#TSAR Publishers
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good news darkolais
Allison Epstein’s upcoming novel Let the Dead Bury the Dead sounds at first glance like something we might enjoy
#darkolai#hmmm Sasha The Military Leader And His Boyfriend The Tsar's Charming Younger Son you say?#well don't mind if I do#puttin that one on the to-read list for when it gets published this fall#(book rec caveat that I don't have an ARC or anything. I'm only sharing based on vibes)
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The State Department just published a 51 page report detailing over a century's worth of Russia's exploitation of antisemitism as a tactic to spread disinformation and propaganda
#jumblr#jewish#nesyapost#jews#jewish history#antisemitism#Russian History#Russian antisemitism#Russian jews#soviet jews#history#pdf download#propaganda#Ukraine war#can't wait to dive into this
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Jewel of the day: Queen Camilla attending Easter Service.
HM wears an emerald and diamond brooch that belonged to Elizabeth II.
The diamond, sapphire, and emerald brooch was originally owned by Queen Mary who was photographed wearing it in the early 1900’s. One significant occasion which it was worn was in August 1909 when the British Royal Family was joined by Tsar Nicholas II and his family for the Cowes Regatta.
The brooches was inherited by Queen Elizabeth II who only wore it a handful of times publicly. It was photographed for Angela Kelly’s wonderful book Dressing The Queen, published after the Diamond Jubilee celebrations.
~~ British Royal Jewels IG
#queen camilla#queen elizabeth ii#jewel;brooch#british royal family#thejewelcatalogue#jewel of the day#source;britishroyaljewelsig
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Golden Mornings
Relationship: Nikolai Lantsov x gender neutral reader
Warnings: lots of fluff, heated kisses, and happy Nikolai
Summary: Waking up in the arms of the King of Ravka is always special to you and you want to show him how much you adore him while he returns the sentiments in kind.
All writings belong to me @bakerstreethound (Do NOT claim, copy, repost, or translate my works to other sites. I only publish here and on A03 under the same username)
Word Count: 828
A/N: Hello my lovelies. This is my first time writing & posting for the wonderful Nikolai Lantsov. I hope you enjoy it! It's been in my drafts a bit as I've been meaning to post but life got in the way. Regardless, comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated! Graphic by @firefly-graphics
Nikolai nuzzles closer to you, burying his face in your neck, inhaling your scent. You chuckle to yourself, eyes half drooped, resisting your brain’s internal alarm clock to get up and start the day. You continue to stroke his back, rubbing patterns trying to prolong the time you have before your duties demand the trajectory of the day.
“Morning, love,” he murmurs. You tap his nose gently in response as he scrunches it, painting his face in childlike happiness.
“Good morning moi tsar,” you grin in response, his eyes scrunched at the title you called him.
“It’s too early for this. What have I done to incur your wrath?”
“Nothing at all my dear Sobachka.” You smile, pressing a kiss to his forehead and he smiles back softly, eyes glimmering in adoration.
Despite it all, despite the demon, you have accepted him for who he was and is, and on mornings like this, he has come to cherish being in the warmth and strength of your arms. It is where he belongs, and he wishes he found you, his true home sooner.
Ravka may be his kingdom, but you are his alone - his to cherish and adore.
You cup his face in your hand, thumb brushing along his lower lip, his gaze unwavering as his eyes take in the sight of you once more. It’s all he ever wants, the simplicity of waking up in your embrace, the golden sun illuminating your shared chambers with the promise of a new life, a new kingdom, and a thousand tomorrows on the horizon.
“Did you find a blemish there, my love?” Nikolai’s cheeky trademark smirk flourishes along his face, a reminder of the boy he was, hidden under the man he’d become.
Your hands trace his lip with ease, the smile lingering on your lips blooming. “Even if there is a blemish, I’d adore you all the same, dear Nik.”
His smile deepens, “Well, then,” he leans over you, pressing another gentle kiss to your lips while pulling you under him, his gaze transfixed, admiring your form.
You squirm against him to no avail, his gaze not lingering from your lips, hands gripping you firmly, the sheet falling further down his torso. You whisper to yourself, an odd assortment of words you can’t recall, too enraptured by the sight before you. Your hands trace the outline of his chest, and you wrap your arms around him bringing him closer before peppering him with kisses, dragging your tongue over them.
He groans in kind, determined not to fall, but he does. How can he not? He’s utterly yours. When your lips are determined to consume him whole, alternating between marking and kissing him, you smile, leaving a few marks over the faint trace of the bite marks you’d left the prior night.
“See something you like, love?” Nikolai smirks, boyish glee lighting his eyes.
“Yes, in fact, I do. You’re absolutely wonderful and I cannot get enough of you.” You nuzzle his neck as one of his hands cups the nape of your neck, pulling you close as he adjusts himself on top of you after pulling you in for a proper kiss.
A kiss that melts your soul, warm like sunlight and honey, of the many days you wish to wake up to until your dying day. It pulls you in and you press yourself against him more, the feeling of his skin against yours the perfect sort of heat and warmth.
You gently tug his hair, a soft gasp leaving his parted lips while he strokes your hair, leaning down to kiss you once more. Your hands reach around his neck while he pulls you close, his lips brushing your neck, pulling you on top of him, your laugh filling the empty space, music to his ears, the warm Ravkan sun shining further in through the windows, perfectly highlighting your features and your eyes.
You squeeze your legs as you straddle him, steadying yourself before you gently tug his hair, a gasp parting from his lips, his blonde curls shimmering. You take a moment to enjoy the sight while you pepper kisses along his neck, biting and sucking in kind, his hands falling to your waist, squeezing tighter in response.
He huffs in amusement, his hands squeezing your waist tighter before rolling himself on top of you once more littering your face and neck with kisses.
“Nik!” You squealing, helplessly flailing beneath him. “That wasn’t fair!”
“I don’t recall us playing fair this lovely morning,” he quirks a brow, giving back to kiss your lips, capturing you in his warmth and light. It brings thoughts of waking up like this in the future when Ravka is finally safe, the scent of waffles wafting through the walls, followed by the sweet smell of syrup that Nina adores.
Moments like this you cherish for eternity and a lifetime, despite the war-torn nation bequeathed to a young king. You would rebuild. Together.
******
#nikolai lanstov x reader#nikolai lantsov#shadow and bone#the grishaverse#the grisha trilogy#nikolai x reader#nikolai fanfiction#paddy gibson#my writing#my alleyway
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do you read the fanfic people make? if so, do you have any personal favourites?
Oh man this is gonna be a LONG post
I do read fanfics about my OCs whenever I can! It's always interesting to see different interpretations of your characters. Sometimes they even influence my own perception of them a little bit!
Of course I wouldn't go as far as to say that fanfics have altered any canon story beats, but certain minor character details have definitely been planted in my mind that way. Like I think at this point I'll just accept Arthur's last name as Sokolov because I read it in some fanfic and it stuck lmao
I remember being very impressed with the character writing in Everything Turns Out Fine for Once - I think that was the name? It was a longer work about Sanya and Yura looking for Anya and Dmitry after they escaped. The author got a really nice read on everyone's personalities!
I also recently read a (fairly depressing) Temnova/Olya fic that I enjoyed quite a bit. Just for Today was the name, I believe. The atmosphere of being stuck at a corporate party you don't want to be part of was spot on🥴
There are also a bunch of nice fics in Russian. I read Грань not so long ago and it was a very interesting little exploration of Tsar.
My all-time favourite fic was also a Russian one, and was written by my friend. It was a very poetic exploration of Nadya's relationship with religion, and it had contributed a lot to how I saw that character myself back in the day. Sadly, I don't think it was ever published publicly.
Also I started doing consistent character writing relatively recently - that is, began writing out the events of PAFL in a straightforward novel format a little over a year ago. While it has helped me flesh a ton of things out both character- and storywise, it's also given me a bigger appreciation for fanfic writers that manage to put out huge chapters semi-regularly hahah
It's also very interesting to see how the written canon differs from fan interpretations, sometimes in rather surprising ways. I think if I ever end up releasing that massive slab of text, expectations on how certain characters behave would be somewhat broken
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Glaux Verlag Christine Jäger [German publishing house that was based in Jena at the time these were made] Napoleonic Playing Cards
♣️: Marshal Lannes, Empress Josephine, Napoleon
♠️: Prince Louis-Ferdinand of Prussia, Queen Louise, Frederick-William III
♥️: Marshal Kutuzov, Tsarina Elizabeth-Alexeievna, Tsar Alexander I
♦️: Prince Frederick-Louis of Hohenlohe, Princess Louise of Hesse-Darmstadt, Duke Karl August Grand Duke of Saxe-Weimar-Eisenach
#they got the tsarina’s birth year wrong lol#my napoleonic playing cards#tsar alexander#napoleon bonparte#empress josephine#marshal lannes
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re: gogol i was recently shocked to find out about his extremely conservative views exposed in his “selected passages from correspondence with friends”. being that he enjoyed relative editorial freedom compared to his contemporaries and the tsar was already fond of his work, i find it unlikely he’d have decided to publish it in order to gain political leverage either. anyway, idk if you’ve read any of that but even if you haven’t, i highly highly recommend belinsky’s subsequent letter to gogol tearing him to absolute shreds over the book. it’s an absolute riot of a read, extremely poignant and even more so due to the fact belinsky himself thought so highly of gogol’s work. btw sorry for the wall of text, you probably already know all of this anyway. tragically i have no one to talk to about 19th century russian intelligentsia literary gossip
i did read the belinsky letter. gogol was very mentally ill, perhaps lonely, and he got progressively more unwell with age. yet it's not uncommon for those who are radical in youth to then adopt extremely conservative views, especially when one has the sort of sensitivity gogol had, turning to the sort of cynicism he had
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Pointing Out the Historical Inaccuracies (and Some Accuracies) of Ridley Scott's Napoleon 🤓
The only interesting parts of this film are the costumes, and maybe one or two music tracks. The rest of the movie is just awful. The story can hardly be called a story. It's just miscellaneous boring scenes duct taped together. None of the characters are developed beyond a single trait, if that. A period this broad shouldn't have been crammed into a movie this short. I honestly wouldn't have disliked the historical inaccuracy so much if it had been sacrificed for the sake of a good narrative, but this is bad. Even if you don't know about the era enough to nitpick it, I wouldn't recommend this film to anyone.
TL;DR go watch Waterloo or The Duelists instead.
Accurate Historical Details
There were some minor details that made me perk up like, "Ah, yes! It did happen like that!" The rest of the movie is so inaccurate that these details stuck out.
Napoleon tugged on peoples' ears as a sign of affection. You see this in the movie with Tallyrand and Josephine. He also did this a lot with his soldiers, which we don't see in the film. In fact, he doesn't interact with his soldiers much at all in the film.
The French fired a 101-cannon salute after Napoleon's first son was born.
Napoleon famously bumbled at the Coup of 18 Brumoire, and his brother Lucien had to step in to direct the French grenadiers.
It's contested whether or not Robespierre actually shot himself in the jaw, but I think at this point it's mostly accepted as truth? In any case, someone screwed up his jaw before he was arrested.
The British loved publishing political cartoons about Napoleon, including cartoons of him being cucked.
Joséphine did actually meet Tsar Alexander shortly before her death. I didn't know about this one and was happy to learn something new.
The depictions of line and square formations were okay.
Historical Inaccuracies
This is, in spite of its budget, one of most historically inaccurate pieces of media I've seen on the era, and on top of that it isn't even good.
There is so much historical context omitted from this film that I feel like anyone who doesn't have an interest in the time period will have NO idea what's going on. You are never really given the how and why of history other than "the Europeans are fighting and also Napoleon is there."
The overall characterization of Napoleon is just bizarre. Napoleon was smart, egotistical, ambitious, hot-tempered, and had a magnetic charisma and human charm that inspired a kind of blind loyalty in his soldiers. This is why he was so successful - and so dangerous. Napoleon never feels threatening or sinister in this film. He's just kind of there, slouching and sweating and mumbling under his breath as history unfolds. Bill and Ted's Excellent Adventure does a better job of depicting Napoleon than whatever the hell is going on here.
Napoleon was not present at the beheading of Marie-Antoinette.
He didn't have his horse shot out from under him at Toulon, and he didn't send gore-spattered cannonballs to his mother, as far as I know.
The movie casts a younger actress to play Joséphine de Beauharnais, but Joséphine was actually older than Napoleon.
I'm pretty sure that Napoleon didn't find and return the sword of Joséphine's ex-husband, although there is a legend stating that he attempted to confiscate it and was persuaded by Joséphine's son to return it.
The French army never shot their cannons at the Pyramids in Egypt. They also didn't loot the Pyramids, although they participated in a lot of heinous looting elsewhere.
Napoleon didn't leave Egypt because he found out he was being cucked by his wife - he'd already known about that for some time. He left Egypt because the campaign was failing and because the political situation in France was becoming untenable.
Jacques-Louis David attended the coronation of Napoleon, but didn't start his studies for the painting during the coronation itself. (At least as far as I know.)
The lake scene during the Battle of Austerlitz is a bit of a legend, but probably not true. The gigantic lake was more likely a series of shallow ponds, if it existed at all.
Napoleon did not lead cavalry charges, and he sure as shit didn't lead cavalry charges at the Battles of Borodino or Waterloo. In fact, Napoleon infamously sat a safe distance away while watching the bloody Battle of Borodino unfold.
Napoleon was not exiled following the Russian campaign. He was exiled after the War of the Sixth Coalition, in 1814.
Joséphine died in 1814, when Napoleon was still at Elba, not in 1815.
Trench warfare and scoped muskets were not used at the Battle of Waterloo.
Napoleon never met the Duke of Wellington.
That's uh. The cut version of my complaints.
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The Grand Duchesses and sweets
Scientists working with the dental remains of three of the Grand Duchesses concluded that their dental structure and fillings suggested they were “fond of sweets”.
A favourite of the Grand Duchesses in the palace was Jim Hercules, an African American servant. The Grand Duchesses’ aunt, Olga Alexandrovna, recalls how Jim would spend his “annual holiday in the States and brought back jars of guava jelly as presents for the children.” Jim also brought them other American candy, and toys for their playroom.
The head baker at the palace, Ermolaev, specialised in making pastries and confectionery, and even the yacht Standart was equipped with a confectionery kitchen. However, the children still enjoyed the novelty of foreign imported sweets. In June 1912, it was reported that “when the Grand Duchess Anastasia, daughter of the Emperor Nicholas of Russia, celebrates the eleventh anniversary of her birth on June 18, she will have an abundant supply of American candy. Curtis Guild Jr, American Ambassador to Russia, left New York Tuesday on the Kaiser Wilhelm der Grosse with a trunkful of candy for her.”
In 1916, the Governor of Tver sent the Grand Duchesses pryaniki, a sweet gingerbread cookie biscuit that the region specialised in manufacturing. Sweets were also discussed by fans of the Grand Duchesses: Dolores Sybilla Adam, a teenager from California, once wrote a fan mail letter to Olga Nikolaevna, writing “I should dearly love to make you a great big box of candy and send it to you, from your friend, away in sunny California.”
A love for sweets ran in the family. Conservators recently found a half-chewed piece of sugar paste candy hidden within the dress of the children’s aunt, Grand Duchess Xenia Alexandrovna!
Sources:
Correspondence of the Russian Grand Duchesses: Letters of the Daughters of the Last Tsar, George Hawkins, ([n.p], Independently Published, 2020) [no page numbers], letter beginning Dolores Sybilla Adam to Olga and Tatiana, Nov 25 1913, Amazon Kindle eBook
LUNCH ON THE BALCONY: Recipes from the table of Russia’s last imperial family, Helen Azar, ([n. p.], Independently Published, 2022), Ch. ‘The Confectionary’, [n. p. n] Amazon Kindle eBook
The Many Deaths of Tsar Nicholas II, Wendy Slater, (Oxfordshire: Routledge, 2007), Ch. ‘True Crime’, p. 40, Google Books eBook
Anon. ‘RomanovsOneLastDance’, ‘June 1912’, Tumblr, 25 March 2016
Nicholas and Alexandra, Robert K. Massie, (New York: Laurel, 1985), Ch. ‘The Tsar’s Village’, p. 123, archive.org eBook
Helen Azar, ‘LUNCH ON THE BALCONY: Recipes from the table of Russia’s last imperial family’,
(2022), Ch. ‘The Confectionary’
Photos:
Public domain, GARF, Heritage Auctions, HA.com, Russia Beyond
#olga nikolaevna#tatiana nikolaevna#maria nikolaevna#anastasia nikolaevna#otma#romanovs#sources#romanov#russian history#sweets#confectionary#cookies#my own
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(I only read TGT once so if I get any details wrong here, feel free to correct me. Same for the historical reference I'm discussing here). I never understood why Nikolai was considered to be a better character than the Darkling when it came to helping the Grisha. I know Leigh Bardugo presents him as the "nicer" option but Nikolai always kind of reminded me of Tsar Nicholas II, who, from what I remember learning in school, was considered to be a nice man who clearly loved his children, but a rather incompetent ruler. He didn't always make good decisions which made relations with the government worse, and increased hardships for civilians and soldiers. He also was really detached and out of touch with the plight of the Russian people and I believe some of his policies ended up alienating people from ethnic minority groups. I brought him up, because Nikolai is also kind of like this, he's not an exact parallel obviously but like, it's kind of there. The only reason really that he's considered effective in the books is because Leigh can't really write politics that well. Like, even the way the nobility would behave is something she didn't really write well, as well as how the public would react to the things that happen in the story. Idk. Did this make any sense? What do you think?
Absolutely.
I can't speak about the historical Nikolai- I've read very little about him, and it's been years-, but while book!Nikolai's ideas aren't bad per se, he's been greatly helped by gross simplification of politics and LB's clear favour.
Nobles are either supportive, or stupid and gullible.
Inclusion of Grisha works 100%. Sure, the soldiers for Nikolai's elite inventors would he handpicked, but either there is no longer hatred for Grisha among the First Army, or the Tsar's too high to see it.
The only peasants we meet are enlightened enough to immediately understand and ADMIT they're faring better (Read the link. OP's no longer on tumblr, but her posts are based on actual Russian history and literature.), which is... well, have you ever MET any real people, Leigh? RoW was published during fucking covid of all possible times! Huge chunk of population will rather die, than accept the unknown!
Making Nikolai visibly think with his cock leads to no trouble. No one's calling him weak, no one suddenly remembers rumors about Grisha girls "being able to put a spell on a man", Zoya's desired and respected, instead of being viewed as seductress or outright Witch Whore.
And one more about Grisha- there have been pogroms barely a few years back. First Army was slaughtering Second only because they've figured they're to blame for the Fold moving (and don't forget the only survivors aside from Malina were the Darkling's people). Am I to believe a new Tsar ascending with THREE Grisha publicly backing him up won't cause decent upheaval?
Sure, Kolya's nice, but he's too nice. Somewhere on his way from Sturmhond to Tsar Nikolai, he forgot how to cut fingers even though it might make him sick. And the situation should look accordingly.
#reply#Grishaverse#Nikolai Lantsov#grishanalyticritical#King of Scars duology#Ravka#Second pseudoArmy#First Army#Zoya Nazyalensky#Grisha triumvirate#anti Leigh Bardugo
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"For the Russians, Alexandra is still the symbol of the secret political adviser. To her credit, a successful personal life. She loved her husband and gave him excellent advice in choosing collaborators: first Sergei Witte, then Pyotr Stolypin. Under her leadership, Russia had an extremely rapid development and a bright cultural life. It was the "Silver Age" in literature, the time of the Symbolists and the first Cubists in painting, Russian ballets in music and dance. The reasons for criticism with regard to her are the two wars, one lost, in 1904, against Japan, the other, which cost many Russian lives, the war of 1914, as well as the revolutions of 1905 and 1917. Many felt that she played a fatal role in the imperial couple and that she did not have the necessary qualities to occupy such important functions. Her physical fragility and introverted temperament did not allow her to play a beneficial political role for Russia in times of crises. But in today's Russia a more favorable image of the last Tsarina begins to impose itself, precisely to the extent that communist ideology evaporates. In the 1970s, it was carried by Samizdat - a "parallel" publication - and even by certain official media. In 1972, the large-circulation daily Zviezda published a detailed and objective account of the assassination of the Tsar and his family, "the twenty-three steps". In 1977, an elegy in memory of the imperial family was published in a Leningrad magazine, Avrora. Nowadays portraits of the Tsarina and her family circulate freely. And the archives also confirm Alexandra's exceptional courage during the captivity."
The Tsarinas - The Women who Made Russia | Vladimir Fedorovski
(loose translation)
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Red Cross Portraits Egg (1915)
Description: Opalescent white guilloché enamel covers a chased silver ground on this egg. Two opposing red enamel crosses bear the dates 1914 and 1915. A Russian inscription, in stylized gold enamel script in a band around the egg reads: “Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his comrades.” On the top of the egg is the crown and monogram of the Dowager Empress Marie in silver, while at the bottom is a six-petal rosette. The egg contains a hinged, folding screen of five oval miniature portraits, each set in an opalescent white enameled panel mounted in gold. The portraits, by Vasilii Zuiev, are of:
Grand Duchess Olga Alexandrovna, the tsar’s sister
Grand Duchess Olga Nicolaievna, his eldest daughter
Tsarina Alexandra Feodorovna
Grand Duchess Tatiana Nicolaievna, the tsar’s second daughter
Grand Duchess Marie Pavlovna, the tsar’s first cousin
Each wears the uniform of the Red Cross, whose symbol surmounts the individual panels. Each miniature is backed with mother of pearl and has the monogram of the person whose painting appears on the front (Snowman, 1962; Lesley, 1976).
Background Notes: This egg pays tribute to the service rendered to the Red Cross by Marie Feodorovna, first as tsarevna (crown princess) during the Russo-Turkish War of 1877, and then as president of the organization from the beginning of her reign until the fall of the Romanov dynasty. On March 25 (OS), 1915, Marie wrote to her daughter Olga:
My dear Nicky sent me a charming egg that I did not expect at all this year. It is covered in white enamel and has a red cross on both sides with the words of the Apostle John: Greater love hath no man than this that a man lay down his life for his friends. There are five miniature portraits in frames inside the egg: yours, Olga, Alix, Tatiana and Marie, all en soeurs to charité (Ed. note: as sisters of charity)! Simply captivating. Fabergé is simply a genius and the greatest artist of our century. I am delighted. (Korneva & Cheboksarova, Empress Maria Feodorovna’s Favorite Residences in Russia and in Denmark, St. Petersburg, 2006).
Marie Feodorovna and other Romanov women did not shirk their wartime duty. The dowager empress opened a hospital in the Anichkov Palace and she made bandages. As well, she made gifts and sorted sheets for sickbeds in a palace dining room; she paid for two military trains and visited hospitals in Petrograd and Kiev. In a letter dated December 15 (OS) 1914 to Grand Duchess Nicholas Michaelovich, Marie wrote:
I go to hospitals as often as I am able. This is the only consolation for me. All of the wounded are dear to us and ennoble one’s soul … I admire them sincerely and I am ready to go on my knees before every one of them (Korneva & Cheboksarova, Empress Maria Feodorovna’s Favorite Residences in Russia and in Denmark, St. Petersburg, 2006).
The invoice for the 1915 Tsar Imperial Easter eggs appears lost. But an article published by Tatiana Muntian in December, 2013, to mark the 400th anniversary of the Romanov dynasty, included material from newly-discovered documents about the individual Imperial Easter Eggs for 1912, 1914, and 1915. The Red Cross Portraits Egg had cost just 3,875 rubles.
The 1917 inventory of confiscated Imperial treasure records, “Gold [sic] egg, covered with white enamel and a red cross, on small stand, containing a small, mother-of-pearl white enamel screen and with portraits of Imperial personages in a gold setting.” (Fabergé, Proler, & Skurlov, Fabergé Imperial Easter Eggs, London, 1997)
An expert valuation was made of this egg in 1927. Found by Fabergé, Proler, & Skurlov, the valuation estimated the egg’s worth at just 1,632 rubles-less than a tenth of the average value of the other fifteen eggs on the list. This was the first of five Imperial Easter eggs to be purchased by Lillian Thomas Pratt, wife of a General Motors executive, of Fredericksburg, Virginia.
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Hi, I'm curious about what you mentioned on Alexander having a not-so-platonic crush on Hortense. Could you elaborate? (no need to answer right now if you can't!)
Well, mostly that’s me being malicious as usual 😁. But yes, people in Paris at the time did of course wonder what made the tsar – called by some the most handsome man of the era, according to Hortense’s biographer Marie-Hélène Baylac - go to Malmaison of all places during his time in Paris 1814. And they surely did not assume it had anything to do with 50-year-old Josephine, but with her daughter Hortense. Who may not have been as beautiful, but had the reputation of being very distinguished and rather … friendly, especially with men.
Hortense and the tsar met for the first time on 16 April 1814, according to a footnote by Jean Hanoteau in volume 2 of Hortense’s memoirs. Hortense makes a big point about how she at first behaved in a very dignified, almost cold manner to this enemy of France and how it took both Josephine’s persuasion and the efforts of several diplomats, Caulaincourt and Nesselrode among them, for her to befriend him. This is to some degree confirmed by the memoirs of her reader Louise Cochelet. However, that degree may not be very high, considering that Louise Cochelet’s memoirs were published and edited (rewritten?) by Hortense herself. Memoirs of contemporaries indicate that it was rather Louise Cochelet who ran after the new Russian masters of Paris and tried to win them over to the Beauharnais cause. Even if Hortense claims it in her memoirs, it seems doubtful that Louise (Hortense’s closest confidante, keeper of all her secrets down to the existence of a certain Duc de Morny) would have acted on her own accord.
In the end, it does not matter. A close friendship developped, that much is sure. As Hortense states in her memoirs:
What's most appealing about him is that his need for affection seems to be part of his character. He inspires confidence because he knows how to show it. [...] I liked his character. I felt friendship for him and it is painful to expect any service from those whom we would like to love for themselves. So I left my initial reserve and allowed myself a greater degree of abandonment [...].
Both had an interest in the spiritual, both were rather romantic and enthusiastic. According to Hortense’s memoirs, Alexander even pondered inviting both Hortense and her mother to Saint Petersburg. The tsar went out of his way for Hortense (as he later would for Eugène, when the latter reached Paris). It was probably he who bullied Louis XVIII into making Hortense a "Duchess of Saint-Leu", and into allowing her to keep her sons with her in France, when technically, she was of course a Bonaparte and should have been affected by the law that exiled all members of the family, just like her husband. Hortense’s sons were, after the little ex-King of Rome, the next pretenders to the imperial throne. So Louis XVIII had to agree to have his own rivals grow up right before his eyes, that’s surely asking a lot from a monarch.
When Josephine died, Hortense was so overcome with grief – she writes – that she did not see anyone. Except for one visitor: Tsar Alexander.
Finally, when Alexander left for London, his depart started a very personal and, from Hortense’s side, sometimes gushy correspondence between them. They also must have met during Hortense’s stay in Baden. Interestingly, both Hortense and Alexander at that time have troubles with their longterm lovers: Handsome Flahaut, the father of the Duc de Morny, does propose to Hortense after Napoleon’s fall, suggesting Hortense should officially divorce. Hortense however refuses, and her relationship to Flahaut takes a severe blow (he will soon find a bride elsewhere). Alexander, as to him, during the same year ditches his mistress Maria Antonovna Naryshkin. And he confides about this to – Hortense.
Baylac cites one of Hortense’s letters as follows:
[…] when I think of the sovereign who has shown an interest in me, who has looked after my affairs with kindness, I am grateful, I wish for his happiness, and that is all; but when I think of the man who showed me friendship and confidence, when I remember that he tried to love me, my troubles advise me to hope in providence; finally, he knew how to speak to my heart, for how many times since, feeling emotion or fear about the future, I have resigned myself by saying: My God, I trust in you! Ah, the one whose feelings are so similar to mine, he is a friend, a support that heaven has sent me.
It’s maybe not completely astonishing that the tone of this correspondence has made, as Baylac puts it, "certain biographers doubt the platonic nature of their relations".
This relationship, whatever its nature, continued until the Hundred Days. At this point, Eugène was in Vienna, taking part in the Vienna Congress. The secret police (allegedly?) intercepted (falsified? - it’s so hard to find the truth about what happened within all these intrigues!) several letters, at least one from Hortense, badly hidden in a brush she had sent to her brother. I have read that Hortense in one letter openly mocked the tsar. The intercepted letters were shown to Alexander, who then passed them on to Eugène – ostentatiously opened – before breaking off all relations with both Beauharnais siblings.
Interestingly, his friendship with Eugène was soon healed. With Hortense? Not so much. To my knowledge, never. Alexander obviously felt truly hurt by her, in a similar way as he felt hurt by Caulaincourt’s behaviour. Admittedly, I have not looked into Hortense’s years in Bavaria much, but it seems when the tsar and tsarina visited Bavaria, and the tsar insisted on Eugène being of the party (much to the chagrin of queen Karoline 😊), Hortense was very much not invited. (Though, truth be told, it seems she was only rarely invited to Munich ever.)
So, that’s the base for my maliciousness 😁. Make of it what you want. As i do not have much faith in Hortense’s professed virtue in general, I am probably not the best judge of character in her case.
Thank you for the Ask! 💝💝💝
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The Princess: Part VII
Summary: There’s a surprise in store for Lloyd in Singapore, but it’s not clear exactly who set it up. A suspected serial killer is interrogated.
Word Count: 4,913
Warnings: Mention of domestic violence, murder, legal proceedings, spy/intelligence agencies, stalking, violence, and discussion of images depicting violence. Minor foul language. Only appropriate for 18+ readers. No minors.
Author’s Note: Because I was driving myself crazy with this chapter, I decided to publish it spur of the moment. This was not beta read. The only outside input was from my Mom, who reviewed the interrogation scene.
Masterlist
Part VII
Detective Madan had an efficiency about her that Lloyd appreciated, even if she was a hardass. He’d signed ten official Singaporean police documents in the past five minutes and listened to a fifteen minute lecture on Singapore’s legal definition of “entrapment” and how it was quite different from the U.S. interpretation. He would have appreciated her guidance if he wasn’t already up to speed on the matter. But since no one liked a know-it-all, he had politely listened to the whole spiel. Therapy clearly worked, because eight years ago he’d have thrown a chair through a window to escape that dissertation.
Detective Madan flipped through the completed paperwork.
“Well, this is in order. My associate is bringing up your key cards. They’ll give you access to the building between 9 a.m. and 5 p.m., no exceptions.”
The door opened, and a tall man entered. Lloyd clocked him as late twenties, athletic, of East Asian descent, and dressed in a mid-priced gray suit. The man’s eyes swept the room and scanned Lloyd from head to toe, twice. He crossed the office silently and handed Detective Madan an envelope. His jet black hair was cut regulation style. A glance at his shoes confirmed they were a rubber soled brand. When he folded his hands, the cuff of his shirt raised, revealing a Marathon TSAR diving watch. Lloyd’s eyes fastened on the Swiss diving watch, common in military circles.
“Mr. Hansen, Miss Y/L/N, this is Mr. Tao. He’s with the Intelligence Division. He’ll be accompanying you on your interviews.”
Detective Madan’s tone made it clear having a chaperone was a requirement and not a suggestion. Tao stared at Lloyd. His expression remained neutral, but the skin around his eyes tightened. There was dislike, and recognition.
Lloyd resisted the urge to sigh. Being a former spy had its perks and its downsides. If you were an ex-con, the perks disappeared, and the downsides expanded. After the publicity surrounding his case, those downsides had intensified. For example, gaining approval to enter a foreign country was difficult. He couldn’t be shocked Singapore was setting a dog on him, but it grated on his nerves. He glanced at you, beside him in the other guest chair. You hadn’t reacted to Mr. Tao’s introduction. Your expression was impassive. He wondered what you thought, being confronted with the consequences of his past.
Lloyd shoved down his feelings. It didn’t matter that he’d been put on a leash, or that he resented it. He was here for a purpose and there was work to be done.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
The interrogation took place in the public safety building across the street from police headquarters. Lloyd had to chuckle when he walked past the third “server room” and realized this was a front for the Intelligence Division. How bad did they think he was? He’d done nothing interesting in nearly a decade.
In the conference room, Tao slipped into the corner. He virtually blended into the gray wall. If the man hadn’t been introduced outright as a spy, Lloyd would have clocked him by this behavior alone. The ability to be a chameleon so effortlessly wasn’t innate. It was learned and required practice to maintain.
Nguyen showed up on time, escorted from the lobby by a receptionist.
“Please, take a seat,” Lloyd said.
The conference table had been moved against the wall and the chairs from the table were arranged into a conversation style set up, with Nguyen’s closest to the door. Your chair and Lloyd’s were placed with the backs to the window, an arm length apart. Unlike your chairs, Nguyen’s had casters.
Lloyd liked it when suspects sat in a rolling chair. The grinding wheels gave away every wiggle of discomfort. Even the ones that weren’t easily noticed could be heard.
“How are you, Dr. Nguyen?” Lloyd asked.
The man looked taken aback by the causal question. He tilted his head and scanned Lloyd’s face.
“I’m well, thank you.”
“Are you practicing medicine these days?”
“No. I freelance, reviewing medical journals, analyzing data for drug trials, and editing scientific papers. I recently performed a statistical analysis on a longitudinal study for researchers at Boston University.”
“That’s a wide variety, from statistics to editing.”
“It suits me better than medicine. I can’t maintain a practice these days. People don’t care to meet me in person. Can’t imagine why.”
There was a bitter edge to his sarcasm, but his expression didn’t flash with anger. Contempt drew up one corner of his mouth into an asymmetrical expression. He wore the emotion openly.
“What drew you to medicine?” Lloyd asked.
Nguyen showed interest at the opportunity to talk about himself.
“I had the highest scores on my placement exams. We take them in Singapore at sixteen, it’s comparable to your SAT tests. I was allowed to enroll at University instead of continuing high school. When I was eighteen, I moved to the U.S. to complete my bachelor’s degree. I graduated N.Y.U. with a bachelor’s in mathematics, then completed medical school in Rochester.”
“Hmmm.”
The nonchalant response to his impressive accomplishments made Nguyen’s eyes flutter. There was a momentary wrinkle in his nose, which he quickly disguised.
“When did you move to Virginia?” Lloyd asked.
“September of 2000.”
Your pen scratched as you wrote that down.
“Doesn’t residency start in July?”
“Yes. I was injured in a car accident in May. It took four months before I had recovered enough to work.”
Shun spoke with a slight accent. He used hard r’s and more articulate vowels than a North American speaker would. It hinted at a British education or maybe a true accent, softened by his years in the States.
“So you began working at Forest View…?”
“September 11, 2000. I remember exactly, because the year after, the terrorist attacks occurred that same day.”
“Tell me about the car accident.”
Nguyen seemed surprised, but answered.
“I was coming back from a long weekend in Atlantic City with friends. The others were asleep, and I was in heavy traffic when a truck rear-ended us. I had two surgeries on my pelvis - well, actually it was three. The recovery took sixteen weeks.”
“Your third operation was the implant removal?” Lloyd guessed.
“Yes. Two years ago. They took out the steel rod that held the fixation in place.”
Nguyen glanced between you and Lloyd. His expression hardened.
“We aren’t here to discuss my education, or my accident. Can we get to the important questions?”
Lloyd leaned forward and braced his elbows on his knees. He pinned Nguyen with a hard gaze.
“Did you ever hit your girlfriend?”
“No.”
As denials went, it was solid. He answered without hesitation and didn’t flinch from the question. But one had to consider that Nguyen had been extensively questioned about his domestic violence allegations before.
Lloyd nodded. “Alright. Is there any reason someone would report that you hurt Julia?”
Nguyen’s nostrils flared. “How would I know?”
“Is that a yes? Or a no?”
“It’s an ‘I don’t know.’ The people in Harmony hated me. They didn’t care what was true, or not. For all I know, they could’ve claimed I was a werewolf. I ignored them.”
“It’s not the townspeople I’m asking about,” Lloyd said. “Let me refresh your memory.”
He turned to you. “Would you please read Aliyah Kissinger’s statement from 2002?”
“When the police interviewed Ms. Kissinger in April 2002, she reported Julia was the victim of domestic violence. She stated Julia’s right collarbone had been broken and her right wrist fractured as a result of being punched and kicked by Dr. Nguyen.”
Nguyen was as composed as an ice sculpture, but the wrinkle on his chin suggested genuine distress. His eyes lowered to the floor and his shoulders moved with his quick breaths. Lloyd sensed there might be something worth pursuing in this line of questioning.
“Why would Julia’s friend report this incident, if it wasn’t true?”
Nguyen pinched the bridge of his nose. “I was drunk, and we argued. I’m not sure what happened but when I woke up, Julia was gone, and the dining room was a mess. She came back a couple days later and said I’d come unglued.”
“Did the memories come back after she told you what happened?”
“No…”
The word lingered too long and faded away. Nguyen maintained eye contact as he said it, gauging the response to the lie. A preschooler could have guessed he wasn’t being honest.
Time to throw a curveball.
“Tell me about Julia. What was she like?”
“Smart, troubled, passionate. She was very social and easy to be around. She took some pottery classes at the community college and made a bunch of friends.”
Lloyd’s ears perked up when Nguyen’s lip curled at the word ‘social’ before he continued.
This was a goldmine. Nguyen tapped his toes in a rhythm. Tap right, quick tap on the left, tap right. Smack, pat, smack. His feet moved again and the wheels on his chair ground as he twitched. Why this was uncomfortable for him was a mystery but the stress was obvious.
“Julia was an artist?” Lloyd asked.
“Not really. It was just a hobby.”
“Did she read?”
Nguyen was blank. “I don’t know.”
“Her friends say she started a book club. They met at the downtown Starbucks every week for two years.”
“Oh.”
An awkward silence fell over the room. Lloyd leaned back and relaxed.
Nguyen’s mouth was pursed and his jaw was tight. Was he upset? Embarrassed? Guilty? It was hard to tell. He seemed keyed up about a topic that should have been old news. Bishop had been brutal in court as he recounted the domestic situation between him and Julia. If he could listen to all that in a courtroom, why should he be so concerned with not knowing about her book club?
“What was Julia’s mental health like?” Lloyd asked.
Shun’s shoulders dropped. It seemed the change of topic had eased his discomfort. Sure enough, his next words were practiced. As he described her episodes, his speech flowed as if he were reciting a memorized script. There were no pauses to figure out how to describe events or place them in context. But the more he talked, the more Lloyd smelled something fishy. Was he being too detailed? Or too vague?
Nguyen was in the middle of a sentence when Lloyd cleared his throat and raised his hand, signaling for a pause.
“What was the name of Julia’s psychiatrist?”
He blinked. “I don’t remember. It’s been a long time.”
“Hmmm. What steps did you take regarding Julia’s mental health?”
Nguyen wasn’t prepared for this line of questioning.
“What do you mean?”
“Did you assist Julia with managing her medications? Maybe you picked up her prescription for her, or discussed how her doctor’s visits went?”
Shun sniffed and a brief wrinkle of disgust passed over his face.
“I was very busy. She preferred to do things on her own and if I would have tried, she’d have accused me of poisoning her or something. As I described, she was an extremely unstable person to live with.”
Dr. Nguyen turned the conversation back to his comfort zone - Julia’s mental health. He described her mood swings, irrational behavior, and unpredictability. The point he seemed insistent to make was: even though you can prove I was abusive, so was she. Except the evidence for his allegations could be summed up as “trust me, bro.” He’d made this argument during his appeals. Those attorneys had been competent and even they couldn’t produce a shred of evidence that Julia had been abusive.
“Did your father hit your mother?”
Lloyd’s question made Nguyen’s head jerk back. His eyes dilated and his jaw went slack. The expression lingered as his brain processed the question and puzzled over the intent. He wasn’t acting. This was one emotion that was easy to read - genuine shock was difficult to fake. The fakers never held it for long enough. Real shock didn’t flare up and then vanish, it lingered until another emotion took its place.
“Excuse me?”
“Did your father hit your mother?” Lloyd repeated.
Nguyen swallowed.
“Or did he take it all out on you?”
Color blossomed on Nguyen’s cheeks. The whites of his eyes flashed and his head bobbed left. Lloyd tensed. It was instinctive to catalog the reaction. The suspected killer was right-handed, proven by his left sided head withdrawal. If he threw a punch, Lloyd was close enough to hook him by the left ankle and take him down.
Rather than choosing violence, Nguyen braced his feet and jerked his chin up.
“I had a happy childhood.”
The statement was about as convincing as saying mosquitoes don’t live in swamps. Lloyd let the silence press down on the room, keeping his eyes neutral. It didn’t take long.
“My mother left my father when I was a kid. I don’t remember him well.”
His lower teeth flashed in a subtle expression of defensiveness.
“What was your childhood like?”
“Happy. Cheerful. My mother worked very hard, but I was always well cared for by relatives or friends. I was an excellent student and had no trouble with my peers.”
“What about your father? Did you ever reconnect with him?” Lloyd asked.
The chin jut was more pronounced this time. Defensiveness? Or had there been a tremor of distress in the movement?
“I never reached out.”
“Why?”
“Why all the questions about my father?”
Lloyd shrugged. “If you want to move to another line of discussion…”
“My father was an unpleasant person. My mother argued with him a lot, or perhaps it was the other way around. I don’t know for sure. They put their disaster of a relationship out of its misery via divorce when I was… ten? Maybe I was nine.”
He shrugged and seemed almost unwilling to remember the details of the divorce. It was a marked change from someone who’d been excellent with dates until now. Lloyd waited. Nguyen became uncomfortable with the silence and filled it with more information.
“Since my father was the one who walked out, I took that as a clear message of what he wanted. I had no interest in speaking with him after that. None at all.”
Nguyen’s eyes were glued to Lloyd’s face again. He was carefully gauging the reaction his words were getting, and his cadence wasn’t as smooth as it had been. Liar, liar, pants on fire.
“You visited Singapore twice in 2000. What were the dates of your visits?”
“Ah…” he had to think for a moment. Lloyd watched his eyes move as he rifled through his memories for the information. “I came back in October for my mother’s birthday and stayed for two weeks. Before Christmas I was here for a week to attend my uncle’s funeral.”
Your pen scratched again as you made a note.
“Tell us about the evening Julia died, in as much detail as possible.”
“I’ve already answered that a hundred times. If you want my side of events, go watch the tapes of my police interviews, the original trial, and the appeals.”
“Your neighbor, Mr. Corbin said he thought he saw a very large man lurking around your property that night. Do you think he could have seen anything related to the crime?”
Nguyen’s eyes flickered. “When did he say that?”
“It was in the evidence your attorney submitted at your second appeal.”
“I don’t remember it coming up. I guess… It’s likely he would’ve noticed anything unusual. He was that kind of guy, pretty bold about coming over and telling you what he thought if there was something he didn’t like. For an old codger he was quiet on his feet. He snuck up on me a couple times to complain about a dogwood tree that had grown into his yard. It’s possible he was sly enough to witness something without him noticing.”
Nguyen was staring into space, locked in his memory.
“What evidence do you think we should re-examine if we reopen the case? Was anything overlooked?”
His distant expression hardened. “I don’t know. That’s your job, not mine.”
“What do you think of your colleague’s testimony that you behaved differently that week?”
Lloyd was surprised by the flash of terror that crossed Nguyen’s face for a split second. The question had been fairly benign. He shrugged and sat back in his chair, adjusting his position. There was an abrupt avoidance of eye contact which he’d been comfortable making until now. Lloyd wanted more, so he poked around the idea with follow up questions.
Nguyen wouldn’t budge. Finally, he turned to a different topic.
“What do you think people thought of your behavior when you said Julia was crazy and gold-digging, right after learning she was dead?”
“I told the truth. If that’s uncomfortable for other people, it’s because they’re too preoccupied with etiquette and civility. You should say what you mean. I did. I won’t apologize for it, because it was the honest thing to do.”
“In your opinion, what kind of boyfriend were you?”
Nguyen sighed. “Not a very good one. Julia and I… we should have broken up a lot sooner than we did. With the benefit of hindsight, I wish we had.”
“Is there anything we haven’t asked you, that we should have?” Lloyd asked.
The suspect’s mouth compressed, curling his lips in until they disappeared. His distant expression returned, and then that same flash of terror crossed his features. Lloyd wished he could read minds. Nguyen was afraid of something.
Finally, he answered.
“No.”
“Alright. That’s all our questions, thank you for your cooperation.”
Nguyen glanced toward the shadow of Mr. Tao in the corner. Slowly, he stood up and left.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
“He wanted to talk about the case.”
Your statement drew Lloyd’s attention back to the present. It was mid-afternoon, and you’d gone for a late lunch after Nguyen’s interview. A steaming mug of green tea sat in front of him. Despite the summer heat, he’d ordered the beverage hot and was enjoying it. You were halfway through a healthy slice of raspberry cake that you’d saved room for by ordering a seafood dish rather than pasta.
Lloyd nodded. “He wanted to talk, but he didn’t push a narrative about his innocence.”
“If no one listens to you for decades, maybe you eventually just accepted it?” you suggested.
“Is that normal?”
Your lips curved at his genuine curiosity.
“Generally, no. But did you see how smooth his forehead is? That’s not usual for a fifty year old man. When he talks, his facial expressions change very little. He’s not the social type.”
“He’d have wrinkles and laugh lines if he were,” Lloyd finished.
“In my opinion, yes.”
“Have you been talking to Zach lately?”
You laughed. “No. Landon. He’s been helping me get better at reading people.”
“Did you notice the tension when I brought up his father?”
“I was more interested in how uninterested he was trying to appear about it. There’s clearly something wrong there.”
“His father was abusive,” Lloyd said.
The notion surprised you, but Lloyd seemed definitive.
“I guess I missed that. Shall we go to the hotel and review our tape?”
“There’s no rush.”
Lloyd felt better now that the interview was done. Nguyen had ignored you, which was a better outcome than he could have hoped for. On the street, you slipped your hand into the crook of his elbow. He was surprised at how nice it felt. Here, you could show affection without worrying about being recognized by the wrong person. Anyone who looked at you right now would perceive you as a couple. He liked that.
A block away from the restaurant, you squeezed his bicep.
He glanced over. “What’s wrong?”
“We’re being followed.”
“Describe him,” Lloyd said.
“Gray suit, black sunglasses. I can’t get a good look, but he’s behind us.”
“It’s Mr. Tao.”
Your brow wrinkled. “Why would he follow us? Shouldn’t he be tailing Nguyen?”
“He isn’t following us. He’s following me. They rarely grant visas to ex-spies, or ex-cons, in Singapore.”
“What?! But you’re not a spy anymore.”
“Which makes me even more suspicious. Agencies love sending an adjunct to do their dirty work. When I was in corporate law, I had a reputation for playing on the rosters of both government and industry.”
“Did I just catch a professional spy doing his job?”
You were so impressed with yourself that Lloyd didn’t have the heart to break it to you that Mr. Tao wasn’t even trying to hide. This was simply a pressure tactic. The Singaporeans wanted him to know they were riding his ass.
“What do you say we lose him for fun?” he suggested.
“Why?”
“Because it’s a good thing to know.”
A smirk tilted your lips. “Okay, I’m game.”
He was relieved when your grip on his arm relaxed, and your smile returned.
Being followed in a foreign country wasn’t fun, particularly if you’d never experienced it before. Lloyd waited for the signal to cross and eased closer to you.
“Step one is to turn unexpectedly, but never into a less crowded area. Stick to busy public areas and don’t just take any random turn. Look ahead and tell me where we should go.”
You scanned down the street. “The market.”
“Why?”
“It’s crowded.”
“Good choice. Make your stop appear logical,” Lloyd said.
You pretended to see the street market on the next block by happenstance. Luck was with you because the crossing light turned right as you made it to the end of the block.
“Ninety-degree turn,” Lloyd murmured. “Make sure to catch a glimpse of your tail from the corner of your eye.”
He let you lead him through the marketplace, stopping to buy a snack for later, pausing at a tourist shop to browse, and watching a sidewalk musician who’d attracted a crowd. You were excellent at unexpected stops, but most of the female agents he’d worked with had been. Women usually had a knack for making their surveillance stops look natural.
“We haven’t lost him,” you murmured to Lloyd as you approached the end of the street market, where it emptied into the next block.
“He’s a professional. What do you think we should do now?”
“Uh… run? Or jump him?”
Lloyd laughed. “That's vicious. He’s only doing his job.”
“He’s being creepy. If you’re being creepy and someone breaks your nose, you shouldn’t be surprised.”
“The only issue is that he’d do more harm to you than you would to him. Same goes for a random creepy man on the street.”
“Your certainty wounds me.”
“I’m a realist.”
You pouted, but allowed him to put his arm around your shoulders.
“When you get to a public place where you’re safe, call a friend. Me, Zach, someone who can help.”
“What if it’s a false alarm?”
“Call me anyway.”
“What if it’s two a.m.?”
“Call Jake. He’ll be up playing video games.”
You giggled. “So I can call you, even if it’s a false alarm, but not at two a.m.?”
“I need my beauty sleep.”
Lloyd used his body to guide you into a quick turn, ninety-degrees, toward the riverwalk.
“The most extreme step you can take, short of violence, is a reversal. Do something unexpected and change directions so it forces your tail to reveal himself. If he wants to stay inconspicuous, he can’t just do a one-eighty and expect you not to notice.”
You let him spin you again, this time onto the crowded riverwalk. Lloyd walked a few feet and stopped at a kiosk. He pulled out his wallet, swiped a credit card, and tapped the screen. The words were in Mandarin, so you couldn’t read them. The machine spit out two tickets. He took your hand and drew you back the direction you’d come. When you turned, you were face to face with Mr. Tao. He was trying to look casual in his suit and tie amongst the casually dressed tourists on the riverwalk. His jaw tightened as Lloyd flashed him a grin when you strode by. You were amused, and nervous, about taunting a foreign intelligence officer. But Lloyd was so confident that you couldn’t bring yourself to be terribly worried.
He made another sharp turn at the harbor and handed the tickets to a woman in a purple vest standing beside a podium. Behind her was a water taxi full of Chinese tourists.
“We’re going to stick out like sore thumbs. Particularly you.”
Lloyd’s suit was almost as bad as Mr. Tao’s. Surrounded by the casual clothing of the tourists, you were all over dressed. His height wasn’t doing you any favors either.
“Not from a distance,” Lloyd said.
The woman handed him the ticket stubs, and you followed Lloyd down the boarding plank into the boat. On board, you realized the boat was larger than it appeared from shore. Lloyd took your hand and led you through the top deck and down a flight of stairs. From the lower level, passengers were disembarking into a tunnel. To the left, a set of stairs led up to the riverwalk. You followed the crowd straight ahead and through a set of automatic doors. Immediately, you were disoriented by the juxtaposition of the damp subterranean walkway and the brightly lit displays surrounding you. Coach bags filled a large window. The neighboring storefront was filled with colorful bottles of perfume. A Sephora was on your right.
“This is an underground mall?”
Lloyd twined your fingers together. “Singapore is great for retail therapy.”
He herded you into a shop and encouraged browsing as he kept an eye out for Mr. Tao. You eventually found something you liked, and he insisted you try it on.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
While you were in the dressing room, Lloyd stepped into an alcove and made a call. The other person answered quickly.
“Hey, what’s up?”
“Zach, we have a problem.”
“Nguyen is creeping on your girl?”
“No. The problem is called Mr. Tao.”
Lloyd filled Zach in on what had transpired this morning.
“Here’s the rub: the guy isn’t Singaporean Intelligence. He’s one of ours. The CIA set a dog on me.”
“What tipped you off?”
“Princess noticed him after lunch and I showed her how to ditch a tail. His tactics were straight from a U.S. intelligence training manual. He’s not a field agent, but he’s nondescript and observant. I’d guess him to be an analyst with field training but limited operative experience.”
“You gathered all of that from his surveillance tactics?”
“Don’t forget who you’re talking to,” Lloyd growled.
Zach laughed. “Well, to be honest, I’m shocked they still think you’re that dangerous.”
“That’s why I’m calling. Sending a Singaporean officer after me would’ve been appropriate. This is overkill. I need to know what’s going on.”
“I’ll look into it.”
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Your arms were covered in goosebumps.
The dress you’d intended to try on was draped over your lap as you perched on a dressing room stool. With your elbows planted on your knees, you stared at your phone. The barrage of new messages had appeared a moment ago. Your mind raced as you tried to wrap your head around the sight in front of you.
Somewhere between North America and Singapore, there’d been an issue with your cell service. You'd been turning your phone off and on all day trying to get it working. Since Lloyd’s phone was still connected, it hadn’t been a big deal. It hadn’t been a big deal until you switched it on in the dressing room and it had updated.
There were 342 new text messages. Two were from your sister. One was from your Mom, and the other was from Jen. A message Lloyd had tried to send you at lunch appeared, making you jump when your phone chirped. The remaining 337 messages were from an unknown number. The messages were creepy. You read a few of them, and that’s all it took to unsettle your stomach. There were quotes from horror movies, links to websites and videos that you didn’t dare open, and pictures. Pictures of gore and blood. It was as if Quinten Tarantino himself had co-opted your text messages.
Caleb hadn’t been the source of Friday’s weird call. He wasn’t capable of this. You didn’t know anyone capable of this. Except that you did, because there were 337 pieces of evidence that this person had your number.
Maybe the messages weren’t meant for you?
The creepy feeling you’d had in the park washed over you again. It washed the unrealistic optimism away. Fuck. You’d felt as if someone was watching you twice that day. Damn it. The shouting in the hallway… Mrs. Thompson had checked on it… your stomach pitched. What if something had happened to her?
You shutdown your phone, not wanting to risk any more messages arriving. You leaned against the wall and fought back gasps. The last thing you needed was to hyperventilate and faint in the dressing room of H&M. This had been going on all week… maybe longer. You’d felt eyes on you several times. Thinking back, the most intense feelings had occurred in the parking lot at work and last Thursday at Caleb’s baseball game. At Sam’s birthday on Friday you had been certain someone was prowling in the shrubbery near the trail. And there was that strange call last week on your office line, a device you hardly ever used. When strung together, the conclusion formed by the data was undeniable.
You had a stalker.
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Next - Part VIII
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Masterlist
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*read from from bottom to top*
It reminds me of a Georgian journalist taking an interview from a russian refugee. (N.B. Georgia is partially occupied by russia.) They asked, "Whose Crimea is?" - and the guy answered "of people who live there." XD
It's such a simple question with only one correct answer. If a "good" russian can not answer "Ukraine" on it, they is very much not a good russian at all.
I kindly ask all "Kievan Rus" believers to go and read this article with translator
"Moscow as a settlement was founded in 1272. In the same year, the third population census of the Golden Horde was conducted. During the first census (1237–1238 pp.) and the second (1254–1259 pp.) settlement, Moscow is not mentioned," wrote historian Yaroslav Dashkevich. Which is the 13th century. According to other not very reliable sources, it's the 12th century. And even back then, there were no russians.
"It all began on November 2, 1721, when Tsar Peter I proclaimed the Muscovite Kingdom, the "Russian Empire" and Muscovites "Russians." Tsar Peter decided to join Muscovy to the European cultural heritage, so he was not at all satisfied with the story of the origin of Muscovites from the great and proud Finnish tribes: Mokshi, Meri, Murom, Vesi, Pechora, Mesheri, Perm, Mari. He gave instructions to add the name Rus instead of the barbaric Moksel."
"This is how academician Hryhoriy Pivtorak explains it: "Catherine II tried to learn the history of her state on the basis of written sources provided to her - chronicles and other documents of Moscow's antiquity. The true history of Muscovy shocked her because it was lame and very poor. The tsaritsa was especially struck by the fact that the mighty state of Russia, whose glory thundered throughout the world for three centuries and whose princes considered it an honor to become relatives to the kings of France, Hungary, Sweden... as it turned out, had no relation to Muscovy."
On December 4, 1783, by order of Catherine, the "Commission for compiling notes on ancient history, mainly Russian" was created. The commission worked for 9 years and, by rewriting and distorting historical facts, created a new history of the Russian Empire, which traced its origins back to Kyivan Rus."
"A new version of Russian history was published in 1792.
It became a standard for future historians of the 19th century and formed the basis of "History of the Russian State" in 12 volumes by Karamzin, as well as the fundamental "History of Russia from Ancient Times" in 29 volumes by Solovyov"
P.S. My personal history is that russians left me and my family without home. russians killed my pets. russians killed my friends and my classmate. This is my personal history.
Never ever Ukraine called russia its sibling, and we never will.
I declare kvasgod an uneducated latent rashist.
#stop russian aggression#support ukraine#genocide of ukrainians#russia is a terrorist state#hetalia#hws ukraine#aph ukraine#hws belarus#aph belarus
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Folktales you can read as A-spec without squinting
It can be a struggle to pinpoint why certain folktales give off a-spec vibes, because fairy tales are often defined by their lack of detail. You rarely get much insight in character’s feelings when the focus is on their actions. But one thing the stories on this list have in common is that they subvert expectations. They are the type of stories where I’ve come to expect a (double) wedding at the end, a second suitor to show up, or love/attraction at first sight, and yet there isn’t. They feel different, and that’s why I love them.
David Cotterson (book) (my summary)
Danish fairy tale, collected by Jens Kamp, published in 1879.
Why it’s on this list: The protagonist’s biggest desire is to become a sailor and see the world. Along the way he meets a magic dog, defeats a seductive witch, and rescues an enchanted kingdom. He then decides he’d like to go home and returns to his loving parents. [Cw: suicide contemplation, fairy tale violence.]
Slawa (download my translation here)
Romanian fairy tale, found in a German collection from 1977, sadly unsourced.
Why it’s on this list: The protagonist is a young woman who was once a doll that came to life because her father and mother wished so hard for a child, and she grows up so beautiful that the cruel tsar demands to marry her. She keeps refusing and finally resorts to defeating him with magic, so she is free to go see the world. [Cw: fairy tale violence.]
The Bogles from the Howff (book) (read aloud)
Scottish (urban) folktale from Blairgowrie, written down from memory by Sorche Leodhas (LeClaire Gowans Alger), published in 1960.
Why it’s on this list: The protagonist, a studious young doctor who always keeps to himself, is forced to admit his house is haunted by bogles and hires a young woman as housekeeper because she is not afraid of them. They live together for quite some time and the doctor is probably the last to realise he’s fallen in love with her. They end up happily married with children.
King Bear (book)
Danish folktale, collected by Jens Kamp, published in 1879.
Why it’s on this list: The two protagonists, an expert hunter and a talented fiddler, are brothers who are always together. When the youngest falls in love with an imprisoned princess, the eldest does not understand why, but helps him to win her hand. After the marriage the brothers stay equally close and the elder brother also lives at the royal court. [Cw: animal death.]
The shoes that were danced to pieces (full text)
Cape Verdian folktale, collected by E. Parsons from Antonio Soares Rosa in 1916-1917.
Why it’s on this list: The protagonist answers a royal proclamation that states that whoever is able to find out how the princess wears out seven pairs of shoes every night can marry her and have half the kingdom. When he accomplishes this, however, he declines the marriage and returns home to build his mother a new house with he newfound wealth.
The Fisherlad and the Mermaid’s Ring (book) (full retelling)
Scottish fairy tale from Tobermory, written down from memory by Sorche Leodhas (LeClaire Gowans Alger), published in 1962.
Why it’s on this list: The protagonist is rejected by a girl and runs off to live in isolation. While fishing he catches a mermaid. He asks for help to win the girl over, even though all he knows of her is that she is beautiful. The mermaid gives him a magic ring that will win him his true love after a year and a day. Back ashore a young woman asks the fisherman for shelter. He lets her in and they live together, slowly building a life and common habits together. When the year and a day have passed and she goes away to let him propose to his love back home, he finally understands his feelings and proposes to her instead.
The Squire’s Bride (full text)
Norwegian folktale, collected by Asbjørnsen and Moe, published 1841-1844.
Why it’s on this list: The protagonist is a young woman who is being aggressively courted by a rich squire. She doesn’t want him and since he will not back down she ends up tricking and humiliating him so thoroughly he never dares to go courting again. [Cw: attempted arranged marriage, attempted kidnapping.]
Sari and the dragon (my short retelling)
Indonesian folktale, from the Dutch audio series “Sprookjes Uit De Hele Wereld” (Fairy Tales from the Whole World) from 1981, sadly without source.
Why it’s on this list: The protagonists are a prince who is cursed to be a dragon and a young woman who continually refuses all offers of marriage. She comes across his cave by accident and they help and care for each other. Once Sari breaks the curse, the prince proposes. And she gladly accepts, on the condition that her dear father can come with them when they leave.
Honourable mention for the Irish legend of Diarmaid and Grainne, which is very old, and has a hero who openly rejects both romantic and physical affection, but who does die very tragically (although not because of, but in spite of this rejection).
#a-spec representation#ace representation#aro representation#folklore#ace pride#aro pride#aroace representation#folktale#fairy tale#laura babbles#laura retells#sources
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