#how new

I'm bothered when they come to picture this as the ending of all Napoleon's love for Josephine. Mostly in fiction, but even non-fiction tends to give this interpretation of their dynamic, sometimes already during the Italian campaign.

(I should point that this is an old novel, though.)

Why should any feeling of love go away once most passion and enthusiasm is over? The "mio dolce amor" period seems to me as just one phase of a much more complex relationship. I'd rather see it like Napoleon matured out of an excessive enthusiasm, stopped idealising her wife and gave her a more balanced vision and sentiment. He certainly had to do this after facing her faults, maybe also suffering while doing so, but should that not be love too?

boyfriend application:

•requirements:

must be cute (all boys are anyway)

must be funny (or at least think they are)

must be HENCH

and most importantly

History and culture

Embodied in him,

And he respects those parts of you,

How new,

I don’t know what he is

But you deserve a friend

I’m late but desperately wanted to write some soft plance college au for Lance Loves Ladies Week, so here’s the first two days merged together. 

Day 1: Morning/Nights

Day 2: Cuddles/Kisses

Rated T

Lance awoke with a low groan underneath him, the small body trying to push him away.

“Yuff fevy,” he heard muffled, small hands moving from trying to push him off, to wrapping loosely around his torso.

He stretched his limbs out, groggy as the yellow morning light dripped through the dorm rooms curtains and warming his body. His vision was blurred but he could make out the red numbers 8:00 on the alarm clock next to the bed. Thank god, he thought, they still had another hour before they had to get up.

Another grumpy groan underneath him made him smile, and roll over onto his back. He looked over to the side, watching as Pidge curled up into a ball, burying herself into his side, trying to hide her face from the early light.

“Hey,” he said, his voice raspy from sleep.

She looked up, eyes opening just enough to see him. Her hair was pointing in every direction, and her oversized sweater rose up just enough to show a sliver of pale white hips before her sweatpants. Lance felt his heart flutter a little.

“Hey,” she said after a beat, curling up on top of him now, burying her face into his neck.

Lance felt around the bed until he found the duvet, and pulled it over them. Then he searched a little longer for his phone, and was about to go through his notifs before a hand grabbed his and forced him to set the phone back down.

He chuckled again, “Babe, I need to see if Hunk is still up for tutoring me for the physics exam.”

“No need,” she groaned, her hot breath sending shivers down his spine, “I can tutor you, dumbass.”

Lance ran a hand through her hair, smoothing it down. “You say that but how did last night end, again?”

He heard a small snort, and she turned her head away from him. He rolled them over onto their sides, forcing Pidge to look at him, though she kept her eyes closed with a small smile playing on her lips. Her lashes looked so long from this point of view, Lance thought.

“Tell me or else,” Lance threatened, placing his hands on her sides where she was the most ticklish, “Admit it.”

Pidge laughed, and tried to move away, but Lance held tight, beginning to tickle her before she caved in.

“Fine,” she conceded, “I tried to teach you and you were annoying and kept interrupting me.”

“Um, nice try, but wrong,” Lance said, “I remember asking you extremely important questions, until we got onto the topic of Thundercats somehow and ended up watching 20 episodes until we feel asleep.”

Pidge, opened her eyes again and smirked, small dimples dotting her face, “I was right about Snarf’s real name being Osbert.”

They giggled together, and Lance leaned in, rubbing his nose against hers, “Come ‘ere, you.”

Lance pulled her back on top of him, but instead of letting her head fall back into the croak of his neck, he gave her a soft, slow kiss. They slowly melted into each other, Pidge wrapping her arms around the back of his head, lacing her hands with his soft locks. Lance led a hand up the back of her shirt, rubbing soothing circles and tracing little patterns. Pidge deepened the kiss, tilting his head in her hands, letting her body rub against his. Lance’s hands drifted lower, just above her sweatpants, and fingered at the fabric when-

BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.

They pulled away from each other, sharing a singular loud groan, as Lance stretched his arm out to shut off the alarm.

“How the hell is it already nine…” He rubbed his eyes, and felt a buzz at his side.

Pidge fished around for her phone, picking it up and glared at it with a pout.

“It’s Matt, wants to grab an early breakfast together,” she said, before stretching out and yawning.

Lance sighed, letting his eyes close for a moment, preparing to force himself (and his girlfriend) out of bed and start the day, when Pidge collapsed back on top of him with a loud huff, throwing her phone off the side of the bed and onto the pile of laundry beneath them.

“Babe-”

Pidge hushed him, putting a small finger to his lips, “Ten more minutes, please?”

Lance looked down at her, eyes already shut again, a hand grasped firmly on his shirt, looking peaceful and serene in a way he knew no one else would have the luxury of seeing. This was one of the few moments when Pidge, in her tough exterior, let her walls down with him, and he didn’t want to waste that.