actual fulfilment. Consequently they frequently scorn each other and feign mild hatred; they rebut, despair, reconcile, but eventually end up marrying in the way of true love when the game is up and they know they cannot play any more. After a quarrel the male may try a serenade to win back favour. This will be (dis)organized by Zanni: he employs musicians who are drunk or spends the money on something else and has tu use tramps off the street. The result is total chaos, but in the end the serenade is beautifully played and sung because everyone miraculously turns out to be good at their job after all. - Rudlin

Relationship to Audience

Extremely aware of being watched. Play with the audience for sympathy in their plight. Occasionally flirts with spectators. -Rudlin

Frequent Plot Function

Indispensable. Without them and their inability to resolve their own problems, there would be no function for the zanni, no struggle between the ineffectuality of youth and the implacability of age. The lovers are never alone on stage - they always have someone with them or spying on them. - Ruldin

Their function was to depict a state of mind rather than to paint a personality. - Duchartre

Characteristics

Thought their protestations would melt a heart of stone, there always seems to be a comic side to everything they say. One wonders if the explanation does not lie in the fact that love often robs the lover of all sense of his or her own absurdity, even though he or she may be the most rational of living men or women under ordinary circumstances.

Whatever the names of the lovers in the commedia dell'arte, they had no other trait as 'characters' than that of being in love. - Duchartre

Three, like primary colors: fidelity, jealously and fickleness. They are vain, petuluant, spoilt, full of doubt and have very little patience. They have a masochistic enjoyment of enforced seperation because it enables them to dramatize their situation, lament, moan, send messages, etc. When the Lovers do meet they are almost always tongue-tied and need interpreters (i.e. a zanni and/or a servetta) who proceed to misinterpret their statements, either through stupidity (Zanni), malicious desire for revenge (Brighella) or calculated self-interest (Columbina). Their attention span is short like young children’s. The fear that they might be nobodies keeps them hyper-animated. Their element is water: they are very wet creatures indeed. The females are more passion-wrought and energetic than their male counterparts.

The lovers exist very much in their own world- and in their own world within that world. Self-obsessed and very selfish, they are more interested in what they are saying themselves and how it sounds than in what the beloved is saying. They are primarily in love with themselves, secondarily in love with love, and only consequentially in love with the beloved. What they learn, if anything, from the tribulations of the scenario is the need to reverse these priorities.

They do, however, come off better than most other Commedia characters: there is no viciousness in them, and less to be reproached for – except vanity and vapidness, which, given their parents, they can hardly be blamed for. They represent the human portential for happiness. – Rudlin

The lover had to play with dash and be able to simulate the most exaggerated passion. - Duchartre

“If then true lovers have ever been crossed It stands as an edict in destiny. Then let us teach our trial patience, Because it is a customary cross, As due to love as thoughts, and dreams, and sighs, Wishes, and tears – poor fancy’s followers.”

Shakespeare

#commedia dell'arte #the innamorati #lelio #Isabella #flaminia #lestat de lioncourt

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lunarianborn · 3 years

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☾ @roseofbaron: aloe, belladonna, chrysanthemum, gladiolus, hydrangea, lavender, magnolia, oak, sage, zinnia ☽ BOTANICAL HCS : accepting

aaahh a true bouquet ! watch me doing all of these I haven’t replied to yet because, one i’m thirsty for more chances to throw hcs at the dash, two the meme is good and all the questions are pretty interesting, tysm <3

belladonna : how does your muse respond to silence ? do they take comfort in soundlessness , or seek to fill the void with noise ?

He responds to silence quite well and always seemed to do as such, he enjoys peace and quiet and always did ever since he was a child. Having been raised inside a king’s castle must have been quite the experience for him, as a kid -- for it would rarely be completely silent and quiet as an ambience. Between meetings, feasts, banquets and all ceremonies and occasions pertaining to a monarch’s life, and Cecil growing up there from the very start, I can’t imagine him having the chance to enjoy silent spaces much; still -- ! his bedchambers reside on the west tower, the highest of the castle, away from sources of noise. It’s quite the solitary place too, away from the main halls, engulfed in silence basically all the time; having been its resident from childhood, Cecil grew to tolerate the tranquility it could offer him - while studying, while reading or thinking, or even practicing with his sword.

I’d call it comfort, simply because that’s the way he always lived. This doesn’t mean Cecil doesn’t enjoy the lively atmosphere a mundane / royal life could offer him, but being the reserved and quiet person himself, I see him enjoying peace more.

chrysanthemum : how does your muse express romantic love ? how do they feel about love as a concept ?

If Cecil represented a romantic concept, I’d say he could as well be courtly love personified. And I know it may sound boring and oh so called for, but I MEAN. He’s Cecil. A knight in a medieval setting who is feeling, at first, that he cannot be with the girl he loves for whatever reasons, that saves her life and rescues her from her kidnappers, to swear unending love by the end of the tale. A classic, Cecil would be a classic haha. So, I guess the term courtly love partly fits him.

By courtly love, though, I don’t refer to the literary or epic kind; he’d simply find love as a form of pure devotion, not assuming control of his heart in an impetuous or rebellious way -- which is nice regardless, he’s a kind type of lover, courteous indeed. For example, when he used to be a Dark Knight, he was not expected to stay with the one he loved; instead of rebelling against such rule, he simply accepted it, bowing his head for the ‘greater good’ and for peace and in the name of traditions; BU,T in his heart, he was still in love. And the feeling is there to stay...

Canonly, by what Kain says in the novel, actually, it seemed Rosa was the one to take the first step, when she started ‘looking at Cecil in a way she never did’, presumably when they were young teens. Cecil, at some point, with age, did come to realize he too felt something more for her; the curious thing, though, is that they never actually confessed. Maybe, true courtly love would have the knight confessing his passion, but Cecil doesn’t. He misses the chance and things get worse when he gets knighted a Dark Knight, at 15yos, the age where Baronian kids seem to reach adulthood officially. No, he kept the true nature of his feelings for himself, despite the truth being rumored and known. Kain knew it, Rosa’s mother suspected it, everyone could have seen it.

So, in these terms, it’s safe to assume Cecil keeps being the soft-spoken, tranquil lover. He doesn’t reveal his feelings if not at the very end, because he fears what it’d mean for the other’s reputation and honor -- those are pretty important things, for he would not tolerate himself or his love to be cause of pain or struggle. And so, being the reserved kind, he’d resort to subtle ways to express love, to court someone. Lingering gazes, gifts, to try and spend most of his spare time with them... you know he’d try to play or sing something, he’s no bard but he is the type.

Love is devotion and its shades and sides to permeate his life. Love for his partner, for his home, for his child, and for his brother too, nonetheless. He commits to it and seeks to protect it at all costs, sometimes even resulting as a bit oppressing -- but he’s on the purest and best intentions whenever that happens. Love is bliss. For someone who believed all his life to having been abandoned by his family, he finds the concept of love to be light incarnate too. After all, hadn’t his father loved him so, he wouldn’t have never become a paladin eheh

gladiolus : describe a moment from your muse’s life that they will never forget.

One moment he’d never forget must definitely be the day when he officially went from being a squire to a knight. The same ancient trial all boys of Baron, while hoping to enlist into its military ranks, must partake at the coming of their 15th birthday - the same one Ceodore insists being part of, despite his title as prince. The task is not as simple as one would believe, especially for a kid so young and barely skilled with the true art of the sword: he must enter a cave, grab the so-called Emblem of Knighthood inside, defeat its guardian and emerge victorious, a true knight to Baron.

No child is told of said guardian though, it usually being a big sandworm trained to react and attack whenever anyone is about to pick the emblem. And, even better, no kid is told the famous emblem is nothing more than a mummified rat’s tail.

Eager to prove his worth, Cecil waited for the fated day with high expectations and premises, only to almost risk his life against the sandworm. He doesn’t remember much of that fight, but he does recall the final blow at the beast’s hellish muzzle and the initial disappointment in finding the tail; but the moment he returned home, to be officially and solemnly invested a knight by the King, -- ceremony followed by a banquet and feast, as tradition commands, especially for residents of the castle -- everything changed.

It was a big deal. The boy that always felt a foreigner, one of the very few lucky one to have been granted so much for so little in return, does finally feel part of the city, of its community and its military ranks. Plus, his adventure in the cave was a good story to tell companions and friends !

hydrangea : how much does your muse value communication in their relationships with others ? are they prone to being misunderstood ?

Quite a lot, but he wasn’t very skilled with words when very young. He got better as years passed, but his character too didn’t make things easier; he thinks communication is the basis of every sane and good relationships. Even in-game and ‘in-novel’, with Rydia, the first thing he does, when fleeing with her to Kaipo, is to try and communicate. To console her, to cheer her up the best he could -- despite the child’s reluctance and silence.

Even as king, he found the importance of communication to reign over mostly all of his relationships -- from work, to family. I’d say his toughest challenge on that front came from his son and his character, his ideas and projects for his own future; while on a side it makes him happy to see Ceodore growing up so sure of his own thoughts, despite his title and familiar ties, it also pains him to not being able to speak as much / of what he’d like to him (heart-to-heart types of conversations, I mean - in the novel, Ceodore admits he never saw his father weak or tired, and that they never talked much of very personal matters).

I don’t think he would be easily misunderstood though. He learnt how to act as a leader early on, and the role only got enforced once king. He is supposed to be clear, and he’s supposed to be listened to, especially when his role(s) demands him to be.

lavender : how easy is it to gain your muse’s trust ? once their trust is broken , how might one go about mending it ?

It’s quite easy, honestly. He tends to see the brightness and positivity in everyone he comes to know - especially during his journey, and tends to form bonds of trust when felt or necessary. It’s not that rare, honestly, the only true exceptions come from individuals who are obviously ill-mannered or plain evil and suspicious !

And it takes a lot to break his trust. Overall, he’s a very pure man, trying to find light even when it is scarce indeed -- he’s a good man. When Kain does take the last Underworld’s Dark Crystal to give it to Golbez, everyone in the group starts doubting him again. And yet, Cecil doesn’t give up on him (and remember it’s the second time he gets ‘betrayed’ -- although the novel explains what is really going on inside Kain’s head, and by that point, he was just acting as a bait...) and tries to think of why Kain had “betrayed them again”. He even omits to tell Giott of it, in fear Kain would have been branded a traitor and sentenced.

“Cecil told him everything. Of how they had successfully reached it [the Crystal], and of how Golbez had appeared to rob it. He never mentioned Kain’s involvement. Although he had betrayed them, he still believed there was good in Kain’s heart. He considered him a friend nonetheless, and believed the darkness to have gained control of his mind, back in the cave. He didn’t wish for him to be called and considered a traitor.”

magnolia : describe your muse’s relationship with nature & the natural world.

It’s ironic, because Cecil -- hadn’t his parents died before having the chance to meet and raise him like they partly did for Theodor, would have grown up in a small woodcutters-like village amidst the forests next to Mysidia. Baron too is surrounded by green plains, lakes and rivers, it’s beautiful to see - truly, but he didn’t have much time or dedication to spare to the city’s surroundings. As a child, perhaps, he could have hoped to train or venture outside the city’s walls more often. Since a chocobo forest is nearby, I like to think Baron youth do actually learn to ride the birds out in the open, where there’s plenty of space and green to practice.

Being son of Kluya, the very Lunarian who introduced magic to humans, I think Cecil was born with a natural aptitude for magic; his legacy as a knight didn’t allow him to put those hidden qualities into any practical use, and the few white magic spells he knows as a Paladin are, also, rather weak (which is, ironically, the complete opposite of Golbez’s case). To hone one’s own magic, the user has to have a connection with the natural world, which is the primary source of energy needed to cast spells. This is why I think, albeit having little chances and few true opportunities to venture outside for leisure - Cecil has a subtle, inborn link with nature (as many mages do too) and would find great pleasure in nature and its joys.

oak : who would your muse consider the strongest person they know ?

I believe he’d see Cid as one of the strongest people he’s ever known, even before the whole ordeal narrated through the game and his ‘sacrifice’ could be the nail sealing the whole deal, here. Having been raised without true parental figure, it is easy to understand why a child like him could have found comfort and warmth in such the extrovert man -- Cid acted like a father to him and never truly stopped, haha, he’s even there offering moral support (and some doses of panic too) when Cecil is literally becoming a father. Despite Cid having a family of his own, and a daughter too, he showered Cecil with attention and affection, like a true father would have...

I could argue Cecil did see a rather strong presence and soul in the late King of Baron, for very similar reasons. Minus the affection part (due to maybe king’s duties, prejudices, Cecil being a ward and not the UMM probably-long-lost-son-of-the-king’s-teen-crush, not officially at least) I believe, the two men are seen both in the highest regards from the man, he would manage to choose one between them. They both possess a spirit of sacrifice for the greater good, admirable values (till Cagnazzo enters the stage, at least) and morale, and both served as cardinal points for Cecil’s growth and childhood.

sage : what is your muse’s legacy ? what do they want to be remembered for & what might they actually be remembered for ?

Cecil is such a humble man, I doubt he would ever think stuff like ‘ah yes, and I’ll do this so that everyone will remember me for it’. But for everything he has accomplished and done for Baron, for the one he loved and from himself too, it is inevitable his name will long keep ringing in bards’ songs and in his people’s tales long after his life is spent. His legacy is Baron itself. The restored town, with its ancient monarchy and the promise of the star not being threatened anymore by the ambitions of a wicked Lunarian. His is a legacy of bountiful peace and prosperity, worthy of his courage and of all the pain he had to endure because of it.

Cecil also carries the hopes and dreams of his other people, the Lunarians. He incarnate all that is good and hopeful in such a difference race, not to mention - with hi brother, he is in fact the incarnation of their union (after all, Lunarians saw humans were still developing and growing, and felt their technological prowess and knowledge could have altered their natural evolution and development if forced upon them through cohabitation -- so they never truly invaded Gaia and remained on the artificial second moon, promising to find a way to coexist together only when humans would have reached their same intellectual level.)

He wouldn’t want to be remembered anyway else. He’s a brave knight, a loyal friend and a just king. It may not seem as much, but it is plenty enough for one of the savior of the star, haha! Which is also the cause of such big expectations being placed on Ceodore’s shoulders so early on too... it’s sad to think about, actually.

zinnia : how has the loss of fallen comrades and/or loved ones affected your muse ? has it taught them anything or given them any new perspectives ?

I think the losses made him more aware of the big role he had to, willingly or not, play for the salvation of what he held dear, and of the star. From the King being made puppet of a hellish demon, his body tossed unceremoniously in a hidden room on a mocking fake throne... to Yang and Cid temporarily disappearing and being believed dead... the twins turning into stone to save the other’s life... Tellah, but also the found truth about his father and mother’s deaths (novel explains that, for the longest time, Cecil believed to have been abandoned in the woods as an unwanted child... it’s heartbreaking, really, for he is sure of it and even says he doesn’t blame his mother for it. When he finds out she died of childbirth he is devastated also for having thought such a thing about her...) all shaped him into the rather firm young man he is by the end of the story.

And while not a loss per se, Golbez leaving the star to join Lunarians in the sleep and Kain disappearing for almost 15 years after the events of the game also happen to be strong moments for Cecil as well -- yes, almost as strong as true deaths would impact him and his psyche.

The sheer fear of losing his family and friends shapes him to the point he straight up refused at first to have the girls, especially Rosa, follow him back on the moon. The love for what he cannot ever afford to lose is what brings the light in his empty husk, during After Years, to defend Rosa and Ceodore before his ‘shadow-dark-knight self’. The tragedies, the scares and the moments of grief he lived through did make him a more responsible individual, a better fighter and even a more devoted man than he who was already; simply because that’s his entire world, and to know of his loved ones being safe is his true main concern...

#▐┊ headcanon.#roseofbaron #[ this took me TOO LONG but ]#[ i appreciate this bouquet aaa ]#[ and all chances to gush out my cecil hcs ;__; ]#[ so ty sooooo soo much aaa <3 ]#long post under cut omg #[ this is why it took months HHH jk... ]

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dionysianmysteriess · 4 years

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Courtly love — was a medieval European literary conception of love that emphasized nobility and chivalry. Medieval literature is filled with examples of knights setting out on adventures and performing various deeds or services for ladies because of their "courtly love". This kind of love is originally a literary fiction created for the entertainment of the nobility, but as time passed, these ideas about love changed and attracted a larger audience. In the high Middle Ages, a "game of love" developed around these ideas as a set of social practices. "Loving nobly" was considered to be an enriching and improving practice. Courtly love began in the ducal and princely courts of Aquitaine, Provence, Champagne, ducal Burgundy and the Norman Kingdom of Sicily[3] at the end of the eleventh century. In essence, courtly love was an experience between erotic desire and spiritual attainment, "a love at once illicit and morally elevating, passionate and disciplined, humiliating and exalting, human and transcendent". The term "courtly love" was first popularized by Gaston Paris and has since come under a wide variety of definitions and uses. Its interpretation, origins and influences continue to be a matter of critical debate. Poets adopted the terminology of feudalism, declaring themselves the vassal of the lady and addressing her as midons (my lord), which had dual benefits: allowing the poet to use a code name (so as to avoid having to reveal the lady's name) and at the same time flattering her by addressing her as his lord. The troubadour's model of the ideal lady was the wife of his employer or lord, a lady of higher status, usually the rich and powerful female head of the castle. When her husband was away on Crusade or elsewhere she dominated the household and cultural affairs; sometimes this was the case even when the husband was at home. The lady was rich and powerful and the poet gave voice to the aspirations of the courtier class, for only those who were noble could engage in courtly love. This new kind of love saw nobility not based on wealth and family history, but on character and actions; such as devotion, piety, gallantry, thus appealing to poorer knights who saw an avenue for advancement. Since at the time some marriages among nobility had little to do with modern perspectives of what constitutes love, courtly love was also a way for nobles to express the love not found in their marriage. "Lovers" in the context of courtly love need not refer to sex, but rather to the act of loving. These "lovers" had short trysts in secret, which escalated mentally, but might not physically. On the other hand, continual references to beds and sleeping in the lover's arms in medieval sources such as the troubador albas and romances such as Chrétien's Lancelot imply at least in some cases a context of actual sexual intercourse. By the late 12th century Andreas Capellanus' highly influential work De amore ("Concerning Love") had codified the rules of courtly love. De amore lists such rules as: "Marriage is no real excuse for not loving." "He who is not jealous cannot love." "No one can be bound by a double love." "When made public love rarely endures." A point of ongoing controversy about courtly love is to what extent it was sexual. All courtly love was erotic to some degree, and not purely platonic—the troubadours speak of the physical beauty of their ladies and the feelings and desires the ladies arouse in them. However, it is unclear what a poet should do: live a life of perpetual desire channeling his energies to higher ends, or physically consummate. Scholars have seen it both ways. Denis de Rougemont said that the troubadours were influenced by Cathar doctrines which rejected the pleasures of the flesh and that they were metaphorically addressing the spirit and soul of their ladies. Rougemont also said that courtly love subscribed to the code of chivalry, and therefore a knight's loyalty was always to his King before his mistress. Edmund Reiss claimed it was also a spiritual love, but a love that had more in common with Christian love, or caritas. On the other hand, scholars such as Mosché Lazar claim it was adulterous sexual love with physical possession of the lady the desired end. Many scholars identify courtly love as the "pure love" described in 1184 by Capellanus in De amore libri tres: It is the pure love which binds together the hearts of two lovers with every feeling of delight. This kind consists in the contemplation of the mind and the affection of the heart; it goes as far as the kiss and the embrace and the modest contact with the nude lover, omitting the final solace, for that is not permitted for those who wish to love purely.... That is called mixed love which gets its effect from every delight of the flesh and culminates in the final act of Venus. Within the corpus of troubadour poems there is a wide range of attitudes, even across the works of individual poets. Some poems are physically sensual, even bawdily imagining nude embraces, while others are highly spiritual and border on the platonic.

#courtly love #history #love #text

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ficsandcatsandficsandcats · 4 years

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I saw that you do headcanons now. What are some kinky headcanons you have for Jask? I’d really like to know. I absolutely love your fics that delve into the d/s stuff. They’re brilliant and so well done.

Ooh good question! I’m borrowing this alphabet format from Joz in an attempt to be thorough

Disclaimer: these are just my headcanons, my opinions, they do not reflect the fandom at large or canon

A - Aftercare (What they’re like after sex)

Caring and nurturing. He provides some form of aftercare after sex even if it wasn’t kink related at all, making sure they’re cleaned up and comfortable. Most of his partners haven’t been ones where they or he could spend the night but he still tries to make sure he leaves them satisfied in every way. I think he’s very tender in general and if he isn’t too tired out he pens some notes down for his next song.

B -Body part (Their favourite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

I mean, listen, if he doesn’t really enjoy his chest and its abundance of hair he has a funny way of coping with insecurity so I’m gonna say he likes it. I think his favorite part of his partner changes with the partner (he enjoys finding little unique things about each person whether it’s freckles or an interesting birthmark or scar etc.) but I see him being a fan of a nice ass and a pretty mouth on any gender.

C - Cum (Anything to do with cum basically… I’m a disgusting person)

He tries not to come inside of his partners for obvious pregnancy reasons with uterus-possessing partners and also because it feels too intimate for his casual dalliances (even though yes he loves them he also feels that’s just not really a thing you do unless that is Your Person). He likes to finish on his partner both to spare the sheets (easy cleanup and easier to hide from jealous husbands) and because he does like how his partner looks when they’re panting, covered in sweat and come. He swallows.

D - Dirty Secret (Pretty self-explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

On one very memorable day he slept with both a person and their parent in the same 24-hour period. Separate, not together (ew) and neither party ever found out and he intends to keep it that way

E - Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)

Jaskier is sufficiently experienced but always eager to get more practice in. He is very adept at pleasing many different bodies but that doesn’t make him cocky. He sees each partner as a new experience and doesn’t assume he knows how to please them just because he’s pleased others. This is one of the reasons he is such a very good partner.

F - Favourite Position (This goes without saying. Will probably include a visual)

Strongly swayed by what his partner likes but I see him enjoying the humble missionary position. Not as kinky as people may expect but he likes the intimacy and the ability to look into his partner’s eyes.

G - Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc)

He weaves between the two. He knows that sex is a dialogue and he follows it as it goes, staring deeply into someone’s eyes one moment and giggling with them in the next.

I - Intimacy (How are they during the moment, romantic aspect…)

As I said, Jaskier really enjoys intimacy. He likes to focus on his partner and get lost in the feeling without thinking about consequences (hence the courtly reputation)

J- Jack Off (Masturbation headcanon)

I don’t picture him doing this much. He’s on the road a lot and Geralt has that damned witcher hearing. Also I think Jaskier enjoys another person’s body more than his hand and he is cocky enough to know that he can get that companionship if he wants it. He has been known to enjoy mutual masturbation.

K - Kink (One or more of their kinks)

While Jaskier is a romantic I think he also enjoys being dominant. Those two things are opposing roles by any means but I guess I’m just saying it’s not all rose petals and it’s also leather paddles ya feel?

L - Location (Favourite places to do the do)

He enjoys getting to do it in a bed because I think usually he just gets what he gets where he gets it (again thinking of jealous husbands/courtly reputation) but he also enjoys getting creative. It’s like a brain puzzle. We’re in this barn and I Must Have You and sure we could do it on the ground but what if we stacked those haybales just so…

M - Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going)

A stiff breeze?

But actually, I think Jaskier gets really turned on by competence. A person can be lovely but if they’re lovely AND adept at something (even something not having anything whatsoever to do with sex) he really likes that. And the show off in him goes “well let me show you what I do!” Also wit. He trades in words and enjoys some banter.

N - NO (Something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

I don’t think there’s much he wouldn’t do. I don’t see him being into degradation with his partners, giving or receiving. I also think he is decidedly against knife play after the Djinncident

O - Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc)

Jaskier loves to go down on his partners. It’s an understood thing that it will be a part of sex unless his partner doesn’t want it. He also really enjoys receiving but I think giving just edges it out in preference

P - Pace (Are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual? etc.)

All over the board. Usually sex with Jaskier is going to go through a few speeds unless pressed for time or intentionally stretching things out to tease his partner.

Q - Quickie (Their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.)

Jaskier is the undisputed master of the quickie thanks to experience but he prefers to take his time.

R - Risk (Are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.)

Absotively Posilutely

S - Stamina (How many rounds can they go for, how long do they last…)

I think he has decent stamina and if he has the time to go more than one round during the refractory period he’s still doing something with/to his partner even if it’s just a massage or making out

T - Toy (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?)

Slipping into Modern!AU here because of course they had toys back in the day but I’m horrified at even the potential concept of splinters There. Yes, Jaskier enjoys toys and uses them on himself and on his partner and has toys his partners use on him (I’m talkin’ ‘bout the strap, lads). He invests a decent amount in quality toys and has a good sampling, some for more special occasions and some used regularly. He has some toys that are like his staple ingredients he will make sure to stock back up on when it dies (a good clitoral stimulating vibrator, for example). Also he has strong opinions about what you do and do not use to tie people up. You do not use handcuffs which can cause actual damage. Instead you use bondage tape or rope designed for it. Perhaps a tie, though that’s still not ideal.

U - Unfair (how much they like to tease)

So Very Much

He is a cheeky little bastard and he loves to make you beg for it

V - Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make)

I think Jaskier is quiet, mostly whispering and muttering under his breath through most of it (again, somewhat learned through necessity) but he can be provoked to be louder if someone really works at it and he feels safe

W - Wild Card (Get a random headcanon for the character of your choice)

Jaskier never asks his partner to do something he wouldn’t do and he won’t do anything to them that he wouldn’t want them to do to him in return unless they have a specific fetish he isn’t about but is willing to engage with

Y - Yearning (How high is their sex drive?)

Maybe a controversial opinion but I think our boy is a bit of a sex drive camel. He goes decent stretches sometimes without having much opportunity for it and I think he can be sustained for a bit after a really good night. He would prefer to do it more often but it’s not something that drives him to distraction, if that makes sense.

Z - ZZZ (… how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

I think Jaskier stays awake until his partner falls asleep, or at least tries to just in case they need something.

#Anonymous #Jaskier Headcanons #Jaskier Kink Headcanons Pt II #reader request

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mssapphire · 4 years

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Deconstructing Romantic Love, and what’s actually wrong with it (pt. 1) - Desire and Admiration =/= Love.

In our infinite quest for happiness, one pervasive question we tend to have is: what is love? (baby don’t hurt me, don’t hurt me, no mo’). And in this quest we have tried to find a million different answers and we have tried to deconstruct and understand what works and what makes it dysfunctional.

In the last century or so, we have tried to come up with alternatives to what we have identified as the root of all evil and female oppression: heteropatriarchal romantic love. And I say in the last century because Romanticism is a 19th c. thing - and to understand how it completely changed society and our relational dynamics, I’d suggest Alain de Botton (it’s a long video but 1) it’s worth it and 2) if you don’t have the time to read his book(s), it’s a great alternative).

This has given way to different forms of “Ethical Non-Monogamy”. I’ll eventually write a post abut the history around different Free Love movements - and how the term has definitely meant different things in different moments of time, and how we have now devoid it of any meaning, to the point we’re back in the clutches of patriarchy through rampant consumerism of bodies. But that’s a post for another day.

What I’d like to explore today is that the problem doesn’t rely in what relationship model you choose to follow (monogamy, polyamory, relationship anarchy, open relationships), but in the way we (mis)understand love. I recently wrote a post about the meaning of being emotionally responsible, making an emphasis on why it’s so difficult for cis straight men. And following that thread, I’d like to come to another crossroads we (but, again, specially cis straight men) seem to find ourselves on: confounding admiration and desire with love. Let’s break that down.

I could really, really go on a tangent here, but I’ll try to stay focused. We could trace back our culture’s confabulation of love, admiration and desire to Courtly Love. Courtly Love taught men that love but, most importantly, loving the right way, was something that could make you a better person, morally (and even socially) superior. The right way to love a Lady, who was the purest being incarnated on the face of the earth, was to admire her beauty which was no doubt a display of her own moral worth (yes, these are white beauty standards, where the most celebrated type of woman was blonde, pale as porcelain, and with blue or green eyes) - and yes, physical appearance being equated to moral worth was a thing in Medieval times (you can guess which are the good guys or the bad guys in a Medieval story only through their physical description). But here comes the plot twist about Courtly Love: you didn’t even had to have met the object of your desire to love her. So you have an entire tradition of poems being written by men to, for and about women they hadn’t even met. They had just heard about their reputation, and they completely made up a fantasy as to who the woman was - a woman they not only proclaimed to love, but also a woman whom they loved so much they could die for her.

This was fertile grounds for Petrarch’s poetry, now in the Renaissance, who took Courtly Love one step further: actually attaching the object of his desire to a real, living person (Laura). Fast forward to Romanticism and the idea of loving someone to the point it kills you, and that they’re the one and only object of your desire, and your “soul mate”, and thus complete and complement you in every single way has now become the trend as to how we perceive love.

But that all sounds very exotic and distant. What about the present? Certainly, you can’t compare these guys to the guys on tinder trying to hook up with anyone who’ll say yes. But allow me to say: 1) yes, yes I can and 2) it’s not only these guys - but even those who seem “more decent” and actually take you out on a date, and even date you for a while. Allow me to elaborate.

Again, I am going to go ahead and quote bell hooks’ definition of love (this is something I do, a lot): you have to distinguish love as a feeling vs love as a verb (we’ll circle back to this). When you understand love as a feeling, and as a feeling only, desire and admiration tend to feel a lot like love. And the problem lies therein society’s portrayal’s of love: “love at first sight”, passionate sex as the ultimate display of what love is and should be, blind admiration towards that person and how you have to stick through thick and thin until death do us part (does that ring a bell?).

“Seeing no wrong” with the object of our affection (or what we now call “missing red flags”) is something we do when we blindly admire someone. And, thus, that convinces us that real love, true love, is that in which you find no conflict, and where the other person is perfect and without flaw. The problem with confusing admiration and love is that, to admire someone, we have to put them up on a pedestal, so we can continue to admire them without our image of them crumbling. Think about all the times you lost respect for your idols as you found out who they really were, as a person, above and beyond their work.

The same happens with desire - which is something more visceral and raw. That person is desirable as long as they fit the fantasy we have about them - which relies to physical attributes, yes, but about things they do and don’t do. Even more so, sex is something that gives you the illusion of intimacy, because sex is inherently emotional and vulnerable (and the idea that it isn’t is capitalistic bullshit, but that’s a topic for another post). So while you’re engaging in sex, you can enjoy all those endorphins and mushy feelings, without actually doing the hard work of actually getting to know the person for real. The moment the person displays a behavior or an attribute that clashes with the idea we have in our heads (maybe they’re too awkward, or they have bad breath in the morning), our fantasy, built on desire, starts to crumble.

Let me drive the point home with a personal example. An ex of mine was initially deeply attracted to me because of my intelligence (it was a good thing that he found me physically attractive too). He would be delighted when he saw me debate other people (and destroy them), to the point it immediately triggered physical affection. But as the relationship progressed and we found ourselves sharing and discussing personal views, his attitude started to shift. A quality that he usually admired me for, became something that made him feel contempt. “You’re so smart” turned into “you’re too smart” which eventually turned to “I can never talk to you because everything turns into a debate”. My attitude and approach hadn’t changed. What was happening is what always happens in an emotional relationship where you’re actually getting to know the person: I was falling off the pedestal he put me in.

And, suddenly, I was seen not only as a human being with flaws and shortcomings, and far from perfect - but having to be so close and vulnerable in front of me was also deeply uncomfortable to him. Because when you’re really close to someone, that makes you reflect on yourself. True love and intimacy is an exercise of self reflection, which allows you to become acquainted with the best and worst sides of you. In my ex’s case, having to be confronted by the intelligence he admired so much initially, made him feel stupid and insecure.

Which leads me to another thing: in this confabulation of admiration/desire for love, men also get another short end of the stick. Because patriarchy has convinced them that a woman’s love lies in her admiration for him, the object of their desire (who has to instantly desire them back just because they want this person) has one job and one job only: to admire and support him unconditionally. This means that men are permanently stuck in a position where they have to display strength and bravado, as they fulfill the role of protectors and providers. And what happens then? you never truly get to know who they are inside. So any sort of criticism, disagreement or conflict is perceived as a threat - if you’re not admiring them, you’re personally attacking them, and you don’t really love them.

Again, the problem with all of this is that we still haven’t understood what love actually is. According to bell hook, love is also a verb. It’s the actions you take in order to nurture the relationship, so you both feel seen, known, heard and understood. It’s getting to know the other person deeply and honestly. It’s seeing ourselves reflected in their eyes and getting to know new depths about us that we hadn’t before.

Think about it in another way: if that person wasn’t physically attractive to you anymore, would you still love them? if that person presented flaws that you hate, would you still love them? If they didn’t have the same social status or job? if they didn’t engage in specific activities with you? and what would you be willing to do if those things change? these are all important questions to assess where your feelings for someone stand.

To be clear: you can love someone and admire them and desire them. But just because someone desires you or just because someone admires you, that doesn’t mean they love you. Again, love is in the work you do. And if you do your homework, you will find yourself admiring that person on deeper more significant attributes, like their compassion and patience and integrity, while you even learn to understand and appreciate their flaws in the context of who they really are - that’s what being understood means.

The problem is not monogamy. In fact, I find it more responsible and sustainable to understand just how much work goes into having healthy loving relationships and deciding to have that with one person, than being a hot ass mess and falling in and out of an unending string of relationships because we’re trying to score “woke points” by denying monogamy. Because if you think you’re defying monogamy while at the same time you’re following the same romantic standards to relate, then you’re not really subverting anything.

Next time you feel like you might feel love for someone, ask yourself if what you’re feeling means that you actually have the willingness to do the work required to be in a healthy relationship with them. If you find their presence in your life worth the effort or not. If this is a nourishing relationship, then the answer will probably be yes.

#Very long but also very good post #Romantic love #Ethical non monogamy #Love #Relationships

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ofseymour · 5 years

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𝖈𝖍𝖆𝖗𝖆𝖈𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝖈𝖍𝖆𝖑𝖑𝖊𝖓𝖌𝖊 * / 𝖎𝖘𝖔𝖑𝖉𝖊

001. describe your characters’ relationship with their mother or father, or both. minimum word count: 150.

tba.

002. what are your characters’ most prominent physical features? what is a feature that they are most insecure about? what are they proudest of?

it’s been long since isolde has regarded her body as something to revel ( or agonize over ). she likes the ambiguity of her features, how it tricks the general molding of the english, and ventures into marginal territories, burgundian, southern, traitorous. not insecure per se, since she inhabits all aspects of womanhood with ease, all but one: childbearing. she struggles against fertility, rather than towards it: the idea of giving birth has discomfited and unnerved her ever since she was young. it only increases tenfold with age, and so the duchess longs for the time when such worries will be rendered moot by nature’s course.

003. how vain is your character? do they find themselves attractive? what is their worst flaw, and are they aware of it?

she might have grown to be vain if she did not have isabel as a childhood companion. the other woman’s beauty was so stark, so undeniable, and it embodied so many characteristics of desire as well as distant grace, that isolde found herself to be a lukewarm contrast. it was not a comparison that bothered her in the least: isabel’s beauty was a thing to be mirrored at times, but not held over your entire life. it was, like all heavenly boon, a burden. to carry that beauty would’ve required a strength and a determination she did not possess.

004. what is your character’s ranking on the kinsey scale?

a three before her marriage with charles, as emotional bonds were always more readily established with women. she was very fond of all her fellow ladies in waiting when she belonged to the retinue of the old queen, and now she is even more invested in the lives of the younger women she must govern. after her union, it veers towards a two; the idea of becoming involved with someone who would serve no purpose to either isabel or to their duchy seems rather absurd.

005. describe your character’s happiest memory. minimum word count: 150.

tbd. ( i sense a pattern )

006. is there one event in your characters’ life that they would like to erase from their past? why? minimum word count: 200.

tbd.

007. let’s talk favourites! what is their favourite colour, food, and season? what, in a modern setting, would be your character’s favourite song?

she is very fond of cream-white, the nuance you would see, for example, on lacework embroidery and church veils, as opposed to the glacial white of gauze and diamond.

as anyone who spent their childhood winters at court, she is fond of all tastes that forged an unwitting association with the feast days: sweetmeats, sugared almonds, poached fruit.

anything by soccer mommy but with a tad less nostalgia.

008. can you define a turning point in your character’s life?

the first time she understood that it wasn’t only the king’s heart isabel wanted, but also the certainty such a love could secure. the risks she evaluated (and of which she’d been warned by members of their circle) and still deciding to help nonetheless. the acknowledgement that nothing can compare with proximity to a world on the bring of change, except perhaps the sworn devotion to what has still stayed the same.

009. is your character an early morning bird or a night owl? at what time do they get most of their work done?

devotedly a morning bird. even when she had to stay awake through the late, informal parties tat took place in the private quarters of richmond palace, observing and tailing the ends of conversations like licks of flame, she was still adamant on getting up as early as possible.

010 a. what other character, a npc or someone apart of the rp, is your character completely real with? who knows them best, has seen them at their most vulnerable, knows their innermost and basest fears? (b. if your character does not have this person, why? do they long for one?)

charles in recent years, but overall isabel. while her own brother kept to the sidelines and permitted isolde to associate with whoever she pleased, it was out of a lack of true understanding rather than a surplus of it. the older seymour never really did comprehend her; not that it would’ve been possible, when isabel had already taken that role for herself.

011. is your character a neat or messy person?

organized from the standpoint of mental information and daily responsibilities, and certainly preaching tidiness to the ladies she has under her wing, but sometimes erratic with trivial belongings (sheaves of materials, ribbons, letter kits).

012. does your character have any irrational fears or phobias?

nothing other than the common ladylike train of vermin, seasonal diseases creeping into the palace, statute ruin. unless you count childbirth as an irrational fear, in which case, yes.

013. does your character have an underlying passion or trait that influences all aspects of their life?

her need to preserve the status and privileges of those around her. they are inextricably linked with her own: there is no place where charles ends and she begins, no choices isabel makes that does not tug at her own strings. it is not sacrifice, it is not martyrdom. it the mutual egotism that sustains their love, separate and colluded, carnal and platonic.

014. what might your character’s ideal romantic person be?

certainly not charles lmao but she has stopped thinking about that ideal for so long that she no longer has any reliable memories. it might have been anyone: the isolde that concocted it, that breathed lifelikeness into its specter with her own desire, no longer exists. not because of some loss, of an identity shaken by something so great that it has no choice but to shift, but due to the normal workings of the world. the choices she made for herself (was allowed to make for herself) as a woman changed the wishes she’s safeguarded as a girl.

015. describe your character’s hands. are they small, long, calloused, smooth, stubby, dexterous or clumsy? do they wear any jewelry and would they wear polish in a modern setting?

in a modern setting they would wear clear nail polish with a top coat. the sort that almost escapes their glance and certainly the sort that’s easily maintained. as it is, her nails are cut short and kept clean, and her hands are small, powdered, entirely within the confines of the ordinary. they work mediocre well with tasks such as embroidery and are far more suited for cerebral purposes like signatures and different calligraphy styles.

016. how does your character smell? what is their favourite scent?

she is fond of heady, earthly smells, like wood and incense; fragrances that are strong but flowing, associated with the things around them rather than drawing attention for themselves.

017. how would your muse describe their religious beliefs?

pragmatic with a twist (some would call that consciousness, others weakness. she loves people from both those sides.)

018. what rules does your muse live by, if any?

see 013. and like half my bio lol (unbelievable i cbf to reiterate even for my own sake)

019. does your muse overshare, or are they more private?

she can easily give the impression of oversharing when she congresses with the ladies of the queen’s household. however, it rarely happens on its own, or with people from which she expects no reciprocating information. she made that mistake several times in the past with her own brother, and as endearing as the duke of somerset was, he was not one of them.

020. is your muse a gossiper? are they more likely to argue with their fists or tongue? what does their voice sound like?

gossiper druid class, rolls 20 on tongue attack.

021. is your muse a … pessimist or optimist … lover or fighter … believer in happy endings … believer in love at first sight?

she believes in people designing the type of love that’s easiest for them to bear. those who need the comfort of destiny, divinity, external pillars to lay their heads against, rely on love at first sight. some rely on the sanctity of marriage - undeceivable, unyielding. other find comfort in opposite corners: in the absence of love, the impermanence of happiness, the war waged against all things everlasting. she no longer concerns herself with which is true. perhaps she never had: charles and isabel have long settled such dilemmas for her.

022. what sense of humour does your character have?

optimal according to situation. she is not a great wit (think og anne boleyn) but nor is she ignorant to the subtrends and styles in courtly conversation. she is usually most comfortable when throwing back-and-forth remarks with charles or witnessing his sparring matches with isabel, and more often than not she finds things to contribute herself. but she would never try to replicate that sense of humor and intellectual acumen with most members of court.

023. what bad habits does your character have?

complacency, egotism, lack of desire to change perspective, often false certainty, duplicity, drawing out private information, outright lying, us against them mentality.

024. how does your character feel about growing old?

see 002. though she is plagued by conventional concerns such as her husband’s interest in her over the years (at no point in her life did isolde think her unorthodoxy exempts her from the woes of regular women) she finds the scales to be rather in her favor. the idea that she will not risk pregnancy, or an untimely death, is far more appealing than the risk of charles taking up five times more mistresses than decency allows. if she finds she has lost more than she has gained with old age, she will cross that bridge when it shows. she just usually doubts it will.

025. does your character prefer adventure to safety and security?

she married a man that wants to restructure at least 4 governing systems in europe and is mortally devoted to a woman that’s literally just been poisoned..... choose for yourself

#Ⅰ.「 ɢᴀʟᴇ ᴏꜰ ᴡᴀɴᴛ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴛʜʀᴏᴀᴛ 」 ⇢ ᴀʙᴏᴜᴛ .#crhs.challenge

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romans-art · 6 years

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I really love how much details you put in your work and I'm wondering how do you practice it? Or what did you do when you first started? Cause details just scare the shit out of me and I don't know how to go around it.

Detail work is super meditative for me!! There’s nothing I love more than finishing figure lineart and being able to lose myself for a few hours in adding whatever the heck detail work I want to that bad boy! (I curse myself later when I have to colour it all in but anyway)

The first trick is to look at a lot of references for inspiration. And I mean A LOT. The second trick when actually drawing the details is to Start Big. And by that I mean: pick a larger basic shape/repeating pattern, and then start filling in the smaller details around it. Here’s a post where I talk about it briefly. I’ll go into more detail on specific references for Yellow Diamond below the cut.

ok so, to start I usually fall back on Egg and Darts or Arabesque when I’m doing detail work. (here and here are links to the wiki pages for some very basic referencing). Please note that the pictures I show you below are just a sample of what I’ll be looking at for these kinds of drawings. I hoard this kind of stuff.

For the latest Yellow Diamond Gambeson design I wanted her to have a more relaxed outfit she might wear when holding Court, but which was also practical because she’s That Bitch. Ergo, I ended up picking a brigandine/gambeson look, under the assumption that she could throw her plate armour over the top of it and hop right into battle if she wanted.

A brigandine is a coat of heavy cloth or leather with plates hobbled along the inside with nails. Here’s an example from the Met below (reference link here)

This bad boy is from around 1470 found in a fortress on Chalcis, part of the Venetian empire during the war with the Ottomans. You can see the studs riveting the plates through the velvet. Below is another view of a brigandine:

Except the plates inside probably would’ve been covered in cloth so as not to be so owchie.

Now, brigandines wouldn’t normally have been worn under plate armour, so I decide I’m going to mix it up to create a sort of hybrid reinforced gambeson. Normally gambesons are just padded jackets combined with mail or plate armour. They’re designed to act as cushioning for heavy blows and were often quilted. Here are some examples:

Sidenote: I wanna look as awesome as this lady one day ^^^^

Anyway! At this point I figure Yellow Diamond still needs 2 very essential things for her outfit to be complete: 1) her sword, and 2) her gem.

For the sword, I already have an idea of the pommel and hilt design from previous drawings. I just need some more inspiration around the belt and how it would hang from said belt, as below:

For the gem, I go with a livery collar (also known as a chain of office) because it fits with the time period, the overall courtly theme, and would fall in the right place on her chest, which is where her gem is supposed to go. Here are just a few examples:

I can hang the gem off the chain, call her a poncey dunce, and be on my merry.

#yellow diamond #diamond authority historical au #replies #art references #art refs #tutorials #the-loud-and-crazy-rabbit-pirate

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littlewritingrabbit · 5 years

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Letters From the Coffeehouse - Part 7

* Part 1 * Part 2 * Part 3 * Part 4 * Part 5 * Part 6 *

The letter-writing advice is from @hycnithoides here.

April 25th 1774

Dearest Patsy,

So much has come to pass since my last Letter that my head spins to think of it, but I must first extend my Compliments to you on the subject of your Drawing_ It really is a lovely piece of Home to have pinned up in my quarters, with such bright colours and clear shapes that make a wonderful Representation of the flowers_ I do hope you shall keep up with your Drawings; they are very Good and could be used to decorate the Interior of a Home one day or even that of a Publication or Journal_

As for all of you siblings at Home, as soon as you are old enough to visit New York unaccompanied, you are Most Welcome to stay with me_ Polly may even wear her breeches and call herself whatever she pleases here - I shall be Bold enough to say that I am done with Father’s rule just as I am done with the rule of the King in England, and I intend to obey neither_

The most Important News to send to you, I suppose, is that of my last Debate with Alexander_ I was serving coffee and desserts after Dinnertime, when I heard from the table where he sat some glum Musing on the topic of the “Hopeless Case of the Patriots” or something of the like, to which he added “Though I Daresay our Mister Laurens here would think otherwise_” I asked Permission once more to interject, and when he agreed, spoke of a Hope founded not in a hopeless Rabble, but in the well-organized Citizens of every level of our great Country, and just how Grand the future could be for all of them if they Fought to take it for themselves_ He refuted me with Examples_ I found more to the Contrary_ He struck back with Considerations in the field of Economics_ I surprised him with new Ideas and Methods for supporting the Economy of such a new Country which I had heard other Scholars speaking of_ He took many Angles but there was Nowhere I could not counter him from_ By the end of the Night, he was standing on the Hearth, gesturing around while I sat atop the counter, and the Sun had long since set, but the Patrons remained to see the Outcome of our Reasoning back-and-forth_ Finally, when I returned to my Position that I believe our Cause can overcome any Impediment because we fight for the Privilege to be seen as more than the Power attained by Birth and Courtly Flatterings, and this Unites our Country more than any Monarch ever could, he stopped a Moment, considered, and then nodded and stepped down from his Perch on the Hearth_ “He has done it, Ladies and Gentleman,” he said with a nod_ “He has Convinced me of a Cause which I believed to be Hopeless_ I myself find it difficult to believe, but I stand before you, pulled unceremonious from my Cynicism by this Modern Demosthenes_”

It is true - I did say such a thing. - A.H.

He stayed, However, after the Patrons dispersed, to sit by the fireside and talk about the Future of our Cause, and the Prosperity that we hoped for after our Country has control of its own Affairs_ He is so Bright, and so Hopeful when he believes a Problem can be solved, it is no wonder I Admire him so_

You flatter me. I feel I ought to Interrupt this fine letter to offer you Thanks, my Dear Lady, for the arguments you so Cleverly sent your Brother in your letters. He is a persuasive Speaker, and your contribution to that shall not go Unnoticed. - A.H.

Alexander now visits Fitzwither’s Coffeehouse no longer to sharpen his razor wit on unsuspecting Customers, but to refute the Loyalist arguments he once held Dear, and Plot Grandly the future structures of our Government_ Oh, and perhaps to visit myself as well_

And, occasionally, to offer young Ladies Epistolary Advice. - A.H.

This as well_ My Congratulations on finding an Admirable Gentleman to converse with, and I Dearly hope he merits the Affections you show him in your letters_

And show him you will, as we have Suggestions of how to pen such Letters. Myself I would suggest a Style of Prose that is more Flowery than is usual. You may wish to Intrigue the Gentleman in question with Grandiose Vocabulary, Archaic Catchphrases, or Detailed Descriptions of something of Interest. - A.H.

Failing that, I believe it is Imperative that a letter be Sincere, and more so than it is Florid_ It is Important that he discern the Genuine Affections beneath the Latin and Poetic Phrasing_

My Dear John makes a Fair point here. The best placing for such Honesty and Affection, in my view, is Specifically the last paragraph. This allows you to hold fast his Interest with an intriguing Turn of Phrase here and there throughout the letter but remain slightly Aloof until you profess your feelings and bid him Adieu. - A.H.

But if you cannot say how you Truly feel, which is, Regrettably, sometimes the case, you may still Conceal your meaning in Allusions and References when you write_ Friendship, for example, can signify Commitment, just as Care can be substituted for Love, and Admiration for Affection_ Thus, so long as the recipient knows the Sentiments with which you Write, he can catch your Meaning easily enough_

I must go, I have Essays to write, and we are to meet with the Sons of Liberty after supper. I wish you well in your Letter-Writing Endeavors! - A.H.

I must go as well, but I know you will do Well in any pursuit of this kind, friendly or Otherwise, as your nature is very Caring and those who meet you count themselves Lucky to have had the Opportunity to_ All my Love to Jemmy and Polly and Harry - I miss you all a Great Deal_

Yours,

John Laurens

#History AND Writing #Time for a ficlet #John Laurens #Alexander Hamilton #Martha Laurens Ramsay #Jemmy Laurens #Henry Laurens Jr #Mary Eleanor Laurens #The End :))#I hope everyone enjoyed this #I know I had a lot of fun writing with their ridiculous punctuation conventions

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circe-poetica · 5 years

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Courtly love

Courtly love (Occitan: Fin'amor French: Amour Courtois) was a medieval European literary conception of love that emphasized nobility and chivalry. Medieval literature is filled with examples of knights setting out on adventures and performing various deeds or services for ladies because of their "courtly love". This kind of love is originally a literary fiction created for the entertainment of the nobility, but as time passed, these ideas about love changed and attracted a larger audience. In the high Middle Ages, a "game of love" developed around these ideas as a set of social practices. "Loving nobly" was considered to be an enriching and improving practice.[1][2]

Courtly love began in the ducal and princely courts of Aquitaine, Provence, Champagne, ducal Burgundy and the Norman Kingdom of Sicily[3] at the end of the eleventh century. In essence, courtly love was an experience between erotic desire and spiritual attainment, "a love at once illicit and morally elevating, passionate and disciplined, humiliating and exalting, human and transcendent".[4]

The term "courtly love" was first popularized by Gaston Paris and has since come under a wide variety of definitions and uses. Its interpretation, origins and influences continue to be a matter of critical debate.

Origin of term

While its origin is uncertain, the term amour courtois ("courtly love") was given greater popularity by Gaston Paris[5] in his 1883 article "Études sur les romans de la Table Ronde: Lancelot du Lac, II: Le conte de la charrette", a treatise inspecting Chrétien de Troyes's Lancelot, the Knight of the Cart (1177). Paris said amour courtois was an idolization and ennobling discipline. The lover (idolizer) accepts the independence of his mistress and tries to make himself worthy of her by acting bravely and honorably (nobly) and by doing whatever deeds she might desire, subjecting himself to a series of tests (ordeals) to prove to her his ardor and commitment. Sexual satisfaction, Paris said, may not have been a goal or even end result, but the love was not entirely platonic either, as it was based on sexual attraction.

The term and Paris's definition were soon widely accepted and adopted. In 1936 C. S. Lewis wrote The Allegory of Love further solidifying courtly love as a "love of a highly specialized sort, whose characteristics may be enumerated as Humility, Courtesy, Adultery, and the Religion of Love".[6]

Later, historians such as D. W. Robertson, Jr.,[7] in the 1960s and John C. Moore[8] and E. Talbot Donaldson[9] in the 1970s, were critical of the term as being a modern invention, Donaldson calling it "The Myth of Courtly Love", because it is not supported in medieval texts. Even though the term "courtly love" does appear only in just one extant Provençal poem (as cortez amors in a late 12th-century lyric by Peire d'Alvernhe), it is closely related to the term fin'amor ("fine love") which does appear frequently in Provençal and French, as well as German translated as hohe Minne. In addition, other terms and phrases associated with "courtliness" and "love" are common throughout the Middle Ages. Even though Paris used a term with little support in the contemporaneous literature, it was not a neologism and does usefully describe a particular conception of love and focuses on the courtliness that was at its essence.[5]

Richard Trachsler says that "the concept of courtly literature is linked to the idea of the existence of courtly texts, texts produced and read by men and women sharing some kind of elaborate culture they all have in common".[10] He argues that many of the texts that scholars claim to be courtly also include "uncourtly" texts, and argues that there is no clear way to determine "where courtliness ends and uncourtliness starts" because readers would enjoy texts which were supposed to be entirely courtly without realizing they were also enjoying texts which were uncourtly.[10] This presents a clear problem in the understanding of courtliness.[10]

History

The practice of courtly love developed in the castle life of four regions: Aquitaine, Provence, Champagne and ducal Burgundy, from around the time of the First Crusade (1099). Eleanor of Aquitaine (1124-1204) brought ideals of courtly love from Aquitaine first to the court of France, then to England (she became queen-consort in each of these two realms in succession). Her daughter Marie, Countess of Champagne (1145-1198) brought courtly behavior to the Count of Champagne's court. Courtly love found expression in the lyric poems written by troubadours, such as William IX, Duke of Aquitaine (1071–1126), one of the first troubadour poets.

Poets adopted the terminology of feudalism, declaring themselves the vassal of the lady and addressing her as midons (my lord), which had dual benefits: allowing the poet to use a code name (so as to avoid having to reveal the lady's name) and at the same time flattering her by addressing her as his lord. The troubadour's model of the ideal lady was the wife of his employer or lord, a lady of higher status, usually the rich and powerful female head of the castle. When her husband was away on Crusade or elsewhere she dominated the household and cultural affairs; sometimes this was the case even when the husband was at home. The lady was rich and powerful and the poet gave voice to the aspirations of the courtier class, for only those who were noble could engage in courtly love. This new kind of love saw nobility not based on wealth and family history, but on character and actions; thus appealing to poorer knights who saw an avenue for advancement.

Since at the time some marriages among nobility had little to do with modern perspectives of what constitutes love,[11] courtly love was also a way for nobles to express the love not found in their marriage.[12] "Lovers" in the context of courtly love need not refer to sex, but rather to the act of emotional loving. These "lovers" had short trysts in secret, which escalated mentally, but might not physically.[13] On the other hand, continual references to beds and sleeping in the lover's arms in medieval sources such as the troubador albas and romances such as Chrétien's Lancelot imply at least in some cases a context of actual sexual intercourse.

By the late 12th century Andreas Capellanus' highly influential work De amore ("Concerning Love") had codified the rules of courtly love. De amore lists such rules as:[14]

"Marriage is no real excuse for not loving."

"He who is not jealous cannot love."

"No one can be bound by a double love."

"When made public love rarely endures."

Much of its structure and its sentiments derived from Ovid's Ars amatoria.

[15]Analysis The historic analysis of courtly love varies between different schools of historians. That sort of history which views the early Middle Ages dominated by a prudish and patriarcal theocracy, views courtly love as a "humanist" reaction to the puritanical views of the Catholic Church.[19][20] Scholars who endorse this view value courtly love for its exaltation of femininity as an ennobling, spiritual, and moral force, in contrast to the ironclad chauvinism of the first and second estates.[5] The condemnation of courtly love in the beginning of the 13th century by the church as heretical, is seen by these scholars as the Church's attempt to put down this "sexual rebellion".[5][21]However, other scholars note that courtly love was certainly tied to the Church's effort to civilize the crude Germanic feudal codes in the late 11th century. It has also been suggested that the prevalence of arranged marriages required other outlets for the expression of more personal occurrences of romantic love, and thus it was not in reaction to the prudery or patriarchy of the Church but to the nuptial customs of the era that courtly love arose.[22] In the Germanic cultural world a special form of courtly love can be found, namely Minne.At times, the lady could be a princesse lointaine, a far-away princess, and some tales told of men who had fallen in love with women whom they had never seen, merely on hearing their perfection described, but normally she was not so distant. As the etiquette of courtly love became more complicated, the knight might wear the colors of his lady: where blue or black were sometimes the colors of faithfulness, green could be a sign of unfaithfulness. Salvation, previously found in the hands of the priesthood, now came from the hands of one's lady. In some cases, there were also women troubadours who expressed the same sentiment for men.

#courtly love #amor cortés #middle ages

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