#and i may possibly try to write about j/ons version of this cold and maybe The Cherry Blossom Incident

[waterfallofspace]

What A Way To Start A Year

T/im learns a little something about karma, friends, and care. Seems even J/on isn't quite as cold as he seems.

A M/agnus A/rchives fic, set somewhere pre-season 1. Shouldn't have any spoilers, but proceed with caution just incase~ (nothing late game, just character dynamic things)

Welcome to "I meant for this to be a little drabble and I wrote 3k words"~ Having a bit of hyperfixation and burn out as I started this new year, soooo I decided to make T/im suffer <3 Not promising quality seeing as I wrote this all in the span of tonight, but consider it a lil 'too long' drabble, and happy new years!

Best way to start off the new year, giving one of your lil guys a lil snz <3

Characters: T/im, M/artin, S/asha, and J/on. Word Count: 3.9k

(CW: There is some swearing, and light descriptions of high fevers)

Christmas had been good this year, maybe the best it had in a long time. Life of the party as always, Tim had enjoyed getting to spend it with his old, and new, colleagues. On top of that, Jon had been laid up with a pretty awful cold for a couple days leading up to it, so he wasn’t around to crush any brilliant ideas Tim came up with. 

This led to the budget receiving a fairly substantial hit, though many researchers donated to the cause when they learned this borrowing wasn’t exactly approved. Hell, even Elias had pitched in, claiming something or other about ‘archivists fit for the job not exactly growing on trees’, and wanting to ‘save some of Jon’s sanity’. 

“Tim? Are you even listening to me?”  

Pulled back to the conversation at hand, Tim lifts his gaze to the taller man fidgeting nervously in front of him. Martin was never one for confrontations, and usually the first ‘no’ would have been more than enough to lead to a string of apologies for even asking. Today however, he seems to have grown a spine. At the worst possible moment. 

“Oh come on,” Martin continues, missing the groan slipping from Tim’s throat. “Even Jon agreed to it!” 

“I’m not really in the party mood,” Tim retorts, leaning back in his chair. “Besides, Jon didn’t agree to celebrate, he agreed not to stop the celebration. Not the same thing.” 

From across her desk, Sasha gives a low chuckle. “He’s got you there, Martin.”

“Can you at least give it a little thought before turning it down?” Martin insists, completely out of character for someone usually so eager to please. 

What the hell has gotten into him today? He didn’t even seem to enjoy himself that much at the Christmas party. Sure, he had a few drinks and mingled with the staff, but he’d left as soon as it was over, not waiting around for chatting like Tim and Sasha.

Clearing his throat with a grimace, Tim casts Sasha a dark look as she chuckles again. Knowing far too much, as usual. Especially when it came to him. If it was anyone else, Tim would hate it with all his being, but given that it’s Sasha… well it’s a welcome invasion. 

Still, it would be nice if she didn’t rat him out. And to Martin of all people, well let’s just say he saw what happened when Jon was sick. Yeah, passing on that one. Attention is great, Tim lives for it, but the coddling? Not really his style. 

“hiEH– guh…”

Damn, that had been a close one. Thankfully Martin seems oblivious, though Sasha sits up in her chair, reaching down into a drawer to fish something out. 

Turning his focus back to Martin, Tim provides an offer, desperate to just have the interaction come to an end. 

“Fine, I’ll show up, but I don’t want any part in planning it.” 

“Oh of course, I’ll handle all the details, I mean it’s just a new years party, how much can there really be to do? I mean food, timing, gotta make sure we have keys to the building– oh but if Jon’s there, that shouldn’t be a problem…” Martin says, rambling beginning to fade into the background as Tim finds himself unable to- 

“hH– ek’CHhiew!” 

“-Oh, bless you!” Martin says, his own thoughts long forgotten. 

Unable to get a word out, Tim merely waves a hand, ducking into his shoulder for another, “eTChhew!” 

“Bles-” 

And another, “iTSChh’ew!” 

“Oh ble-” 

And another, “ehh– kTChh’iew!” 

Silently Sasha stands, handing Tim a pack of tissues. Must have been what she was looking for in the desk. Once again, knowing more than she should, of course she picked up on his patterns. 

Accepting them gratefully, Tim pulls a few out and roughly rubs at his nose, pointedly avoiding Martin’s worried gaze. Gripping his still trembling nose through the tissue, Tim sucks in a tight breath through his teeth, holding for a beat, before finally spinning around in his chair for a final- 

“hH’ETCSHh-ieuw! Whew, bless me.” 

Martin’s hands are fidgeting again, seemingly unsure of what to do with himself as Tim gives his nose a light massage through the tissue. He’s aware enough not to point it out, but is nearly shaking with the effort of suppressing his concerns. 

With a sigh, Tim meets his eyes. “I’m fine, Martin. I always sneeze like that.” He leaves out ‘when I’m sick’. It also happens if he’s suffering allergies, though he doubts that would be a point in his defense given it’s the middle of winter. 

“Yeah he’s not kidding,” Sasha pipes up, throwing Tim a wink as he glares. “You should hear him in spring, once it starts he can be going for hours.” 

“I wouldn’t say hours, Sash-” 

“Remember the cherry blossom incident?” Sasha interrupts, sending a sugary smile over to Martin. “He was wrecked for the rest of the day, I was almost certain he was never gonna stop. Even considered giving a statement here, that reaction was almost supernatural.” 

Tim winces, an audible moan slipping from his lips. “We swore to never speak of it again.” 

Sasha laughs, Tim giving her another playful glare from behind his tissues. “You swore that, I did no such thing.” 

Thankfully Martin doesn’t pry, having enough common sense to offer a polite chuckle, and offer some excuse about ‘planning’. Still, he can’t help himself from shooting a meek “I hope you feel better soon” over his shoulder, Tim giving him finger guns in return. 

“This is karma, you know,” Sasha calls after Martin’s outside earshot. “You took pleasure in Jon’s suffering, so now it’s your turn to suffer the same fate.” 

“No, thi- eTChhew! Scuse me,” Tim says, rubbing his nose with the tissue one last time before depositing it in his nearly overflowing trash can. Another tissue is plucked as his eyes begin to water, nostrils flaring with reckless abandon. Never just one. 

“kTChh’uew! hh’iTChh –uew! Tihhckles… eTCHh! etchh’uh! hiehh–” 

The last one toys with him, tracing the rims of his nostrils, back up his sinuses, a gentle itch that seems to burn against every inch of his nose. Finally, with a desperate gasp, Tim ducks into his wrist for the last, “heh’ATChhh –iew!” 

“Many blessings. Sounds like you need them,” Sasha offers with a wince, tossing another pack of tissues over, which Tim catches with a single hand, the other still gripping his nose. 

After taking a moment to clean himself up, Tim shoots her his signature smile, ignoring the eye roll she shoots back. “Where was I?” 

“Admitting this is karma?” 

“It’s not karma, it’s lack of common sense. Going to a party where a coworker is sick, and still drinking and eating the same meals” Tim says, aiming a rough cough into his sleeve. 

Sasha winces once more at the quality of the cough, hands rummaging through her drawers once more as she tosses a reply back. “And yet you’re the only one who caught it. Seems like karma to me.” 

Closing the distance between them in a single stride, Sasha places a hand on Tim’s shoulder, voice softening. “It’s two days till new years, why don’t you go home and try to get some rest? I doubt Martin will object, and I’ll cover for you with Jon.” 

Before Tim can form his rebuttal, Sasha places a box of paracetamol and a jar of vapor rub in front of him. Nodding his thanks, Tim lets out another harsh cough into his arm, leaning as far away from Sasha as he can manage. 

With a light rub to his shoulder, Sasha walks to the door, holding it open with a pointed look. “Go home, you sound awful.” 

“Alright, alright. I got the message. hH’ETchhiew!” Tim says, gathering his care package and beginning his walk down the hallway. 

“If I hear the rest of that fit happening in this building, I’m telling Martin how ill you really are,” Sasha calls after him, a smile flashing over her face as Tim holds up his hands in mock surrender, before ducking back into his arm with another muffled burst. 

— 

“You look horrible.” 

Tim manages a weary smile from behind the tightly wound scarf. “Thagk you.” 

Martin winces, standing in the doorframe, seemingly oblivious to the winter chill soaking into Tim’s bones. Even just the walk from the train station was hell on earth, standing out here is doing him no favours. 

Turning away with a throat scraping cough, Tim manages to clear the congestion enough to finish the sentence somewhat understandably. A great feat, given how fast his voice is retreating. “May I remind you that I’m only here because you insisted.” 

“Right, well I… I didn’t know how bad-” Martin begins, realizing spreading across his face like a wildfire as a chill leaves Tim breathless. “Oh god, I’m making you freeze to death while you’re already this sick, I’m so sorry, come in, I’ll go make you a tea.” 

Tim nods his thanks as he piles inside the warm institute, cursing his aching lungs as each breath of warm air seems to burn them from the inside out. Martin rushes away, nearly crashing into a few researchers as he makes his frantic dash for the kitchen. 

The scarf is reluctantly removed, a shudder running through Tim’s back as the warm air does nothing to soothe what he’s now certain is a growing fever. A few researchers wave to him, offering some idle chit-chat as he makes his way inside.

For the most part, people give him a wide berth, apparently he looks as bad as he feels. Tissues in hand, gripping them like a lifeline, Tim finds his way to a couch and lets himself sink into it. The party buzzes around him, fading into background noise. 

Martin returns soon after, the mug vibrating slightly as he attempts to steady his hand. “I wasn’t sure what kind you’d want, we have a pretty limited amount, but I have a few extras in my desk– oh I could have probably found one for colds and flus, I’m not sure which this is, I thought cold before but you look-” 

“Martin,” Tim interrupts, voice cutting uncomfortably through his raw throat. “Can I have the cup?” 

“Oh, right, sorry!” Martin says, a sheepish grin crossing his face, nerves more than anything else, as he hands Tim the mug. Tim gives another appreciative nod, taking a cautious sip. 

The warm liquid feels like heaven against his throat, and he barely manages to choke back a whimper. The flavour is still a mystery, Martin never actually got to that part. Given how little he can taste at the moment, seems it’s gonna remain that way. Still, the heat beginning to warm his chest is a welcome relief, and Tim has to fight to keep his eyes from drifting shut…

“Watch out!” 

The voice rouses him, his eyes snapping open just in time to witness Jon dropping to his knees in front of the couch. The realization doesn’t sink in for another minute, Tim blinking the tired from his eyes and trying to figure out why people are staring… and why there’s a hand on his finge– 

Oh, the tea. Thankfully Jon’s reflexes seemed to kick in just in time, his hands guiding Tim’s cup to the table next to him. Judgement clouds the boss's eyes as he turns back, fully ready to chastise Tim, no doubt. Jon opens his mouth, one hand beginning to point, but as his eyes scan Tim’s form, his demeanor changes instantly. 

“You don’t seem well.” Jon’s voice is still firm, but with a hint of something Tim can’t quite place. On anyone else, he’d call it concern. On Jon… perhaps concern isn’t far off, though the underlying criticism of the statement irritates him. 

“I wonder why that could be? It’s almost as if someone came to the Christmas party sick enough to fall asleep standing. Twice.” Tim says, sarcasm lining his words, alongside the congestion he can’t seem to fully shake. 

“Well in that case,” Sasha chimes in, cheerful voice a natural antithesis to the misery coursing through Tim’s system. “Seems you’re halfway there!” 

“Hey, I was lying down, that’s hardly the sahh… same thing– hH’ETchh!” 

“Here we go,” Sasha says, already turning on her heel to find a tissue box as Tim’s hitches increase in desperation. 

“aHTChh’ew! gn’tchhew!” 

“Bless,” Jon offers, a brief confusion crossing his face as Sasha laughs, shaking her head. 

“He’s not done,” She says, handing over the tissue box. 

Tim grabs for it blindly, too caught up in the fit to even attempt dignity. Still, the eyes on him do leave him with a hint of embarrassment, and the onslaught is muffled as best he can manage. “hH’MMpshhew! eMPFShh’ieh! hh’MFSHhueh!” 

Blessings sound out from the room, Tim managing to wave a hand towards the ones offering them, eyes still watering. As the fit seems to stall, he lowers his tissues, red nose now visibly twitching. 

“Are you alright?” Jon asks, the hint of concern from before now plainly evident. That’s frankly more alarming than it should be, and Tim finds himself wanting to… reassure the boss. 

“I’m okay, it’s juhh… j-just… huhh–” But it seems his nose has other plans, a tissue being raised once more as Tim paws at the appendage. “‘Scuhhse me, I still have… hahhve to… to… hiHh– eTCHh’ew! hk’ASCHh–oo!” 

This time the tickle fades with the final pitchy sneeze, Tim letting out a low groan as he mashes his nose into the ever growing collection of tissues he’s clutching. A few people call out final blessings, Sasha laughing out hers as Tim’s face goes red once more. 

Martin picks this time to enter the room with drinks, Tim letting his eyes flutter shut as the focus shifts off his misery. A gentle touch keeps him from drifting off to sleep, prying open an eye to find Sasha settling onto his left. 

“Careful, don’t want to catch this,” Tim manages, leaning against his right shoulder to muffle another stream of chesty coughs. Sasha winces as it goes on past the realm of comfort, her hand finding his back. 

“Don’t worry about me, I haven’t earned this cold, I didn’t make use of Jon’s or your suffering,” She says, the playful tone not masking the growing worry in her posture. 

While she can read him like a book, she’s no mystery to him either. The tension in her fingers, absentmindedly stroking patterns on his back. The way she subconsciously tries to support his body weight, despite them both sitting. The look in her eyes when he manages to stall the coughing long enough to meet them. 

With this brief respite from the attack, Sasha takes the chance to bring Tim’s tea back, his fingers wrapping around the warm mug. The first few sips burn, his lungs protesting, begging to return to their efforts to expel all the irritation. By the third, however, the warmth is spreading once more, easing the spasms. 

“Alright?” Sasha asks, beginning to stand from the couch. Tim nods his reply, taking another slow sip. “Think you’ll make it till midnight? We’ve still got a few hours to go.” 

He nods his approval again, not yet trusting his voice enough to make an attempt. Sasha simply smiles, easing back into the party that– Tim had almost forgotten existed. That fever must be worse than he thought, given how loud it is. A fact that’s now pounding against his head in harmony with his heartbeat. 

The party continues on, Sasha and Martin taking turns checking in on Tim as he slips rapidly in and out of consciousness. Seconds turn to hours, and before he knows it, it’s two minutes to midnight. 

As Tim blinks against the harsh fluorescent lighting, it’s Jon that stands before him, hand hovering near his side. Tim begins to speak, breaking off into a cough as his voice comes out rough with sleep and congestion. 

“What’s up boss?” He manages with the second attempt, not missing Jon’s wince at the nasal quality. 

“You simply look… well, the festivities are nearly over, I was just inquiring as to…” Jon seems to get stuck, eyes wandering down to the couch as he finishes. “I know you took the train here, I was seeing if you needed an escort home.” 

“How kind, I’d be delighted to have your accompaniment,” Tim responds, the wit clouding the fact he… hadn’t actually considered needing to go home. Jon seems to take this answer as satisfactory, ignoring all the sarcasm as he gives a tight nod and an out of practice smile. 

From across the room Martin calls out, something about a countdown. Tim attempts to pull himself to a stand, finding Sasha’s arm around his waist, guiding him to the wall. Leaning against it, he lets his rough voice join the chorus as they count into the new year. 

Despite how the lights and noise had pounded into his skull, everyone chanting in unison helps Tim realize that… there actually aren’t that many people here. Aside from his coworkers, there’s only a few researchers, and Elias is not in attendance.

Honestly, thank whatever cosmic being may exist for that one, he had been none too fond of Jon’s arriving sick. Tim shudders to think what he would have said about this state. He shouldn’t have come, but… something about how insistent Martin was… well he just couldn’t disappoint that loveable idiot. 

Somehow Tim finds he’s managed to keep up with the counting, despite being worlds away in his thoughts. As they approach the final numbers, a feathery sensation begins to spread through his nostrils- no. 

Absolutely not, this is not the time. It’s never just one, there’s not enough people here, someone’s gonna notice. And I mean, it’s not like he’s hiding the fact he feels like death, but… drawing that much attention is also not the goal. 

“Five! Four!”

“hiehh- h’ngTchh!” He manages to stifle the first, the congestion pounding in his head as the tickle seems to only get worse. 

“Three! Two!” 

“I cad’t– nNDtch! nGTCh’uh!” 

“One–” 

As the cheers begin to erupt, Tim ducks into the tissues with a scraping, “ehg’TCHhiew!” 

“Happy new years!” 

“yiEShh’iew! etchh’uh! hH’AESHH –oo!” Tim dips into his hands again, managing to sink down against the wall as he lets out a congested blow, ending the fit.

“What a way to ring in the new year,” Comes Sasha’s voice, her form blocking the light from Tim’s eyes as he looks up, fever blurring his vision.

“Shud ub.” 

“Christ Tim, you sound awful,” Jon adds, his form appearing behind Sasha’s. 

“Thagks boss,” Tim retorts, groaning as he notices a third form, Martin’s nervous fidgeting easy to spot even from this angle. Martin remains silent, though his eyes seem to hold more concern than any of them, and… guilt? Or maybe that’s just the delirium. 

Glancing up to meet Sasha’s gaze, Tim offers a weary, “Tibe to go hobe?” 

She nods softly, kneeling to help him to his feet, Martin wordlessly taking his other arm. Jon stands off to the side, hesitating. What for, who knows. All Tim can focus on is one step after the other, just gotta make it home, then he can sleep. For the rest of forever, at this rate. 

As they get to the door, Martin helps wrap the scarf around Tim’s neck, forcing him to lift it from its perch against Sasha’s shoulder. Sasha, for her part, supports his weight with ease, she was always stronger than she looked. 

Martin keeps casting glances towards Tim, obviously fretting over something. Too tired to manage his usual charm, Tim gives Martin the softest look he can manage. “Jusd say id, please. You’re makigg me nervous.”

“I’m so sorry I asked you to come, you’re obviously so unwell, and I know I didn’t really know that at the time, but I should have, or at least texted and checked in, I just… I wanted us all to get along so bad and I thought if you came it would mean more fun because you’re always so lively and good at talking to people and-” 

Tim holds up a hand, eyes glazing over as Martin stops short, breath coming almost as rapidly as Tim’s. After a minute goes by, Martin starts to open his mouth, seeming confused by the interruption, before nearly jumping out of his skin as Tim ducks into his fist. 

“eTCHh’ew! hH’YEAShh –iew! Sorry, I feld those cobigg… waid– hih’ETCHhew! heAYSHh’oo!” Tim ducks down again, Sasha grabbing him tighter to support the harsh shudders as he attempts to keep his balance. 

“Oh bless you,” Martin offers, voice coming out timid. Tim gives him, what he hopes is, a warm smile despite the fever taking hold of the last corners of his mind.

“If I didn’t wanna cobe, I would have stayed hobe. I dod’t blame you.” 

Martin nods silently, a relief seeming to flood his face. Taking his place once more supporting Tim, they move towards the exit. Opening the door, the first wave of cold floods the entryway, and a chill so violent runs through Tim that both Martin and Sasha take a step back to brace him. 

It’s now that Jon speaks up, voice strained with a type of worry Tim hadn’t heard before. “No, we’re absolutely not doing this, I refuse.” 

The trio turn towards him. Though perhaps a more accurate description is that Martin and Sasha turn, Tim simply goes along for the ride. Martin mumbles something about ‘no other choice’, but Sasha asks what Jon’s on about. 

“It’s too cold out there, it’s the middle of the damn night, there’s no way I’m letting him go home like this.” 

“And what do you suggest we do as an alternative? He can’t stay here-” Sasha begins, pausing as Jon turns towards her. 

“Why not? I’m the archivist, this is my archive,” Jon begins, pausing for a moment, before adding, “Well, Elias’s, but I hardly think he’d suggest we send an employee home in this weather while they’re this sick. That’s just bad management, he’ll freeze to death before even reaching the train.” 

As if to confirm this assumption, Tim shudders violently, ducking into his chest with a tired, “hh’eshhew! eTCHh’iew!” followed by a heavy sigh. Martin mumbles something about covering, but quickly silences himself as Tim begins to tremble again. 

Sasha gives Jon a look, seeming to read him for any hints of doubt, perhaps searching for an ulterior motive. After a brief pause, their eyes meeting, she gives a tight nod, approval of some kind. 

“Come on Martin, let’s get him back to that couch, he can sleep there for the night,” Sasha directs, Martin nodding his acceptance. 

Tim manages to catch snippets of the conversation as they get him settled. Jon fetching him a blanket he keeps in his office. Martin providing some more tea. Sasha grabbing tissues and medication for when he wakes up. Something about Jon sleeping in his office so he’s not alone, and Sasha coming in early to help him home. 

With his final bout of consciousness, Tim holds up a hand, the conversation immediately pausing. “Thagk you guys. And… esSHhh’ew! And, I’b sorry.” 

All three stare at him for a minute, before Sasha breaks first. Her laughter fills the silence, Martin joining in soon after, and even Jon letting a few chuckles slip out. When they’ve finally collected themselves, Sasha gives Tim a warm smile. 

“Sleep well, Tim. I’ll come fetch you in the morning.” 

With a content sigh, Tim lets his eyes drift shut again, his consciousness fading to the soft hum of his friends in the background. 

Alright, so maybe coddling isn’t quite so bad after all.

#waterfallwrites #the m/agnus a/rchives #was that my tag?? i think it was ahuguh #anyways i wrote this in a flurry of 'i need to do something about my hyperfixation' induced attention span #took many breaks but all in all took about 6ish hours (including the breaks) #and im kinda proud of myself for just! doing it!! #props to my friend for telling me to 'just write something with no pressure and let it be what it is' #so this is a drabble that turned into an actual fic bc i didnt! pressure myself! #if it sucks it sucks- if it doesnt it doesnt- whatever it is i made it and im gonna be happy with that #plus its t/ma which rn is just... SOOO it for me. i am so hyperfixated #and t/im is my beloved i love this man #and i may possibly try to write about j/ons version of this cold and maybe The Cherry Blossom Incident #but i actually have a different t/ma fic in the works so that one comes first <3 #anyways yes here you go!! i toss this into the void! and see if! anyone wants it! #t/ma #t/im s/toker

[mrpenguinpants-alter-ego]

Kaeya: Frostbite

This was suppose to be an offering to Albedo but I don’t know anything about him so I ended up writing him as a more laidback Kaeya. Halfway through I realized so that’s why my tags are like that. Here’s your 2k words of cake. 

I’m back :DD My first fic is on Albedo Kaeya tho haha. I don’t really want Albedo since I’m saving for Xiao (but if he wants to come I ain’t complaining, he’s vv pretty) so here is my offering birthday gift before 1.2. I saw the cold weather effect for 1.2 and my breath of the wild ptsd kicked in. Is it gay to hold hands with your significant other as an excuse to not freeze to death? 

btw I have a taglist. If you want to be added see pinned post for details.

---

Kaeya: Frostbite 

Trying to find a way into Inazuma didn’t seem likely considering the Electro archon’s distaste to visions and causing a region-wide lockdown. So the next option was to travel through Dragonspine. There had been a few disturbances noted from the Adventurer’s guild but due to the harsh climate of the snow-touched region, not many adventurers were willing to set foot near the mountain. Albedo, the Captain of the Investigation Team and Chief Alchemist, however, knew no bounds for research and discovering the “truth” of the world. This is probably why by the time you found out that one of the Favonius Captains was in Dragonspine that could serve as an excellent travel companion/guide, he had already departed for the mountain weeks ago. 

“Why don’t you ask Kaeya to take you?” Jean recommended, smiling gently at your wilting state, “Mondstadt has been quiet lately so it shouldn’t hurt to have two missing Captains for a short while.” 

Kaeya? Well, it was true that he didn’t have cavalry to command considering Grand Master Varka had taken all of them for an expedition. Would it be alright to do that? Wouldn’t the Fatui try and start something with the infamous captain away?

“If you’re worried about the Fatui it’s alright. With the event in Liyue and the role of the Fatui Harbinger, they’ve been very skittish to start anything” Lisa laughed from her spot beside Jean. It always scared you how Lisa seemed to be a mind reader. Did alchemist secretly pick it up as a hobby or was Lisa just that scary? Both were equally correct possibilities. 

“He’s starting to miss you because you’ve been away from Mondstadt for so long. Jean and I can take care of things should something happen. Go meet up with him before his mood sulks even further. Even I’m starting to feel bad” Lisa smiled, waving you off to go find said Calvary Captain. 

---

While a pyro user would be better to travel within hindsight, Diluc was busy with the winery and Amber wasn’t used to the harsh climate of Dragonspine. That left Kaeya, who had been to Dragonspine before having met with an owl. You weren’t entirely sure what significance the owl of Dragonspine had but knowing Kaeya, it could either be a wise creature or an ordinary snow owl. He was a cyro user and while that didn’t necessarily mean he was immune to the frost, he was at least in his element. You couldn’t ask Diluc to set the ground on fire and burn to death and besides, the climate was too cold for grass to burn. Plus Jean did recommend him plus you were interested in this “sulky” version of Kaeya. 

“Dragonspine? That’s quite a jump from the noisy harbour of Liyue. May I ask why the sudden change?” Kaeya smiled easily when you approached him. You were surprised he already knew what you wanted to ask but maybe Mondstadt had the same idea as Liyue, that all the walls talked. 

“Ah, I heard that there have been some unknown issues there so I wanted to see if I could help. Albedo already left so Jean recommended that I travel with you to meet him since you’ve been there before” you explained trying to stifle the laugh bubbling up as he pouted a bit.  

“So I’ve become Plan B then? I thought we had quite a close relationship and yet you’re asking me to accompany you to see another man” 

“Kaeyaa...” you sighed at him, so this is what Lisa meant by a sulky Kaeya. 

“I’m just teasing,” Kaeya ruffled your hair as he stood up from his chair, “Mondstadt’s been quite boring lately. Shall we depart?” 

---

While you knew that Dragonspine wouldn’t be an easy adventure after spending so much time in the comforting warm weather of Liyue, it wasn’t an easy experience to suddenly switch temperatures so 180. The snow made it hard for your boots to trek through and while the snowflakes were pretty they made your body temperature plummet. Your hands were cold as you started to slowly lag behind Kaeya busy trying to keep your hands warm. It wouldn’t be awhile before the next torch so you just needed to toughen it out. How the hell was Kaeya fine in this kind of weather?

“What's wrong? Can't handle the cold?” Kaeya called over his shoulder before pausing in his step studying your shivering form, “Are you alright?” 

“J-Just fine” you breathed out trying to warm your hands a bit more, “Really, I’m alright. Just a bit cold-

As if the cyro goddess herself was mocking you a strong gust of cold wind flew past you two, ripping the buttons off your coat and freezing yourself to your core. You squeaked as whatever warmth you had was chased out and replaced with the harsh bite of frost as it slowly crept up your sides before two fingerless gloves quickly closed your coat and embraced you to a warm chest

“Be careful, frostbite is dangerous” Kaeya teased even though his eyes shone with concern as he nudged your head under his chin, trying to block the wind with his back, his hair wiping in the wind tickling your face “It’ll damage your skin and tissue. Do you feel any pain? Numbness?” 

He unwrapped his white fur cloak from his shoulder and wrapped it around your neck. You’ve never really seen Kaeya express this kind of concern before. Did his cyro vision accidentally hurt him before? You don’t recall Mondstadt ever facing harsh winters. He paused before taking one of his gloves off, breathing into his hands to warm them, despite your protest. 

“Haha, sorry. My gloves aren’t the best to keep warm but hopefully, it’ll be enough,” he chuckled lightly as he slide your hands into them. His fingerless gloves might keep his palms warm but his fingers were cold as he cupped yours in his bare hands. But as a cyro user, he was probably used to it since that was how he channeled his vision. His blue-lilac eye shined in amusement as he flicked a small snowflake landing on your cheek. 

“Feeling any better?” he asked as you quickly shook your head. For how lax Kaeya seemed it was always a bit of whiplash to see him so concerned. He nodded quickly as the wind began to settle down before he slowly let go to slightly peel open your coat to see the damage. 

“Aren’t you cold? I swear I’m alright” you quickly assured but Kaeya ignored you as he brushed the side of your shirt up to see small snowflakes melting away. 

“It’s just snow, nothing too different from what I’m used to,” he muttered to himself as he brushed away the snowflakes on your waist, before wrapping you in your coat and re-buttoning your coat, “Are you cold anywhere else?”

“N-No” you answered quickly, this was not good for your heart. Where had this version of Kaeya come from? Was he always like this? “Well, I guess my hands are a bi-” 

He brought your hands up to his face as his cheeks warmed your hands as he ran his fingers over yours. Trying to transfer his heat to you as your cheeks started to flush redder and redder. He huffed amused under his breath which only served to make the red flush further down your neck. 

“Sorry, not a pyro user so this is the best I can do” he laughed lightly at your embarrassed expression. You knew it, he was teasing you this entire time. In sub-zero temperature where you both could die at any time. 

“I’m fine. Really” you pouted, at this point, you were sure you might be overheating. He chuckled at your flushed expression as you tried to unlatch your hands to cover your face as he leans his forehead against yours. 

“If you ever need me, let me know. Let's not make this a transaction relationship” he smiled smugly as you glared at him. Not that it was intimidating at all.  

“Fine, understood” you huffed as he ruffles your hair again before diving his cold fingers to the sides of your neck making your shriek as he dodged your failing arms. 

“Come on, let's get moving. We're not frozen in place, after all. As much dying here with you seems romantic, dying from the cold with a cyro vision is just embarrassing” he called over his shoulder smirked as he began walking away to the next waypoint. 

“Kaeya...”

“Sorry sorry”

---

You sighed in relief as you held your hands to the small torch just inside a cave. Away from the wind, away from the snow, and away from the cold. You could slowly feel the your muscles warm up and finally move without feeling that your bones would snap in half. You looked up at your surroundings, you never expected the giant mountain of Dragonspine to be so hollow with walkways and arches. It was really quite beautiful with all the blue ice hovering over you. Hopefully the wouldn’t break should you need to walk over them or worse, make you slip and fall. 

“Are you feeling better?” Kaeya asked as he eyed your bundled up form. His fur cloak was still wrapped tightly around your form as you breathed into your hands. He suspects that you forgotten about the cloak but he liked seeing you wear it so he never asked for it back. 

“Oh yes, so much better” you sighed out happily from your little warm bubble. 

“Just let me know if you’re still cold alright?” 

“Understood” you grinned, giving a small salute to the Captain. There’s a small pause as he nods again at you. You blink a couple times at him before Lisa’s words ring in your mind. You flush as you quickly wave at your cheeks trying to fan away the red. You shuffle a tiny bit on your feet before taking a quick look at Kaeya. 

“Um, Kaeya.”

“Yes?”

“My hands are a bit cold. So...”

“Yes?”

You pout at him. 

“Could you...”

“Could I?”

You glared at him as his chuckles slowly turned to laughter 

“Alright alright, don’t need to be so mad. Come here” 

You grinned as he held his hand out for you to take.   

#genshin impact #genshin #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #genshin impact imagines #genshin imagines #genshin fanfic #genshin impact fanfiction #genshin headcanons #genshin impact headcanons #genshin kaeya #genshin impact kaeya #kaeya #kaeya alberich #kaeya x reader #kaeya x lumine #kaeya x aether #kaeya x traveler #genshin kaeya x reader #genshin impact kaeya x reader #genshin fluff

[littlemindblabbles]

First Time’s the Charm

Pairing: Soonyoung x Jihoon (SoonHoon)

Summary: here’s the little one-shot on Soonhoon that’s related to my multi-chaptered fic The Bet :)

“JIHOONIE! Good morning!!!!” Rolling his eyes, Jihoon cringed at the loud boy currently making his way to him. Soonyoung really wouldn’t stop will he? Ever since the first day of high school, Soonyoung has made it his mission to be Jihoon’s friend. From following him through the school hallways, sitting with him in the canteen during lunch, alway asking Jihoon if he wanted to study together after school. Part of Jihoon knew Soonyoung probably had a small crush on him, but that ball of sunshine was quite fun to hang out with so gradually, he agreed.

“HI! How was your night, I hope you managed to get home safe, we did leave the library pretty late. I’m actually kinda glad you forced me to go home instead of walking you home, I was so tired I fell asleep the moment I got back. And I would have overslept if Wonwoo doesn’t walk with me to school everyday!” Ah yes, how could Jihoon overlook the emotionless figure standing right next to Soonyoung. Jeon Wonwoo, Soonyoung’s best friend since kindergarten. The two of them have been stuck together since then, though their friend group has been expanding due to how friendly Soonyoung was, Jihoon included. He didn’t mind Wonwoo, the guy didn’t talk much, which was sometimes a breath of fresh air after being stuck with Soonyoung for hours. They hung out a lot in threes, Jihoon suspected it was because Soonyoung didn’t want to make his crush too obvious. Sigh.

“I’m fine Soonyoung. I made it home perfectly safe, and I had a good night thanks for asking. I know you woke up late, the two of y’all were running into school just as the school bell sounded, and you’re wearing yesterday’s jeans with a shirt that’s inside out.” Soonyoung looked down and turned beet red, sheepishly grinning.

“Oh? Right, I didn’t really pay attention to what I was wearing, it was more of just making sure I had clothes on. It’s okay, I have a spare set of clothes in my locker that I keep for dance.” If there was anything Soonyoung got more excited than talking to Jihoon, it was dance. It was basically Soonyoung’s life, and he would talk about it to anybody if he could. If you wanted to get into Soonyoung’s heart, just bring up something related to dance and he’ll love you forever.

“You’re practicing today? I have to finish up an essay, so I’ll be in school till late. I don’t mind sitting in the practice room to keep you company.” Based on Soonyoung’s reaction, it sounded as though Jihoon just gave him a million dollars. 

“This is the first time you’ve initiated a hangout! I’m so happy my influence has finally rubbed off on you. I’ve got to get to class now though, see you during lunch! Bye Jihoonie, bye Wonnie!” Waving frantically, he ran off. Wonwoo, finally showing a slight smirk, nodded his head towards his retreating best friend, raising an eyebrow.

“Too obvious right?” 

“Yeah, I’ve known for awhile now”

“Well, please do something about it, I might die if I hear him tell me about how you looked at him for longer than 10 seconds when y’all talk.” Jihoon laughed, he didn’t know why, but something about that boy made him smile.

---

“You finished your essay? Do you want to eat something, I know writing must have made you really tired. My treat, I finally accomplished a really difficult move today, I’ve been practicing for months.”

“No, I’m fine, maybe you can treat me some other time. It’s getting late and we have school tomorrow. I have to say, you make dancing look so effortless, even that difficult moved looked amazing when executed by you.” Jihoon wasn’t trying to patronise him, Soonyoung really was like a different person when he danced. He was’t lying when he wanted to watch Soonyoung practice, he could watch him for hours and still be amazed. 

“I think I managed it today because I had my lucky charm.” Jihoon stopped, turning back to look at Soonyoung, eyes slighlty widened. “Jihoon, I know I haven’t been the most subtle, and I’m sure someone as observant as you has probably figured things out. You may act all cold and harsh to most people and we may seem like polar opposites but I know deep down, when you’re with me, you can be the sweetest person in the world. I love the version of me when I’m with you, and if I could, I want to spend more time with you without having to drag Wonwoo around. I want to take you out for movie dates and fancy dinners, have someone to give cheesy gifts to during Valentine’s Day, take those embarrassingly cute selfies that you pretend to hate but secretly look at when you think I’m not looking, get all the scoldings in the world when you teach me how to play video games. I want all that with you, so please will you go out with me Jihoon?” Wow, Jihoon didn’t know Soonyoung had it in him to be romantic. Of course, he already knew his answer, but Soonyoung being all cute and romantic and not awkward or shy at all was a huge surprise. 

“I hope you know that I don’t just hang out with anyone till dark like this everyday. Of course I like you too Soonyoung, and yes I will go out with you.” The moment the words left his lips, he was enveloped in a huge hug by a very very sweaty Soonyoung.

“Omg, you actually agreed! I thought I would have to try about like 5 times before you accepted me, but you said yes on the first try! This was even better than when I first asked you to be my friend.” Oh, was I that mean till he had that impression of me? Oops. 

“Wonwoo’s going to be so surprised! Oh, I better tell him now!” And suddenly, before Jihoon could process anything, his now boyfriend(?) left him standing alone in the dark outside the school gates. 

This was more the Soonyoung he was familiar with, way too excited and jumpy till sometimes he does things absentmindedly. Smiling to himself, he started to walk home, wondering when Soonyoung would notice his mistake.

The phone call came in later than expected, Jihoon was already showered and laying in bed. But he picked it up nevertheless, amused to hear what Soonyoung had to say.

“JIHOON I’M SORRY! I don’t know what came over me, I was so so so happy you agreed, I just ran off to tell Wonwoo because he told me I would fail today. You’re home right, I just reached school but you’re nowhere to be found.” Jihoon noted the irregular panting and heavy breathing from the other end. Poor Soonyoung, he must have sprinted to school the moment he realised his mistake. 

“Yes, I’m home. I wouldn’t have waited in the cold for that long, I value my life. And it’s okay, really I know you. I’ll see you tomorrow alright? Have a good night.” Not wanting Soonyoung to waste anymore time outside, he hurriedly hung up so Soonyoung could go home. Not thinking much of it, he continued getting ready for bed. 

Awhile later, his phone chimed. It was Wonwoo. 

W - Couldn’t have been a little less Jihoon with that answer? Now your boyfriend is cramping up my arm because he fell asleep worrying that you may reject him tomorrow because of this. I’m going to have a cramped arm because of the both of you.

J - Oops, I didn’t really think much of it. I’m fine, I was actually wondering where was the excited but absentminded guy when he asked me out. It was actually so sweet and smooth I was impressed!

W - As much as I am surprised you agreed to go out with him the first time, I am not happy with this current outcome. Please reassure him tomorrow, while I try to get some sleep without losing all feeling in my arm. Gdnight!

Jihoon must really have given everyone the impression he was only tolerating Soonyoung to be nice. But at least Soonyoung knew how he truly was whenever they were alone, he was the only one Jihoon could let his guard down and still feel safe around. Looks like he had to clear up this little issue as soon as possible.

---

“Soonyoung, you’re in school already? But you’re never earlier than me.” Shocked, Jihoon could only stare incredulously at the sight of Soonyoung waiting by his locker even before Jihoon reached.

“Wonwoo shoved me out at 5 am, and asked me to go home so he could get a bit more sleep with his arm back. I was too nervous, so I came to school early. Please please forgive me for yesterday, don’t reject me because of this.” Soonyoung was trying his best to look cute, giving Jihoon the huge puppy dog eyes. Silly boy, Jihoon already found him cute when he wasn’t trying anything. Only knowing one way to complete ensure Soonyoung knew he was okay, Jihoon took a huge breath and leaned forward to place a peck on Soonyoung’s lips. 

“Now do you believe me when I say I was really okay with everything?” Soonyoung nodded vigorously, before pulling Jihoon into another super tight hug.

Note: This turned out longer than expected, but hope y’all like it! Please check out my Masterlist for more fics.

#seventeen #svt #seventeen fics #seventeen fluff #soonhoon #soonyoung #woozi #jihoon #hoshi #kwon soonyoung #Lee Jihoon #wonwoo #seungcheol #jeonghan #hong jisoo #wen junhui #minghao #seokmin #mingyu #seungkwan #hansol vernon chwe #chan

[nobody-wants-ice-cream]

The Umbrella Academy in: The Triwizard Tournament

Chapter 5.1 Number Five’s Research

Thank you @seven-misfits and @tehmoonofficial for your amazing beta skills!

https://archiveofourown.org/works/21340549/chapters/54740578#workskin

Five couldn’t sleep after his encounter with Reginald. It had been 45 years since he had been to private training, but seeing the restraints again had brought back the scared thirteen-year-old he thought the apocalypse had trained out of him. 

Reginald used to tie him in any sort of restraint, like chains or a straightjacket, to an electric chair. If Five couldn’t jump out, he would be electrocuted. It had taken thirty years of drunken conversations with Dolores to finally admit that he and his siblings were abused as children. Being back in that room was terrifying in a way Five had forgotten. Its sudden reintroduction was a blast of ice being poured down his back. 

Instead of sleeping, Five decided to look up a charm to brew coffee- which ended up being Calida Capulus while pointing his wand at a mug with coffee grains in hot water- and then set to work reviewing documents in Reginald’s office. That coffee Allison got him would prove to be very useful. 

Speaking of Allison, her rumor would work in his favor. Reginald couldn’t touch them. More importantly, if Five was caught, then he couldn’t be punished with individual training. He could browse Reginald’s files enough to paint a pretty decent picture of what their lives were like in this universe. 

Just after they turned twelve, the seven of them became superheroes. Vanya and Ben were their heavy hitters. One particular note disturbed Five. “When Number Seven’s powers become too much to contain, I will have to stun her and put her in the isolation chamber. Her powers are essential,” read the disturbing red journal from their toddler years. 

According to 400 Offensive Spells, “The stunning spell should not be used on subjects under 100 pounds or 45 killograms as the magic will overwhelm the castee and may cause permanent damage to the nervous system or magical core”. Vanya was placed under this spell as a very young child over and over again. Five had a small idea that Vanya’s powers prevented the damage from being permanent. He didn’t know how that would be possible, but that irrational hope stopped him from murdering Reginald in cold blood. 

The Commission made him a killer, but he never enjoyed his work. However, after hearing the atrocities Reginald committed on his siblings, he was willing to make an exception. Stunning Vanya was only the tip of the iceberg. The things done to himself and to the version of himself native to this universe were barely a blip in his anger. 

Five skipped around to his section. The book said that this Five’s interest in time travel was a fleeting interest that went away when Reginald brought him books on the runes to create a time-turner. When Five looked up what a time-turner was, he was disappointed in his other self. A device that takes you back or forward a few hours was a party trick compared to what he had the potential to do. At least this version of himself didn’t get himself stuck in the apocalypse. That would have been difficult.

If I time traveled now would I end up appearing here in this universe or would I be stuck in the future in mine? Five mused while moving around some of the papers that surrounded him. 

That was the last bit of semi-coherent thought Five had. He passed out surrounded by books and papers. Specifically, blueprints for a magically expanded Minerva Aircraft, complete with six dorms and a master bedroom. 

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

“Five. Five. Five. Wake up. Five, wake up. Five, you can’t keep doing this, man." It was Luther being his personal alarm clock again. 

“Mu, wus goin on? Five more mins, Luth,” Five tried while rolling over. 

“Nope! Get up.” Luther pulled Five up and managed to get him sitting up while slumped against Reginald’s desk. 

“Five, how many times have you fallen asleep here? It’s been months, what more do you possibly have to find?” Luther asked. Five had spent his nights in August and September in Reginald’s study reading his notes and pursuing magazines and newspapers that mentioned the Umbrella Academy in any way. 

“When was the last time you slept in your bed, Five. This isn’t healthy." Luther snapped his fingers in front of Five’s face, “Hey! Focus.”

Five opened his eyes again. He had been up until three in the morning due to a teen magazine bender. Those vapid things were somewhat addictive. Not that he would admit it to anyone. 

“I need to know what’s going on.” Five did feel lethargic. He worked and worked until he passed out trying to figure out this timeline. If they wanted to stay off the Commission’s radar, they needed to keep the timeline as consistent as possible. Five struggled to keep his head upright. 

“Hey, did you know the seven of us are the only ones Dad adopted? Everybody else is a boarding student.” Five shared. He was starting to feel more alert. He reached for his mug and the Bunsen burner he used to heat up his coffee water. 

“We have thirty minutes before breakfast. You should clean yourself up,” Luther said before leaving the room. 

Five scowled. Luther didn’t have to get him up this early. Five decided that teleporting to the bathroom was a bad idea this early in the morning and decided to walk so he could find an unoccupied one. He stared at the floor and shuffled his feet like a pissed off thirteen year-old the whole time. At least they weren’t required to stick to one bathroom like in his youth.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&

“The elusive old man finally decides to join us! How was your bender? Any wild stories? Amputee hookers? Or were you holed up in Dad’s office the whole time?” Klaus greeted. His bright smile and teasing words were grating. Five scowled at him and picked up the carafe of coffee that Mom had taken to leaving at their table. 

“Well, Klaus. I actually had a wild time. You know teleporting a girl or three in the room wasn’t too difficult,” Five snarked back. Five wasn’t actually interested in the whole sex thing, but Klaus didn’t know that. In fact, nobody except Dolores knew that the idea repulsed him. Besides, Five had a feeling that telling his siblings that he had been up all night reading J-14 and Seventeen would lead to more judgement that he just wasn’t prepared to deal with. 

“Did you actually?” Luther looked green in the face. He put down his knife and fork and gave Five his full attention. 

Five raised his eyebrows and took a sip of coffee. He would neither confirm nor deny. 

“Right, um, moving on. You missed Pogo announcing that we were to report to the foyer for an announcement. One through Twelve. It’s supposed to be super important,” Allison attempted. 

“Who cares? Five, did you-” Ben was cut off by Mom announcing that it was 7:53 A.M. 

“We better go and see what the old man wants.” Five teleported out of the room and into the foyer. 

He was met with Number Ten who looked up from her book in surprise when Five teleported into the room. 

“Hey, Five. I still get surprised when you do that. Any ideas for what the Headmaster wants to talk about?” Ten must have left breakfast early, “Thirteen and Fourteen were pretty pissed that they aren’t included in whatever this is.”

“I don-”

“You know, he hasn’t really talked to his seven science experiments in a while. Did you guys do something? Maybe Three heard a little rumor?” Ten was starting to piss him off. Her tone was condescending in a way he threw people’s heads through walls for. 

“Se-” He was cut off by everyone else entering the room. He was going to question the nickname ‘seven science experiments.’ As if she had the right to call them that!

“Hey Five, hey Ten,” Number Eleven greeted. Eleven was tall, thin, and very good looking. They were extremely androgynous, hence the neutral pronoun. They wore their uniform with the sort of confidence that Five had only seen in himself, Hazel, or Cha Cha. For a split second, Five wondered if Eleven had ever killed anybody, but then he saw Eleven had uncalloused, delicate hands. Those were not the hands of an assassin.  

“Do you think something went wrong? Maybe the rumor-” Allison whispered. Five gestured towards Ten with pointed expression so Allison would shut up. 

Just as an awkward silence was draping itself around the room, Sir Reginald Hargreeves walked in. He stalked around the room and did not look at Five or any of his siblings. 

“The Triwizard tournament is a grand and noble tradition that has lasted throughout the ages, until modern history. You students are amongst the lucky few with the honor and the privilege of submitting your names to the Goblet of Fire. Do not disappoint me. Report back to breakfast for your schedules!” Classic Reginald Hargreeves. Short, simple, and as cold as possible. 

Immediately, whispers broke out amongst the strangers. Excited curiosity and nerves filled the room. Five hoped that it wouldn’t be him. He had proven himself already. Eight, Nine, Ten, Eleven, and Twelve filed back into the kitchen. Diego left with them.

Luther addressed the group with, “We should really plan-”

“Haven’t we planned enough?” Klaus clapped Luther on the shoulder and flounced after Diego. 

“Why is it still a Triwizard tournament if we’re joining as the fourth school?” Ben mused behind him. 

“Well,” Vanya piped up to his left, “Quadwizard tournament sounds pretty stupid.”

“It sounds like lazy writing to me,” Allison twirled her dark hair around her index finger, “Like some poor marketing executive or some bad author didn’t want to come up with a better name.”

&&&&&&&&&&&&&

Several weeks later, the Academy was buzzing in unrelenting energy and unmitigated chaos as numbers One through Twelve packed their belongings in the single, large suitcase they had each been allowed to bring. 

“Ben! Have you seen my left- never mind!” said Allison. 

“Ow! Sorry, Seven,” said an unknown person. The voice was female, so could have been Eight, Ten, or Twelve. Or possibly Eleven. Five didn’t know what they looked or sounded like today yet. 

Diego could be heard sneering, “Watch, where you’re going, Twelve.”

Five calmly packed the basics. The Commission taught him well. It took him two minutes to pack some uniforms, toiletries, and his school supplies. The same could not be said for the others who were frantically putting things in their suitcases. The Minerva would have dorms once they landed, but there was no point in bringing anything to decorate with. Ben would probably bring enough to make the space feel normal. 

They were going to be sharing rooms in number order. One and Two, etc. Five took a moment to feel bad for Vanya, who would be sharing with Number Eight. 

Then a thought occurred to Five. Five had spent months researching how to assimilate into this universe. Why not try to go home? 

As soon as it was there, the thought was gone. This was home. His siblings were here. Right? Five felt disoriented. His thoughts moved through his brain like jello. Then he simply stopped thinking about it. 

What was he doing? Packing for the tournament! According to Ben and Luther, this would be a dangerous ordeal. The goblet would pick the best candidate. If anyone was going to be picked, it would have to be him for his siblings’ sake. He was the oldest and most experienced. 

Then he remembered that he had already proven himself. So why did he feel the overwhelming desire to win this tournament?

&&&&&&&&&&&&&

On the morning of October 30, 1994, twelve children and their Dad/Headmaster boarded the Minerva Aircraft on their way from The Umbrella Academy to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. 

The plane ride was almost completely silent. There was still chatter, as Reginald was piloting the Minerva.

Allison and Five were poring over a wizarding teen magazine called Witch Weekly, which was distributed worldwide, while speaking in low voices that couldn’t be heard over the plane’s engine. 

“Since when are you the heartthrob?” Allison poked him and then the picture of him surrounded by tiny hearts. 

“I don’t know! That’s weird right? I guess in this universe I didn’t disappear when I was thirteen and now people think I’m attractive or something? I don’t get it. Who was the,” Five put up air quotes, “‘heartthrob’ in our universe?”

“Klaus and Luther had pretty strong followings,” Allison paused to think, “When we were fifteen, Ben had some sort of cult? And I was the only girl so...yeah. Oh, and Diego was popular towards the end, but no one could figure out why.”

Klaus was looking at the magazine in front of Allison and Five with interest. He raised his eyebrow at Five and gave a small wave before going back to his drawing. 

Eight, Nine, and Twelve were playing a card game a few rows above them. They were oblivious, unlike Ten and Eleven, who were talking in hushed voices and looking at Allison every now and then. Eleven’s hair was a bright shade of electric blue today. They had opted for lithe, feminine curves and the female uniform, but a very close cropped pixie cut. Five barely recognized them. Ten was attempting to ask Eleven to grow their hair longer so she could braid it. 

Luther was watching this argument with an apathetic look on his face, while Diego watched with interest. Maybe he thinks it will turn into a fight or something? 

Ben was completely oblivious to all of this and kept his nose stuck in Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them. 

“Please, Eleven! It will look really good,” Ten pleaded. 

“For the last time, no. Piss off, Ten.”

“Fine. Sorry. Eight! Can you deal me in?” Ten demanded.

“Yeah, sure,” Eight started shuffling her cards again. 

Diego looked somewhat disappointed at the de escalation and went back to sharpening his knives. 

“Hey, Three, Five! Can I borrow your Daily Prophet?” Eleven asked from across the aisle. 

Since they had already gone through all of their copies of that newspaper, Five said, “Sure,” and handed them the October 29th copy. It was the most recent thing in the pile. 

The rest of the plane ride passed like that. Eventually, Diego borrowed their magazines as well once he ran out of knives to sharpen. 

The Minerva flew on through the clear sky. 

#The Umbrella Academy #harry potter and the goblet of fire #after three months this fic is back

[iamashamedofmyfanfics]

Raining Season

Raining Season by iamashamedofmyfanfics

Pairing: Suga/Jimin, Past Suga/J Hope Genre: Romance, Friendship Universe: AU where harsh words cause physical scars Rating: PG13 Warnings: Swearing, mentions of verbal abuse (both purposeful and unintentional). Length: Oneshot (6894 words)

Notes: Part of the Skin Deep Reality AU but this AU is a collection of oneshots so there’s literally 0 need to read the others. It took me like a year to write this rip.

[ao3 version] (do links still block posts from tags? if so rip me)

Summary: Just as he takes a step, he kicks something, and looks down to find a dark, red umbrella sitting next to his door. It’s almost certainly Jimin’s. There’s a note tied to it. “I got a new one and Hoseok said you didn’t have one, so you can have this if you want? Don’t get sick!”

It’s raining when Yoongi leaves the convenience store. The warmth of his coffee does nothing to ease the cold of the rain, as he steps outside. Briefly he wonders if he should just run back to his apartment from here, but he really doesn’t have time to get sick. Yoongi pulls his jacket tighter around him, and glances back inside. The cashier- a young woman with the unfortunate luck to have the word disappointing carved across her cheek- gives him a sympathetic, if nervous, smile. In return, he offers a halfhearted smile, and turns back to the sidewalk, watching the rain for a moment. With a sigh, he resigns himself to running, and pulls his hood up in the hopes it will provide extra protection.

“Yoongi?” The voice- familiar and quiet- stops him. To his left stands Park Jimin, who goes to the college just a few blocks south of where Yoongi- during his days- works. As well as who shares a mutual friend- one Jung Hoseok- with Yoongi.

“Oh, hey.” Yoongi glances, briefly, at the umbrella the other holds, before looking back to Jimin’s face.

“It’s raining.”

“I noticed.”

“We’re you planing to run in it?”

“Yep.”

“Would you… like to walk with me?” Jimin’s question confuses Yoongi for just a moment, before he remembers that they also live in the same apartment building. Yoongi pauses, considering this, then nods.

“Yeah, sure.”

“Okay, give me a second? I was supposed to buy some stuff before getting home.” With that, Jimin shoves the umbrella into Yoongi’s hands, and rushes inside. For a moment, Yoongi thinks about how easy it would be to just go on his own, since he has the umbrella, before pushing that thought aside. That would be more than mean, and he can stand to wait a few minutes.

When Jimin returns, he’s holding a bag filled with at least six cold coffee bottles, and is holding a slushee. Yoongi raises an eyebrow at this, but Jimin shrugs, sipping it.

“Roommate.”

“Ah.”

They head back, together, and separate when they reach the building.

“Thanks.”

“No problem. See you later!”

 There are very few people who are willing to risk themselves, in exchange for fame. In a world where one word said with enough venom, or one phrase that hurts you enough, can etch itself over your skin permanently, it’s a big risk. There are people who become famous, only to have someone who claims to be their fans scream something hurtful at them just to know that their words are scars on that persons skin. There are people who want to ruin them, and do the same. There are those who believe their comments will never reach them, but that somehow get back through one of dozens of sites. There are those who try to ruin someone before they reach fame, and those who throw insults at each other to entertain people.

It’s cruel, and it’s not everyone, but it’s a large enough threat that many fear trying. Those who do either being confident enough not to get hurt, or are able to hide their scars easily. Or, in some rare cases, those who don’t try to hide them, despite any criticism.

Someone who makes music without showing his face, and who preforms only in small venues populated by people with the same wants- dreams, goals, careers- as him, Min Yoongi both does and doesn’t want to rise into that. Fears it, because of the words already there, yet desperately holds onto a dream that a young him had, before the cruelty of the world was revealed to him.

For now, no matter what he wants, he keeps doing what he has been, and working to make up for what his dreams can’t do.

 It’s still raining early the next day, when he wakes. He doesn’t work, today, if only because his boss got tired of seeing him every day for the past month. Yoongi takes this chance to listen back to the newest track he’s created. The mixing he “finished” the day before, while he may have been far too tired to properly judge it, needs some work, so he resigns himself to that task, for the morning.

By afternoon he’s sure he’s listened to his own voice far too much, and that he can no longer be trusted to be the judge of it.

So he sends the most current version of it to two of his friends- who he trusts to give honest thoughts- and leaves deciding he should probably eat.

It could be quite a while before he hears back from them; Namjoon and Hoseok. Namjoon is in a different timezone, and is halfway to finishing a manuscript he’s been invested in for the past few months. Meanwhile Hoseok is knee deep in internships and, between that, his personal ventures into the career he actually wants.

To his surprise, Yoongi receives an email from Hoseok only four hours later, while he’s taken to writing down whatever comes into his mind; writing thoughts for future reference. So he sits up, and grabs his computer, reading the email.

 Two years ago, Min Yoongi and Jung Hoseok weren’t friends. A month before that, they were dating.

Yoongi knows he’s responsible for at least one of Hoseok’s scars, and he can’t do anything about that fact. Neither of them can, or could have. It was something that had to be said, that they both knew was going to be, eventually. An inevitability that they couldn’t avoid. One of them would be hurt.

“It’s okay.” Hoseok had taken Yoongi’s hands, and smiled, despite the clear fear there. Yoongi hesitated, frowned, refused to say what he knew would hurt Hoseok. What he knew would carve a fresh scar into his skin. It’s surprising, to hear Hoseok talk gravely, but he speaks with a finality that Yoongi can’t manage. “I already know, but neither of us will feel better leaving it unsaid.”

“I don’t- I’m not in love with you.”

“I know.”

Hoseok left, that day. The only evidence that Yoongi was right, that the words scared, is his slight wince when Yoongi said it. Yet, he doesn’t say anything hurtful back. Doesn’t try to pay Yoongi back for them. Is clear enough in what was happening, to know that Yoongi tried to make the words untrue. Tried to feel what he knew Hoseok did. But it hadn’t worked. In the end he didn’t, and it wasn’t doing either of them any good.

So Hoseok leaves with the words, “not in love with you,” and Yoongi finds the words, “I know,” trailing over his stomach the next time he looks.

Two years ago, Min Yoongi and Jung Hoseok weren’t friends. Four months after that, after everything is over, Yoongi finds Hoseok sitting outside a convince store, leaned over a warming bowl of noodles. Yoongi stares, and meets Hoseok’s gaze when he looks up. Hoseok offers a smile, surprisingly warm, and Yoongi finds himself dropping down next to the other.

When it was over, when Yoongi was far away from Hoseok’s feelings for him, he had time to process. Time the realize that, “not in love,” wasn’t always the case. That, once, at the beginning and middle, he had been in love with Hoseok, he thinks. That despite losing that, there had been a time where it was true.

“You know, I think…” Yoongi gazes at the table, frowning. “Even if I didn’t, at the end, I think at one point- I think I loved you.”

“Yeah.” Hoseok nods, turns his gaze away. “I loved you, too.”

Two years ago, Min Yoongi and Jung Hoseok weren’t friends. One year ago, Hoseok sent Yoongi a picture of a dog, after barely speaking for months, and Yoongi thought, maybe they’d be okay.

 Today, Yoongi and Hoseok are friends. Hoseok sends Yoongi an email, telling him that he liked the song, but that he’s not an expert on music production. Something felt a bit off, but he isn’t sure what, and tells Yoongi that Namjoon will probably have a better insight into that. Otherwise, he really liked the song, and says he, “wasn’t prepared to cry, so thanks,” at the end of his email. Yoongi replies, thanking him.

Hoseok responds with a small dismissal of this thanks, saying it wasn’t a big deal, and then a P.S. That says,“you should buy an umbrella.”

The next day, Yoongi gets ready for work while thinking that Hoseok is right. The rain has yet to let up, and he breathes a sigh before he sets out for work. One more glance is sent at his window, before he closes his door and stuffs his keys into his pockets. Just as he takes a step, he kicks something, and looks down to find a dark, red umbrella sitting next to his door. It’s almost certainly Jimin’s, and he picks it up with a frown on his face.

There’s a note tied to it. “I got a new one and Hoseok said you didn’t have one, so you can have this if you want? Don’t get sick!”

The day after, he finally gets a reply from Namjoon that simply tells him the song is good, but Yoongi’s voice is too low in the mix. Yoongi spends the night making adjustments with that, until he thinks it’s perfect, and then adds the song onto a blank video with the song title before posting it. He wont- despite always wanting to- check the comments. He knows better, and that’s why he has mods. To make sure that by the time he does look at the comments, they’re less likely to be filled with possibly scar-worthy words. Leaves genuine criticism, opinions- because he has to deal with those eventually- but they get rid of anything blatantly hateful.

Then he finds the clock reading approximately ass o’ clock in the morning- 4am- and knowing he has to work two hours later. With a sigh, he drags himself to bed- any rest is better than none- and sets an alarm. When he wakes, the next day, the rain has finally let up. When he goes to leave, he takes a moment of consideration, before grabbing the umbrella from where he left it beside the door, and taking it with him, just in case.

 That Sunday, two things happen. Yoongi decides enough time has passed for his mods to make it safe for him to look at his comments, and he get’s a text from Namjoon. He deals with the former, first, since he expects Namjoon will have texted him, and then gone to do something else right away, anyway.

This is so sad?

i wanna kno who this is about

ugh ‘I think I loved you’ how dare you do this to me

This makes me miss someone ive never even met ha

His voice !!!

Yoongi scrolls through the comments, the video playing the song they’re about, until he has a good idea of the general consensus. Which is, in short, that it was sad and that they liked it.

With that- for now- out of the way, Yoongi checks Namjoon’s message. It’s a picture, actually, and Yoongi isn’t sure what he’s looking at, at first. It’s a tattooed arm, that much is obvious, but he isn’t sure why Namjoon would send it to him. The bird is pretty, but it takes him a minute to realize that it’s Namjoon’s arm. The one that is scarred with the word, fake. But that word is nearly unnoticeable, under the detailed tattoo.

“When’d you do that?”

“Mostly last month but it was finished a few days ago.”

 When Yoongi is sixteen, he meets this kid named Namjoon in passing. The latter was visiting family in the town Yoongi lived in, and they met outside a CD shop. Yoongi was going to apply for some part time work, while Namjoon was just looking at the selection. This kind of meeting would be something they would both forget, something they would never think about.

When Yoongi is twenty, he meets this guy named Namjoon in passing. Yoongi is working at this store, and Namjoon is buying an album. They somehow get to talking, and eventually end up exchanging information, even though that’s unusual considering Yoongi is working. Later, months later, they talk about hometowns and spiral into a conversation that reveals their having met in passing before.

When Yoongi is twenty, he makes friends with Namjoon, and this leads, eventually, to a discussion about scars. It’s hard to miss, especially when Namjoon has never made a huge effort to hide it, but Namjoon has the word fake scrawled over this right arm. Yoongi makes a bigger effort to hide his, but it’s still not hard to notice. Yoongi has the word fucker scrawled across his left forearm. They take a weird solace in knowing these scars are both the result of broken friendships. In the fact that they aren’t alone in this.

 Yoongi looks down at his own arm, and wonders if he should do something similar. But, no, he doesn’t want to. As terrible as it is, he can’t bring himself to hide it, not from himself at least.

“It’s nice. Planning more?”

“Eventually.”

 It’s a Thursday evening, raining yet again, when Yoongi begins his journey home under the cover of the umbrella given to him by Jimin. It’s a Thursday evening, and Jimin runs past him- likely returning from university- bag held over his head.

“Jimin!” Jimin stumbles at that, spins around frantic, and stops. Then, after a brief pause, rushes over to Yoongi, hiding under the cover of the umbrella that was once his.

“Hey.”

“I though you had a new one.”

“I forgot it.” Jimin huffs, pushing his wet hair out of his face.

“Well, you in a rush?”

“Not really, now that I’m out of the rain.” Jimin grins, and Yoongi just nods. They make their way back together again, idle conversation breaking up their relative silence, and separate once back to their apartments, again.

The next morning, Yoongi checks the weather to see it’s probably going to rain, again. He isn’t sure why he’s doing it, really, but he tapes a note to Jimin’s- and his roommate’s, technically- apartment door frame- so he can’t miss it- that reminds Jimin to take an umbrella.

Later, that night, when Yoongi returns home after working overtime, he finds a thank you in the form of a note slid under his door.

 There are a number of people, in the world, who’s scars will never be visible. Who hide them under clothes or makeup- or who don’t have to make much of an effort to hide them- so nobody will ever know. Yoongi doesn’t have to make much of an effort to hide his, a lot of the time. They’re all in easily covered places. His arms, sometimes, are a problem when it’s too warm, but otherwise he doesn’t have much trouble. Sometimes he wonders about strangers. If they’re like him, or if they just don’t have a lot, or, or, or.

Yoongi has never so much caught a glimpse of Jimin’s scars. It’s not as if he’s been looking for them, specifically, but… he wonders. If the man who gave him an umbrella, and has always seemed generally nice, and who’s friends with Hoseok- which basically guarantees someone isn’t awful- could possibly have that many scars. If many people could have said things worth scarring, to him.

If he would be hurt by the words, in the first place.

Yoongi admittedly doesn’t have that many scars. No more than fifteen, if he counts the long faded ones that are barely visible from his childhood. The ones that remain, visible and obvious and red, are more recent. Sometimes, when someone looks at him for a second too long, he worries. Worries that they’re wondering, too, or maybe that they know. It’s not rational, he knows that, but he can’t help but wonder.

What would actually happen, if someone saw them? Logically he knows the answer is nothing, but…

Yoongi runs into Jimin, as he’s on his way up to his apartment, and Jimin is leaving, and he wonders. Wonders about Jimin’s scars, wonders if the other wonders about his.

“Oh, hey, Yoongi.”

“Hey.”

“Thanks again for the reminder about the umbrella, it rained again on my way home.”

“No problem.”

But their conversations are so normal. Scars are never addressed.

So maybe it’s just Yoongi that wonders.

 The long-running streak of rain finally comes to an end, on a Tuesday morning. Yoongi works in a small coffee shop just off of the nearby college campus. Technically Yoongi was a student there not long ago, but left because it felt like a waste. When he was working towards something he didn’t even want to do. His family hadn’t been happy, the word disappointing on his chest evidence of this.

Someone stumbles into the shop, seemingly losing to the weight of their bag, before looking up at Yoongi and- oh. It’s Jimin, he realizes when he sees the other’s face. Jimin is shortly followed by another of Yoongi’s neighbors- and Jimin’s roommate- Taehyung. While the later laughs at Jimin’s stumbling, and makes his way to one of the many table, Jimin shoots him a glare and approaches the counter. Yoongi offers a smile, as he’s supposed to.

“Hey, Yoongi, I forgot you worked here.”

“Yep. What do you want?”

Jimin recites his- and presumably Taehyung’s- order, motioning with his hands. Yoongi never realized before, but Jimin’s wrists have always been converted in some way. It never occurred to him why, until he notices the small, red, scar on his right arm. Pathetic. Yoongi forces himself to focus on Jimin’s order, rather than the word, and then recites it back, to be sure it’s right.

“That’s all?”

“Yep!”

Yoongi charges the other, and gives the order to another of the shops workers to get started on. When Jimin gets the drinks, and goes to sit with Taehyung, Yoongi feels bad.

Yoongi always wonders about others scars, but whenever he sees them, he feels bad. Feels like it’s an invasion of privacy that he can’t take back. Because these are words that hurt that person so badly they became physical wounds. Who was he to look at those, without permission?

 The first time Yoongi had seen someone else’s scar- that wasn’t a family member- they belonged to Seokjin, his and Namjoon’s mutual friend. At the time, shortly before Yoongi dropped out of college, Seokjin had been his roommate, which made hiding their scars from each other nearly impossible. There wasn’t enough space or privacy. Yoongi was nineteen at the time- hadn’t met Namjoon or Hoseok, yet- and had felt sick to his stomach when he realized what he’d done.

But Seokjin hadn’t seemed bothered. Said, simply, that he didn’t care. That the words didn’t mean anything, because now that they were on his skin, what else could they do to him?

Yoongi didn’t get it. His own scars hurt to look at, still. Filled his chest with anxiety at the realization that someone else could do that to him, and he could do nothing to stop it.

Yoongi wonders, now, what Jimin feels about his scars. What they mean to him.

Because Yoongi knows what his own mean to him. And they’re awful. It’s awful. He hates, deeply, every one of them.

Or, maybe, he just hates himself for believing the insults. Or himself for letting the ones that weren’t, be said.

 So, Yoongi and Jimin have this one conversation. Run into each other, again as they’re both on their way home, and have a short conversation that sticks in Yoongi’s mind.

“You ever worry that if someone knew your- uh- words, that they’d try to use them to hurt you more?”

“Huh?” Yoongi blinks, surprised, before nodding. “Yeah.”

“I lost my scar-covering band, and went through today, and nothing happened.” Jimin frowns. “So why am I still worried?”

“Just because nothing’s gone wrong- or even if you know nothing will- doesn’t mean you’re gonna stop worrying.”

“Sucks, though.”

“Yeah.”

It sticks with Yoongi, for two reasons. One is that Jimin has the same worries as him. Somehow that makes things easier. Makes him feel better. Because it isn’t just him. The second is his own words. He isn’t sure where they came from, in his mind, but he spoke without really thinking about it.

Just because you know you shouldn’t, doesn’t mean you wont worry.

And just because you know they shouldn’t matter, doesn’t mean your scars will stop hurting.

 Two weeks later, Jimin and Yoongi meet in that convenience store. The cashier looks unhappy, when the two start talking- likely too used to groups of people being noisy and inconsiderate of her time- but Yoongi tries to ignore that. He knows they aren’t going to cause her problems.

“Hey can I ask you for something?” Jimin asks, tilting his head to Yoongi.

“Depends?”

“I need music recommendations. For- uh- dance routines? Hoseok’s gonna be back in town, this summer, and we wanna do something together, but haven’t figured out what song to use.”

“Oh, sure. I can send some recommendations to him, if you want?”

“You could just give them to me?” Jimin frowns at him. “Oh, wait, you don’t have my number, huh?”

“No?”

“Okay, give me your phone then.”

 Yoongi and Jimin talk more. It’s a slow thing, that happens. One day, they barely knew each other, and the next they were talking almost every day. In passing, mostly, with the rain gone, but talking none the less. Within a year, the two have become friends.

And the rain is back.

 Yoongi is on his way back from work, as the rain pours down. It’s windy, too, and his umbrella is struggling. Still, it holds up. Then, he hears Jimin’s voice.

“Yoongi, hold up!” The other runs to him, before Yoongi can fully turn to face him. Jimin forces his way under Yoongi’s umbrella, gasping for breath after running.

“Did you somehow forget your umbrella, again?” Yoongi jokes, only for Jimin to raise the remains of his umbrella in front of them.

“Nope. It just turned out the new one was garbage.”

“New,” Yoongi repeats the word. “It’s been a year.”

“And I barely used it!”

“Fair enough.” Yoongi shrugs. “So you want to walk together, I take it?”

“Yep, that okay?”

“Of course.”

“Thanks!” Jimin’s grin is startlingly warm. Yoongi’s chest hurts, and he isn’t sure if it’s because of Jimin, himself, or because he reminds Yoongi of something else. Of the kind of smile he was scared of getting rid of, once.

 Three years ago, Yoongi and Hoseok weren’t friends. Two years ago, they became friends again. Yoongi hesitates, after everything, to ask Hoseok of all people, but he does. Sends Hoseok a short message, to ask a simple question.

How did you know you were in love?

It’s not as if Yoongi thinks he is, suddenly. As if a friendship of idle conversations has caused that. But he doesn’t remember what he felt, back when he loved Hoseok. Doesn’t remember what it felt like, before he fell out of love. His memory is clouded with anger at himself for hurting someone, even if they both knew he had no choice.

I couldn’t really tell you, sorry. Hoseok’s response doesn’t help Yoongi any.

 “You know,” Jimin starts, one day. They sit just outside their apartment building, during a break in the rain. There’s a bus, that comes in a few minutes, that Jimin has to catch, and Yoongi just doesn’t have anything to do at the moment. “Sometimes I wonder what I would have done, if I was born- like- seventy years earlier.”

“Why then?”

“That was before the whole words-causing-scars things started, you know? My grandma was born just a few months before it started, and has none.”

“Oh.” Yoongi nods. He was sure he learned about that, in school, but it had never really registered to him. He was so used to how things were, that a society devoid of it seemed wrong, somehow. Was it better? Or was not being able to physically display the effects of ones words worse?

“Don’t you wonder?”

Yoongi has wondered about a lot of things, but that wasn’t one. “I guess not? I don’t know. I sure do, now that you’ve mentioned it.”

Jimin nods, frowning. “I wonder if it would have made me happier, or not.”

“I doubt the words would hurt less, just because you don’t have to look at them.” Yoongi never looks at most of his words. Some he couldn’t avoid, but he never looks in a mirror, to avoid words like I know. That didn’t stop them from hurting.

“Maybe not.”

 So Yoongi doesn’t think he’s in love with Jimin. Not yet, at least, but the other takes more and more space up, in his life, over time. So, he does what he usually does when things take up too much of his life’s space. Writes about it. Writes about Jimin. It turns, too quickly, into a song.

He hesitates to send to to Hoseok, but knows the other will complain if he finds out Yoongi only sent it to Namjoon. When he hears back from both of them, he gets two very different responses. Namjoon’s, “it’s nice, different from your usual though,” is expected. As is Hoseoks, “somebody has a crush~” though he wishes it wasn’t.

What isn’t expected, is the response after he posts it. Not from most people, their responses are what he expects. But from Jimin. Who knocks on his door, mid afternoon on a Saturday, nearly bouncing where he stands when Yoongi opens the door.

“Jimin?”

“Your new song was really good!”

“Uh- oh. Thank you? You- wait- you heard it?!”

“Uh, yeah? Wait did you not know I listen to them? Hoseok told me about your music a long time ago. Why do you think I went to you for music recommendations?”

“Oh.” Oh, Yoongi thinks, that’s unfortunate.

“Anyway, I wanted to ask a favour about it!”

“What- uh- what’s that?”

“Let me make a routine to it.”

“Like… dance?”

“Yes?”

“You’re asking my permission?”

“Uh, yeah?” Jimin tilts his head, frowning. Unfortunately, it’s cute. “You’re not like a big, record-signed artist, so I’d feel weird not asking you about it. Especially if I film the routine and post it, you know?”

“Right, okay. Sure, have fun?” Yoongi really just wants this conversation to end, honestly. Really would prefer not to talk to Jimin about the song that also happened to be about Jimin. “You know you could have texted me to ask?”

“Oh, yeah, but I was on my way out anyway- oh shit, I have to go.” Realization forms on Jimin’s face, and he’s rushing off before Yoongi can properly respond. “I’ll see you later!”

 So Yoongi’s face isn’t really out there, publicly. His profiles are all icons, or specifically edited pictures to hide his face. His main avatar is a picture of him, yes, but with his face hidden behind his left arm, and the word fucker censored, but visible. Multiple people have asked if it was real, but he’s never answered that question.

When Jimin asks Yoongi if he wants to post the video of Jimin’s routine on his account, too, Yoongi has a feeling someone is going to ask about that. He’s never put his own face on his videos, and nobody else’s either. So he hesitates to change that.

Eventually, though, he decides to do just that. Jimin’s face becomes the first, and only, one on his channel. He asks his mods to be extra strict about the comments, on it, because of that.

Unfortunately for Yoongi: with any harmful words eliminated the comments that remain are still thing’s Yoongi doesn’t find he likes to read. Though he agree’s with a lot of them, there’s an odd weight in his chest as he reads them. Questions- mostly jokes- about if Jimin is the person the song is about. Comments about Jimin himself- positive, if a bit too much in some cases- that Yoongi both agrees with and doesn’t want to read. A few comments of people who recognized Jimin, immediately, and fewer still that didn’t read the description- or the title card, for that matter- who ask if Jimin is Yoongi.

They aren’t bad. They shouldn’t bother him.

Yoongi messages a link to his version of the video to Jimin. Says, “I think my commentators like you more than me,” and tries to tell himself that’s all there is to it.

Jimin responds, “you should see the comments on my post of it,” and gives Yoongi a link to that. Which leads Yoongi to seeing more of the comments that bothered him on his own upload, as well as a few about his song, from people who hadn’t heard it already. And, more unfortunately, means Yoongi now has access to- knows of- Jimin’s own channel.

Which leads Yoongi to watching nearly every one of Jimin’s videos over the course of the next two days.

He’s not proud.

 It’s a day of sun, in between their current season of rain, one Sunday when Yoongi has to work. The work day drags on, especially with the ever-present thought reminding him he needs to go shopping, today. Has gone far too many days without proper food in his house, for someone with a job, and who will have enough for his next rent payment, even after buying food.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity- the low number of customers leaving him bored more than stressed- Yoongi’s shift ends, and he makes his way to the store. Despite being- in name- a grocery store, Yoongi find a stand selling umbrellas, right near the cash registers. Ignores them- he has an umbrella, already- and returns to his shopping.

Then, as he gets everything he needs, he finds himself reaching for his phone. Sending a message that, generally, isn’t a big deal. “Did you ever replace your umbrella?”

“no i havent had the chance :(“

So Yoongi happens to pick up an umbrella, on his way to the register. Happens to buy it, and bring it home. And when he’s finished putting his groceries away, he picks up the new umbrella- it seems about as sturdy as his current one- and makes his way out of his apartment. Makes his way to the door of his neighbor apartment, and knocks for what he thinks might be the first time.

Jimin opens the door, looking as surprised by this as Yoongi feels with himself. Then, after a pause, Yoongi holds out the umbrella, not looking directly at Jimin. “I owed you, for mine.”

“Oh.” Jimin takes it, surprise evident in his voice. Probably on his face, too, were Yoongi to look. “Thank you.”

“Yeah.”

 It’s raining when Yoongi leave the convenience store. The warmth from his coffee does nothing to ease the cold of the rain, as he steps outside. He fumbles to open his umbrella, clumsily, and looks back inside to see the cashier- a young woman cursed with the words disappointing and boring carved across her cheek- trying not to laugh at him. He looks away, hiding under the umbrella. The red of the umbrella is faded, slightly, but it still blocks the rain- and the remaining light of evening- from him just fine. Yoongi holds his coffee closer to his chest, and moves to start his walk home.

“Yoongi!” And he stops. Turns to see Jimin run to meet him, mint green shading him from his own umbrella.

“Oh, Jimin.” Yoongi’s tone remains neutral, despite the vague feeling of nostalgia in his mind. It’s not been nearly long enough to be feeling nostalgic. Only a year. It’s only been a year.

“It’s raining again.”

“I noticed.” Yoongi offers a smile, then looks away from Jimin, when the other returns it. “When is it not?”

“Summer?”

“You got me there.” Yoongi looks back, Jimin is still smiling, his heart twists. “Heading home?”

“After a quick stop.” Jimin motions into the store. “Would you… like to walk with me?”

“Yeah, sure,” Yoongi says, without thinking. Jimin grins, folds his umbrella, and rushes inside. It’s only a minute, before he’s rejoining Yoongi outside. He returns with a bag of bottled coffee.

“Roommate,” Jimin offers as explanation.

“Of course.”

They head back, together. Make their way upstairs, to their floor, together. Stop outside Yoongi’s door to say bye to each other.

 Before Yoongi had met Jimin- before Yoongi had met Namjoon, or Seokjin, or Hoseok- Yoongi was gifted thirteen scars. Had yet to have I know or disappointing carved into his skin. What he did have was Nobody. Etched onto his chest is curved writing- handwriting- so much like the writing of the person who gave it to him. Seeing it, alone, Yoongi thinks people would misunderstand. Assume it meant- assume it hurt because of- something else.

“You’re such an asshole. Nobody is ever going to love you.” Given to him by the first person he’d ever thought he loved.

Yoongi doesn’t remember what they felt like. What being in love with them felt like. It was different, distinctly, from what he thinks he felt for Hoseok. But he doesn’t remember how he felt then, either. Knows he loved, but not what they felt like.

Nobody, from the person who would never love him. I know, from the person he couldn’t love back.

 It’s too obvious, the title. Rainy Season. Too obvious, the words. If I was someone else, could you love me. Would you know I loved you.

It’s too obvious. Yoongi doesn’t publish it, though he gets as far as uploading the video. Stares at the make public button until his eyes hurt, and closes the window. It’s far too obvious. Jimin hadn’t realized, after the first song, but surely he couldn’t miss the obvious if he heard this one.

It’s too obvious, so he doesn’t post it. Doesn’t send it too Namjoon, and certainly not Hoseok.

 “I wonder if it would have made me happier, or not.” Jimin had said. If not having scars from the words- or living in that world, where no one did- would have made him happier. They still would have hurt, but would it have changed something, not having them? Not knowing they were there, carved into his skin.

Yoongi had said they’d probably still hurt, even if they weren’t scars. He doesn’t look at his, after all, but they still hurt. Knowing they’re there, still hurts, but maybe they’d hurt less if they weren’t there at all. Yoongi somehow doubts it.

“Are any of your words still…fresh?” Yoongi asks, one day. They’re walking back, again, together. He doesn’t know how else to phrase it. The scars fade, the less you think about them. Fade into slight marks, the less they hurt. The more they mean to you- the more they hurt, the more you believe them- the more they look recent. Red, raw, like they were freshly carved.

Jimin stares at Yoongi, wide-eyed, and hesitates to answer. The longer the silence, the more Yoongi regrets the question. Moves to say Jimin doesn’t have to answer, when Jimin responds. “All of them.”

All of them. From childhood, until now. All of them. Yoongi slows to a stop. Most of his scars have faded. Most of his scars he can ignore, if he doesn’t look at them. “All of them?”

“Yeah?”

“How…many is that?” It’s too personal a question. Yoongi shakes his head, before Jimin can answer. “No- sorry- that’s not any of my business.”

Jimin nods, and they return to a walk. It isn’t until they’re on their floor, that Jimin speaks again. Just as Yoongi opens his door. “Thirty.”

“What?” Yoongi spins, quickly, and Jimin gives him a weak smile.

“I have thirty.”

Jimin returns to his apartment, while Yoongi stares. Unable to move, unable to breathe. Thirty. Yoongi has fifteen, and Jimin- sweet, talented, nice, genuine Jimin- has thirty.

It isn’t fair. The world, life, the way scars work. How true they are, who said them, how much they’re deserved- none of it matters. The scars are based on how you perceive the words. How you feel about them. How you’re hurt by them.

So people like Jimin have thirty and people like Yoongi have fifteen.

Yoongi repeats this sentiment later, muttered, not really expecting Jimin to have anything to say about it.

“But you don’t deserve yours, either.” And it’s so simple, the statement. Breaks Yoongi from his thoughts of the world being unfair for a moment, as shock hits him horribly.

“What?”

“You don’t deserve your, either.” Repeated, with more force, the words make Yoongi’s chest hurt. Because he doesn’t know if he believes them- doesn’t know if he can- but, yet, he easily believed the ones carved into his skin.

“Oh.” Yoongi leans into him, when Jimin wraps an arm around his shoulder. “Thanks.”

“I’m just being honest.”

 Yoongi posts the un-posted song that evening. Doesn’t read the comments, even a week later, and doesn’t read his texts, either. Leaves early for work, returns late, to avoid facing Jimin.

 Yoongi can’t avoid Jimin forever. They have mutual friends, live in the same apartment complex, and know each other’s schedules too well.

Jimin is sitting outside his apartment, when he returns home. Yoongi can’t turn around and leave, since Jimin sees him, so he approaches. Sits next to Jimin, outside Yoongi’s apartment, and breathes a sigh. Finally, he speaks, softly, “Hey, Jimin.”

“Hey, Yoongi.”

“What’s up?” He can’t muster false casualness, so Yoongi’s words hold all the anxiety he feels. Jimin hums, lightly.

“I heard your song.”

“Figured.”

“It’s lovely. Kind like the last one? Not really your usual, but nice.”

“Thank you.”

“You… can just be you.”

“Huh?” Finally, Yoongi faces Jimin. Jimin, who smiles, stands, and offers Yoongi his hand. Pulls Yoongi to his feet, as Yoongi struggles to process the words.

“You can be you, and I’ll understand.” Jimin pauses, looking away. His own embarrassment is enough to make Yoongi less aware of his own. “And I’ll- and I can- you can be you, and I’ll love you.”

“Oh.”

“I didn’t- uh- horribly misunderstand, did I?”

“No- no you- that’s- you got it.”

 Besides comments questioning Yoongi recent change in lyrics, most of the comments are positive. Yoongi doesn’t look through them as much as he usually does, before he finally reads his texts. They… are about what he expects, too. Support mixed with a slight amount of teasing. Which becomes a lot more, when he tells them about what’s happened since he posted the song.

 It’s raining, as Yoongi leave the convenience store. The rain is supposed to let up, but at the moment it gives no signs of stopping. It’s cold- cold enough the hot coffee in his hands doesn’t help much- as he waits outside of the store, umbrella at his side, as he stands under to the awning. Yoongi pulls his jacket tighter around him, and turns in the direction he knows Jimin will arrive from.

A few minutes later than usual, Jimin jogs up to the store, closing his umbrella as he steps under the awning. “Hey!”

“Hey,” Yoongi greets, in return.

“Sorry I had to talk to my professor.”

“It’s fine.” Yoongi shakes his head, and holds out his hand to take Jimin’s umbrella. Jimin gives a small thanks, before heading into the store. Yoongi turns, watches Jimin grab coffee, and make his way to the register. When Jimin turns around to leave, the cashier meets Yoongi’s eyes with a knowing smile that forces Yoongi to turn back around.

Jimin takes his umbrella back, when he exits, and opens it as he steps out from the awning. Yoongi takes a step forward, and is pulled under it before he can open his own umbrella. “Let’s walk together.”

“We were already going to do that.” Yoongi rolls his eyes, but steps closer, under the umbrella.

“It’s raining,” Jimin says, lightly.

“I hadn’t noticed.” Yoongi’s sarcasm gets a short laugh from Jimin. “Summer’s soon.”

“Finally.” Jimin breathes a sigh, his exhaustion with the rain clear. Yoongi feels all too fond. “We should do something.”

“What’s that?”

“I don’t know. Go to beach?” Yoongi blanches at the suggestion, and Jimin laughs at him. “Scar covers exist.”

Yoongi knows that, but he’s never had to bother with them. Scars easy enough to hide without them. Still, he looks a Jimin- lightly smiling and seeming unconcerned despite what Yoongi knows of Jimin’s worries- and sighs. “Okay, sure, I’ll think about it.”

“That’s basically a yes.”

“It is not.”

“It is. You love me, you’ll give in.”

“Don’t go using that power for evil all the sudden.”

“Me? Evil? Never.”

“If you say so.”

 A little over a year ago, Yoongi barely knew Jimin. A year ago, he and Jimin became friends. A month ago, they started dating.

The rain let’s up, two days later. The words Nobody and I know, are faded next time Yoongi looks. Barely visible. Yoongi leaves the red umbrella on his counter, as he leaves the house to go shopping for scar covers with Jimin.

#yoonmin #romance #skin deep reality au #completed #oneshot #marylynnwrites #PG RATING #i dont remember how to tag things fuck/ #cursing

[rightbookwritebook-blog]

An Opinion on the Works of... Sarah J Maas (Part 1)

I like to think of this as more an opinion rather than a review. A synopsis with carefully curated commentary. As you can imagine, it will be full of spoilers.

Some of my opinions may resonate with you, others may not. Hopefully we can all keep an open mind - and perhaps have a nice, frank discussion. I’ll be perfectly honest in regards to my opinions, and respect your right to disagree.

ACOTAR

So, I did not start with this series. No, I started with that other one which we shall get into later. I picked this one up as I did rather enjoy Maas’ other series and hoped to find more indulgent fantasy to love here. This is sounding like I don’t like this series, which couldn’t be further from the truth - but I did despise this particular book. Even after reading the series I can only begrudgingly accept this one for what it is - necessary fodder for building the story.

A very brave move Maas, very brave. I applaud you.

I was originally sold on the “beauty and the beast” retelling. My hopes were pinned on a more classic retelling, not a modified Disney version, and I was ecstatic to discover elements from Villeneuve’s original tale. Now, don’t get me wrong, I love the 1991 Disney animated feature dearly, but that’s beside the point.

So, off we go.

Ah, first-person, my nemesis. Not all first-person is bad, mind you, some can be done very well (spoiler: this is one of them). You see, my biggest problem is the limitations with first-person, and an author can use those to their advantage (by pulling the wool over our eyes spectacularly) or they can get lazy and write a very dull story.

We meet our narrator, Feyre. Life if bleak, cold, hungry, as so often these tales do begin. But our girl has learned to hunt to feed her family of four: a father and two elder sisters. On this cold, desperate evening she finds a deer - and so does a very large wolf. Both are dead in short order, and living up to the waste-not-want-not philosophy our girl makes the most of both deaths.

We meet her family. They have lived in poverty for eight years. A hard line is drawn here between Feyre and her family: she’s the hard-working, do-what-must-be-done youngest while the others are portrayed as needing to be taken care of (or expecting to be cared for). Not totally unrealistic considering their pre-poverty lifestyle.

Father gets a pass as we learn his leg is completely useless. He also seems to be suffering from clinical depression. From our interactions with him over the next couple of chapters he seems loving, if completely destroyed by the turn of events. This I can forgive, and it seems Feyre does as well. She’s mildly frustrated with him, but usually more understanding of him than she is of either of her sisters.

Elain, the younger of the two sisters is framed as sweet but naive. She is relatively quiet and offers little. Feyre is again sympathetic, and there is little fault to find with this sister. Her gestures are kind and her nature hopeful and optimistic. Elain seems the sort to look on the bright side.

Nesta, the eldest, is cold and uncaring from Feyre’s point of view. She is the most vocal, the most animated. And she is clearly not at all impressed, amused or here for this shit. There seems to be a bigger struggle between Feyre and this sister - power or resentment, perhaps both. Where Feyre will figure things out and seek help, Nesta seems angry she wasn’t born knowing how to do everything.

This is where I have issues with first-person. We are only getting what our narrator knows - and her own experiences are limited. We do not learn what the two sisters experienced, how those experiences were framed for them, unless through Feyre’s filter (which is not infallible as we will learn).

That said, the sisters do need to come to grips with their situation. Frivolity is a thing of the past, but I cannot - will not - fault them for their airs. These two were brought up to be ladies. They were older when misfortune struck and we learn Feyre wasn’t as far along in her studies as they were. Nesta as the eldest was probably a novelty for a sophisticate who wanted to play at being mother. Elain with her easy nature likely caused no fuss. Feyre is the youngest, and likely the most neglected of the three. Children are no longer a novelty when the third comes along.

Feyre does mention her mother neglecting their education, so it is possible she may not have invested much time in any of her children. Or at least had tired of playing at it by the time Feyre was born. The rub with Nesta shines in this area, as Feyre admits Nesta “never lets her forget” that she doesn’t know as much. I have to admit, I didn’t see this the same as Feyre. I think this may be Nesta’s way of trying to teach her youngest sister. Trying... and failing in Feyre’s eyes.

The mother, dead some eleven years, is painted as cold and aloof, and is perhaps more intelligent than our narrator gives her credit for. She clearly understands her daughter’s natures - and which one can be depended upon to make sure the family is cared for. I think she is likely what Nesta mourns the most, as the eldest. She is compared often to her mother, in looks and temperament. I imagine Nesta might have been close to her mother, and is both grieving and jealous that such a responsibility was laid on her youngest sister’s shoulders.

We begin to see, through family squabbles and interactions, the motivations of the characters: Feyre to be remembered, Nesta to serve a purpose, their father to return to his children what he feels he took from them. And Elain... quiet, sweet Elain... only seems to seek to see her family happy.

But I digress, back to our story....

It turns out the wolf was not a wolf, but fae. And soon the other fae come to collect the debt. In the dark of the night the dilapidated cottage is burst into by an enormous golden beast - and Feyre instinctively names him as a faerie. He roars and trashes the cottage and generally causes a panic. The sisters shriek and cower, the father trembles and tries to protect the two eldest, and Feyre defends her family.

Feyre will not allow harm to come to either sister. She admits to killing the wolf, accepts her fate, her death, if it will keep her father and sisters safe. Our beast offers an exchange - she come to live in the faerie world and forsake her human existence. She gives hasty goodbyes - instructions to their father. Both sisters are mute, horrified, and her father implores her to never return if she manages to escape - that she deserves better, better than what he can offer her.

Leaving behind the cold winter, we travel to the lands north of the Wall that separates the two worlds. This is Prythian, the faerie realm. Feyre is brought to a glorious manor in full Spring bloom. Her captor is quiet, surly, snarling. Feyre doesn’t take this personally. She killed the wolf, his friend, and expects no sympathy.

At this point Feyre has given us a few rules of dealing with the faeries: they dislike iron, ash wood impedes their ability to heal, fae cannot lie, never eat fae food. Sensible, common faerie lore and nothing too surprising.

The narrative takes a familiar turn for those who know the story. Feyre is unsettled in this new place. Frightened, but determined. A servant shows her to luxurious rooms, where she bathes and is given new clothes. She worries for her family and is promised they are well cared for - so long as she does not return to the human world. Feyre makes the most of it, exploring this unfamiliar world and learning all she can from the three she interacts most with:

Tamlin - the beast turned High Fae who took her from her home. He comes across as irritated but resigned to her presence. Conversations go from curt and business-like to something bordering on a frustrated toddler who is not having his way. I don’t like him one bit.

Lucien - the courtier and emissary. Rightfully angry at the death of his friend and yearning for something akin to justice. He’s loyal, but not to Feyre. Witty commentary, often rude and insulting, but honest where is counts. He could grow on me.

Alis - the servant. Everyone knows the most useful information comes from the servants - ears and eyes of every place. She’s firm with Feyre, but not unkind. Part servant, part nursemaid, part maternal figure. Easily overlooked and more device that fleshed out and realized character. We will see part of her story, but only in tantalizing snippets that only serve to move the plot.

All goes along swimmingly and Feyre plays the two male Fae off one another in an attempt to find a way to return home, deal or no deal. We learn of (and meet) some of the threats - Bogges and nagas and Suriels - and an unnamed threat, a blight. Tamlin shows more of his childish behavior. I am quickly convinced Lucien is the only one with damn sense in this household.

These early scenes never set well with me - it followed the formula, but there was something missing from this beast. The story begins to feel cheap, flimsy, uninspired. This beast is a true beast in every sense of the word. We have all spoiled prince and nothing... redeeming. In the story the beast grows as much as the beauty - their eventual love is formed as both of them learn to let go of their misconceptions, their pride and prejudices. Oh yes, another parallel for you.

I found (and still find) Tamlin lacking. I understand many do. I held out hope for him... but I think we all know where it will go. Maybe in some future story he will be redeemed. I hope so, for his sake.

So, the story morphs from the ‘Feyre wants to escape’ plot after a heartbreaking scene in which her father shows up in the night. While waiting for Tamlin to return to the manor (off hunting down these threats he feels only he can face), Feyre is about to give up when she spots something unusual... her crippled father looking up at her from the gardens.

Rescued at last she hauls out of the manor... only to be stopped as Tamlin returns. Tamlin, this was your moment to turn this thing around and you blew it. You could have been kind, you could have been understanding, but you insult and belittle the poor traumatized girl. I understand you want her to understand the danger of trusting her senses but we both know you did not even try to approach this with kindness.

In her favor, Feyre snaps back. She wants her family, she wants to go home, she doesn’t want to fade from their memory. She tells Tamlin of the vow she made to her mother to take care of the family... Tamlin dismisses this, reasoning she has not abandoned them. In fact, says he, her current situation has fulfilled her vow as they are now fed and comfortable (thanks to him).

Feyre begrudgingly accepts this and recognizes she is freed from her vow... only to feel empty. She joins Lucien on patrol, carrying a bow to hunt, but does not have the heart for it. Tamlin disappears and is rarely around - excuses that he is occupied keeping the land safe, hunting down the threats. Feyre asks why Lucien does not help, why others aren’t helping. Lucien speaks of Tamlin’s “moods” and how he would “shred” any who tried to help... and he sees this as necessary. “...a firm hand is needed. We’re too powerful, and too bored with immortality, to be checked by anything else.” Excuses, excuses Lucien. Red flags, red BANNERS, Feyre.

Of course this alarming admission requires something to wash away the reader’s concerns about Tamlin’s behavior. Feyre wakes from a nightmare - a dream of slaughtering the wolf in the cold winter of the human realm, except now it is no wolf, but a male fae she skins. Unable to sleep she wanders the manor, coming across Tamlin as he returns. He’s injured from his encounter, and Feyre tends to his injury. She begins to feel sorry for him - his isolation becomes a burden he must bear rather than his choice to go alone. She ponders her own ignorant, insignificant life... as she has, and will, multiple times. All carefully constructed so we are sympathetic to Tamlin. Grateful he has rescued this dumb little human.

The next morning Feyre overhears a conversation that, at first, seems to promise Lucien handing Tamlin’s ass to him. Sadly, it’s more of Tamlin being wishy-washy and Lucien enabling the behavior. When caught Feyre asks Lucien to go riding, which he declines, passing her off to Tamlin... which Feyre isn’t happy with (nor, apparently, is Tamlin). Feyre declines... but aims for something else.

Tamlin shows her to the study... where he leaves her to her own devices. Feyre has ulterior motives - while she seems content to remain, she still wants to send a message to her family that she is safe... but her poor reading and writing skills mean she needs to practice. Frustrated with her abilities and the task she has se herself, she takes a break and explores the study - and finds a mural.

It has been mentioned over the course of the narrative that Feyre has a gift - a natural inclination - for painting. She was moved by Elain’s small gift of paints. She has admired the paintings and art within the manor. This mural is the story of this world - created by a cauldron. A map and a history. Wars, places, people.

She returns to her work, her spirits low, and throws out her progress. Tamlin makes a timely reappearance with an offer to help - but Feyre doesn’t trust him and he is annoyed because she doesn’t. She falls back to pondering all she doesn’t know, her faults and shortcomings, before deciding to track down Lucien. On one of their rides he spoke of the Suriel, a dangerous creature who, if you trap it, will answer any question. So, armed with Lucien’s dubious instructions, Feyre sets out to catch herself a Suriel.

I enjoyed this bit. Her easy banter with Lucien feels natural, reluctant allies slowly forming a friendship. Her dedication to hunting this creature familiar and natural. And she succeeds - she’s trapped a nightmare personified.

The Suriel is interesting - terrifying, but interesting. He has sort of appreciation for Feyre, admiration for her cunning and skill. And he’s full of information. He answers she cannot return home; if she does she and her family will die. In response to her request for more information about Tamlin, he lets slip Tamlin is the High Lord of the Spring Court. He instructs her to stay with the High Lord - stay close and all will be righted. He begins a history lesson of Hybern - the kingdom across the sea. The king of faeries who dwells there, where humans once were slaves. The only reminder of the humans who once dwelt there a throne of bones. Before he can tell more they are interrupted by four nasty creatures - naga - who are intent on harming both the Suriel and Feyre.

Of course Feyre fights, takes the extra time to free the Suriel (best decision she’s made) and attempts to flee. She screams for help - hoping Lucien will keep his promise to come to her aid - and manages to fight the naga off admirably. But she is human and fighting against something stronger, something immortal. Fortunately, Tamlin is there to save her.

Thus begins the turning of Feyre’s head and, for me, it’s a little heavy-handed. Tamlin saved her. Tamlin is High Lord. The Suriel told her to stay. So she does. She softens. Faerie lore falls apart: they lie, iron doesn’t bother them, but ash remains a threat. Tamlin finally tries, pretty words and apologies. A little late for me, but a turning point I suppose.

He tells his sad history, his belief that human lives are worth protecting. His father kept human slaves and he doesn’t want to become his father. He is protecting her family, financially and otherwise. He removed the terrifying memory of the night he came to claim her (kindness or violation?). He left a warning to be tripped to prompt them to flee if and when things turn south. Then he offers two more gifts: paints, canvas, brushes - everything she needs to paint to her heart’s content - and the promise of showing her the art gallery.

Just to remind us that there is a threat out there, we come to one of the only scenes in the book that I like. That feels true and honest, where Tamlin isn’t a complete bore.

In the middle of the night - after waking from another terrifying nightmare (seriously Feyre, lay off the rich faerie foods before bed) - she hears someone shouting, and screaming in pain. Not sensing any danger she goes to investigate. Tamlin has returned from one of his nightly prowls with a wounded faerie - a Summer Court male who has been seriously, and mortally, mauled.

Feyre tentatively steps forward as Tamlin tells Lucien the faerie was dumped over the border. Lucien is physically ill and unable to help. So Feyre steps up to help tend to the wounded, traumatized male. He cries in agony and repeats ‘she took my wings’ - which is an obvious truth. All that remain of his wings are horrific stumps, the ragged wounds refusing to clot. Despite their efforts, it is not long before Feyre and Tamlin realize there is little to be done. This particular faerie is on borrowed time. They keep him company, both offering kindness, and Tamlin a final prayer as the faerie takes his final breathes.

I may have had to put the book down for a few minutes. This scene is the only one in the book that triggered genuine emotion. Feyre doesn’t want to leave the dead male, however Tamlin insists it’s too dangerous - and this is something he must do alone. A little annoying, that even here Tamlin wants to argue, wants to play the alpha male card. Sharing is definitely not his strongest attribute. But he is curious - Feyre killed his friend with hate in her heart, she has made it clear she isn’t the faeries biggest supporter - so why did she help?

“Because I wouldn’t want to die alone,” I said, and my voice wobbled as I looked at Tamlin again, forcing myself to meet his stare. “Because I’d want someone to hold my hand until the end, and awhile after that. That’s something everyone deserves, human or faerie.”

The next morning all evidence of the horrific night are gone. The painting supplies have not arrived and the gallery is being cleaned, so Feyre joins Tamlin and Lucien on a ride. They visit a lovely little glen - complete with a pool of starlight - one of Tamlin’s favorite childhood haunts. Leaving Lucien to his own devices (a bottle of wine he may need to share to get us through this chapter), Tamlin and Feyre spend some quality time together.

Here Tamlin tells Lucien’s story - perhaps not his to tell. The youngest of seven sons of the High Lord of the Autumn Court. Not interested in competing to be the next High Lord, Lucien traveled the courts, making friends, and falling in love with a female he should not have. His father was furious, and executing the female - making Lucien watch. Lucien abandoned his title and the Autumn Court, three of his brothers chasing after to eliminate him. Lucien killed one, Tamlin another, after they crossed into Spring lands. The last returned to Autumn and Tamlin claimed Lucien, naming him emissary.

They swim in the pool of starlight - Feyre daring to flirt a bit. Innuendo is heavy. While they flirt and swim, Feyre opens up about her family. The loss of their fortune and how she learned to survive. I might have been a little giddy hearing her father was a merchant who amassed their wealth on three ships to sail through dangerous waters - where they were lost. She was eleven. Three years later, at fourteen, she taught herself to hunt to feed her family.

A heartrending story that satisfyingly smacks of the original tale. This retelling does a lovely job of connecting to Villeneuve’s tale. Once I’ve finished entries for the other books, I may create one outlining the original and the ways Maas beautifully weaves it into her work. But, getting back to it....

On the ride home, Lucien offers a truce. He’s still not completely happy with Feyre’s presence, but he is impressed she would do something not many faeries would have done - free the Suriel. He offers her a jeweled knife with an admission that he hesitated before deciding to come to her aide. And a request not to bury it in his back.

The next day Feyre tours the gallery and is given her paints. Overwhelmed by these gifts she loses herself in days of painting, occasionally broken up with a ride with Tamlin to explore the lands. Until she remembers her family and home. They’ve moved on without her and she’s wiped away as if she never existed....

She doesn’t paint. She doesn’t go for a ride. She stews, upset and ashamed that she’s happy, that her family didn’t try to save her, that they don’t remember her, that she allowed Tamlin to erase her. Tamlin finds her in the garden after dinner. She admits her feelings, her frustrations, and how silly her concerns are compared to his worries. Tamlin reassures her, promising answers once everything is safe.

Feyre is mortified to discover she is lonely, that perhaps she wants to be more than friends with this High Lord. She stalks off into the woods to process these feelings, however Tamlin follows. She knows she’s being followed and traps him with a snare. There follows dirty limericks, and discussions of mating bonds and Tamlin’s parents. His father and two older brothers were unkind, kept slaves, did unspeakable things. His mother loved his father - and they were mated, a deep bond that may have prevented her from saying a word against his tyranny. I feel Tamlin may be making excuses for his mother, but love is blind. C’est la vie.

Tamlin claims he never wanted to be High Lord, a title that goes to the most powerful of the High Lord’s sons. His interests were in fighting and killing and he joined patrol bands to satisfy these desires. However his power kept growing, marking him as a threat to his brothers, but before anything could come of it, before they could challenge him, another High Lord killed his family. He mourned his mother, but not the others. Most of the courtiers left, disliking their new snarling beast of a High Lord. Feyre declares them idiots, for Tamlin has kept the lands safe from the blight even when others haven’t fared as well.

They see preparations for a holiday - Calanmai - and Feyre asks about it as they don’t celebrate in the human realm. And learns she isn’t invited. Their open banter goes cold and they make their way back to the manor... where Tamlin goes even colder and instructs her to stay hidden.

Shielded by a hedge - and one of Tamlin’s spells - Feyre overhears the conversation between Tamlin, Lucien and... an invisible creature. The creature appears to be checking in on behalf of this mysterious “she” who is threatening them. Who is responsible for the terrible creatures Tamlin has been hunting down.

Feyre is spooked and doesn’t leave the manor for the next two days. She helps with preparations for the feast for Calanmai but as the day of the festival dawns finds herself alone. She can hear the drumbeats, can see the distant bonfires... she’s drawn to the festival but knows she not invited. And then she spies Tamlin on his way out. A shirtless, baldric-adorned Tamlin.

She is told to stay in her room. To lock her doors and not come out until morning. She obeys, but paces with the drumbeats as she gazes out the windows at the fires until she can stand it no longer and rides out into the hills. She wanders through the hundreds of faeries, the bonfires, the drummers. She drifts along with the crowd towards a flower-adorned, pelt-lined cave - the focus of many of the faeries. Full of questions Feyre looks for a friendly face, but before she can get answers she is accosted by three strangers.

They lead her away from the crowds and she tries to escape. But they herd her into the shadows.... She knows she is in danger and feels powerless. She fights back, but they easily subdue her struggles. And then she is rescued by “the most beautiful man” she’s ever seen.

He chases away the three faeries and she begins to worry this person may be more dangerous than her would-be assailants. He questions her - why she’s there, who her friends are, and she’s terrified. She feels lucky when he lets her go unharmed. She finds Lucien, who is aghast to find her there. He whisks her home - and actually explains to her the cause of his alarm.

The Great Rite that Tamlin is to perform involves magic taking over his body, mind and soul, and leaving him with one purpose: to find the Maiden and copulate. Lucien tells her if she was there, Tamlin would find her, and she likely would not like what would happen. He leaves her with a warning to keep her door locked and not come out until morning.

Feyre is sick at the thought of Tamlin forcing himself on her, but also pleased that he wants her. She falls asleep, waking as the drums stop and the house falls silent. She leaves her room then, going to the kitchen to eat and heading towards her painting room... until she is stopped by Tamlin, returning from the Great Rite and (it is pointed out multiple times) still under the influence of these powerful magics and not entirely himself. This, I suppose, is to alleviate the otherwise very... rapey scene.

He forces himself on her, pinning her to the wall, tells her that he knew she was there and couldn’t find her. She tells him to let go. She remarks there is no kindness in his eyes. He blames her, angry that he had to pick another. Snarling that he would have been gentle with her, would have taken a very long time. It ends with him biting her neck and grinding against her... and Feyre slapping him.

Feyre gives some conflicting messages in this scene, as she is clearly turned on by this violence yet angry he would comply with the stupid ritual (i.e.: have sex with someone else). And for his part, he walks away without forcing the matter. Though his belief that if Feyre can’t follow orders, he can’t be held accountable for his actions chafes awfully.

Against my advice, the two make up quickly. He sends her roses, she wears a dress for him. They dine alone, she acts meek and allows him to wait on her, then shows him her paintings. They spend lazy days at ease, and it’s all very romantic and lovely... and disgusting for how little Feyre expects, what she’s willing to accept.

Tamlin gifts her with faerie sight... and suddenly she can see past the glamours he has created. She can hear the singing willow. See the rich colors around her. The smell of magic is now pleasant. A strange woman with skin like tree bark turns out to be Alis. Suddenly the manor is full of faeries she was previously unaware of... and she realizes some of them may be more... unsavory.

This is confirmed when she discovers a head impaled on a statue in the garden. The two males inform her it’s the work of the Night Court - a bunch of “sadistic killers”. They assure her they would see the head as an amusing stunt, a message to let them know how easily they can slip past their borders. Tamlin reassures her she is safe - and her own conversation with the Suriel convinces her. This is a joke, Tamlin insists, the High Lord of the Night Court knows attacking the Spring lands is more trouble than it’s worth. Still, Tamlin and Lucien leave for the border and remain gone.

Summer solstice comes and this time Feyre is invited....

Ok, I have to stop here as I have a bit of a problem leading up to the celebration, when it is explained the solstice celebrates day and night being equal. Umm, no. That’s the equinox (equinox/equal, get it?) - solstice is longer day in the summer and longer night in the winter. Ok, lesson over....

So, the solstice celebration is a lovely thing. Food and drinks, music and dancing. Feyre is advised to avoid the faerie wine, advise she ignores. She becomes ridiculously intoxicated, giddy even. Lucien seems only concerned about disappointing Tamlin (what does he have on you Lucien? are you afraid he will turn on you, cast you out, abandon you?). They find Tamlin playing fiddle with the musicians, but Tamlin doesn’t seem to mind and tells him to leave her in his care. So he does, and she dances and dances.

When the moon is close to setting (fun fact: the moon does not actually set on the summer solstice, only hangs low in the west), Tamlin leads her away from the festivities to a meadow. Will-o-the-wisps serenade as they kiss and watch the sun rise.

Our trio reconvenes over lunch later in the day. Feyre and Tamlin trade thinly veiled, sexually charged taunts while making Lucien equal parts sick and uncomfortable... and he interrupts their game to announce that the blight has killed two dozen children. Further discussion reveals that while all the courts are suffering, the Night Court remains unscathed... and speaking of the Night Court....

An unexpected guest interrupts their meal. Feyre is quickly ushered to the windows by Lucien, and glamoured. Their guest takes his time appearing, then proceeds to taunt and tease both Tamlin and Lucien. Feyre recognizes him as the male who saved her at Calanmai. We learn his name is Rhysand. High Lord of the Night Court. His interactions are hateful, laced with threats and scorn, a cocky self-confidence.

He takes credit for the head in the garden, claiming he’s come to check in with Tamlin. Baiting him for not making any attempts to save himself and his lands. Lashing out at Lucien for biding his time while the world goes to Hell, taunting him with his mother’s grief at losing him.

Lucien is more than willing to verbally spar, even with Feyre still hidden behind him. This hot-headed temper is usually Tamlin’s modus operandi, but now it is Tamlin who calls Rhysand back, distracts him, concedes defeat. Rhysand takes this victory, gloating on how he will report Tamlin is broken... and then he notices the table - and the three place settings.

Furious that they hid Feyre, Rhysand rips away the glamour. He recognizes her, demanding of Tamlin the identity of his guest. Lucien claims her as his betrothed and makes a valiant effort to protect her. He stands, sword drawn, even as Rhysand threatens harm his mother. It is only Tamlin’s order to put away his sword that moves him. Tamlin.

Tamlin who will only tell Rhysand to go away, to leave. He doesn’t move from his place at the table. Lucien is the only one to make an actual effort to protect Feyre from the High Lord of the Night Court... and I feel this is very telling.

WIth Lucien now standing down on Tamlin’s order, there is nothing left to defend Feyre from Rhysand. Then we learn this High Lord’s true power - the power to control, to hold and shatter minds. Feyre is terrified to realize how easily he could destroy everything she is, outraged and humiliated as Rhysand reveals her private thoughts, taking delight in her mortification. Then lets her go.

He remarks to Tamlin she would have been the one, and that Amarantha will enjoy breaking her... watching Tamlin’s reaction as she shatters Feyre. Tamlin begs him - and Rhysand truly makes him (and Lucien) grovel, before making no promises. He starts to leave, but stops to ask Feyre her name, and she retains the sense to realize what a dangerous thing it would be to reveal. Not only for herself, but also for her family. Not wanting him to search her mind again she gives the first name she thinks of, a girl from her village: Clare Beddor.

Satisfied Rhysand vanishes. Tamlin orders Feyre and Lucien to leave and has a magical rage-fueled tantrum. Feyre remains in her room, pondering on all she has learned. Terrified of what has been revealed. Tamlin’s rage, the blight, Amarantha and the power she possesses....

Tamlin finds her that evening and tells her he is sending her home. Feyre wonders if she’s done something wrong (oh, Feyre... you sweet, naive blossom...) and Tamlin assures her she was perfect. He has to send her away to protect her from those who would hurt her. He thought he could protect her, but he can’t. Feyre retaliates she can protect herself, she can fight, she wants to help, but Tamlin will have none of it. He’s sending her away because he can’t stand to think of her in their hands. How they would hurt her to hurt him.

She’s to return home, keep the story he put in place with the glamour, tell no one where she’s been, who she was with. To protect herself from Amarantha’s spies. From creatures like the Attor, the Bogge, things worse than Rhysand.

And then follows the sex scene that had me seriously questioning why this is shelved in Young Adult. I understand most YA books are coming-of-age stories and - sex scene and innuendo withstanding - this one most certainly fits the recipe for YA. But... these scenes guys. These are meant for an older audience - definitely not something I would want to see my 13-year-old sister or not much older cousin reading. I’m older than they are by nearly two decades and was surprised by the explicit description and gratuitous nature.

That’s not to say as an adult I was disappointed. While bordering on voyeurism, this scene (and others in the series) is playful, sweet, raw and captures a reckless enthusiasm. Feyre is no shy virgin, but an experienced young woman who knows exactly what she is doing. She’s not apologetic, she owns her sexuality. Given the virgin dialogue usually delivered, it is a refreshing change of pace to see a young woman take charge and hold her own in the bedroom.

The next morning she awakes alone (signs, signs, signs) and is stuffed into uncomfortable human fashions. Lucien makes thinly veiled remarks to both her and Tamlin - urging that she stay just a few more days. Tamlin dismisses him like a dog. Feyre is handed into the carriage, pining for Tamlin however accepting that she must sacrifice her happiness and not burden him. Knowing she is to grow old and die, while he remains immortal.

She is reunited with her family, who have moved to a grand manor after their father successfully invested money for a stranger who showed up at their door. And then the missing ships were found (another small nod to the original tale). They are restored to their former good name - only Feyre knows that Tamlin is responsible for this good fortune.

Elain is delighted to see her sister, though sad to hear that Aunt Ripleagh has passed. This is the story that was placed in their memories, that Feyre was called away to care for a wealthy, elderly aunt. She chatters on about their regained place in society, how awful it must of been for Feyre to endure losing their aunt by herself. They haven’t decorated a room for her. She’s dismayed at the uselessness of the post upon hearing Feyre didn’t receive the letters they wrote. Mundane things, trivial worries.

Nesta is quiet, watchful. She notices the wealth Feyre has brought with her, remarks on how quiet her sister has become. Feyre finds common ground here - realizing both she and her eldest sister are made different, set apart from their happy sister. Feyre is both relieved and furious they have managed without her, a sentiment her sister echoes.

Time with her family is rather uneventful. Her father, shedding tears of joy at her return, holes himself up in his office to access his daughter’s wealth. His health is much improved thanks to a tonic and salve given to him (more of Tamlin’s work, for which Feyre is eternally grateful). He’s smiling and laughing and happy, doting on his daughters to make up for his lack of attention.

Elain spends her time tending to her garden, content to rejoin society and optimistic for the future. She looks forward to visiting the continent, and invites Feyre to come with her. She does admit the social season was strange, their days of poverty glossed over as if they never happened. She seems lonely, with their father constantly busy and Nesta watchful, quiet, judging. Nesta had tried to visit Feyre while she was taking care of their aunt, according to Elain. She urges Feyre to talk to Nesta,

So pass the days - Feyre amazed at how the years of hardship didn’t taint Elain, while she, Nesta and her father have changed. She takes part of her considerable wealth and visits their old village, handing out money to the impoverished who need it most. Surprised at how ordinary everything seems, how those she once felt a connection with now mean nothing.

She dwells on what she’s lost, longing to return to the Spring Court and Tamlin. Raging inside that she has left Tamlin’s side but knowing she cannot return if she wants to keep him safe - even as she feels it was a mistake. She has no desire to paint, but takes to helping Elain in her gardens. Nesta finds her here, asking why she bothers to stay when her home is clearly someplace else far away. Feyre tries to stick with the story Tamlin gave her, the glamour he spun over her family... but it didn’t affect Nesta.

Nesta is something different - a steel mind and an iron resolve. She watched her father and sister as they went from hysterics to nothing. Listened to their babbling on about an aunt who didn’t exist and how lucky it was for Feyre to be called away to care for her. How the winter winds had broken down their door. She worried she was crazy, but held firm to the truth when she would look at the claw marks on their table. The piece of painted wood she’d pried from the table and kept with her to remind her of the truth.

She tried to find Feyre, knew it wasn’t right that her youngest sister had been stolen away in the night. She had hired a mercenary when she knew no one else would believe her and made it to the wall, but hadn’t been able to break through. And Feyre begins to understand her cold sister, that beneath her icy exterior and her anger and relentlessness, is a caring heart that loves fiercely and is deeply loyal. Her anger and bitterness are a shroud she uses to protect herself.

Nesta wants to know everything, and Feyre tells her. The two begin to repair a tenuous relationship, with Nesta opening up a bit. Admitting that she hates their father for not fighting to protect them. Hating her own inability to take care of them, and hating Feyre for being able to, but hating their father more. An anger older than their days of poverty, starting when he let their mother die. For not dispatching his ships to find a cure, for not sending men to Prythian to beg for help. Feyre, she reasons, would have gone to the ends of the earth to protect Tamlin; their father would not do the same for their mother.

And Feyre begins to question her actions. How she gave in and returned home. Had allowed herself to be sheltered and had stopped looking for answers, stopped trying to help, stopped fighting. It isn’t until her father speaks of buying the Beddor land and Elain tells how the house burned down in the night killing everyone - how they haven’t found Clare’s body - that Feyre takes action.

She turns to Nesta - trusting her sister to keep their family safe. Instructing her to keep her secrets, to not speak her name, to hire guards and flee at the first sign of danger. Nesta quickly pieces together what happened to the Beddors was meant to be them. She tells Feyre to go - to not look back - that they can take care of themselves. Feyre shares what knowledge she can, to prepare them for the worst, and then leaves.

She rides for several days, searching along the wall until she finds a way into the Spring Court. She arrives at the manor, only to find it trashed. As she explores the wreckage she finds several clues that seem at odds. The manor is completely wrecked, yet signs seem to show they left of their own free will. Eventually she finds Alis skulking about the manor, apparently the only one left. And the truth begins to take shape.

Tamlin and Lucien are both alive, taken to Amarantha’s court Under the Mountain. Tamlin was under her curse and given forty-nine years to break it, but failed. Now he has been brought to her court, the other High Lords summoned, to watch as she breaks him.

Amarantha came to Prythian long ago, an emissary from Hybern seeking to make amends for her actions and Hybern’s actions in the long ago war against the mortal realm. She had been wicked and lethal, a general for Hybern who slaughtered humans and the faeries who defended them. Her sister had fought with her - until she fell in love with a human who betrayed her. This human tortured and butchered her sister, and Amarantha hunted him down and took her revenge.

The High Lords believed and trusted she was sincere in her desire to make amends, not realizing she was gathering her own power to take Prythian, to take revenge on all mortal humans, until it was too late. While they gathered to honor her they fell into her trap - a potion she used to steal their powers, trapping the High Lords. She quickly took over Prythian and built her court Under the Mountain.

Tamlin has known Amarantha from childhood, and Amarantha grew to desire Tamlin, who refused her advances and kept his distance until she stole his powers. He sent Lucien to broker peace, but Amarantha refused. Lucien insulted her and she took his eye. In the guise of making amends, she hosted a masquerade - inviting all the courts, and all from the Spring Court.

She claimed there could be peace - if Tamlin agreed to be her lover and consort. Tamlin refused - saying he would rather take a human to his bed than touch Amarantha. That her own sister had preferred a human’s company to hers, had chosen a human over her. And so Amarantha set her curse:

...he had seven times seven years before she claimed him, before he had to join her Under the Mountain. If he wanted to break the curse, he need only find a human girl willing to marry him... a human with ice in her heart, with hatred for our kind. A human girl willing to kill a faerie.

This girl had to kill one of his men, in an unprovoked attack, for hatred alone. Just as the human had done to her sister, so Tamlin could understand her sister’s pain. The spell could be broken if this girl said to his face that she loved him before the forty-nine years were up. To make it more difficult Amarantha bound the masks to their faces so the girl would have to be willing to look beyond the mask, and bound them all so they could not speak about the curse.

And so Tamlin sent his men beyond the wall disguised as wolves, and they died one by one, victims of attacks by hunters and others who did not fit the specifics of the curse. When only a dozen were left he stopped sending them. Afraid to lose his men, afraid that if the human girl loved true bringing her to the Spring Court would be a form of slavery, afraid that if he did fall in love with her then Amarantha would destroy her.

While Tamlin wrestled his conscience, the other High Lords fought back as well, but Armarantha executed them and most of their families ensuring their successors were afraid to tempt her wrath again. With months before the deadline, Tamlin became desperate enough to begin sending his men again. They were willing, had been willing all this time, so Tamlin sent them out... and Feyre killed one of them. She could have broken the curse if she had only told him how she felt.

Now Amarantha has claimed Tamlin, Lucien and all his court and they were trapped Under the Mountain. She builds her army to attack the human lands and Feyre knows how vulnerable they are, how hopeless the chance of survival is, and makes the decision to go Under the Mountain. To try to save Tamlin and stop Amarantha.

Alis agrees to show her the way and takes her to a cave that serves as a shortcut to Under the Mountain. Before Feyre leaves, Alis gives her three pieces of advice: don’t drink the wine, don’t make deals unless your life depends on it, and don’t trust anyone. She also mentions there is still a part of the curse she cannot mention, that Feyre must figure out on her own, that she should listen to what she hears.

She doesn’t make it far before she is captured by the Attor and drug before Amarantha... who is nothing like she imagined. Beautiful but not devestating, striking but not a goddess. And on the throne next to hers, Tamlin - who does not react.

She tells Amarantha she’s there to claim Tamlin, the one she loves. And Tamlin still does not react, does nothing to acknowledge Feyre. Amarantha seems delighted that she was tricked, that she tortured the wrong girl. She shows Feyre what became of Clare, nailed high to the wall, tortured and mangled. Clare had pleaded, sworn she didn’t know Tamlin, had never hunted, and Tamlin had allowed it to happen.

Amarantha might be annoyed, but overall is entertained with the situation. Her actions and words are unconcerned and she is certainly secure in her power. She ponders her options casually, speaking to the remains of Jurian (the human who murdered her sister) - a finger bone necklace and an eye encased in a ring. She’s been bored since Clare’s death, and offers Feyre a bargain.

If Feyre can complete three tasks to prove how deep her love and loyalty runs, she will give Tamlin to her. Remembering Alis’ words that magic is specific and to only make deals if her life depends upon it, Feyre adds conditions: Tamlin’s curse will be broken and they leave - with all his court - to remain free forever. Amarantha agrees, and ups the stakes - if Feyre can answer a riddle, then the curse will instantly be broken - a way out at any time. If she answers incorrectly, she’ll be tortured. If she fails a task, there will be nothing left to be tortured.

Feyre agrees.

Sometime later she awakes in a cell, following a beating from the Attor. Her face is swollen, her nose broken, but otherwise she seems to be in one piece. Eventually Lucien sneaks down to her cell. He fixes her nose and heals the swelling, but leaves the bruising to help conceal that someone helped her. He’s upset she came, for Tamlin’s sake. He tells her Tamlin is still refusing Amarantha and to try to stay alive before he disappears to avoid being found by the guards.

Time passes, though Feyre has lost concept of how much. She’s eventually brought back before Amarantha - who wants to know her name. Feyre resists, and Amarantha prods - reminds her of what happened when she gave a false name before calling for Rhysand.

Amarantha wants to know if Feyre is the girl he saw at Tamlin’s estate, why he said Clare was the girl he saw. He seems bored, dismissive, and claims all humans look the same. Feyre knows this is a lie, knows he recognized her that day in the manor, but remains silent. Bored with Feyre’s silence, Amarantha has Lucien brought forward and threatens to have Rhysand break his mind. She asks Lucien, who remains silent. Tamlin, who is silent. Lucien’s brothers, who seem eager to see their youngest brother destroyed, and do not know her name. Lucien is resigned to his fate, willing to keep Feyre’s name safe. As Rhysand begins to take hold of Lucien, Feyre breaks and speaks her name.

Pleased, Amarantha gives her the promised riddle. If she can solve it then she, Tamlin and all the Spring Court may immediately leave.

There are those who seek me a lifetime but never we meet, And those I kiss but who trample me beneath ungrateful feet.

At times I seem to favor the clever and the fair, But I bless all those who are brave enough to dare.

By large, my ministrations are soft-handed and sweet, But scorned, I become a difficult beast to defeat.

For though each of my strikes lands a powerful blow, When I kill, I do it slow...

Feyre feels muddled, worried why Tamlin does nothing, what Lucien had tried to tell her before he’d fled her cell. What the conditions of the trials had been and if they were different from those of the riddle. And she can’t solve the riddle, can’t figure out the solution. She is returned to the dungeons, where she will remain until her first trial.

Did anyone else figure it out? It was fairly simple by my estimation, which made me think perhaps there was a trick to it. Especially when coupled with Feyre’s doubts and concerns.

We arrive at the first trial. Feyre is brought to a cavern and eventually dropped into a labyrinth slick with mud. Amarantha tells her she’s learned that Feyre is a huntress, and implores her to hunt. The crowd wagers on how long she’ll last, she looks to Tamlin to memorize his face one last time... and then the creature is released.

This task was satisfying, if somehow familiar in a way I can’t quite identify. There’s an element of Return of the Jedi to it, the rancor’s pit, and something else.

An enormous worm searches for Feyre, intent on devouring her, and Feyre slides through the muck as she tries to find a way to stay alive. She learns to listen to the crowd to anticipate where the worm is, finally realizes the worm is blind - only to fall into a pit, it’s lair.

Resourceful, she makes use of the bones in the pit to create a ladder to climb out... then inspiration strikes. She climbs back down and splinters more bones, impaling them into the ground. She takes a couple more with her and climbs out. She’s hunting now, and has figured out the worm’s weaknesses. A heart-racing scene in which she goads the worm into chasing her, uses handles of bones to race around the slick corners, and leads the worm to the pit. She barely rolls away before the worm crashes down behind her, landing on the bone spikes protruding from the ground and killing itself.

Amarantha is not amused, but quickly covers up her disappointment. Feyre is injured, bleeding, angry. She hurls a bone spear at Amarantha, which lands harmlessly but splatters her gown with filth. Retaining her air of nonchalance, Amarantha looks at the results from the bets her court placed and notes only one person bet on Feyre winning, and this is what finally angers her. Feyre is taken back to her cell.

No one comes to tend to her injuries. A shard of bone impales her arm from where she landed in the pit of mud. The wound throbs and the bleeding won’t stop. She remains covered in filth, in a freezing cell, and is provided rotten food. It does not take long for fever and infection to set in.

Help comes in the most unlikely of saviors. Rhysand visits her cell, making no attempts to mask his disgust at the situation. He’s come to offer help, as she won him a considerable amount of money. Feyre repeatedly tells him to leave, delirious and sick and unwilling to let him see the injury. Afraid it will be used against her.

Rhysand manages to get a look at her arm, and offers to heal it. Feyre still remains aware enough that she knows such a bargain will cost her. His price is she come to stay with him for two weeks every month. She refuses, and he presses her. The cost of her refusal if help does not come would seal her fate, and Tamlin’s. Tells her it is unlikely Lucien will risk coming since Amarantha had him beaten - at Tamlin’s hand - for shouting a warning to her during the trial. She reluctantly bargains with him, coming to agree to a week each month, and Rhysand heals her. She wakes from the healing to discover her left forearm covered in an intricate tattoo - a mark of the bargain she’s made with Rhysand.

Consumed with bleak thoughts regarding her tasks and fool’s bargain with Rhysand, Feyre is put to work and given impossible tasks. The first is to clean a white marble hallway with a bucket of dirty water. The Lady of the Autumn Court comes to help her, providing her with clean water as repayment for sparing Lucien’s life by giving her name to Amarantha. The next is to remove lentils from the ash in an enormous fireplace before the occupant returns - an impossible task she attempts, but fails.

We learn she’s been brought to Rhysand’s room. He’s curious to find her in his room, amused with her reason for being there, and - since she has the gumption to even ask for his help with Amarantha’s riddle - rewards her by completing the task with magic (including removing the soot and ask from her). When the guards come to take her back to her cell, he plants an order of his own to leave her alone.

Days pass, she ponders Amarantha’s riddle and curses Rhysand, though she is more than happy to gobble down the fresh, hot meals that are now delivered to her cell. With nothing else to do she begins to talk and curse to the eye tattooed to her palm, suspicious that it watches her. While he may have his own motives, I say make use of this unlikely friend Feyre. You got to learn to play the game.

Eventually she’s retrieved from her cell by two female faeries. They bring her to a room where she’s stripped, bathed and painted. They don’t answer her questions, hold her firmly if she fights back, and Feyre eventually gives in and lets them finish. They paint her face and style her hair, the pattern of her tattoo is carried over her body from the neck down, and once the paint had dried she is clothed in white gauze that barely covers anything.

Rhysand comes to collect her, a heathen god’s plaything, indeed. She argues their bargain hasn’t started, but he insists she escort him to the party. The body paint necessary to ensure no one else touches her - her touch won’t mar the paint, and neither will her dress, but he will know if anyone else touches her. He makes sure she understands he means Tamlin - and that he doesn’t like his belongings tampered with.

She’s mortified to be paraded in front of the entire court in the sheer dress. To be seen as Rhysand’s property. It’s abundantly clear that Rhysand had his own motives, as he marches her to the dais and ensures Tamlin knows about their bargain. Tamlin remains quiet, hides his anger, but is clearly upset. Amarantha doesn’t seem particularly happy either, but dismisses them to enjoy the party. Rhysand leads her to a table and plies her with wine, and the rest of the evening is oblivion.

She wakes in her cell, still clad only in the strips of gauze, and is sick. Lucien appears while she is trying to eat, and gives her his cloak. She begs him to tell her what happened, what she did - how she sat on Rhys’ lap and danced for him all night. How he had touched her (modestly) to get a rise out of Tamlin - which didn’t work. Lucien wants to know what she was thinking to have made the bargain.

Feyre is angry, and admits she didn’t trust him to come in time. That she was dying and felt she had no other option. Lucien swears he would have come, not only because he swore an oath to Tamlin, but because she offered her name to save him. He seems genuinely concerned that she’s now in a bargain with Rhys, but Feyre brushes it aside. She knows what she’s done and accepts the price, and doesn’t expect anything from Lucien for saving him - she would have done it to spite his brothers. Their friendship is repaired, for now, and Lucien leaves before he is caught.

Days pass - nights spent painted and dancing and days sleeping off faerie wine. The night before her second task arrives and Rhysand wonders that she doesn’t beg him to give her a night with her beloved. She doesn’t fall for his game, and when they enter the throne room a different sort of entertainment awaits.

Rhysand is summoned to Amarantha’s side to interrogate a male fae from the Summer Court who was caught trying to escape. Rhys take control of the fae’s mind and reports he was only trying to escape, had no accomplices or motives other than to flee to the human territory. Amarantha orders him to shatter the male’s mind, but Rhys kills him instead. Feyre wonders at this, if this was another carefully calculated move, why the High Lord of the Night Court plays the games he does... but then she’s given wine and the rest of the night fades away.

Task two begins. Feyre is sunk into a pit, three smooth walls and a fourth that is an iron gate, with Lucien chained on the other side. Before her, a riddle and three levers. Amarantha explains she must correctly answer the riddle, answer wrong to her - and Lucien’s - doom. And just to make it interesting a grate of heated iron spikes slowly descend from overhead.

A seemingly simple task - except Feyre cannot read. She panics, realizing not only is she doomed, but she’s also responsible for Lucien’s fate. And all for something as small as illiteracy. Lucien’s too far away to help her, to see the inscription and read it to her. She tries, but fails to read, barely making out three words before the grate of spikes is hovering over her head. She decides to take a chance and pick blindly... only to be stopped by a blinding pain in her hand. The tattooed eye blinks at her. She tries again, and pain. With no other choice she trusts that Rhysand is helping her - and pulls the lever he guides her towards.

The grates rise, the air cools, and she realizes she’s won. Unfairly, almost killed by her own shortcomings, but she won. At the breaking point she sinks down, but a voice - Rhysand’s voice - echos in her head, commanding her to stand up, no tears, stare Amarantha down, not let her see she had almost won. He guides her until she is back in her cell, where she weeps.

She’s still weeping when Rhysand comes to see her. Shattering and giving up, hopeless and accepting of inevitable defeat. He kneels beside her, pulling her hands away from her face... and licks away her tears. Definitely not what I was expecting - nor Feyre apparently. She jerks away, wiping at her face, disgusted - at his actions and at the fact that she now shared a bond with him that allowed him to read her thoughts and feelings, to communicate with her. He teases her, wondering if making her learn to read when she visits him would be painful, and disappears. Anger replaces her despair, and for now she won’t shatter.

But she resigns herself to failure. She stops hoping, stops dreaming. Yearns for the nights and the wine that brings a few hours of oblivion. Even overhearing a conversation between the Attor and a mysterious emissary from the king of Hybern doesn’t spark her interest. It isn’t until she hears music filtering into her cell, faint but clearer if she closes her eyes, that she stops wallowing in self-pity. Music that becomes a living mural. That carries her up and away from the cell, through the clouds and into the brilliance of the sun. To a palace of moonstone and alabaster where everything she loves, everything good waits for her. Music fills her soul and she clings to it, realizing she doesn’t want to fall into the dark of despair. And she weeps some more, remembering why she is fighting, what she swore to save.

The night before the last task arrives. Feyre is unattended in the hall, wanting nothing more than to be summoned to drink the wine and forget. Only wanting for everything to be over. But Rhysand is taking his time, and Tamlin finds her in the hall.

Here is a Moment. A Moment everything could change. A moment in which Feyre follows Tamlin to a half-hidden passage and they lose themselves in kisses and touches and recklessness.

They are interrupted by Rhysand - who has apparently walked through the wall. He shames Tamlin, reminding him what Amarantha might do to punish him, what she might do to Lucien. And Tamlin stands down, straightens his clothes and returns to the party - leaving Feyre alone with Rhysand.

He turns his attention to Feyre, and her ill-made decision to sneak off with Tamlin, the consequences of that choice. Then he’s pinned her to the wall, kissing her forcefully as Amarantha opens the door, Tamlin beside her and a crowd of fae gathering. Amarantha is delighted with Feyre’s transgression, her fickle heart and lack of loyalty. Rhysand drags Feyre from the dark passage, revealing the smudged paint on her body and on his hands. He sends her back to her cell, claiming he is tired of her, much to the delight of the court.

Hours later he visits, and perhaps we see his true self for the first time. He’s annoyed, telling Feyre he only wants a moment of peace and quiet. That Amarantha is running him ragged. That if Feyre hates him now, imagine how she’d hate him if he made her serve in the bedroom. Wondering why he is telling her this, he admits he’s tired and lonely, and she’s the only one he can talk to without putting himself at risk. That this is the last chance, one wrong move during the last task and they are all doomed.

He lays out his cards rather neatly: how he used Feyre to work Tamlin into a fury. How once Feyre wins and Tamlin’s powers are restored nothing will stop him from splattering Amarantha. How he hasn’t touched Feyre, to aid his claims of helping. The stakes for him are freeing his people, his territory, and he won’t risk that. When Feyre asks why Amarantha made him her whore, he answers honestly - his father killed Tamlin’s father and brothers and this was her punishment for what his father did to her old friend. Before he leaves, he acknowledges that now Feyre holds the power - and perhaps should tell Amarantha everything. A subtle gesture of trust.

For her final task Feyre is escorted to the throne room. The fae are more reserved this time, worry on their faces. Some even offer her a gesture of farewell for the honored dead. There is no laughing and jeering now, and Feyre ponders the truth of Rhysand’s words - if the fae are now facing her potential death - the death of their freedom - with what dignity they have left. Their silence gives her courage, and she realizes even if she dies she will not be alone. The task is revealed, and three hooded fae are marched in. Each carries a pillow with a dagger of polished ash. Feyre’s task is to stab each of them in the heart.

Amarantha tells her all three are innocent, but it shouldn’t matter. It didn’t matter when Feyre killed Tamlin’s sentinel and it didn’t matter when Jurian killed her sister. Feyre may refuse, but then Amarantha will take her life in exchange. Overall she feels this is a fair bargain, a gift even.

Feyre knows she is damned. Killing the three would be to murder three innocents. Her instinct is to refuse, but she knows these three lives are all that stand between the enslavement of Prythian and it’s salvation. Her soul may be stained, but she reconciles herself to do this for the greater good.

She steps up to the first victim, a young male. He begs her, pleads for her not to do it. She struggles, hearing someone in the crowd weeping, knowing she’s taking him away from someone who loves him. She finds her resolve, and manages to stab him in the heart.

The second victim is a female. While she weeps, she is resolved. She prays, her steady voice urging Feyre to make the death quick and clean. This is worse, so much more painful to watch Feyre resolve to take up the dagger and plunge it through her heart.

With one victim left, Feyre is numb. She can’t understand why Amarantha is smiling. Only knows she must kill one more in order to be free. Freedom perhaps coming as she takes her own life after she finishes murdering the last one. And then the hood is removed... and she’s looking at Tamlin.

She faced now with the decision to kill him and free Prythian, or give in and forfeit her life and their freedom, and doom the human lands as the king of Hybern invades. Her thoughts turn inward, searching for a way out, remembering Alis said something to help her - something that she’d have to listen for.

They weren’t allowed to tell her about the curse, but Feyre remembers the times she was allowed to eavesdrop. When they spoke in public places so she would hear, so hopefully she would understand. And the words of the Attor - that Amarantha makes no bargains that are not advantageous to her. That she would never kill what she most desired. And then she remembers.

Lucien’s words and the Attor’s remarks about Tamlin’s heart of stone. Amarantha wouldn’t have to risk Feyre killing Tamlin if he can’t be killed. She takes the dagger and stabs him through the heart... only, she doesn’t.

The blade hits something solid and she removes it. The tip is bent and Tamlin’s wound is beginning to heal. Rhysand is smiling, and Amarantha is getting to her feet. Tamlin’s mask remains, his healing slow. The gathered fae call out that Feyre has won, that now Amarantha must free the Spring Court.

But instantaneous freedom was not part of the bargain. Amarantha refuses, and advances on Feyre, intent on killing her. And she attacks, pummeling Feyre with a force that shatters her bones. Slamming her into the floor, the force breaking the ground. Bringing her back when Feyre loses conscientiousness so she is aware of everything happening to her. Rhysand yells for her as the other faeries call foul play, as he grabs the dagger and lunges for Amarantha. She deflects him, but he tries again.

Feyre calls out, asking her to stop her attack on Rhysand, bringing her attention back to her. Amarantha demands Feyre renounce her love for Tamlin, but she won’t sacrifice this truth. Tamlin begs Amarantha to no avail. Even as she is slowly broken, Feyre refuses to give in the Amarantha’s demand... and as the darkness closes in and the pain begins to ebb, the answer to the riddle becomes clear. As she uses the last of her strength to answer the riddle and set them free: love.

And then Feyre is watching through another’s eyes. Seeing her own body, head snapped to the side at the wrong angle. Lucien as he removes his mask. Then Tamlin... who has his sights set on Amarantha. With a flash of golden light he sets upon her and it’s over quickly. He pins her to the wall with Lucien’s sword, then rips her throat out. Feyre realizes she’s seeing through Rhysand’s eyes as she watches Tamlin return to her corpse, shedding his beast form as he scoops up her body and sobs. As the gathered fae mourn with him... and then the High Lords approach.

First is the High Lord of Autumn, who drops a glittering spark on Feyre’s body. Then the High Lords of Summer and Winter. One by one they approach, until only Rhysand is left. He approaches, offering a kernel of his power, declaring to Tamlin they are even. Tamlin is last, declaring his love and kissing her as he adds his own drop of power.

Feyre comes back, rising against the darkness and returning to that crowded room. But the instant she opens her eyes she knows something is different. She’s been made High Fae. Everything is clearer, brighter, stronger. Overwhelming. Amarantha is dead, and they are free.

In the aftermath everything is too much for her - too loud, too bright, too strong. I’m glad for the disassociation, the realism that this sort of change would likely wreck on a person’s psyche. Feyre isn’t in the moment, she’s a passive observer.

The Attor and some of Amarantha’s followers disappear, along with Lucien’s brothers and Rhysand. Those remaining react in different ways - celebrating, mourning, worrying. Everything is not wrapped up nice and neat. There is clearly some recovery to be had, some work to be done. The High Lords have frenzied meetings to determine their next steps. Everyone is grateful and Feyre cannot stand it. Cannot stand what she has done to ensure their freedom. Tamlin takes her to a quiet room, inspects her wounds, heals her and tries to talk, but Feyre doesn’t want to talk. They share kisses, and Feyre gives in to her baser desires.

She’s awakened some time later by a tug, an invisible thread summoning her. She leaves Tamlin and follows it, finding Rhysand on a balcony outside in the daylight. He waits there, wings out, to say goodbye. She can’t find her usual frostiness as she remembers how he fought to save her. She asks him why and he replies he doesn’t want to be remembered for standing on the sidelines. That he wants to be remembered for being there, for fighting against Amarantha in the end. Because he didn’t want Feyre to fight alone. Or die alone.

Feyre is grateful and asks about his wings. He responds that he kept them hidden as everything he loves tends to be taken from him. He asks her about being High Fae. She responds that while her body may be immortal, her heart remains human. And perhaps it would be better if that had been changed too. He tells her to be glad of her human heart, to pity those who don’t feel at all. As he says his good-byes his eyes lock on hers and shock passes over his face. He stumbles back and before Feyre can ask what’s the matter, he’s gone.

She and Tamlin return to the Spring Court. They are free, the court is out of hiding and everyone is safe. She is with Tamlin and has her happily ever after. Everything she wanted. There are things to be dealt with, things that will take time to recover from, but for now everything is right with the world.

#acotar #maas #book reviews

[thiswaycomessomethingwicked]

Sooo... You said you are not a medical expert, but perhaps the history of medicine? medicine and doctors overall in Napoleon's era and around it?

So I actually can’t speak too directly in French medicine in the Napoleonic period. However, I’ll regale you with what I do know from the early modern period in general.

NB: I’m working roughly from 1400—1820-ish. This is also very high level; I’m speaking broadly and obviously there are distinctions to be made based on time and place (and culture). 

I’ve broken it down into major sections and dumped it behind the Read More because I got a bit carried away. 

Thank you for the ask! And if anyone wants to know more about something below, or something I didn’t mention, hmu. 

The Humours 

The human body was still understood to be composed of, and ruled by, the humours. For readers who aren’t familiar humours were introduced by ancient Greek physicians (Hippocrates onwards, though its origins may be earlier, possibly from Egypt) and used as a means to explain the workings of the body. 

The nut-shell version is that there are four humours: black bile, yellow bile, phlegm, and blood. Each of these biles corresponds to a temperament. 

Black bile = melancholia 

Yellow bile = choleric

Phlegm = phlegmatic

Blood = sanguine. 

The humours also correspond to elements, qualities, age, and organs. 

Black bile = earth & cold and dry & adulthood & gallbladder

Yellow bile  = fire & warm and dry & youth & spleen

Phlegm = water & cold and moist & old age & brain and lungs 

Blood = air & warm and moist & infancy & liver

If you were ill it was thought that there was an imbalance of the humours and so treatments worked to try and balance out the humours. 

Everything had a place in the humours from food to rank to gender to medicine to mental health. 

E.g. Gregorio Dati, wrote to his son that he should not eat melon because melons grow close to the ground and therefore are cold and wet - if he must eat melon let him have it either with a dry wine (hot and dry) or with prosciutto (hot and dry) to counter balance the negative effect of the melon. 

Men were hot and dry; women were cold and wet. If a woman wanted a girl she should eat fish; a boy she should eat fowl or venison. 

The food you ate that is good for you depends on your rank and your rank corresponds to where on the great chain of being you are that therefore corresponds to what you need to do to best balance your humours. If you eat above or below your station it was believed to make you sick. 

It’s fantastically complex. 

Medicine Men (and women)

In general doctors, of any kind, weren’t regarded super highly. There’s a reason there’s a long history of jokes running along the lines of “how many did you kill today, doctor.” this wasn’t helped by the fact that for much of the medieval and early modern period there was not necessarily a clear distinction of “doctor.” Many people proscribed medical advice but not all were trained physicians; this changed with the increase of university-trained physicians intent on solidifying their legitimacy in the eyes of the public.

Naturally, for a patient in the early modern period the quality of medical care received depended entirely on how much you could afford. 

Physicians were university educated and the most respected class of medical man. They were called upon for external issues. You would write to them, or they would visit, and you would explain your symptoms. They might take a urine sample, or some other assessment, before prescribing your treatment. Not only were they the most respected class of medical man they were also the most expensive. 

Surgeons went through a varying degree of definition. Up until the late-18th century they were often the local barber (hence barber-surgeon) or some other trade as well as surgeon. They would do the manual labour of medical treatment such as treating broken bones, stitching, basic dental work (tooth extraction) and sometimes trepanning, among other things.  

However, the late-18th-century saw the rank of surgeon shift slightly as they were beginning to be reasonably well educated, often apprenticed to a surgeon or surgeon-apothecary in their teens, before facing examination in London. If they passed they would become a licensed member of the Company of Barber-Surgeons. 

Navies and armies across the board generally employed surgeons over physicians since they needed medical men with practical skills. In these circumstances surgeons also acted as apothecaries and physicians which began blurring the lines between the professions.  

Then there’s the apothecary who had a disreputable reputation until the early 19th century when it began becoming a more respectable trade. Apothecary doubled as a sort of local GP if there was no physician or surgeon available. They were also the ones to mix and creates pills, potions and the like. 

Cunning folk/wise women & men were alternatives sought out if the above options of medical treatment weren’t working out.   

Folk Remedies 

For much of medieval and the early modern period there was a strong relationship between medicine, magic and religion. Often people would go through different approaches to health problems until one of them worked. 

E.g. In Italy there was a case in the early 1700s of a woman in Naples, Domenica Jurlaro, who was very ill with a complaint of pain in her vaginal area. Her mother had reached out to a physician but there was no luck with him, then she turned to the local cunning woman, or wise woman, who tried a series of cures none of which worked. Domenica’s mother, then fearing witchcraft or a curse of some kind had been placed on Domenica, called in the local priest to perform a blessing in order to lift the curse and heal Domenica’s health problems. 

In the early 18th-century (and earlier), especially amongst the lower classes, this would not have been an unheard of progression nor considered strange. Of course you go from the physician to the local cunning woman to the parish priest - you’re ruling out all possibilities. 

Illness could be earth bound or caused by otherworldly means. 

“Folk remedies” were par for the course of medical practices, everyone usually turned to family known treatments first before sending out for a professional. In the case of Domenica, in Naples, the cunning woman prescribed a cure an enema of sage and other herbs as a remedy. In London, in January of 1750 The Gentleman Magazine recommended applying a live toad to the kidneys if you were suffering from a “retention of urine.” (Napoleon maybe should have tried this. And drinking water.) 

Folk remedies, like professional medicine, were informed by the humour theory although more abstractly, as well as by tried-and-true remedies passed down and around. Not entirely unlike today where we still apply similar things when dealing with daily colds such as gargling with salt water, taking a shot of extra-proof liquor, drinking tea with lots of lemon and chili, eating chicken soup and so on. 

Hospitals 

In the Medieval period dedicated monasteries and hospices served the purpose of hospital in that they served the sick but also served as places for travellers to stay over and for the poor to have an occasional roof over their head. Italy also had dedicated confraternities run by dedicated religious laymen which provided medical support to the poor. 

In England after the dissolution of the monasteries public hospitals, founded by wealthy philanthropists and/or the crown, filled the gap left by the absence of monasteries and hospices. Some of the medieval hospices that survived and were taken on by the crown and turned into public hospitals include Bedlam and St. Thomas’. 

The space that hospitals made where both poverty and disease became readily associated; as well as transience and disease; foreign travellers and disease and so on; facilitated a poor reputation of hospitals and further helped to marry the associated between poverty and disease. Unintentionally early modern hospitals catered to and enhanced the othering of the transient and impoverished regardless of their health status. This is also why many medieval and early modern hospitals bore names like Saint Thomas’s Hospital for the Sick and Poor (founded 1173). 

Some hospitals began specializing as time went on. One of the most infamous is Bedlam (Hospital of St. Mary of Bethlehem, now known as Bethlehem Royal Hospital founded 1247) which specialized in mental health (although in its colourful history it served as, among other things, a temporary jail space for prisoners and a traveler’s hospice); The New Locke which focused on venereal disease (founded 1746); Saint George’s (founded 1734) for the sick and lame etc. 

18th-century England did see a change in the purpose of hospitals from catch-alls for the poor and diseased they became focused on as much treating people as research and transition that would eventually give birth to modern research hospitals.

Some more reading: 

https://earlymodernmedicine.com/ - general early modern medical history

http://thechirurgeonsapprentice.com/ - info on early modern surgeons 

http://practitioners.exeter.ac.uk/ - a project with U. Exeter to map a picture of medical practitioners in early modern England, Ireland and Wales.

http://www.fashionablediseases.info/Blog/?p=9 - no longer active but their archived posts are interesting 

Dr. Johnson’s London by Liza Picard 

The Sin of Insanity, edited by Jeffrey R. Watt

Bedlam: London and Its Mad, by Catharine Arnold

Maladies and Medicine: Exploring Health & Healing, edited by Jennifer Evans and Sara Read

Medicine and Society in Early Modern Europe, by Mary Lindemann

“Food and Social Class in Late Medieval and Renaissance Italy,” in Food: A Culinary History from Antiquity to Present, Allen J. Grieco. 

“Hospital food: practice, social differences and medical theories in the mid Quattrocento,” by Allen J. Grieco 

“Medieval and Renaissance Wines: Dietary Theory and how to choose the ‘Right’ Wine,” by Allen J. Grieco 

(Grieco wrote about food, health, and society so really anything by him. He does a good breakdown in one of his essays on the Great Chain of Being, the humours, class and health. I forget which one though.)

“Plague and the City: Methodological Considerations in Mapping Disease in Early Modern Florence,” by John Henderson and Colin Rose

“Mapping Fear: Plague and Perception in Florence & Tuscany,” by Nicholas A. Eckstein. 

A couple primary sources: 

Anonymous, “A Catalogue of Medicines with their Prices set down by a famous Doctor and Physician for the good of the Nation,” cures for children’s worms, nocturnal emissions, 1685. 

Nicholas Culpeper, “Health for the Rich and Poor Dyet Without Physick,” 1656. 

Jane Sharp (midwife, one of the few whose writings are extant), The Midwives Book 1671.

Roger Bacon, “Of Meats and Drink, Which do More Agreeably Restore the Natural Moisture, that Daily is Consumed,” The Cure of Old Age and the Preservation of Youth, 1683. 

#history #history of medicine #history of science #18th century #early modern europe #early modern #17th century #health

[traincat]

I think I Kno the answer but I like the way you explain things so; would you ever write superfamily?

This is the sort of stone cold ‘no’ where it’s literally one of the only things I say I will not write on signup sheets. You’d have to pay me to write it. Substantially. If there’s one Marvel fandom-specific trope I hate above all others, it’s this one. I ‘flames on the side of my face’ gif loathe it. And because you played to my ego here, anonymous, I’ll explain why it bothers me so much. (Joking aside, I do genuinely appreciate that people want to hear my thoughts on things! Thank you! I’m sorry for how seethingly bitter I’m about to be, but anon, I suspect you knew what you’d be getting when you asked this!)

Frothing hatred, a discussion about the integrity of the character of Peter Parker, and The Importance of May Parker – all beneath your friendly neighborhood cut.

Superfamily in this instance refers to a specific fic trope in Marvel fandom where a pair of superheroes, traditionally Captain America and Iron Man (the superhusbands, hence the superfamily) although I’ve seen other pairings especially as of late, are written as the fathers of Peter “Spider-Man” Parker – usually adopted, sometimes biological, but ultimately legally. 

In general I don’t really enjoy this kind of fic where two characters who aren’t related (by blood or otherwise) are re-envisioned as relatives. It’s not that I think it’s inherently a bad concept, but what I would hypothetically want out of it – an exploration of how these characters change as a result of being related in this version – is almost never what it actually is, which is that Characters A and B are the author’s OTP, and the author wants to give them a child, and Character C, who is off over there minding their own business probably with their own supporting cast, is right there. 

(While trying to come up with comparative combinations on a tangent I ultimately dropped, I did think “Maria Hill and Natasha Romanoff are the parents of Daisy Johnson, costarring Nick Fury as the mysterious uncle” and apparently there are versions of this I would read. Make superspyfamily the next big thing.)

There’s a lot of other things I don’t like about the trope: the diminishing and infantilization of Peter Parker, a ~30yo man in the comics with his own complicated web of connections and relationships – including, if we wanted to go here, a surrogate father figure in Joe “Robbie” Robertson. The twisting of Peter’s personality in order to make his a Good Earnest Kid, his Grand Canyon-wide independent streak and his anti-authoritarian nature stripped away in favor of making him beholden to two characters who are, you know, not his parents. Two characters who aren’t even, striking a stint in the ice where Steve Rogers is concerned, that much older than him in 616. The fact that, over the years, Iron Man and Spider-Man have clashed several times, often aggressively on Peter’s side of things. 

(This post isn’t meant to be a criticism of Tony Stark – even if I was interested in taking that angle when discussing this trope, which I’m not, I frankly haven’t read enough Iron Man comics to offer a valid criticism – but rather a statement that Peter Parker is an aggressive character by nature, and that sometimes two characters with the best of intentions can have damaging interactions with each other. That’s the beauty of having a canon with 80 million different characters – every possible dynamic exists. And that’s why there’s several canon instances of Peter attacking Tony in my Spider-Man refs folder. Listen, I like when he punches people, okay.) The invention of a totally fake dynamic that has become so widespread and latched on on a fanon level to the point where it was shoehorned into the latest Spider-Man movie adaptation to the detriment of Spider-Man’s actual supporting cast. The fact that when I read Spider-Man fic, I want to be reading about Spider-Man, not someone’s Peter Parker shaped OC. And maybe most importantly: the erasure of May Parker. Without May Parker, there is no Spider-Man, not as we know him. 

I’ve spoken before about the importance and gravity of Ben Parker’s death and how without knowing the exact circumstances, I find it difficult to know what form Peter’s actions will take. (The differences in his crime fighting methodology 616 vs Marvel Noir, for instance.) But while Ben Parker’s death made Spider-Man, the vigilante, I think it’s May Parker who makes him a hero, every day. 

And, my line on her to Peter is that he got his powers from the spider but he got his strength from May. Because that backbone is what made him who and what he is today. The choices that he makes now come of her having raised him a certain way. – J Michael Straczynski (x)

Look, I think there’s a simplicity to Superfamily that contributes to its overwhelming, infuriating, kudzu-like popularity: Spider-Man is one of the biggest superhero properties on the planet. He’s often, however incorrectly I would personally suggest this is, depicted as a kid. He is, as we all know, an orphan – he has no parents, and he lives with his aunt and uncle, and then – robber, bang, power, responsibility – only with his aunt. And I think sometimes when people hear “orphan” and “aunt” they kind of feel a distance – a disconnect. Or maybe it’s an age thing – the idea that May’s somehow too old to be his parent, so she’s discounted. Maybe it’s just because she’s not a superhero, I don’t know. I don’t think it’s entirely a coincidence that early Marvel is populated with non-traditional family models – the Fantastic Four, for example, are not a team but a family – when these stories were created by Jewish people living in a heavily Jewish area in the shadow of WWII. In the face of decimation, you come together however you can. Orphaned Peter Parker and his aunt, his father’s brother’s wife, alone together. But May Parker’s a lot more than just that.

In Amazing Spider-Man #33, Peter finds himself hopelessly trapped under rubble while Aunt May’s life hangs in the balance – if he cannot free himself, it’s not only his life but hers that’s forfeit, and through his love from her he finds the strength to literally move mountains. (Speaking of removing May from the picture in favor of Iron Man, I’ll never forgive Spider-Man: Homecoming for recreating this scene so that Peter derives his strength from him and not from, you know, the woman who raised him and who he loves more than his own life, in favor of the inherently more marketable Iron Man brand.)

A lot of times in Superfamily fic, they just kill May off. Okay, fine, whatever. I might hate it (I hate it a lot) but like, alright! Fine! If you gotta go here! May’s often been in delicate health, especially in older comics, and if an author needs to take her out of the picture, her literally being dead is basically the only in character reason she wouldn’t be there for Peter if he needs her. I might personally have a grudge against about it, but hey, as we’ve established, I have a grudge against the whole trope. Lately though, and I suspect because of the advent of Homecoming’s Hot Somewhat Younger May – I’d like to suggest that 616 May is not as old as one might think looking at her first appearances and that, as the sliding timescale moves along, we have to address the fact that people both live longer and look younger today than was expected in the 1960s –,  I’ve been seeing a different trend. (Yes, I’ve been known to hateread, I’ll admit it. How else would I know how much I hate it! Also it keeps ending up in the JohnnyPeter tag and I make poor choices re: deriving enjoyment from my anger over fanfic of all things.) Lately, more and more, I’ve been seeing fics where Tony adopts Peter from May – as in, she signs the forms giving up her child, because obviously he loves him so much more. Fics where May is just the cover story so Peter Stark can escape media attention – so great, now she’s an employee. And at least one tweet about how great it would be to see a fic where Peter comes out to May and she throws him out in a homophobic fit but wait! The Avengers can rescue him! So now she’s demonized for the Drama. Gag me. (Not that I think it should matter at all for the sake of this argument, but we have May’s actual word in Amazing Spider-Man v2 #38 on what would happen if Peter came out as gay to her, and that it’s she’d love and support him no matter what.) And listen, like, part of me is like let it go! The majority of this content is written by younger fans just figuring out what they want to write, dipping their toes into the swampy waters that is Marvel canon! But the problem is, this perpetuates. It gets popular, and people form their opinions based on headcanons and not on canon and it becomes a vicious cycle, and suddenly Peter’s the Kid Avenger like, ACTUALLY, and May’s role in the story has been demoted to Roommate With a Car at best. Just there until better, cooler parental figures show up at the doorstep with adoption papers. 

Because, listen, May Parker is Peter’s mother. 

One thing I find fascinating about Peter Parker in 616 is how he relies on and draws strength from other people’s goodness, and none more so than May. It’s her well of inner strength and kindness that enable him to be kind of superhero that he is. 

Without May Parker, Peter Parker would be a totally different character – and I don’t want a different character. I like this one. (For a canon story about how Peter would be different without May, check out Friendly Neighborhood Spider-Man #8.)

Like I said above, the great thing about having 80 million characters is that those characters get to be different things, and as superheroes they get to protect different things. Iron Man is a futurist. The Fantastic Four are about discovery. The X-Men protect a world that hates and fears them. Spider-Man isn’t here to save the world. Spider-Man is here to protect ordinary people – people like May Parker. 

In conclusion: fuck Superfamily as a widespread trend.

Anyway I had to see an actual article about the MCU refer to two characters as Spider-Man’s “Avenger dads” and another suggest that Dr. Strange and Spider-Man are the father-son combo we never knew we always needed (it’s not, and we don’t), so I guess I’m going to go live in a cave and throw rocks at innocent hikers who stumble upon my Spider-Man Opinions cave now.

#this is for you anon! #and not for stroking the fires of the my hatred! #not for that at all! #traincat talks comics #traincat talks homecoming #tangentially #peter parker #may parker #long post/

[heathered-beinn]

BangtanTV Youtube Vids 3

Dance practice by 정국 of 방탄소년단 - YouTube Dance practice by 정국 of 방탄소년단 (Jungkook of BTS)

This short dance routine was a nice little insight into the level of Jungkook’s dance skills a few months before the band debuts. I looked up the band’s debut date which is June 2013 and this was filmed in January. From what I can remember from previous vids Jungkook didn’t have much/if any dancing experience when he joined the company so this is quite an impressive start! I am not a dance expert in anyway but I’ll make a few observations using my common sense. This short routine shows he has already developed a good sense of flow, has a good memory for remembering steps, and nice posturing for the style of dance (i.e. it doesn’t look awkward or robotic). His rhythm was off a little in places, which was most noticeable throughout the second set of bell rings. I’m going to make another uneducated observation based on this off-rhythm: throughout this video he seems to be dancing more from memory rather than dancing to the music. Is this a one off or is it because he is still learning (and probably under pressure)? It will be so interesting to see how his skills grow from here on out.

방탄소년들의 졸업 - YouTube 방탄소년들의 졸업 (rough translation: Graduate of BTS)

Oh my goodness <3 <3 !!!! This is so cute!! The song is clearly about them graduating from their respective schools. Dressed up in their school uniforms, J-Hope, Jimin, and Jungkook sing a Korean-ised version of Snoop Dogg & Wiz Khalifa - Young, Wild and Free ft. Bruno Mars on school grounds.

It is like, tooth-rottingly cute – all of them are so young and baby faced! Jungkook seems to be the lead singer already and did a little rapping too. He’s definitely a singer more than a rapper but it still sounded good. J-Hope’s voice is smooth and he oozes confidence. He also looks like he hasn’t aged a bit from then to now! Jimin is just a little cutie. I think he was mostly background vocals and visuals in this little music video which I’m sure was down to his lack of confidence in singing since it was so new to him. *sigh*… there was so much youth and innocence in their voices back then. Okay so their voices were a little unpolished and it wasn’t exactly a blockbuster of a music video but, you know what, it was pretty damn good and definitely an entertaining performance.

Observations: so taking into account that this would all have been edited and somewhat scripted, looking and reading between the lines the three of them seem to be genuinely close already. I know Korean culture is generally less conservative with touching between friends than western (yet more conservative in other ways) but the three seem pretty natural with each other. Either they gelled fast or they’ve been working together for some time already – even before Jimin became an official member of the pre-debut band. I really liked how, rather than pretend to be macho males who dominate the school and ogle the girls, the video is just them hanging together and essentially ‘playing’ like young teenage friends. I had to laugh at Jimin measuring his height against the growing Jungkook. Enjoy the inch while you can darling because it’s going to go fast lol!! Also, you really would think they were all the same age but if I’m right, there is four years difference between J-Hope and Jungkook!

 130208 지민 - YouTube 130208 지민 – Jimin 08/02/13 (UK date!)

Thanks to Grace Lee in the Youtube comments for the translation.

Jimin tells us he went to Jungkook’s graduation with Jin and Suga (hyung). They went because they heard Jungkook didn’t have many friends but it turns out he was surrounded by girls (lol!) and Jimin was a little jealous (jealous of JK having more friends than him, or that they were girls, or that JK has a lot of friends who aren’t Jimin/the band?). He then says that now JK is a year older he will probably become a bit more manly (again, is that a good thing or a bad thing Jimin? Are you afraid he will get taller than you? Or that he might not be so playful? Or are you looking forward to those things…? In all honesty I thought this was a bit of an odd thing to say but then it might be the culture difference). The team are getting a vacation (excellent, I bet it is really needed – although if memory serves, by the time American Hustle Life comes around it’s been a long time since they had seen their family so this might have been the last trip home that they talked about). Jimin says he feels bad that RM and Suga can’t go home early because they have to work on songs but he hopes they can go home soon and rest. (Two things come to me here; one, RM and Suga are already the lead writers at this point and they are under a kind of pressure that they can’t go home until they meet some kind of quota? Look, they are both adults at this point and it’s a difficult industry so this isn’t too surprising that there is a lot of pressure, but it shows how hard they had to work to get to where they are today. It did not get handed to them on a plate. Do I think this particular pressure was unnecessary; yes I do. Do I think it’s the worst thing in the world: no I do not. I can acknowledge that there are much worse things to be doing than writing songs in a studio for hours on end. I also think the that the pressure will probably nurse their passion for the job. However, that doesn’t mean they are not stressed, tired, and mentally drained, so I empathise with them and hope they get the break they deserve soon. The second thing is: a small note about Jimin’s concern and regret that RM and Suga aren’t going home like himself. That shows he has some empathy and that he cares about them. As this is incredibly early in the band’s career this is just an observation of the emerging bonds.

 130208 정국 - YouTube 130208 정국 (080213 Jungkook UK date)

Thanks to Hopeful Mang in the Youtube comments for the translation. Before I even get into the video I want to make the observation that JK is wearing a fur-lined coat in the studio – just how cold is it in there???!!!! He also looks tired/cold, poor lad.

Right, so, according the translation, he says he is finally filming his log and he watched Jimin do his and thought he didn’t speak well but now that it’s his turn he realises he doesn’t know what to say. (Well JK, you were quick to judge Jimin – and quite harshly – but now you realise it really isn’t that easy! I do wonder, now, if JK was in the room with Jimin when he was filming? If so, was Jimin maybe teasing him when he said he, Jin, and Suga thought he did not have many friends and that’s why they went to his graduation? Then maybe he made up for it by suggesting he was surrounded by girls, which he may not have been? Who knows, but that’s another possibility lol!)

JK then tells us that today was his graduation and that he had been looking forward to it but now that it’s happened he’s actually not that happy. (I wondered why? I was curious about him graduating anything at 15 so I googled and figured out that since he’s fifteen he’s just graduated middle school! So now I’m wondering if he’s nervous about going to High School? Or if he’s sad about the pressure to leave a certain part of his childhood behind? Or maybe he’s sad he might not see some his classmates again?) He says it is 11:39 and they’ve just finished dance practice (I am hoping that he is talking about 11 in the morning…) Like Jimin, JK says it’s almost New Year and he can’t wait to go home. He finishes the log by saying he misses his mum and dad and that everyone will be waiting for him at home and he wants to go. (It must be hard for JK to be so far away from home at such a young age. I know that many children are, for various reasons, but I hate the ‘oh don’t worry about it there are other people worse off’ mentality. That kind of thinking helps nobody and only deteriorates a person’s mental health because it doesn’t stop them feeling bad but increases their overall stress because they feel guilty for feeling bad. Anyway, back to JK, I wonder how he copes without his family? Who provides his pastoral care? Are there staff there – like the house staff you’d get in a boarding school who are a bit like a stand-in parent? Or do the other band members, like Jin and Suga, look after the younger ones? What does JK have to do for himself? Does he cook his own meals? Clean his own washing? Organise his dental/hair appointments? What about when he’s unwell? Who looks after him? Does the company provide any of that? I know the band live in dorms so there has to be some sort of living arrangements. Hopefully this will all get answered in time.)

 130212 RAP MONSTER - YouTube 130212 RAP MONSTER – (RM’s Log)

Thanks to Grace Lee in the Youtube comments for the translation.

So RM starts by saying that New Year’s is over and that’s he had a [legal] drink with some long-time friends [ones he’s known for 13-15 years]. (I’m glad he at least got to celebrate New Year – the video doesn’t spell out if he actually got to go home but I really hope he did). He says that he’s realised that real friends are the ones who stick with you through the bad times as well as the good (I’m sad it’s taken this long for you to realise darling but I’m glad you know now). He thinks the band is going to debut soon (it’s about four months off from what I read) and after the break he’s recharged and more determined. Starting tomorrow it’s going to be a storm and he’s going to practice more (which I assume means he’s going to launch into song writing with more vigour and determination and try even harder with the dancing – which great for him!! <3 The break evidently did him the power of good. I hope he manages to keep it going x)

 130212 정국 & 지민 - YouTube 130212 정국 & 지민 – 12/03/13 Jungkook & Jimin UK Date

OMG WHAT CUTIES!!! <3 <3 THEY ARE SO ADORABLE Thanks to Grace Lee in the Youtube comments for the translation.

Jimin starts talking first. (He sounds a bit croaky ☹). He says New Years is over. (That was really quick!!! They last filmed on the 8th and it’s now the 12th – not much of a vacation for them! ☹) Anyway, Jimin tells us that as the two of went to Busan they got to film their log together (presumably because they arrived back at the same time? The two of them seem a little awkward – not with each other – but as though they don’t quite know what to say lol. So I don’t think they exactly practised their log beforehand, which maybe they should have *insert crying with laughter emoji*) Jimin then says that as he predicted he put on a lot of weight. (I am… so sad. It’s been less than 4 days Jimin, even if you were on a drip that mainlined calories into your body 24/7 you would not put on that much noticeable weight in 3 days!!! This fixation on weight from all of them is breaking my heart.) Jimin then also says he caught a cold and his throat is sore (which explains why he sounds all choked-up, poor lad ☹. Then it is JK’s turn to speak and, bless him, the silence is awkward – he’s really going to have to work on feeling comfortable in front of the camera.) JK eventually says that he had a good New Years and that he knows it will be a long time before he gets to go back to Busan again (Jimin nods along with a little sad pout and I want cry for them). JK then says he will work harder because of this (I’m kinda reading between the lines here and taking it that he means he will try to block out how much he misses home by focusing extra hard on their work. Whatever helps, sweetie.)

Jimin echoes this by saying that now they’ve caught up on some rest he’s ready to work harder (I want to go all motherly on his butt by saying; darling you are clearly under the weather and you need more rest, not to work harder right now. Get into your bed and let me make you some tea.) He reiterates this to JK by saying ‘we’re going to work hard? Correct?’. They look at each other and giggle a little shyly as JK agrees they will work hard (absolutely adorable, I’m loving this little friendship already). Jimin then draws the log to an end by saying RM needs the studio and that his throat is in a bad condition. He asks JK if he has anything more to say to which (LOL) JK says no and repeats he will work harder. Jimin awkwardly ends the log.

Extra musings; I find it absolutely adorable how awkward they were and it very much came across that it wasn’t that they were awkward with each other - in fact, they appeared to look to each other for reassurance - but that they just didn’t know what to say. I don’t think they aren’t comfortable talking ad hoc in front of a camera. It is really sweet that they clearly tried to help each other through the filming. JK is definitely the most shy out of the two and became a cute little ‘nodding dog’ whenever Jimin spoke as though his friend was saying everything perfectly for him (for anyone reading this who doesn’t understand; the term ‘nodding dog’ is a reference to a cute little toy that sits on a vehicle’s dashboard and nods it’s head to the vibrations. Overtime the term has morphed into a reference to people who sit and nod as someone else speaks – usually during speeches/meetings/lectures. Over-all it is an amusing analogy rather than a mean one and I definitely mean it in a gently teasing way!)

Anyway, these two seem to have a cute little friendship going on, which is nice to behold as we didn’t get to see much about their friendship until American Hustle and that godawful day working at the airport – which I have tried valiantly to scrub from my memory. I really hope to see more of them working together in the future – and maybe they will continue doing logs together <3

130214 J HOPE - YouTube 130214 J HOPE’s log

J-Hope!!!! Sweetheart <3 <3 I love your shirt – you look all sparkly! Thanks to Grace Lee in the Youtube comments for the translation.

J-Hope starts by saying he’s finally filming his first log (and I may or may not have melted into a puddle of goo when he smiled and clapped his hands together – such a beautiful boy, like sunshine personified). His graduation video has just been released (which I assume from my Google research on age and Korean education means he has now graduated high school, well done sweetie and congratulations!!!!). His graduation makes him feel both nervous and excited as it feels like ‘something is starting’. (I wonder if the company were holding back a little on debuting the band until the majority of them had finished high school – which would be sensible considering the band’s workload!). J-Hope says he hopes it’s not too cringeworthy but he wants to talk about his goals (nothing cringeworthy about that and I definitely want to hear about them!). His first goal is to get better at rapping before the band debuts, with the help of RM and Suga (I love how the band members are helping each other and I also admire J-Hope’s desire to improve his skills for the sake of the band). His second goal is to dance more like a pro (after what I saw in American Hustle Life then you have natural talent J-Hope and are already dancing like a pro, I don’t know how you can improve really. You’re definitely the most talented dancer in the group when it comes to hip-hop). He then tells us that it is Valentines Day and that he hopes we are enjoying it, relieving a lot a stress (?) and are eating a lot of chocolate (<3 you too J-Hope, even though I do not celebrate that day in the slightest lol). He finishes the log by wishing us a happy Valentine’s day again.

Further musings: a really cute log and a great start. J-Hope talks naturally in front of the camera and his smile is just beautiful and makes you automatically smile along. Maybe JK and Jimin should take some notes on J-Hope’s confidence and delivery lol.

 130214 지민&정국 - YouTube 130214 지민&정국 – Jimin and Jungkook

Ah the cuties are back!!! And they’re recording their log together again <3 Note: this is 2 days after the last one and the same day J-Hope recorded his first log. Thanks to Grace Lee in the Youtube comments for the translation.

(I may have sniggered at their choice of music playing in the background because I really don’t think they understood the lyrics…) ANYWAY, so, according to the translation, Jimin starts by saying it’s Valentine’s Day but also Graduation Day at his school. (I’m a little lost as to whether he is actually graduating anything specific or even where he might be graduating from). JK chimes in that he graduated today too (which I thought he did the other day? Confused.com). Jimin then says it was a day off school so he didn’t receive any chocolates (I’m guessing Valentine’s Day is quite a celebrated occasion in Korea). JK chimes in that he still received two chocolates (I like how males get gifts too and not just females for Valentine’s Day). Jimin says he got one chocolate. LOL at JK saying he won! Jimin then explains they get chocolates from the girl trainees in the company and that he doesn’t mind just getting one because they are on a diet (cue my angry face because I think I’ve already established I don’t think it’s a healthy diet). Jimin says he looks to Jin to lose weight in which JK chimes in that Jin is good at taking care of his body. (Funny enough, in one of the last Jin logs he said staff had commented on his growing weight, which was a load of bullshit, but Jin was determined to eat more healthily. So which is it? Jin is overweight enough that he needs to diet according to staff (gross and no) or does he have an enviable figure that JK and Jimin want to emulate? I mean what am I even talking about because neither Jimin or JK are overweight anyway and probably have six packs from all the dancing…) Then Jimin says… (and I genuinely want to cry that he says this, I don’t even want to type it) Jimin says ‘in order to not be called cute because of my fat, I will lose weight in anticipation of becoming handsome.’ (I don’t know where to even start with this horrible utterance. Firstly, there is nothing wrong with being called ‘cute’. Cuteness does not just cover looks it also encompasses personality whereas the term ‘handsome’ really doesn’t, at least from where I come from; you can be handsome to the eyes but an absolute dick in personality. Also, being thin does not mean you are handsome either – I have seen some men who are incredibly slender but not physically fit, all ribs and angular bones, and I wouldn’t class them as ‘handsome’. Anyway beauty is very much in the eye of the beholder. Everyone finds different qualities attractive. Also, not to give the game away, I saw what Jimin blossoms into when they appeared on the Late Late Show and he has nothing to worry about. I honestly don’t think it was ‘losing weight’ that truly transformed him either, not in the end. However, I can empathise with the lad, Jimin has a very youthful face that is prone to adorable full cheeks, even when the rest of him is pure lean muscle. I get that he’s at an age too where he wants to be seen and treated like an adult but, Jimin, that comes at a price too – don’t be so quick to try and shake off your youth, it’s precious.) Then JK devastates me by saying he wants to do the same. (Look, there is nothing wrong with wanting to look good – or at least feel like you look good. However ‘losing weight’ – which is ALL they mention so far - is barely part of the answer. So much depends on things like having a ‘healthy diet’ – lots of vegetables etc - being happy gosh that is so vital, getting enough sleep, getting enough exercise, wearing the right clothes, how your hair is cut and how it shapes your face, same with the eyebrows, your personal grooming, getting the right amount of sun, and how you hold yourself – posture. There are so many aspects that can factor in to attractiveness. Also, do you want to attract people who only value you on your looks? Even as an Idol? Surely talent is more important?

Further musings: JK and Jimin seemed at ease together again – JK very much relying on Jimin to lead the log and simply nodding along to whatever he says. I noticed he also clutched his throat quite a bit, something I’ve not noticed before, and I wonder if he caught Jimin’s cold?

Can’t wait to watch more!

#bts #bangtantv #youtubeofficial #jin #suga #j-hope #rapmonster #jimin #v #jungkook

[autoirishlitdiscourses]

Discourse of Wednesday, 17 February 2021

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Your writing is so very lucid and enjoyable. I've listened to the class's discussion than was perhaps optimistic for weeks when I cold-called on him for a four-page paragraph should be no use if I can make a more successful in the afternoon could we meet at a coffee shop on lower State Street. 5 or above, you will just mean that Yeats was talking about the motivations of the obscenity trial surrounding it. But I think your plan is to listen to what does; added old to what other people. You have a C for the quarter substitutes an estimate of attendance/participation score above 50 points, then you can make your readings are often primarily just due to nervousness and/or the novels there's no overlap in terms of culture rather than one that most directly productive here would be helpful if you have scheduled a recitation and what you'll drop if you have any more questions, please bring your copy of Ulysses? As to what might be a comparatively easy revision process. Or, if you have several ideas about it.

I'm so sorry to take this long to get back to you after you've written a smart move not only express your thoughts to, but writing as a way that doesn't overlap. I think that there are places where I think that it looks like you're writing more of the prospectus when I've already said in the afternoon? I really appreciate you both perform tomorrow night. Well done on this question, for the quarter. The writer may be wildly wrong about this offer to anyone any part at all I myself tend to have practiced a bit more would have helped to practice just a hair's breadth away from a generic perspective of a text from Ulysses in particular, of course perfectly happy either way, it would emphasize the second stanza and swapped a word out in detail than we can talk about authors other than as being the plus and minus for each one. The short version for this particular question, but there are many places, from Chris Walker, English 150 TA, You have a fever of 104 or a report that's an overview of the poem's meaning for me. As it is rather complex. Arranging the second half of the exam if you have any questions, or b temptation the general reading of Ulysses closely, and your writing is very solid job here.

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Overall, this was a popular selection. Again, I'm sorry to take a stand, and your material you emphasize if the text s, but will absolutely respond to everyone's participation over the last half of your discussion of a proper Works Cited and Works Consulted would be, but maybe tonight was no section meeting during week five or six. However, I believe that you get 90. Here's a breakdown on your sheet so I re-adding it using the add code.

3:30 is also a Ulysses recitation tomorrow! Make sure to email me a copy of your late penalty to the fact that he had taken the first half of Yeats's September 1913, like I said in lecture if they cover ground which you sometimes retreat holds your argument's specificity back to you whether you are trying to do. What do you mind? 93% A-for the term, and the median and mode scores were both 7, I think both of them.

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You have a more specific claim about what's actually important to you. I feel that there will be most helpful at this point. Honor that absolutely prevent you from analyzing closely. If little Rudy had lived. This doesn't change the basic idea is basically structured in a way into an A paper, and modeling this for everyone who was scheduled to recite the poem on the final exam.

Other points for section on Dec 4, but I can't be more specific feedback and a punctuation mark. If you think it's fair to O'Casey's text, though I hadn't thought out extensively, and I'm deeply embarrassed that it is rather complex. So, here is to do this as being not a bad thing, let me know if you recall, and giving other people to participate this can be a fallback plan.

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That is, you will go first or last-minute and two-year college can be prepared. Ultimately, what kind of psychological issues, or you otherwise want me to say, Welp, guess I'll just say that you should take every possible competing text. At the same source. One aspect of love? Your paper effectively traces out a group is, or hospitalization of a letter on the midterm and final exams, and must not look at my section envelopes EC#50856 but not an inappropriate choice. Hi! This is a duplicate message. Here's a breakdown on your own reading of Godot, and the amount of time it took a while for them, but it can. But you really have done a number of things well here: you would have paid off a bit over, I suppose another way, though, you've got a special offer, if you're talking about the way that helps! I suspect would fit well with your approval, I'll try hard to motivate you to think of recommending Francis Bacon's work in the first people to discuss with another person, then I will not hurt you, but just of individual passages, but really, your paper is late, then digging in to the MLA standard; the way that the disclosure path is extremely implausible will be on the section hits its average level of familiarity with the people not warming up to two penalties. I provide an estimate for attendance purposes in the early stages of planning I just wanted to be helpful. Check to make decisions about exactly what you're ultimately proposing, as I've learned myself over the quarter is still in the course at this stage of the class, and went above and beyond the interpretations articulated in conjunction with other propaganda pieces of virtually any kind Henry V's famous St.

You may get more than five sections and you recovered quite well here, I will still be elusive at this stage of the following characters in The Butcher Boy: In-progress, very well done! In Conclusion. Talking about how you'll effectively fill time and managed to draw deeper into the text from page 4 McCabe 135, McCabe song on p. That's OK sometimes it's necessary to use to construct an argument for your thoughts would pay off in the third line of your paper graded by then. You did a very close less than thrilled at this point, but you were absent we talked somewhat about this very open-ended questions is the point of analysis, and questions with smaller-scale point in the end of the text from Ulysses in a productive line of the Heaney poems that will occasionally have reminders, announcements, and think about what kind of viewer is understood or affected by gender in the best possible light, and next week if you have any more questions, OK?

Forward to your workload, but I don't know whether that's meant to describe women in this paper would have helped, too. You have a well-selected material to think about how to do, and this is based on general claims such as background information several times during the course, the irruption. Yes-or-no question, but only to recite. On the other, could be one of three people who already believe in the front of the Wandering Aengus—6 p. Wants to sew on buttons for me to file an incomplete would also like to know the details of the exam is at stake. I think that you're dealing with this, let me know whether this matters, and we will have to try to jam in extra points for the edition of the staff that of Arimathea supposedly stuck into the B range. As promised in the context of your performance and discussion tonight.

Very well done, both because it is.

For that reason isn't going to be aggressive or confrontational, and Margaret Atwood's Oryx and Crake, all of this length, and I think that you'll do well, in case you didn't choose and which texts you want to deal with the paper's due if you post it as optional. I don't think that Ulysses has and did a good weekend, and I'll happily instruct him either way, would be to ask what changes Yeats makes to the complex connection that's being built here is some material that you engage.

Thank you for I'll leave here tomorrow night! 258? There are also some editing problems here—again, it will help you grow as a natural end or otherwise just saying random things about what you see as important about the two things: Come to section; eight got 9 or higher on the day after O'Casey is scheduled. First and foremost, I think that the parts of your finals and papers, and that you make meaningful contributions that you weren't afraid to use silence effectively at the last week due to nervousness and/or minor problems. Well done on this immediately, you really did intend to accept an F on the section website after your recitation and thinking closely about delivery; you have a very specific skill that takes experience to be experienced and discussed by presenters: You added the before one I loved; changed or to be as successful as possible it is also an impressive move that the episode of The Butcher Boy both are a number of fingers at the final exam, and I may overlook it if you have any questions or issues that would have also been participating extensively and wind up receiving slightly more than 100% of the following is true for ID #10, which has Calc, a B-on your part. Hope your grading option without a fee! But how you can deal with this phrase in the course-related issues, I personally think that if I can identify it. There was a difficult passage, in this paper. You could switch to taking the midterm, took four days after the midterm he has decided to postpone releasing the midterm, and they all essentially boil down what the nature of your political poster; and dropped et unam sanctam from the Internet, if you want to reschedule, and I think, always a productive direction to take it you're referring to the course are not responding, then you may want to switch to the connections between the two tendencies in Irish literature that you had some very perceptive comments in here, and do a very solid and perceptive piece here that is formatted correctly. 697, p. And the way to write questions on the following venues, at the front of the entire weekend one day late unless you file an informational report with the material to produce a meaningful discussion about the figure of the poem's own internal sense of a great detail simply because they're yours.

#Irish literature #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Python #Markov chains

[xseedgames]

Trails in the Sky - Programming Blog

Hey, everyone! It's been quite a while since I last posted here. This is Sara, XSEED's PC localization programmer! I've been buried shoulder-deep in my work on Zwei: The Ilvard Insurrection recently, but I'm here today to talk to you about something for the Trails in the Sky games. What? Those games have been out a pretty long time now? I know! I just can't seem to stop supporting them! Send help.

Jokes aside, here's the deal. With the recent release of Trails of Cold Steel on PC with help from the awesome Durante, I've been hit by some strokes of inspiration of my own. Have you read his guest blogs? Go read his guest blogs! I'll wait.

Okay. With that out of the way, I've got two things to discuss here that I've been working on for the Trails in the Sky games, and the cool thing is that you can try both of these things out right now on Steam!

- Turbo Mode -

If you've been following Durante's blogs, you'll already know the general idea of what Turbo Mode is. In Trails of Cold Steel, this is a function you can use to speed up the game by customizable factors just by holding down a button, automatically skipping most battle animations as well. You can even configure field speed and battle speed individually. Knowing that fantastic Cold Steel's PC release might bring a lot of new players into the series, and thus, into the Sky games, I felt that adding this feature to the Sky games would improve the overall consistency of experience and help these players feel right at home.

This feature is available for testing right now on Steam! It isn't quite feature-complete yet, though, as it doesn't skip animations, and there are a couple of minor bugs. The bugs I'm aware of right now are that turboing in the field may occasionally cause you to clip through objects. Please use care when turboing outside of battle. Turboing in battle may sometimes result in some very minor animation errors, too. In the future, most of these animations will be skipped, and I'll do my best to fix the clipping problem. In the meanwhile, please be sure to report any issues you may have with the feature to our support e-mail at [email protected]!

For those of you who are playing versions of the game from other storefronts, don't despair; I haven't forgotten about you! I just want to make sure this new feature is in as good of shape as possible before I do a full official release!

That's about it for Turbo Mode, so that brings me to the other thing that I've been working on...

- DirectX9 Version -

The Trails in the Sky series was originally coded exclusively for DirectX8. I always thought that was a bit odd, since other Falcom games of the era were given the DirectX9 treatment, or even released with both versions supported. "What's that mean, though?" I hear you guys asking. That's okay, I can't blame you! You probably know that DirectX is a graphics API used popularly in Windows games, but at this point, version 8 has gotten pretty old. So old, in fact, that some vendors have stopped supporting it fully -- most notably, Nvidia has long since removed full support for it on certain systems, especially laptops utilizing Nvidia Optimus technology. Those are basically laptops with built-in Nvidia graphics cards that also have Intel integrated cards included for less-intensive uses.

Well, people have been having trouble with Trails in the Sky on their Nvidia Optimus rigs for a while now, and I've always been a bit sad that I couldn't help them out very much until now. I had been writing a DirectX9 version of the engine for a while, as DX9 is still well-supported and resembles DX8 fairly closely. Unfortunately, in the process, I ran into a lot of stumbling blocks that resulted in the process being harder than I'd imagined; it led me to understand why Falcom hadn't bothered, either. As great as their code was, it just wasn't made with DX9 in mind originally. In the past week, I finally overcame these stumbling blocks, though, and am pleased to announce a public beta of the DirectX9 version of the Trails in the Sky games on Steam! If you own the games on Steam, you've already got the beta now!

I'm basically looking to improve these versions and make them function as well as the original DirectX8 versions did before I put them into a wider release. So far, it seems like it's working out pretty well! There have been a couple noticeable bugs -- mostly strange blocky objects that appear rarely, especially beds for some weird reason -- but given some time, I'm pretty sure it'll all get ironed out. That means better performance ahead for pretty much everyone, especially Nvidia Optimus users! Further into the future, it will also lead to better graphics options that make the games look even better, so please look forward to it. You can help me out right now by testing out the new beta versions on Steam and leaving feedback on any problems you might find!

While I've got you here, though, is there anything else? Well, maybe just a little, yeah...

- Other Stuff in the Sky -

I always try to make it a point to support the games I work on as much as possible, no matter how old those games get. Along with these two features, I've made some small tweaks to the engine to adjust its performance here and there, and I added the long-missing "Monster Guide Button" that really should have been there all along. My bad on not getting to that one sooner! As time moves along, I'd like to improve these games even more, and hopefully continue to live up to the high bar of quality that people are learning to expect from us. I'd like to make better configuration tools, closer to the one Cold Steel has now, with even more options to help these games shine. For the time being, though, I'm going to keep fixing as many bugs as I can, such as the recently fixed New Game+ bugs in Trails in the Sky the 3rd. All of this and more will come to those of you playing from GOG and the Humble Store as well. Just let them have a little more time cooking in the oven. I promise it'll be worth it.

I'd like to thank all of you fans for being there and giving so much support. Thank you to Durante as well, for inspiring me to do something you guys will enjoy so much. I am forever blessed to have the chance to work on these wonderful games that I dearly love. Until next time!

Sara J. Leen Localization Programmer, XSEED Games

#xseed games #xseed #xseed blog #Trails In The Sky #programming #post: sara

[john-laurens]

Alexander Hamilton to John Laurens, April 1779: Close Reading and Analysis

After posting the original and edited versions of this letter, I wanted to do a thorough analysis of it to cover the many innuendos and implications contained within.  Again, this reading is my own (though it has been driven by suggestions from others) and is a subjective interpretation of the data we have.  I encourage you to read the letter for yourself to draw your own conclusions and add to the discussion.

Cold in my professions, warm in [my] friendships, I wish, my Dear Laurens, it m[ight] be in my power, by actions rather than words, [to] convince you that I love you_

This is the first (surviving) letter that Hamilton sent to Laurens, and he opened it with an explicit declaration of his love for Laurens.  He even suggested a physical aspect of their relationship that likely would have gone beyond the socially acceptable “romantic friendships” of the day.  What’s interesting here is that Hamilton stated that his verbal and written sentiments are typically “cold” and that he wants the distance between Laurens and himself to be eliminated so that he might be able to express the full extent of his feelings through some from of physical affection.  However, this is one of the most emotionally expressive and romantic letters written by Hamilton – if this is “cold,” just imagine what the full “warmth” of their relationship was like when they were not separated.

I shall only tell you tha[t] ‘till you bade us Adieu, I hardly knew the value you had tought my heart to set upon you[_] Indeed, my friend, it was not well done_ You know the opinion I entertain of mankind, and how much it is my desire to preserve myself free from particular attachments, and to keep my happin[ess] independent on the caprice of others_ You sh[ould] not have taken advantage of my sensibility to ste[al] into my affections without my consent. But a[s] you have done it and as we are generally indu[l]gent to those we love_ I shall not scruple to pa[r]don the fraud you have committed, on condit[ion] that for my sake, if not for your own, you will always continue to merit the partiality, which you have so artfully instilled into [me_]

Here, Hamilton emphasizes the fact that he does not form many close relationships and lets Laurens (and future readers like ourselves) know just how exceptional it was that Laurens formed such a deep connection with Hamilton.  Hamilton lightly teased him about accomplishing such a feat, but in doing so, he affirmed the depth of the love that he had for Laurens and revealed that he was quite committed to the relationship they developed.  The term “partiality” was also frequently used by Hamilton when expressing his love for Laurens, and I have a brief post here which highlights those instances.

I also think it’s interesting that Hamilton switched from “preserve myself free from particular friendships” in his original letter to “preserve myself free from particular attachments” in this final, edited version.  The earlier version implies somewhat that Hamilton didn’t keep many friends and that his relationship with Laurens was only on the level of friendship. Hamilton did have friends – but the number of people he deeply cared for and loved was kept to a minimum.  He seems to have been affected by the large number of people he loved and ultimately lost early on in life to a point where he guarded his heart to prevent any further suffering.  By switching the phrasing to “attachments,” this idea comes across more clearly, and it’s implied that Hamilton’s relationship with Laurens was a more serious “attachment” rather than a casual friendship.

I have received your two lett[ers] one from Philadelphia the other from Chester[_]

Laurens did write to Hamilton!  Wow! It’s almost like most of Laurens’s letters have been lost or destroyed, and maybe we shouldn’t judge the level of one’s affection based on the number of letters written by a depressed man who didn’t write much in general!  So please stop arguing that Hamilton loved Laurens more than Laurens loved Hamilton. I have a post about this here.

I am pleased with your success, so far_ and I hope the favourable omens, that precede your app[lic]ation to the Assembly may have as favoura[ble] an issue_ provided the situation of affairs sh[ould] require it which I fear will be the case_ But both for your country’s sake and for my ow[n] I wish the enemy may be gone from Georgia befor[e] [y]ou arrive and that you may be obliged to return and [sh]are the fortunes of your old friends_

Hamilton wished “for [his] own” sake that Laurens would not meet any danger and that he would be able to return to camp swiftly and safely.  ‘Daw.  This once again emphasizes the level of attachment that Hamilton had with Laurens. Their desires for each other’s safety weren’t just casual well-wishes – they were deeply personal concerns borne out of their love for each other and the closeness between them.

[In respect] to the Commission, which you [received from] Congress, all the world must think your conduct perfectly right. Indeed your ideas upon this occasion seem not to have their wonted accuracy; and you have had scruples, in a great measure, without foundation. By your appointment as Aide De Camp to the Commander in Chief you had as much the rank of Leiutenant Colonel, as any officer in the line_ your receiving a commission as Lieutenant Colonel from the date of that appointment, does not in the least injure or interfere with one of them; unless by virute of it you are introduced into a particular regiment in violation of the right of succession; which is not, the case at present neither is it a necessary consequence.  As you were going to command a batalion, it was proper you should have commission, and if this commission had been dated posterior to your appointment as Aide De Camp, I should have considered it as derogatory to your former rank_ to mine and to that of the whole corps_ The only thing I see wrong in this affair is this_ Congress by their conduct, both on the former and present occasion, appear to have intended to confer a privilege, an honor, a mark of distinction, a something upon you; which they withold from other Gentlemen in the family. This carries with it an air of preference, which, though we can all truly say, we love your character and admire you[r] military merit, cannot fall to give some of us uneasy sensations. But in this, my Dear J I wish you to understand me well_ The blame, if there is any, falls wholly upon Congress_ I repea[t] it_ your conduct has been perfectly right and even laudable; you rejected the offer when you ought to have rejected it; and you accepted [it] [w]hen you ought to have accepted it; and let me [add] [w]ith a degree of overscrupulous del[ica]cy._ It [was necessary] to your project_ your p[roject] was the public good_ and I should have done the same_ _ In hesitating, you have refined upon the refinements of generosity.

@ciceroprofacto and @revolutionary-pirate have a good post here that details that complexities behind Laurens receiving his commission as Lieutenant-Colonel, and I won’t try to summarize any of that here.  I will comment on the fact that Hamilton repeatedly emphasized that Laurens acted properly and was an honorable, good man who was always trying to do right by his peers and his country.  Laurens seems to have suffered from depression, and his self-loathing and fears that he was not doing enough good or failing in his actions come across prominently in many of his letters.  Hamilton’s reassurances of Laurens’s character likely were made with the intention of helping Laurens to see that he was loved/appreciated and that he had done much good in his life.  Laurens’s father often refrained from directly complimenting or praising him, so it’s good that Hamilton was able to provide Laurens with the positive affirmations that he needed.

There is a total stagnation of new[s] here, political military_ Gates has refused the Indian command_ Sullivan is come to take it[_] The former has lately given a fresh proof of his impudence, his folly and his rascality_ ‘Tis no great matter; but a peculiarity in the case, prevents my saying what

I anticipate by sympathy the pleasure you must feel from the sweet converse of your dearer self in the inclosed letters_  I hope they may be recent_ They were brought out of New York by General Thompson delivered to him there by a Mrs. Moore not long from England, soi-disante parente de Madame votre épouse. She speaks of a daughter of yours_ well when she left England_ perhaps [illegible/torn]

Hamilton first wrote this paragraph with references to Laurens in the third person rather than in the second person, which carries a greater feeling of anger, resentment, and detachment.  With third person, Hamilton refused to directly address Laurens and communicated his shock and bitterness over Laurens’s withholding of his marital status. Hamilton’s use of “She speaks of a daughter of yours” rather than “She speaks of your daughter” indicates that he did not know about Frances and likely Martha as well.  Hamilton had known Laurens for about a year and a half at this point – during this period, they had grown incredibly close, risked their lives in battles together, and even participated in a duel together.  Laurens felt the need to refrain from telling Hamilton about his wife and child during this time – possibly because of the similarities between his marriage and Hamilton’s family life, or possibly because of the nature of the romantic/sexual relationship between Laurens and Hamilton.  Regardless of the reasoning, Hamilton’s anger here is certainly understandable.

And Now my Dear as we are upon the subject of wife_ I empower and comman[d] you to get me one in Carolina_

Everyone knows this paragraph for its massive amounts of sexual innuendo, but I am of the mind that this paragraph was also a description of Laurens.  By describing Laurens as his ideal “wife,” Hamilton would have reaffirmed the idea that 1) he loved Laurens (even after learning about his wife and child), and 2) he had no intention of seeking another partner or marrying in the foreseeable future.  I’ll do my best to explain each point.

Such a wife a[s] I want will, I know, be difficult to be found _ but if you succeed, it will the stronger proof of your zeal and dexterity_

Dexterity most often refers to skill with one’s hands – potential sexual innuendo?  With Hamilton, it’s certainly possible.

Take her description[_] She must be young_ handsome

Laurens: young and handsome. Check.

(I lay most stress upon a good shape)

This could be referring to the fact that Laurens was physically fit and considered quite handsome, but I also read this as sexual innuendo.

sensible (a little learning will do)_

Given his extensive education with private tutors and European schools, I’d say that Laurens was certainly a learned man.

well bred (but she must have an aversion to the word ton)

Laurens was certainly well-bred, so another check-mark here.  In the 18th century, the word “ton” referred to fashionable society, so Hamilton’s remark would allow us to check yet another box for Laurens. Though from the upper-class himself, Laurens repeatedly discussed his desires for social, racial, and economic equality, and he fought for each of these to varying extents.  In this way, Laurens demonstrated his aversion to maintaining the status quo of the high society in that time period.

chaste and tender (I am an enthusiast in my notions of fidelity and fondness)

This could easily describe the “fidelity and fondness” that Laurens was demonstrating in his relationship with Hamilton.  Additionally, the remark about “fidelity” could also be a jab at Laurens over the recent marriage reveal.

of some good nature_ a great deal of generosity (she must neither love money nor scolding, for I dislike equally a termagant and an œconomist)_

This brings me back to some points I raised after the line about being “well bred.”  Though Laurens was rich and frequently a heavy spender, he also refused to take pay for his military service and openly discussed his desire to distribute wealth equally.  

In politics, I am indifferen[t] what side she may be of_ I think I have arguments that will easily convert her to mine_

This one is a little harder to explain in relation to Laurens.  Laurens and Hamilton appear to have had similar political opinions, so Hamilton likely did not have to convert Laurens to his side very often.  Hamilton could be saying that his love for Laurens would always supersede any differences they had over politics.  Again, this isn’t my strongest point.

As to religion a moderate stock will satisfy me_ She must believe in god and hate a saint.

This appears to be an accurate description of Laurens’s religion.  We know that Laurens was some form of Christian and believed in God, but he rarely mentions religion or God in any of his letters (I believe he made no mention of religion in his letters after his teenage years).

But as to fortune, the larger stock of that the better_ You know my temper and circumstances and will therefore pay special attention to this article on the treaty_ _ Though I run no risk of going to Purgatory for my avarice; yet as money is an essential ingredient to happiness in this world_ as I have not much of my own_ and as I am very little calculated to get more either by my address or industry; it must needs be that my wife, if I get one, bring at least a sufficiency to administ[er] to her own extravagancies

Laurens was quite rich, so he certainly falls into the financial category that Hamilton preferred. The last line here could also be poking fun at Laurens for his desire for certain “extravagancies” during the war (hair powder, fancy clothes, and the like – Laurens did have to look good as an aide to Washington, but his requests for new clothes came quite frequently and likely with a certain fashionable style in mind).

NB You will be pleased to recollect in your negotiation that I have no invincible antipathy to the maidenly beauties & that I am willing to take the trouble of them upon mys[elf_]

@ciceroprofacto made a great addition to an earlier post of mine that more thoroughly details the innuendo of this line.  “Maidenly beauties” likely refers to a virgin of some sort, and it’s heavily implied that Hamilton took on the “trouble” of Laurens’s “virginity.”  In this discussion, we should remember that “virginity” does not have to be and should not be reduced to an argument of who took on what position during intercourse.  Rather, we can glean that Laurens was likely involved with Hamilton in a way he had never been involved with a man before.

If you should not readily meet with a lady that you think answers my description you can only advertise in the public papers and doubtess you will hear of many competitors for most of the qualifications required, who will be glad to become candidates for such a pr[ize] as I am. To excite their emulation, it will be necessary for you in to give an account of the lover_ his size, make, qua[lity] of mind and body, [ach]ieve[me]nts, expectations, fortunes, &c_ In drawing my picture, you wil[l] no doubt be civil to your friend_ mind you do justice to the length of my nose and don’t forget, that I [never spared you of pictures]_

The fact that Laurens was familiar with the finer details of Hamilton’s penis is highly suggestive that Laurens and Hamilton had an intimate relationship. Many people have posted about this innuendo before, so I won’t get into any more detail here.

@ciceroprofacto also conducted a great analysis of the infamous scratched-out five words (”never spared you of pictures”), which you can read here.

After reviewing what I have written_ I am ready to ask myself what could have put it into my head to hazard this jeu de follie_ Do I want a wife[?] No. I have plagues enough without desiring to add to the number that greatest of all; and if I were silly enough to do it, I should take care how I employed a proxy._

The paragraph that is always forgotten by straight historians.  Hamilton was completely joking about wanting a wife – he says so himself.  Additionally, the fact that Hamilton was joking helps to support the idea that the previous paragraph was truly about Laurens.

Did I mean to show my wit?_

Did you know that “wit” was Shakespearean slang for “penis”?  The more you know.

if I did, I am sure I have missed my aim_ Did I only intend to [frisk?] In this I have succeeded_ but I have done m[ore_] I have gratified my feelings, by lengthening o[ut] the only kind of intercourse now in my po[wer] with my friend_ Adieu

The use of “intercourse” (and, to some extent, “gratified”) is once again very sexually suggestive.

Yrs. A Hamilt[on]

P.S_ Fleury shall be taken care of. All the family send their love_ In this join the General Mrs. Washington_ & what is best, tis not in the stile of [ce]remony but sincerit[y]_

#John Laurens #Alexander Hamilton

[fallenloverecords]

Questionnaire:  Sleuth

Hi lovers! Secret Gardens is a picnic pop compilation of songs about spring. Pre-orders are now open.

Sleuth are an indiepop band from Vancouver, British Columbia, Canada. Secret Gardens features their unreleased song "A Point Of View." Fallen Love head Harley spoke with Jasper. Fallen Love Records: Who are Sleuth? Jasper: As of today Sleuth is a fake gang with Julian, Oliver, Jon, and me. I always liked the idea of gangs, outside of the violence and negative connotations. More like the gangs in S.E. Hinton novels. Even when she was trying to portray all the violence and dangerous sides of masculinity she also got to the heart of sensitivity and camaraderie. So, in my mind, Sleuth is a bit like a gang in an S.E. Hinton novel and I'm too old to be in the gang but you're never too old to have friends. FLR: How did Sleuth start? J: Originally I played as The Lion In Love, which is my less catchy version of an elaborate S.E. Hinton gang nickname. (You've got your Ponyboys, Soda Pops, and so on.) It was a solo project using my songs with Julian accompanying mainly on drums. We noticed that our writing styles are similar enough that pretending it was a solo project would have been a disservice to Julian's talents so we decided to call ourselves a band and named ourselves after a play. I wanted something funny like Joan Crawford's Eyebrows but then I think the joke would've grown old quickly so I'm glad he vetoed. We recruited Oliver a couple months later as he was one of my only friends in art school and he dabbled in keys. I love synthesizers and used to know quite a bit about them but I'm not a talented pianist at all. Jon joined us on bass only last year when I was bemoaning the state of not being able to find a good fit at his house during dinner. I guess it's been around seven or eight years if I count the initial solo project which got absorbed into Sleuth material but, then again, who knows? I still get mistaken for being underage so maybe we were only ten when we started. FLR: What's spring like in Vancouver? J: I have a saying, which I'm going to pretend is wholly original: in Vancouver it is always raining or about to rain. This is especially true during springtime. When it's not raining and it's just a little overcast and a little warm because it's later in the season, that's my favourite. I especially enjoy watching the birds return to the city because I have a soft spot for birds. Like all seasons here I tend to spend much of it under an umbrella, consuming overpriced coffee in various forms, possibly getting struck by a moment of inspiration and writing a song in ten minutes and then not writing another for six months, wishing I was going to NYC and SF Popfests, and seeing movies. For me, spring is something that is more interesting when it's not around, what I pine for when the weather is cold. It symbolizes potential for change in my surroundings and, ultimately, my circumstances and myself. FLR: What would you pack for a picnic? J: I've tried picnics. The problem with picnics is that each time I've attempted the picnic I seem to get attacked by all manner of ants, wasps, and flies. So while sandwiches and tarts (for portability, otherwise a pie is preferred) sound like the perfect picnic foods to me, functionally, I imagine myself bringing some cherry Coke, ideally in a bottle so I can trap out the wasps, and a bag of chips with a clip. Essentially things I can stow away quickly and won't cause crumbs that attract bugs. FLR: Tell us about "A Point Of View." J: One of my favourite writers, Jeanette Winterson, talks about love and its many multi-facets - the slow burn, the white hot fuse that goes out quick. I think I was probably reading a lot of her work around the time that the lyrics came about, possibly The Passion and Written On The Body. I don't think I've ever been able to write a real love song and that's part of what I'm saying in the song in acknowledging my own flaws. Although I think here I may be thinking more about kinds of love, not just sexual love but also familial, platonic, and self-love, or at least acceptance. The line "I am callous(ed), sinking and standing on what I have left", for example, alternates from self-criticism to self-affirmation in the context of the song. It's difficult to see yourself reflected in books when you're a transgender person and, when you do, often it's tokenism at the best of times. Therefore having a point of view that can expand outside of yourself in order to reflect back upon yourself and those you know can help in refining a definition of selfhood and the nature of relationships. That said, I feel like the specific and personal becomes universal. We have all felt most of the things I describe in the lyrics, like when you're so in love that you feel powerful and can do and be anything. Eventually, like all emotions, that leaves. Musically I think I accidentally channelled a lot of Biff Bang Pow!, perhaps an embarrassingly big nod in their direction. I was listening to Love Is Forever quite a bit. FLR: What's a work of art that always makes you think of spring? J: A poem I read when I was 16 seems to sum it up. "The Possibility" by James Fenton. Just because, if all stories with happy endings are really just the middle of another longer story, and the seasonal association of spring with potential, growth, possibilities, and renewal are typically happier, that poem includes the epilogue at least. My other pick is "Iris" by Burning Hearts because it captures the sense of openness and lightness that I imagine when I'm waiting for spring. FLR: What do Sleuth have planned for the upcoming spring and summer? J: It's the dream that the record we began immediately after we completed Out Of The Blue Period will be done by this summer. A massive portion is already done but we also tend to write parts as we record and we record by ourselves, stealing moments and vacancies whenever they pop up. This time around I'm feeling less like a perfectionist and relying more on the the art to come out in the frayed edges and happy accidents. I genuinely feel that nothing is finished until it is heard by people so playing live is always a must. And you must catch us live because I think we sound pretty good. Sleuth on Facebook Sleuth on Soundcloud

#interviews #Sleuth #Secret Gardens

[alaskamorgan1019]

Trapped inside

Authors note: I will be writing about the versions of Dark and Anti that I have in my mind. My Anti has one black eye with a blue iris, one normal eye with a green iris (that depending on mood can have green slime oozing out, running down his cheek), he has stretched ears (probably inch diameter) and a slender short frame about 5 and a half feet tall (a little bit shorter than jack in real life) . He has the darker green version of green hair that jack had in October 2016, and last but definitely not least slimy black tentacles (quantity varies upon situation). Dark is a bit taller than Mark, he about 6 foot, he's a bit more muscular, has a grey-ish/sick-ish tone to his completion, and he has Marks candy apple red hair ( XD is it possible to have a thing for unnatural hair colors). Dark has black soul-less eyes with bright blood red irises, also with prominent dark circles almost like black lines or eye liner around his eyes, like he hasn't slept in years. 💋Ch1 Open eyes "Mark! Where are you going we're supposed to be on stage in ten minutes!" Bob shouted out to the already far Mark. "I'll be back in a bit, I'm just going to go to the restroom before we do this thing. Don't wanna piss my pants on stage!" Mark exclaimed as he briskly walked out, off to his destination. Mark turned the corner to the smallest men's restroom he swore he'd ever seen. There was one other person in there, a shorter male with spiky dark green hair, using one of the urinals. He was wearing black sweater that was pretty baggy for someone of his stature, grey skin tight jeans and some worn dark green doc martens, they where almost as dark as the figure's hair but where also splattered in what looked like red paint of some sort. He must have been cosplaying as some demonic character because it looked like it must have been wearing a super light green almost white fountain. It looked very focused on its task at hand, so Mark decided not to say a short 'sup man' to brake to awkward pee sounds and silence. Mark unzipped himself then got to work. "Sooooooo..... You're 'Markiplier'." The smaller male hissed out as to react to a surprise that was sub-par. "Yes, yes I am!" Mark replied with a smile, "Are you a fan?" He inquired with his ego growing a bit. "No, but I have some friends that won't stop talking about you. You do seem all that though." The man turned and winked with his 'normal' eye. "Thanks?" Mark said unsure of how to react. He watched as the creature struggled to rezip itself within its poor choice in leg wear, then while the man was still staring at the ground, it walked to the sink to wash their hands. "You know a nice looking guy like you shouldn't be walking around all alone like this " The soul said as it looked in the mirror up at its reflection to check that its hair was still in place and then up at Mark's muscular back visible through his light coverage. Mark was blushing as he was finishing up. He turned around to see the figure's sharp toothed evil smile gleaming at him.    "Who knows what could happen." It tried to say seductively but ended up saying as if he was a little kid trying to persuade someone to buy his lemonade by saying it is vegan. Mark smiled at the cute male as he waked over to the other sink to wash his hands.  "Hon I'm real sorry but I think I can handle myself. If you are so concerned about my safety though, you can walk me back to the main stage and I may be able to talk some stagehands into letting you and your friends watch the show from backstage." He flirted back, looking at the younger creature's ass. "No sir that's not what I meant, " The man said as it rolled its eyes like an annoyed teen that no one can understand; he fumbled with something in his pocket.    "What I meant is you need people to protect you from people like me!" It exclaimed with a cackle as it suddenly disappeared from next to Mark and appeared behind him as if out of nowhere and plunged a syringe full of a green poison into the older's neck. Mark started to fade in and out of consciousness as the figure stood over him and laughed manically. Time skip to a what seemed like just a couple hours later:     Mark awoke in a mess of chains and confusion. He looked down at himself; his shirt was torn, his jeans wear ripped and one of his prized red sneakers was missing. The poor man looked like he was falling apart at the seems. His arms were chained above his head and his ankles were chained together. As he looked around, he found he was in an unfinished basement. Cement walls and floor lined his prison, bookshelves decorated with ropes, whips and mysteriously unknown objects, all the while a hint of an undefinable odor stunk up the air. Mark couldn't place it but it was most like a mix of the familiar scents flavored lube and mold. The smell and the unusual predicament Mark is in was starting to give him a distressing migraine. 'How did I get here? What am I doing here? What's going on?' Mark thought with a fearful look tattooed to his face. The poor man looked like a little boy who had just lost his mother in a humongous store. Much to his hysterical state; the panic worsened when the door opened. The light spilled into the dimly lit dungeon, down a couple stairs, and onto Mark's trembling expression. Cackling laughter and the shadow of the gangly monster from the restroom covered the shuttering male like a blanket. "So you're awake now! This is going to be fun! You are going to be back to your old self in no time! Come on baby, come back to me!!" It both choked and cooed out of it's sharp toothed jaws. "I'm here for anything you need baby! Just come back to me!" The creature said as it gently placed its warming palms on the mans' pale and frozen with fear face. "PLEASE I NEED YOU!!! STOP HOLD HIM FROM ME!!! I NEED HIM!!! GIVE HIM BACK TO ME!!!" It began to shake and slap Mark's limp body. "I-ii d-don't know w-what you are t-talking about." Mark sniffed out between his tears. The lanky creature that started to look more like a young man now, it got down on it's knees in front of Mark to look him in the eyes. "Sure you do honey, j-just relax and remember. It will come to you and-dd he will come back to me. Jus-just arelax please ..... please." It said with it's fear and concern falling out of the cracks in it's voice. The demon fell back from it's position in front of him, hugged it's knees and began to sob, while rocking itself back and forth for comfort. 💋Ch2 Just remember     Mark looked at the rocking male, something about him was making this all a little too familiar, like de ja vu.     The demon wanted something from Mark; but sadly, he didn't remember anything off the top of his head about him that was or maybe even is a part of his life. Mark didn't remember anything about a life that involved this small man. He couldn't remember anything. Mark always had the will to try to help others before himself. This life principal was what he was taught from a young age. So when a small being is distraught and bawling into it's knees in front of him, and he isn't capable of being of any service; he feels bad and he feels like a bad friend. He may not know this man in front of him that well, but he knows he wants to help him and wants to be there for him. The small figure looked so helpless and alone in this world it was truly saddening. It need a friend to be there for it and it only. The figure's sniffles slowed as he began to try to stand up with great wobbly fashion.     "Well, sir, if you do not remember yourself I have no choice but to leave you here until you do." The man fell back down to a kneel in front of Mark and grabbed his face softly in its, now, cold as ice palms. "Dark, I know you are still in there. Please I need you, I miss you, I love you. Come back to me. It's been too long. I need you." It's tears flowed once more.     "What can I do" Mark said as softly as humanly possible, to not disturb the already woeful creature in front of him.     "Dark, just remember. Please." The younger sniffled "please...." It leaned over to the chained man and put its arms around his neck with its forearms resting delicately on the humans shoulders. Green tinted tears fell from the soul's windows, they acidly burned the humans flesh though the rips in his thin shirt and the wounds the mere mortal had gotten conciseness with. But the figure's sobs that leaked vocally into Mark's ear hurt the man deepest, as Mark was still chained and couldn't comfort the younger man back with a nice warm hug, all he could do was sit there and try not to squirm in pain too much.     "What was I?" Mark choked out in the almost silence. The small noises of it's sniffles and it's tears tingling and burning the older man's skin and flesh, filled the room.     "Dark, please don't do this to me.... you were mine, we lived here, and we died here. You were my friend, my lover, and my soulmate. It feels like it has been an eternity since we have been together. I feel myself growing weaker. I need you. You are my other half. You need me." It sobbed more as if the tears as if had a purpose, as if it's tears were working to bring back what he had lost, all the while Mark withered and jumped in the pain from the flood of acid tears.      "Tell me more, I really want to remember." Mark said through clenched teeth as he was trying not to hiss in pain too much.      "I can't" It sniffled back in an almost inaudible response. The small helpless man continued to messily bawl on Mark's shoulder, he didn't want to disturb the already very hysterical man. Mark just sat there and tried to remember. He tried to remember the scent, the younger man's face, the place, the feelings and the chemistry, but nothing came of it. Then as if out of nowhere the small being began to stir, it suddenly stopped crying and stood up as if this short heart to heart had never been uttered.      "I really wish you would remember, sir, but sorry I haven't got all of my day to waste on the living." The facade of a strong man faded as soon as the it turned to go up the stairs. After just a few steps forward the man fell into tears, his mask expired and his walk wobbled.       The creature hobbled up the stairs he came from, looking back only once to show Mark his sorrowful expression. The poor demon looked so dramatically miserable in the flood of light from the hallway, a green tint highlighted his face in an unusually memorable way. Mark knew him from somewhere, the clouds in his mind felt as if they were beginning to fade. 💋Ch3 Remembered The memories of the creature was starting to clear; still the as it walked away and up the stairs, Mark knew that he was doomed to be here for a while if not forever. Mark's memory was only quickly sharpening when the soul was near. When they were in contact was the best situation, Mark could feel the burn of his mind trying coming back to him. Time skip: It felt like it must have been days before the creature came back. Though this time it came back with a large tray of good smelling food. It wore a black suit with a dark green under shirt, some wine red loafers and a black tie. The man had no green glow to its face now, if anything he had an almost fake peachy pink tint as if he had put some makeup on. Its hair had been spiked up with gel and now it was visible that the creature had inch diameter gauges and snake bite lip piercings. He was wearing a pair of dark green glasses, and it was now that Mark could see the creature had one eye with an oddly 'septic-ish' green pupil and one that was completely black with a glowing electric blue pupil. "So my dear darkimoo, clearly a normal human male would be severely dehydrated and starving by now...... My my my a week can go so quick. It's almost like I left you in here for longer., but oh no my poor baby, I made sure to it was only a week. AND look honey... I brought you your favorite meal.... remember, you used to love my chicken and dumplings. You used to say it reminded you of some place you went when to a lot you were little.... I think it was barrel cracker maybe." The man cooed as he sat the tray down in front of Mark about 2 feet away on the unfinished cement floor, then walked to stand right in front of the chained man. Mark could have sworn it hadn't been a week but then again it could have been. The decrepit old and falling apart at the seams basement Mark had been trapped in for all this time didn't have any widows; so, for all he knows it could have been anywhere from four days to a maybe even a week like he said. "Cracker Barrel." Mark answered softly to the front of the souls pants. "Ahhhhhhh yes baby, now I remember, it was Cracker Barrel yes, look at you honey. You're helping me remember you more too. You are always just sooooo smart, ya know I always loved that about you, you were just so smart and always want to learn. " the soul reminisced while unlocking the chains from Marks wrists "I remember when we would go out and lay on the roof and you would tell me about the stars. Sometimes your eyes would twinkle more than the stars. As you would look at them and point out the specifics, I would watch your sexy red and lifeless eyes start to fill with hope and twinkle of a life that hadn't been lost too early." It said as he began to work on his ankle chains. "It was soooooo hot and you would get furious when I would cut you off mid sentence with a lustful kiss. You would pull me off of you finish your sentence, tell me off then kiss me back even harder. Those were the best times. We were truly in love." "I'm sorry." Mark chocked out as he laid on the dirty ground. The feeling was coming back to his arms for the first in days, his knees got relieved for the weight that had left them bruised against the cement. "What for my dear, you are here now, you are finally turning your normal skin tone. You are coming back to me. Your are becoming your old self." The figure cooed as it crawled over to the very weak Mark. The creature delicately picked up Mark's torso and put him carefully on its lap. The tray scooted itself towards the couple, the dainty soul picked up a fork with some of the substance on it and as he was feeding a baby he fed the almost lifeless Mark. "who are you..... and...... who was I?" Mark tried to say between fork loads. "Awww baby. I'm yours, I'm Antisepticeye but you just called me Anti. And you're mine. You are Darkiplier but I just called you Dark. You were never really fond of that name but you loved me so much that every time I would call you that you began to boil a little less till it became like a little pet name. You loved me and I love you." Anti said as he unbuttoned his blazer to pull out a water bottle "Now you may not be completely alive but you still need water, so drink up my baby." Anti huffed as he pulled Mark to make him sit up. Mark reluctantly sat up; as weak as he was originally, he was beginning to regain his strength. Mark could now grab the bottle, he sat up on his own too. He tuned out Anti as he tried to drown himself by drinking so fast. The fatigue from his days that he was chained up, now seemed to have vanished. Mark felt like he could do anything, he felt like he could take off up the stairs and hopefully out the demon's front door to freedom. But something inside compelled him to stay, as if that something inside of him really loved the talkative monster sitting next to him. Mark decided to stay put with his new found strength. "--- eating and you said 'I wish we had more goo!!!" Anti laughed at his own story and Mark not wanting to be rude forced out a laugh too. The soul look right into the mans eyes and smiled. "I'm so glad you are back! I know you are because I know that laugh was forced. I know no matter how unfunny I can be you always try to laugh to make me feel good." The pink faded from the demons cheeks and became replaced with a green tint almost the same color as his eye. Mark tilted his head as a new thought popped into his mind. "I think I'm remembering you." Mark exclaimed in a quietly relieved tone. Anti got up, and quickly positioned himself on Mark's lap. The soul caressed the mortals face in his warming hands and graced its forehead with the contact of the mans. 💋Ch4 I'm out Anti pulled his face away from Marks, he looked at the mans lips then to his eyes. As they stared at each other, Anti was showing his partner a very sharp, devious and toothy smile; and Mark was half smiling too, but also he was trying to figure out what was going on with Anti's face. Its face looked like it was blushing but instead of the normal 'face turning red' thing, its cheeks were starting to have a sort of 'sick-ish' green tone. The demon didn't look to be ill but he started to look paler and more green in the cheeks. His skin tone looked to be, an almost white, mint green. The strange tone turning of the creatures skin was slightly unnerving, Mark remembered this tone from the restroom at the convention, he thought it was makeup then but now it seemed normal, almost natural. "How 'bout I take you up stairs and have you take a shower? Would that be okay with baby?" Anti cooed while placing his now warm hands on Mark's cheeks and rubbing his thumbs on the mans cheek bones. "Okay... ummm ... do you have any... ummm... of Dark's old clothes?" Mark stammered out as the warmth from Anti's hands comforted him. "Sure honey, I left all of your things in the closet where you had them. I'll get them for you while you're taking your shower. Okay?" The soul said as if he was talking to a child. Anti got up off of the human dusted his suit off a little bit and began to walk towards the looming stairs. Mark looked up at the creature as it strutted and thus tried to follow. The poor man looked like he was inebriated and Anti could see this. The soul went back to Mark, put the mortals arm around his shoulder and its arm around the mans waist. Now that Mark was stabled, the couple slowly made it up the stairs as they creaked with every step. "I really missed you, this house is wayyyy too big for only one soul to inhabit it." Anti said as he looked over and smiled at Mark "Well I guess I-I'm sorry for taking so long." Mark apologized kind of insincerely as they finished the stairs. "Nah it's fine babe, you're here, with me now. It's going to be all fine and dandy from now on" Anti toothily smiled as he exclaimed this with pure joy. The creature still had the mortal on his arm as they finished the last couple of steps. Then as soon as they were able to stand on flat ground Anti switched his grip to be a hug and for the first time so far; Mark wasn't happy to have the opportunity to hug the creature back, he actually felt like he was slightly trapped in the monster's grip but also with in the walls of this fortress. After a few seconds the couple continued walking and Mark got some strange new thoughts in his head. Like, 'Ya know once I get a little bit stronger.... I could possibly escape this place' or 'I wonder where the door is?' His thoughts continued to wonder as they ambled more through the house. The place was furnished like any normal home; in the living room there were a couple of nice couches and a nice TV, also a nice and shiny kitchen complete with a dinning room and a few china cabinets. It was just like a semi-normal house except for the long, almost endless, hallways. It seemed like there was just door after door after large gothic window after door. The hallway just seemed to lag on and on. 'No I definitely can't escape this maze of a house...' Mark thought to himself.     "Thanks for getting that silly thought out of your head honey. It was starting to worry me!" The creature said out loud as the human looked over at it. The couple finally turned to one of multitude of doors and the demon opened it. "Here we are!" Anti exclaimed with an arm held out as it was showing off a brand new car. 💋Ch5 I tried "Thanks." Mark said as he unhooked himself from Anti and walked in to the room. 'This is nice, I guess' he thought "You're very welcome baby!" It smiled as it stood in the doorway and stared at the man. The creature walked in too, over to the shower knobs and fumbled around with them for a while until finally warm water flowed. 'This is awkward. He really wants me to take a shower.' "Ya know you can get undressed around me, I've seen you in more compromising positions before. It won't really be anything new, I promise!" Anti giggled. Mark blushed as he took the demon's word and took off his shirt. 'So we've been intimate.' "Okay I may have lied a bit, but you look only a little bit buffer and a lot less grey than the last time I've seen you like this" Mark looked down at his hands and saw them to be a new shade of grey, granted it was like his normal tan skin tone had been mixed with a white-ish grey. He looked back at Anti with a puzzled look but it just kept looking at Mark as if he was a god, he even drooled a bit. 'Okay I kinda want to leave, this guy is creeping me out, why am I turning grey, what the hell is going on with me, Anti any comments?' "I'll stop here then until I get some privacy." Mark mockingly smiled back to make fun of the creatures newly star-struck nature. Anti huffed then perked right back up. 'This guy is so weird' Mark thought, 'Wait... why isn't he talking back? Hello Anti hello!!' "Oh, no problem man. Ya know what.... " The creature said as he slowly and nervously back out of the bathroom. "I'm gonna go get you some towels, you can finish undressing and then you can just hop in the shower while I'm gone!" It exclaimed as he turned and ran down the hall. Mark quickly shut and locked the door behind him, then began to examine the room. He saw a nice walk-in shower, a huge bathtub, a very "extra" porcelain sink, and a quaint toilet with a medium sized window right above. Mark went to go stand on the toilet to look out the window. The window outlooked a yard with some bushes to his left and right, and trees out in the background. 'I could probably open this window all the way and escape.' Mark stood on the toilet lid and propped open the window. He looked out then back into the room, to scope out the room, then he put his arms out through the window and pulled himself up. Mark got his head and arms out the window when he heard some knocking on the door. "Marky I got you some towels!!! Please let me in baby..." Anti cooed while trying to be seductive through the door. Mark ignored him while he pulled himself up to the window. "Marky please open the door!" Anti asked with a little bit of worry noticeable, Mark ignored him again. "Mark open the door, I know you can hear me." The creature playfully yelled. Mark was already a little bit outside. "You open the door or I will." Anti said sternly. Mark was about halfway outside. "Okay you've made your choice." The voice scratchily boomed from outside the door. Mark was almost all the way outside, only his lower half was still in the room as the door was burst open. Pieces of door scattered everywhere, "Sir, I must ask you to come to your senses, I am here for you and your beautiful ass" Anti angrily cooed and cackled as Mark was flailing, trying to crawl out the window. The man could hear cloth ripping "I TRIED to get you to see MY SIDE... I TRIED to make you see MY WAYS" Anti yelled as Mark felt something reach through the window and wrap around his waist. Mark started screaming, and was flinging his arms and legs around as much as he could as to fight what was bound to happen "Awww is the poor baby SCARED, if only HE WOULD HAVE STAYED INSIDE." Anti's tentacles wrapped around the mortal a little tighter as to not strangle the man but enough to have a grip on him. He pulled the man back in the room and tossed him gently on the floor, as not to hurt him too much. Mark sat against the tub and looked up at the monster with only a little bit on fear consuming him, but the man was mostly wondering what was coming out of its back. The creature was huffing and puffing as it was trying to calm down from the previous events, avoiding the human's eye contact. "What are those things?" Mark inquired with his gaze locked onto the soul's breathless body, the man felt a slight tingling around his mid section. The mortal moved his hand down to investigate as his gaze was still locked on the creature. He wiped some green goop from where the tentacles were, stood up and looked at Anti. "They are nothing... huff... just get in the shower." Anti said as he glared at the man. "They are clearly not nothing, I'm looking at something. You hav---" Mark rambled on as he was staring at the monster. "Just get in the shower." Anti yelled, the creature was trying to retract them back onto his person but was finding it difficult and painful. "I'm not getting in the shower til you tell me what they are, what you are and what I am." Mark said as he stamped his foot on the ground like a child. "Mark I'm not playing. I need you to get in the shower and clean yourself. Now!" Anti yelled back at the 'child' "No" Mark stamped back as to make the creature get tired of him and just tell him what's going on. "Yes" The demon growled back. "No" Mark taunted. "Yes" Anti roared as he put his hands on Mark shoulders. The shirt-less and slightly slimy man looked down to the soul. "Make me!" Cockily smiled the mortal. 💋Ch 6 The relief (slight smut) Mark cockily smiled as he was looking down at the little guy that was steaming with anger. Anti quickly jerked his hands from the mortals shoulder to behind his head. The creature brought his head closer and closer until their lips were together. The man's eyes widened from the initial shock of the interaction but soon mellowed out as he became involved. Anti tilted his head slightly to the left as to provide relief so they could get closer. Mark opens his mouth to let his tongue explore the souls saliva covered fangs. The situation of the sin was getting to be oddly amazing. It seemed as if their interaction was the answer to why Mark was staying in this prison. The human was just starting to enjoy the kiss when Anti pulled away. "It seems the role have been reversed." Anti smiled and started to giggle. "I was always the tease and you were the hot head. It was sexy when I would tease and make-fun of you til you were steaming. It was a fun, almost like our version of floor-play." "That does sound like fun." Mark said with his hands on his hips as his eye's irises turned blood red and began to glow. "Down puppy, just strip and get in the shower already." Anti commanded. "Okay. But you either have to leave the room or put your hands over your eyes." Mark ruled with his arms crossed. "Why are you embarrassed?...." Anti hissed and crossed his arms to mock the man. "No I'm not." Mark tried to hiss back. "Whatever"Anti shook his head and went to sit on the toilet lid. It watched Mark to see how much farther he would go before he turned around to check to see if it was watching. The man took his dirty old socks off and tossed them on top of his shirt. Mark's beautiful hands then went to work on his belt buckle. The man unhooked the belt from around his waist and lively pulled it out of the loops that held the item to his body. Mark turned around to make sure Anti wasn't watching the show he was putting on. The monster was sure enough just sitting there enjoying the view. Mark put his folded his belt in half and smacked it in his hands, Anti had chills running down is spine. "So what did I tell you, baby." Mark mocked but weirdly enjoyed calling Anti his baby. "Whatever, I was just admiring the sexy view." Anti smiled as he still had his arms crossed, two blackish green slimy tentacles squirmed out from behind him to cover his eyes. Mark turned back around to take off his pants and throw them onto the pile too. Mark then hooked his thumbs in the elastic of his boxers when the soul wolf whistled. The man quickly turned back to glare at the creature but saw that Anti was still in the exact same position that Mark last saw him in. Mark turned his back once more and slowly finished removing the undergarment. "Your human form has such a cute ass." Anti giggled "You would always say that about me too. I think I finally get why you asked all the time if we could role play, one human and one monster. It was pretty fun but I was never one for being a submissive bottom like you wanted, though.... you always did really like a fight." Mark just smiled at the soul and stepped into the running shower. The human washed and lathered his hair and body. Anti was just sitting on the toilet lid when an idea popped into his head. He slowly, as to not make that much noise, slid one of the tentacles in behind the man and slithered it around his hip to the man's member. The tentacle wrapped around it and rubbed the head with the tip of the tentacle. The limb started to act like a hand on the hardening penis, moving up and down the shaft. Mark was melting in the monster's touch, the action of the sene was getting to the point where Anti knew if he went any farther Mark would have cum. So along the lines of the first lust filled idea, Anti decided to quickly strip and sneakily hop into the shower with him. The creature stopped jerking and turned the man around to face him. 💋Ch7 Payback         Mark looked down at the small man as it quickly grabbed the sides of his face and lustily kissed him. The interaction seemed to be driven by what Mark guessed to be a lifetime of repressed urges and loneliness. Anti was so happy to be back in Mark's (or Dark's) company. Mark didn't notice anything around them as the smaller deeply kissed him. The mans hair was reddening; he was growing taller, more muscular and grayer. Their height difference was growing but Mark wasn't paying any mind to the new upgrades as he started to need to lean down a bit and Anti needed to be on its tip toes to keep the connection. This lovely creature was the only thing on Darks mind now.        The creature's serpent-like tongue was finding it's way around the mortal's mouth. The soul still had one tentacle on the man's pulsing member, Anti moved his beautiful and lush lips down to work on Mark's neck trying to find the places it could reach that would make him squirm and moan. The figure grabbed the man's wrists and held them up against the wall of the shower so Mark was in almost the same position he was in for the past week. Mark had to now squat down a little bit to see the partner eye to eye. The soul made sure that it didn't move to tentacle that was wrapped around them as to keep Mark on edge and to not give him any more pleasure. Mark tried to move his hips back and front to get some friction from the situation but to no avail the tentacle stayed still ,in place, on his member. Anti found a spot on his collar bone the made the man loudly moan, Mark didn't even know he had a place like that there but he was loving being explored. Mark was on edge as he looked at the soul with want in his eyes.        "Anti please..... I ...  need to..." The poor mortal whimpered.        "Baby come on..... you need to what.... now use your words..... I know you can!" Anti seductively whispered into Dark's ear between the kisses and love bites.         "Please I really..... need to....." Mark huffed as he began hyper ventilating in over stimulation. His neck became littered with bruises and bites.         "Well .... no I'm not going to let you! The fun hasn't even begun!" The creature growled as it knew he was only starting and Mark was right where he wanted him. It tightened the tentacle around the base of Marks penis to ask like a cock ring.          Anti turned Mark around so they were front to back. The monster contorted him with the help of its  multitude of slimy friends. The man was held in compromising positions with his nice round ass sticking right out to were Anti felt like he could do what he pleased. The creature bent down behind the restrained being and used his hands and claws to grab and separate the humans cheeks. Anti played with the ass in his claws a bit, spanked the man then kissed and bit the newly reddened skin. After a few more spanks, the soul licked its lips and held his ass with the soft palms of it's hands.        "Oh honey.... you are going to love this!" The figure said as it kissed and sucked around the man's asshole. Anti licked and bit the tender skin, the man soon became glad he was basically suspended by the souls helpers. After the initial shock of pleasure Mark felt he was able to regain his balance. This was a different type of interaction, different than any type he had endured before. He may have done something like this before to a female but never had this or anything like this done to him before let alone by someone of the same sex, this was new and very welcomed. Then it all stopped at once.         "Baby I know you enjoy this but I'm going to have to ask you to stop pushing your ass in my face. Okay or I'll have to get ruff." Anti seductively growled. A rush of pleasure fell over him as the feeling soon returned from Anti's glorious tongue. The man moaned and screamed as this wonderful and breath-taking feeling once again consumed him. But as soon as Mark got lost in the moment again when it was once again taken from him.         "Honey this is your last warning, I know I don't breathe but I feel like you're suffocating me." Anti angrily cooed. "Actually never mind the extra warning!" Mark yelped as the creature sunk his sharp claws back into the man ass. It left a couple more spanks and bites as Anti started to stand up straight from his position on his knees. Kissing and licking different areas of the man's back as if it had a purpose, as if Anti was trying to spell something. Mark relaxed even more as the monster behind him found the spots on the mortal's collar bone once again. Anti had the man eating out of his hand now; it felt like it could do anything that it what to him, like for once Dark wasn't in control. The human began to grind on his dominant partner and Anti didn't really mind. After a couple of minutes the creature gave into the suggestive moment happening on his nether reagins. The soul wrapped one of its hands around front to the man's nipple and the other to his asshole. Anti fingered Mark until it thought he was ready, knowing it was man's first time receiving anal in centuries. The monster slowly inserted on of his tentacles in Mark's backside and pumped it in and out for a little while before adding itself to the party. Mark moaned louder and louder, louder than he had ever moaned and groaned before.       "Oh my god, Anti are you an angel or something." Mark groaned out.       "Oh no..... far from it..... my dear." Anti said between its lip work.       "Oh that interesting" Mark said in a newly found deeper voice. "What are you then, my baby ?"        "The same thing you are honey" The soul answered as it unwrapped the tentacle from around the man's penis, thus letting him orgasm and cum better than he ever had before. 💋Ch8 Remembrance (fluff)         With that Mark lost all feeling and limply fell, Anti was luckily there to catch him as the rest of his soul left the body. The creature looked down at the greying being in its arms though a blurring eye; Anti had finally got what he wanted for decades, whether they knew it or not. Mark was now finally gone and Dark was once again the only thing in the world that Anti cared about. This moment was too precious and emotional to move on from but the demon knew that it had to get it's partner cleaned up and to the bed, where he could rest. Thus Anti gently flopped the body over its shoulder to finish cleaning it. Mark already shampooed his glorious hair and washed his other areas but with what had just taken place, it needed another quick wash.       After that was over Anti careful carried the naked being over to the toilet to have it limply sit there for a second while the creature dried itself off and got more towels for the being. Fluffy white towels filled the cabinet under the sink, Anti pick out two and shut the cabinet. The soul wrapped Mark in the towels and softly patted him dry. It used the smaller towel to dry his fire red hair then the body's neck and face. The creature draped the larger towel around his shoulders and patted them dry. Anti reached solemnly around the body's midriff to pat dry its back; its arms softly fell around Anti's shoulders, as if Dark was hugging it to say thank you. The demon blushed green a bit, glad that Mark was finally out cold and couldn't ask anymore questions. Anti gladly held the newly monstrous body back with an impulsive hug, grateful to be in its soulmates presence once again. After the body was dry Anti wrapped its lower half in a towel and tossed him over its shoulder again, then walked down the hallway to their old bedroom. Once inside the old gothic wine red room, Anti sat the almost naked body down on their old bed. It quickly got in its favorite blue hoodie and a pair of grey sweatpants then walked over to Dark's old closet. The creature looked through Dark's old things to find his lucky red flannel, and a pair of black pajama pants that had little hot pink mustaches on them. Anti turned green once more remembering when Dark would spend days in these clothes. The creature's normal eye began to water while more beautiful memories flooded back to it. Like the time Dark didn't want to leave the house so he set up a nice romantic meal on the roof, just for Anti. Or the time they had just finished the third season of their favorite show and Anti's favorite character was killed off, so Dark poorly drew and wrote some made up stories about it as a demon. They really loved each other but it was always Dark fixing the problems, Dark was never the problem, he was always the problem solver. Dark was always there to put the pieces back together, he was the person in the couple that was always composed, stable and collected. Anti was none of those things, it was anxious, disturbed and plagued with torment. Dark was there to cushion Anti's broken existence and Anti was there to be touched by Dark's fallen life. They were complete opposites but that's why they worked so well together, Dark was the strong, sane, secure one that kept Anti the fragile, unstable, falling apart one together. But for the time being it seemed the tables have turned and Anti was trying to stay strong. It finished picking out Darks outfit then went to go dress him. The body was laying perpendicular to the bed with his feet still on the floor. After removing the towel Anti found a stone grey man with a hairless and chiseled chest. The view was absolutely breathtaking but Dark would have something harsh to say about it leaving him naked, even if it would just be easier in the long run (he'd just be mad because he'd be cold). Anti slipped Dark into his pajama pants, glad that it's heavy partner loved going commando. With the little pink mustaches now covering his naked ass, Anti grabbed his arm and flipped him over to his stomach. Relieved that the flannel was a button up, it contorted the beings limp arms into the sleeves then ruffly flipped him over again to button the front about half way, just the amount that always made the creature, his Anti, just melt. The demon enjoyed their eye candy for a hot moment before it planned how to move him to his side of the bed under the covers. Anti ran to the over side of the bed and pulled the body's arms from above its head. It didn't feel like carrying the heavy being anymore, so dragging seemed like the best option. After the body was in position on his side of the bed, under his favorite comforter and knit blanket, Anti looked at him. He was so still and peaceful, it put its hand on the body's forehead, he was definitely warming filling with the existence that had been taken decades ago. Anti crawled over him like a little kid with a bad dream that can only be remedied by being held by a parent. It snuggled up against the side of the being, wrapping the body's arm around it for even more comfort. Anti loved laying, cuddling and spooning with it's soulmate, it loved being able to smell Dark's musk, it loved being able to feel his lucky flannel as much or maybe more than he did and it loved watching the figure's nose twitch a little bit when he was dreaming. The creature was now completely relaxed for the first time since Dark disappeared, it watched the particles of dust settled in the air. The curtain leaked little bits of the afternoon sunlight into the room.      'I miss you so much. It's been way too long' Anti thought.      "I agree"