#horrifying. I also appreciated the extensive author’s note about this.

[aroaessidhe]

2024 reads / storygraph

Just Happy To Be Here

YA contemporary

a Indian-American trans girl at an all-girls school trying to make friends and get treated like any other girl at school

she also wants to get into the exclusive old-fashioned school sisterhood with a rumored scholarship, but is thrust into a larger argument about whether the club should exist at all

about just wanting to be a normal messy teen girl during the current rise of transphobic legislation in the US

[arty-shadow-morningstar]

A Failed Betrothal (5)

This is going to be the last part I am going to post in a while. My school is finally starting up again and I am sure to be swamped with homework. Without further ado. Enjoy ❤

[Masterlist]

(Part 1)(Part 4)

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Damian laid in bed, thinking about the recent turn of events. Lady, who told them that they can call her Marinette since they might as well get acquainted while the Waynes were in Paris. She had found out Jason’s identity after a few google searches and by extension, the rest of the Bats while they both were taking a shower. It had taken a few arguments and one sentimonster attack that cut one of the arguments short to trust the Dupain-Chengs with their secret identities. His bride was apparently a superhero too. Has been for a few years. In a different world, he might have actually dated her out of his own free will and fought crime with her together.

Damian shook his head at that thought.

That was the curse talking. Get a hold of yourself, Wayne. Resist. Don’t think about Marinette and her blue eyes.

Back to the akumas, Paris had been under the control of a magical terrorist for years. Lady Noire, formerly known as Ladybug, formed a team to battle against him. He also found out about the Guardian who chose Marinette and someone else, who wasn’t spoken about much except that his name was Chat Noir and she now wields his ring temporarily, to fight against Hawkmoth as partners. The same Guardian that promised her hand-in-marriage in exchange for protection from the League of Assassins. Sabine, the Blue Reaper, had to be restrained from killing the old amnesiatic man by her bear of a husband who was reluctant to do so and also wanted to help her.

Hawkmoth also had a partner who went by the name, Mayura, with a power similar to his and could create sentimonster out of negative emotions. Their top suspect was Gabriel Agreste, with much evidence pointing his way but they had difficulty trying to confirm it and had the time to gather evidence to do it. The local authorities were helpful but getting a search warrant for a famous, rich designer who was a known recluse with circumstantial evidence is not possible.

After informing their father of their kidnapping and the situation in Paris (and racking up the Dupain-Cheng's phone bill), they were told to stay there and help as much as they can. Tim, who was coming to Paris for a vacation (suspicious), got his plans hijacked and was now going to help uncover Hawkmoth’s identity.

When the Justice League had reached out a few years ago, they were rebuffed by the Mayor. Nightrunner got into contact with the one of the heroes, Ladybug who asked for a meeting outside of Paris with Wonder Woman and Batman came along, to assess her. They didn’t expect a young girl to be Paris’s heroine.

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3 years ago…

“Bonjour, Princess Diana of Themyscira, daughter of Hippolayta, it is an honour to meet you. And you too, Batman.” The spotted heroine greeted both of them with Nightrunner besides her. Their meeting point was in the gardens in the Palace of Versailles.

“The pleasure is all mine, Ladybug. But I am confused as to why you have refused the Justice League’s help.” Wonder Woman was worried that the Ladybug Miraculous was active again and for many good reasons.

“I would be glad for some help but Paris is run by an incompetent fool. He wants no one outside of Paris to think that the city is unsafe due to Hawkmoth and keep the tourism numbers high. The other reason is that my Miraculous Cure can restore any physical damages done during a fight and involving you might result in more damages than I could cure. But I also think it would be better if there were less powerful heroes in Paris, akumas amplifies one’s power and I don’t want to fight you after you had a bad day.” Ladybug explained. Nightrunner murmured in agreement.

“Do you know how Hawkmoth operates?” asked Batman. He had read reports of the situation but wondered the true extent of it.

“Have Wonder Woman explained to you about the Miraculous?”

He nodded.

“Hawkmoth has the butterfly miraculous, and it has the power of transmission. In the right hands, they would be used to grant ordinary people powers as the user’s champions. But in the hands of Hawkmoth, he targets people with high negative emotions, a girl after a bad break-up or a student with a failed grade. He grants them powers to use for revenge or some obscure version of justice. In return, he asks for mine and Chat Noir’s miraculous. With our two miraculous, he can make a wish but wishes always come with a price so it is best if we keep it out of his reach.”

“How have you not captured him yet?”

“Hawkmoth is a coward who rarely comes out to face us. I have never met him face-to-face. He uses people to get what he wants. Not very honourable. The Mayor has refused to help my attempts to stop him or prevent more akumas because his bratty daughter isn’t given a Miraculous to be a hero. I don’t have the time or resources because I am still in school and have other obligations outside the suit. I can’t tell my family and ask for help because the Guardian’s ,the one who gave me the Miraculous in the first place, secret identities rule and some magic thing that makes me unable to tell them.”

The adults were all horrified at what the girl was going through.

“We could help in other ways. Not fight the akumas but provide you the resources to track down and capture him. Do you have any training? From the footage we have seen, you know martial arts and how to use some weapons.”

“I was raised in a forgotten temple somewhere in Asia with brutal training everyday before I ran away. I met someone on my way out who took me in and adopted me.” She said it seriously enough that they have no room for doubt.

“Batman, she just said she was adopted. She may have the features but the answer is no.” Wonder Woman said with a knowing look in her eyes.

“I wasn’t thinking about it. She has a duty to Paris right now and I am not going to take away from her life here. I don’t adopt every black-haired and blue-eyed child I see.” Batman denied.

“I am confused.” Ladybug said, tilting her head.

“Batman here has a bad habit of adopting kids with a tragic past, especially kids with black hair and blue eyes.” Nightrunner explained to his fellow Parisian hero.

“Well, Mousier, you will have to fight my parents for custody. While I have training, Chat Noir doesn’t and he hinders the battles with his ‘help’. I would give him some but he sees them as dates even though I have told him it’s not.”

“His incompetence is a liability. Why is he your partner?”

“The Guardian chose him too like he chose me through some stupid trial I somehow passed the requirements for. I am just hoping that there is a really good reason for choosing Chat Noir. I have some questions on how you are-”

“Ladybug, what are you doing?” A sharp voice cut in. An old man who appeared to be dressed as a tortoise landed in front of them.

“Master Fu, this is Princess Diana of Themyscira and the world’s greatest detective, Batman. I am asking for their help in finding Hawkmoth.” Ladybug explained, confused why Master Fu looked upset.

“Ladybug, that was extremely foolish of you. This is a matter of the Order. You shouldn’t have involved other heroes in it. We can resolve this on our own. I apologize on behalf of her for wasting your time.”

“But, Master-” “We will talk about this later, Ladybug. You are young and don’t understand things yet.”

“Guardian, with all due respect, my mother was a Ladybug wielder herself and the Amazons will lend a hand to any miraculous holders in need.”

“It is appreciated but Ladybug, Chat Noir and I can do it on our own. Come along, Ladybug.”

“Let me at least apologize for my mistake, Guardian.”

“Very well. Meet me later.”

“I am sorry but it looks like I have to fight Hawkmoth without your help. That being said please don’t try to look further into Hawkmoth’s identity and leave any notes of your leads in the mouth of the gargoyle on the northside of Notre Dame where I usually rest after I finish patrol. Salut, Princess Diana, Batman, Nightrunner.” She left using her yo-yo to swing away after giving them a wink.

Batman smirked. He had to give it to Ladybug, she was clever and resourceful and Diana was right, he wanted to adopt her.

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Present time…

(Words in bold are French)

Now that the previous Guardian was out of the picture, the Miraculous team would gladly accept any help they can get.

Damian and Jason had picked up Tim from the airport and they had already set things up in one of the Wayne penthouses in Paris. Less chance of nosy maids than in a hotel.

Bilal had already handed over all the evidence he could find. He was also one of the Miraculous team’s trainers when Sabine couldn’t make it. Jason and Damian were going to help in training and be back-up heroes when needed. (Bilal wore a miraculous once to help out. And that one time was weird enough to last him a lifetime and he was never doing it again.)

Sadly, all the magic users who were allies or part of the JL were busy with other missions or MIA so they couldn’t break Damian’s curse yet. Bruce didn’t see the problem with the curse so unless it causes major problems or someone is free to break it. They couldn’t go back to Gotham until they got the necessary things in order so it looks like they were going to be in Paris for a while.

The next morning, Tim was nowhere to be found. Because they were paranoid Batboys, they tracked his phone to see him at the Dupain-Cheng’s bakery with Marinette and a group of other people, having breakfast.

“There you are, Replacement.” Jason shouted as he entered the bakery, “So, this is where you were? I see you have already figured out who Ladybug is and met her.”

Marinette looked at Damian and Jason, then at Tim and back at them again.

Oh.

Oh.

She face-palmed as she connected the dots and realized what the nagging feeling she had around Tim was about.

“Oh my Kwamis, you are Tim Drake, adopted by Bruce Wayne aka Batman. Jason and Damian are your brothers. And judging by your build, you are Red Robin. I feel so stupid.”

Thankfully, there were no customers around yet to hear some of the world’s most important secrets being out.

“I am- We are not- Bruce isn’t- How?! How the hell did you find out? And you are Ladybug?!” Tim was floundering at Marinette’s words and the caffeine from his first coffee of the day hadn’t kicked in yet. He looked at her friends, who were looking at the Wayne boys with shocked expressions….and looked similar to the rest of the Miraculous Team.

The caffeine finally kicked in.

“Oh my God. I was talking to the entire Miraculous Team and I didn’t know it. That means Chloe Bourgeois is a hero. That bratty blonde I met as a child is a hero.”

“Speak for yourself, Timothy, my childhood friend is a hero too. I can’t believe we are all heroes.” Chloe said in total disbelief.

Introductions and alter egos were exchanged.

Nearly everything went swimmingly if it weren’t for Chloe jokingly elbowed Marinette and said, “You get to date a hero too. No need to worry about flaking out on dates.”

“What do you mean dates? Dupain-Cheng and I aren’t dating.” Damian said, “My mother wanted us to marry each other, not date.”

“Mari, looks like you need some explaining to do.”

Marinette gave the short story on how she met Damian and Jason.

“So you guys are absolutely not dating? Cool. Tim, are you still open to being Mari-bug's fake boyfriend?” Chloe asked. Tim looked at her incredulously.

“You called me all the way here to fake-date your friend. Why? Not that I am complaining about her or anything.” “There is this boy in our class, Adrien Agreste and he has a little obsession with Marinette.” Chloe explained. “Romantic Soulmates.” Nathaniel chimed in, doing air-quotes.

“So I volunteered on your behalf to be my best friend’s long-distance boyfriend in America who has video-call dates with her once a week. You are going to have little romantic dates coincidently where our classmates are going to be, especially Adrien. It might put him off from pursuing Marinette for a while. After you leave, we are just to mention you every now and then to prevent him from getting any ideas.”

Damian felt a hot, burning sensation in his chest and clenched his jaw at the thought of Marin- Dupain-Cheng holding hands, cuddling and doing all those romantic actions with Drake of all people. (No, he wasn’t jealous. Not at all. Don’t be stupid. )

“Tch, Drake is going to be busy trying to find Hawkmoth. He can’t go around Paris, being Dupain-Cheng’s boyfriend. Besides, he can’t be a proper boyfriend even in his most lucid moments. I will be her boyfriend instead.”

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Tag list: @alysrose-starchild, @buginetye, @lookatthestars1, @blackroserelina, @macncheesemonster, @mochinek0, @myazael, @tonicxworld, @thewitchwhowaited, @t1dwarrior-of-earth, @kissa-chan, @iwantasecretidentity, @theymakeupfairies, @user00000003, @woe-is-me0, @kashlyn, @mochegato,@moonlightstar64 , @greatcatblaze, @moongoddesskiana, @tazanna-blythe. @tonicxworld, @toodaloo-kangaroo, @frieddonutsweets, @local-witch-of-mn, @lady-bee-fechin, @iglowinggemma28, @indecisive-mess-named-me, @k-tea-and-coffee, @jayjayspixiepop, @all-mights-asscheeks, @idk-j-go-with-it , @loysydark, @thenillabean, @lolieg, @zalladane, @silvergold-swirl, @henie04, @blueblossombliss, @khneltea, @mochegato, @itsmeevie01, @roguishredaxion, @alyssadeliv, @steph-hearthlight, @adrestar, @eliza-bich, @abrx2002, @hikari55ttva, @doglover82, @daminette5074

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(PART 6)

[genshin-impacted]

empress of the first water // Zhongli x Reader (2)

Word Count: 1.8k

Palace/Harem Imperial Drama AU: You are a princess, soon-to-be-Empress, and Zhongli is the teacher invited by the royal court to show you the ropes before you ascend to the throne after a royal tragedy.

Notes: female + Princess!Reader, Teacher!Zhongli, mutual pining, fake politics, Zhongli POV

xiansheng - Chinese honorific translated to as “person born before another,” also used as a title to refer to persons of authority or skills; generally used to mean “teacher”

[Previous] [Next]

Zhongli’s duties as the Princess’ tutor, as spoken by the head noble-- a man who seemed to always have a sneer on his face-- was to fully and completely reeducate the Princess. He understands now why his room is so close to yours considering how they have asked him to spend the majority of your day with him-- and vice versa. You seem to take this schedule in stride, listening to his lectures with an apt mind and following whatever lessons he brings throughout the day, regardless of familiarity or novelty.

But you are quiet, and as appreciative as Zhongli is at a rapt audience, he knows you have more to say than what you are giving-- but he understands. Zhongli can’t imagine not having a moment of solidarity when the presence of others can be so oppressive in the face of grief. In the middle of his afternoon lessons, he excuses himself and allows you to have a break. He knows he has decided well when you shoot him a grateful smile and when he sees you deflate the moment he closes the sliding door.

“Has she not been raised as a Princess for her whole life?” He asks the noble politely as they walk down the long outdoor hallways of the palace. He had been called to meet up with him on his way to court with the intentions to review the Princess’s progress, only it seems as though the head noble had no intentions of listening. “Surely, there is no need for me to go so extensively into that sector of education," he presses.

The noble sighs. “Mr. Zhongli, with all due respect, the girl--” Zhongli can feel his brows raise at the lack of title used-- “...has never been properly prepared for the possibility to become the Empress. She was one of the last ones in line to inherit the throne, so no one thought she could amount to anything. Surely, you’ve seen the way she acts?” The noble lifts his round silk fan to his face, and Zhongli, despite all his efforts to not feel disdain for the callous noble, feels his patience wear thin. “It was such a surprise, you see, to all of us when that tragedy hit, but alas, she’s the only one left.”

“I see,” Zhongli replies coolly. “And so you would have me follow her and scrutinize her every action to make her fit to rule?”

If the noble took heed of his frosty tone, he does not react to it. Instead, he looks at Zhongli coyly from behind his fan. “I assure you, it will be best for both you and me to have her reeducated. To an extent.” The noble says, “I assume you know what I’m referring to? You’re an intelligent man, Mr. Zhongli. You come from a good family and know much of the world… but you could always, ah, possess more.”

“Knowledge is power, as I am sure you are aware,” he says, chuckling. Zhongli watches in silence as the noble walks away, waving a flippant hand. “Be sure to take care not to provide her with too much, Mr. Zhongli, and perhaps I’ll refer you to a different title someday.”

.

.

.

When Guizhong was chosen to become a lady of another country, Zhongli felt, for the first time in many, that perhaps there was more to life than a constant grapple for power and the legacy that it would lead. She had not wanted to leave as much as he did not want her to go, but he did not understand then that he held power in his mind and in his own actions to change the path in which his path would lead.

Despite his disdain for the lies and trickery involved with the power struggle, Zhongli knows he will keep his promise to his father to uphold his family honor. He has always been a man of his words, for he bound himself into fulfilling them as though they are contracts.

But as he watches the head noble disappear behind the court doors, Zhongli wonders if that is all he is capable of.

When he thinks of Guizhong-- when he thinks of you, who has lost so much and could lose so much more, he thinks that for how your world seems to be against you, he wants to be someone on your side of the ring-- despite how everyone pressures for the opposite. Zhongli does not know if he deserves it, but he wishes to have your trust. He has yet to know how to truly support you, but he wants to provide you the freedom of choice if he can-- even in the smallest of ways.

And so he gives you freedom in the only way he knows how.

“What would you like to learn about today?” Zhongli asks you the next day as the two of you walk quietly to the study room. He can’t help the smile on his face when you turn to him in poorly-hidden surprise. Despite how you may act in front of the nobles whom he knows has an ill-opinion of you as you of them, you cannot help the emotions that come to the surface. He thinks himself lucky, if he were honest, to know that he is at least in your favor enough for you to let down your guard to give him a glimpse of the Princess he had seen not a fortnight ago.

To this date, he has only seen you be as such with your lady-in-waiting, Amber, but he knows that in his presence, he has only barely scratched the surface to the depth of your relationship and personality.

“What would I like to learn about?” You repeat, looking out into the garden in thought. “I’m not sure,” you say, turning to him. “What do you want to teach me?”

Zhongli blinks. “Pardon?”

At his confusion, you laugh, and Zhongli cannot help how his chest flutters at your sound of joy, for how far off it seemed that you would ever express that again. Just when he thought he could not be surprised, you tilt your head and smile teasingly at him. “You and I both know that the nobles are the ones that have been controlling my schedule for the past week. I want to know what you would want to teach me personally.”

Zhongli feels his cheeks warm at the tone of your voice. “Princess, I--” His father would be horrified at his lack of composure, but Zhongli cannot afford to think of his family and their expectations when you look up at him expectantly without an ounce of impatience. He clears his throat and thinks deeply, much to your amusement, putting his hand to his chin. “I suppose… I suppose I could provide you the history of the glaze lilies that the garden has in abundance?” He says, watching as your eyes soften, “They’re quite remarkable-- able to bloom in a night and gone in the next, some even saying they possess a different scent if you sing to them.”

“I agree with them, whoever said singing to them creates a different scent,” you say, looking out into the garden by the bamboo where three glaze lilies lay unbloomed. “If you sing the Liyuen lullaby to them, it produces a very soft fragrance-- almost like baby powder.” You turn to him and smile. “They were my mother’s favorite,” you explain gently. “She always sang and picked one for me to keep in my room.”

Zhongli lowers his head in respect. “My apologies, Princess, I didn't mean to bring up such personal topics."

“No, no! Don’t worry about it,” you tell him, laughing. “It’s fine. It’s nice to think of something nice like that.” You brush your hair behind your ears, and if there was a nostalgic lilt to your voice, he does not throw attention to it. “I like it,” you say, “please continue. I’m curious about the glaze lily’s history.”  

And what was Zhongli to do for the Princess if not to continue?

Zhongli doesn’t know if you have committed his every word to memory, or whether you remember anything in regards to the dates he provided (you are terrible with dates, he has found out, much to your embarrassment; but much like everything he knows of you, he finds it endearing). But he watches as you walk through the garden with him, the most at peace he has ever seen you, and he continues to speak.

And Zhongli lets his voice rid of the garden of silence, your thoughtful hums and soft laughter as accompaniment. Soon enough, though, the sun sets and the stars begin to shine, and Zhongli leads you to your room where you will be served dinner.

You thank him for the lesson, and he nods gracefully, his hand upon his chest. When he raises his head, you are still smiling at him. (He thinks abruptly that he would like to keep that smile on your face, if only for a moment, and the next words tumble from his mouth.)

“If you are looking for a place by the sea,” he says, remembering your words from before, “‘where the wind blows and the earth is clean,’ then I believe that I shall make our lesson on that the next time we find ourselves free.”

You blink up at him, eyes wide-- lips parted as though awestruck until they widen into the kindest smile he has ever seen on you.

“Yes,” you say softly, “that sounds lovely. Thank you.”

Zhongli lowers his head again in respect, swallowing at the magnitude of your magnanimity. “Of course, Princess.”

He expects to be dismissed, but instead he hears you ask, “Would you like to join me for dinner, xiansheng?”

Zhongli wonders how many times a person can bewilder him one day. “Pardon me?”

“I’m asking if you, Zhongli xiansheng,” you say with a now-familiar lilt of amusement, “would like to eat with the Princess.” You laugh when he stands, tall as he is, gaping at you. “You can say no. I won’t take offense. Promise.”

And he thinks to himself that as generous as you are to offer him the option to deny your request, he doesn’t know if he ever would have.

Dinner consisted of the finest foods: Peking duck, the freshest peaches of Fontaine, the grains of Qingce Village, and bamboo soup that would have put his personal chef to shame. It is custom of the Princess to sit from a table distant from him, but in the confines of your inner chambers, you sit right in front of him, placing dishes in front of him for him to try. (Zhongli has a feeling you would pile food onto his bowl if you could.)

He has the delight of not only enjoying the foods you have offered but also the sight of your smiling countenance for the remainder of that night. And for once, he feels as though he has taken the reins on his own life-- for the better.

(He only hopes he can keep holding on.)

[cranial-echo]

The Worst Kind of Torture

Fandom/Series: Bungou Stray Dogs

 Description: An “extension” or alternate variation of episode 14, in which Dazai and Oda discover that Ango is hopelessly ticklish.

Genre: Comedy? I think?

Characters: Dazai Osamu, Odasaku Sakunosuke, Ango Sakaguchi

Ships: None

Trigger Warnings: Minimal spoilers for Season 2, Episode 2 (Episode 14 in the series)

Inspiration: I honestly don’t know at this point

Author Notes: THIS IS THE LONGEST THING I’VE EVER WRITTEN??? (also Ango’s laugh is adorable and he is a godsend)

°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

Had Ango Sakaguchi known what was to await him at work today, he most certainly would have stayed home. To be visited out of the blue like this was quite rare, especially by two already semi-familiar faces. He'd hadn't formally met them until now, of course, but it was hard not to hear about the Mafia's youngest underboss and the lowest ranking member of the affiliation. Just why they were together, however, was not something Ango could readily place. Nor why the two of them were bothering him at this time. "I'd appreciate it if you didn't come any closer," he tells them, hardly in the mood to deal with whatever nonsense they'd come to deliver. "You reek." He notices the shorter one (Dazai was his name, he thinks?) goes about smelling his own clothing in a manner that could only really be described as "frantically confsed". Yep. Today was going to be absolutely wonderful. (This was sarcasm, of course.) He hardly pays any mind to them after this, instead deciding to focus on what he'd been doing before the two of them so eloquently decided to drop by for a very unwelcome visit. He tunes out the sound of Dazai's voice, hearing him ask his companion if he, indeed, smelled bad. The answer was yes, and Ango quickly found that he couldn't focus with such a smell in his office - and the mere presence of them alone wasn't helping at all. "You must be new here," he hears Dazai say a moment later, and he looks up at him with a raised eyebrow. "Why don't you tell us your name?" Ango waits a moment before replying, as if debating whether or not being on a first-name basis with the two of them would even be worth the trouble. Eventually, he introduces himself. "It's Ango Sakaguchi." "Well, Ango," Dazai says, approaching his desk. "You're a fascinating character." Oh. Oh god, he's coming closer. Oh fuck. Why is he coming closer? What is the purpose of invading his personal space like this? And... Oh lord, the stench... It's assaulting his nostrils mercilessly. It's so awful, so horrific, so- "Smelly-!" he ends up blurting it out almost comically, voice raising in pitch and almost cracking, trying to lean as far away from his desk and the other male as he could while still seated. Dazai hardly seems to care about his discomfort as he just leans in to invade his space even more, staring at him with a sickeningly curious look on his face. "Are you sure that the boss approves of what it is you're up to right now?" Ango exhales a barely audible breath, discomfort quite clear at this point - not that either of them seemed to care. "And just what are you insinuating that I'm up to, exactly?" Dazai smiles, reaching out to pick up one of the sheets of paper he'd been writing on, holding it up to show him. "That you're writing an obituary for those who died. Am I wrong?" Such audacity, to just saunter into his office and snoop through his work. Ango would shoot them, if he could. And he definitely wants to, at this point. "He's writing obituaries?" he hears the other man in the room ask (Dazai had called him Odasaku, hadn't he?), having almost completely forgotten he was there to begin with. "These are the three that died during the attack on our executives last night." Dazai explains to him as he goes about reading the names off of the paper out loud. "Kurehito Umegi, Shoukichi Saigusa, and Mirouku Ishige. Umegi was a former MP who was shamefully discharged for killing a coworker. Both parents are dead." He reaches out to set the paper back down on Ango's desk, addressing the bespectacled brunet once more. "You're keeping a record of their life events and family history." Ango simply listens to him ramble on about information he'd already known, speaking up once Dazai had finished, looking down to avoid his gaze. "It's the least that they deserve." he says, adjusting his posture properly in his seat. "Every one of their lives has to have had some meaning." He looks up at Dazai after a few seconds pause. "I wanted to do more to remember who they were than just chock them up as part of a body count. To honor their sacrifice." Dazai smiles at him. "What did the boss say about this?" Ango folds his hands neatly on his desk, trying his best to not let onto how he was quite displeased with the way this conversation was dragging out so unpleasantly. He figures it's best to humor them for now. "I managed to convince him to account for everyone who had been reportedly killed as a result of the incident. He was very opposed to the idea at first, but he eventually saw great value to the Port Mafia in keeping such detailed records." The words are barely out of his mouth before Dazai speaks again, turning around to look at Odasaku. "See? Isn't he fascinating? What kind of person goes through the trouble of creating such a unique job?" His tone is almost disparaging, Ango notes. Oh, how he wushes they'd hurry up and conclude whatever business they had, and just leave him alone. "There's only one way to find out." Odasaku replies to his friend. "Let's take him out for a few drinks at our usual spot." Dazai grins mischievously. "That's a lovely idea~" Alright, unexpected change of plans. Ango certainly as fuck wasn't going to give them what thwy wanted. Not a chance. Though he's certain his discomfort is quite visible now - and he already assumes they'll take this to their advantage. "I can't do that," he tries to tell them. "I have work to do-!" He realizes too late when Dazai approaches him from one side, nearly squeaking in panic. "Hey Odasaku~" Dazai lulls to his partner in crime (or rather, partner in harassment), with a certain tone to his voice that has Ango fearing for his own wellbeing. "I think I know just how we can get him to leave early. If we hug him real tightly, the stench will be unbearable for him and he'll have to call it a day." Odasaku's response was three simple words Ango dreaded to hear at this time. "Let's do it." He tries to make a break for it, but to his horrified dismay, Odasaku is on the other side. He was trapped. "Wait! I've got an even better idea!" Dazai exclaims happily. " Let's tickle him and see if he breaks!" Ango is absolutely mortified at the concept, pressing himself as far back into his chair and away from the other brunet as he can. "D-Don't you dare come any closer!" Dazai chuckles, presumably at Ango's terrified movements. "I think we have a plan of action, Odasaku~" Ango doesn't even has time to formulate a proper response before he receives a sudden poke to his side, from none other than the redhead to his left. He just barely manages to stifle a squeal of surprise, glaring daggers at the blue-eyed male. "Aaaah," Dazai hums. "I think he's ticklish!~" "I-I most certainly am not!" Ango stutters, practically fuming at the audacity of these two interlopers. "I think all evidence points to otherwise," Odasaku says, poking Ango once more. Ango squeaked. Oh. Oh god. This wasn't going to end well... This wasn't going to end well at all. Destruction was imminent, and Ango knew it. There was a momentary pause after Ango let out that tiny, impotent squeak. Dazai was the first one to break it. "Did he just...?" Odasaku nods. "I think he did." Ango is visibly nervous now, several thoughts racing through his head all at once. This couldn't end well. This couldn't possibly end well. He'd practically sealed his fate the instant that displeased squeak came out of his mouth. But yet, he tried to divert them. "I s-strongly urge the both of you to leave," he tells them, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose in nervous habit. He tries to keep the anxious stutter out of his voice, but ultimately fails. "I have very important work to attend to..." "If you think we're gonna be deterred that easily, especially after that little squeak," Dazai starts, a certain sparkle in his eye that sent a great feeling of unease to wash over the bespectacled brunet. "You've got another thing coming~" "T-This," Ango can barely keep his voice steady, damn near raising an octave higher than usual. "This is highly unprofessional...!" "Being professional is so boring," Dazai says with a sigh. "I'd much rather hear you squeak again~" Ango couldn't quite place just what he'd done to deserve such torture. Oh, what a catastrophe this was. An utter disaster. How to get out of this conundrum? Ah, there was his pistol. He could always use that. Not on these two nuisances, of course, but rather himself- His thoughts are interrupted when a pair of hands makes contact with his side, illiciting a sharp squawk of a sound out of him. It was Dazai this time, practically beaming at the sound he'd made. "He sounds kind of like a crow, doesn't he, Odasaku?~" Ango fumes at these words, letting out an indignant squeak when he heard Odasaku' s response. "He does, now that I think about it." Ango presses himself into the back of his chair once more, looking like a mouse forced in a corner and trapped by two hungry felines. This was how he died, wasn't it? He always thought he'd be shot or shanked. Never tickled to death. He opens his mouth to plead with the two of them. "I-I implore you-" Dazai interrupts hm. "Implore away~ We're not leaving until you give us what we want~" Ah. So this was what Hell was. Ango tries his best not to panic, though he's failing miserably - and he knew Odasaku and Dazai could see it. He quickly found that he couldn't keep his eye on both of them at the same time. When he focused his attention on Odasaku, Dazai would inch closer, and vice versa. He fidgeted nervously, pulling at the collar of his shirt in a feeble attempt to ease his nerves. He was always a man of routine, of statistics and logic. Thinking several hours if not days before making even the slightest movement. He always planned everything beforehand. Dazai and Odasaku, on the other hand, were not something he could have thought about. He couldn't have possibly planned for an underboss and his low-ranked companion to bust in uninvited with plans of torturing him - by tickling him, no less. Needless to say, being forced to act on the spot was highly uncomfortable, and not recommended for the poor glasses-wearing man. Such a catastrophic event. If he can just get past them, he thinks, then he could perhaps make an escape. To run away and avoid such an embarrassing fate. His gaze first lands on Dazai. He knows, just knows that he is the one to keep close eye on. That mischievous glint in his eye and almost malicious smirk are too obvious to ignore. He then glances at Odasaku from the corner of his peripheral vision. He seems more passive than Dazai, no doubt, but he doesn’t dare assume he won't attack him just as mercilessly as Dazai will. He must look positively comical at the moment - squished into his chair, feet up on the seat, knees to his chest. Shoulders hunched forward and head lowered. How truly mortifying. Such an unsightly occurrence. He feels an underlying shame from allowing himself to be harassed so easily, beneath the more obvious outward terror of being attacked by two absolute strangers. They're just toying with him at this point, just standing there, watching him - waiting to see what he'll do next as if he's some sort of exhibit at the zoo. He inadvertently lets out a soft whine, and hears Dazai's amused chuckle. Oh, god. It can't end like this. He refuses to let himself be beaten. He absolutely rebukes the mere thought of it. He hates acting on a whim, but knows he has to make some sort of move if he wants to get out of this with even a shred of dignity left. Why couldn't a bunch of gunmen have bursted into the room with the intention of killing him, instead of these two buffoons? It would have been so much more ideal than whatever the hell they were trying to do... He sighs through his nose, knowing that it was now or never. He springs up from his seat, with the full intention of leaping over his desk and high-tailing it the fuck out of there. Unfortunately, it seems as though they'd been waiting for ths exact moment, as Dazai wasted no time tackling Ango to the ground, straddling his hips in a rather inopportune way and pinning him by the shoulders to prevent his escape. "Ah ah ah," he hums, smiling sweetly at the other with a fake innocence. "You're not getting away from us that easily~" Ango lets out a displeased groan, glasses askew from having been tackled so harshly. He squirms in Dazai's hold - for someone who certainly looked weak in appearance, he was definitely strong. Ango admits inwardly that it was his own fault for making an assumption like that, but in no way does he relent. "Unhand me this instant!" he demands, squirming quite ungracefully in the other's grip. "I d-demand that you release me!" "Nope~" Dazai grins happily at him. "Odasaku, do me a favor and hold him down for me, will you?~" Ango was about to make some sort of retort, when he felt a second pair of hands on his shoulders, qute the bit larger than Dazai's. He looks up to see Odasaku had knelt down next to them on the ground, and was now keeping him steady per Dazai's instructions. Usually Ango was great at pinpointing a person's emotions just from looking at their face - but Odasaku was different. His facial features didn't seem to hold much of an expression at all, but there was a certain shine in his blue eyes that he couldn't place. And the fact that he couldn't made him greatly uncomfortable He can't help but notice the way Odasaku was holding him steady. His hhold was firm, yet quite gentle as well. Just strong enough to keep him in place without causing any sort of pain. He does realize, however, that whenever he tries tp struggle, Odasaku adds a bit more pressure every time. What a joy. It's only once Odasaku's hands are properly placed does Dazai remove his own, humming to himself as he got off of Ango in favor of sitting next to him, legs crossed, elbow on his knee and chin resting in the palm of that hand. "Soooooooo," he drawls, looking at the flustered male in front of him. "Are you going to give us what we came for, or are you going to keep resisting?" Ango huffs, trying to keep his composure despite how greatly concerned he was for what events may come next. "If you honestly think that t-tickling me will get you anywhere-" "Oh, I do," Dazai seems to have a habit of interrupting him, causing an irritated growl to come from Ango's throat. "I'm genuinely curious as to how long you can last like this. Aren't you?" He punctuates his sentence by delivering a harsh poke to Ango's side. Ango holds his breath, clenching his fists in a desperate attempt not to laugh or make any kind of sound. He wasn't going to give in. Nope. Not today, not ever. Being pinned down on his office floor while two men take advantage of him. For most, this would be some sort of fantasy come true. For Ango, he's certain it means his utter doom. "Oh?" Dazai speaks up once again. "Not going to say anything? I'm disappointed in you. We're guests in your office, after all. You could at least show us some common courtesy..." "Bite me." Ango's retort comes swiftly, his mind barely even registering what he'd said until he'd heard the sound of his own voice. Dazai was correct - usually, he tried his best to always at least be polite. But now... Well, courtesy be damned. "Is that so?~" Dazai lilts, gaze darkening in a way as to cause a sudden pang of fear to strike through Ango's chest. "Well, I'll just have to use some different tactics to get you to talk instead~" That was the only word of warning Ango got before Dazai lunged at him, making instantaneous contact with his sides. Ango's breath hitched in his throat, trying to steel himself as best he could in hopes of enduring this attack. If he holds out long enough, perhaps they'll get bored and come to the conclusion that he wasn't ticklish after all, and leave him in semi-peace. But judging from the look in Dazai's visible eye, something told him that it wouldn't be so easy. Dazai doesn't let up, continuing to take advantage of Ango’s sensitivity in a way that Ango greatly despised. He clenched his jaw shut, staunchly refusing to make any sounds willingly. Unfortunately for him, however, Dazai ended up hitting a particularly sensitive spot just below his ribcage, and he damn near lost it. He ended up making a choked-off gasping sound, hardly managing to stifle an actual laugh. Oh god. This isn't good. "Come on, Ango~" Dazai purrs teasingly. "Let us hear your beautiful laughter~" Ango's been holding his breath long enough to feel lightheaded at this point. Perhaps if he holds it long enough he can pass out and they'd leave him alone. He might even die, if he's lucky. This wish doesn’t come true, however, as he exhaled a shaky breath a few seconds later. He only manages to choke out a restrained "S-Stop...!" before he ends up breaking into an uncontrolled giggle fit. Oh lord. He's laughing. He's actually laughing. He's being held down and harassed by strangers and he's laughing. It's barely been going on for two minutes and he already feels like he can't take it anymore. "There it is!~' Dazai proclaims with a grin. "Precisely what I wanted to hear!~" Ango opens his mouth as if to plead with him to stop, but all that comes out is a fit of laughter. He can hardly form a complete sentence through it, either. How embarrassing. "I- Hh- S-Stop-!" He squirms in Odasaku's grip once again, trying desperately to get away from them. "I- I-I c- hahaha-!" "He really seems to be enjoying himself~" Dazai muses, looking over at Odasaku. "Perhaps we should continue?~" Odasaku gives his companion a nod of approval. "If he's enjoying himself that much, I think it's only best." Ango practically squeals in protest to hearing these words. "N-No-!" His words are choked out by more of his own laughter as Dazai's lithe fingers had managed to find their way up beneath his jacket and shirt, now making contact with his bare skin and only heightening this dreadful feeling. He shuts his eyes tightly, kicking feebly and aimlessly at the air as he fucking cackles in a false sense of what most would consider delight. He can hardly believe that this is happening - he doesn't want to believe it. But it is. He instinctively arches his back, trying anything and everything he can think of to try and get away. "S-Stoppit-!" Dazai hums to himself in contentment. "Such a cute laugh~ Sort of nasally, kind of screechy... What an absolute dork you are, Ango~" Ango couldn't tell if Dazai was teasing him or if he was being genuine. Either way, it was a comment that Ango took offense to - his laugh certainly wasn't cute or anything of the sort. And to actually call him a dork was... was... His train of thoughts was derailed when he heard a soft chuckle. It wasn't Dazai, no; it was Odasaku. He opens his eyes momentarily to look up at the redhead. Blue eyes sparkling, smiling ever so slightly... Were they really enjoying his suffering that much? He tries to say something when Dazai's fingers moved from his sides to his midsection, causing him to let out a rather unflattering sound in an attempt to stifle his own laughter. "Pffffthhh-!" "What was that?~" Dazai hums, a wide grin on his face. "You'll have to speak up, Ango~" "S-Stop," Ango wheezes. "I- I ca- I c-can't-" "Well isn't that a shame?~" the other brunet teases. "Certainly, I thought you could have lasted longer than this~" "I-I'm s-serious," Ango should know better than to try and reason with them at this point, but he's desperate. His chest hurts from laughing so much and he fears he's close to passing out. "I-I'm n-not joki- snrk!" Shit. Shit fucking shit. He just snorted. This was it. Everything was over. "Oh my god," Dazai says with a laugh of his own. "Did you just snort?" "I- N-No, I'm-" Ango tries to respond, but only ends up snorting again. Lovely. He shuts his eyes once more, hearing Dazai's amused laughter and another quiet chuckle from Odasaku. He honestly wishes he could just die at this point. Death would be much better than this. He finds that once he'd started to snort, he couldn't stop - for Christ's sake, he sounded like a fucking pig. This was horrific. Absolutely nightmarish. "You know," Dazai tells him. "If you'd just say the magic word, we'd let you go~" No. No. He won't say it. He refuses to give in. He refuses to beg. He won't do it. He won't, he won't, he- Dazai's fingers brush along a sensitive spot just above his hip on his left side, causing him to nearly scream with laughter. "F-Fuck-!" He hadn't meant to use such vulgarity, initially, but it just sort of slipped out. Hs voice is hoarse as he decides, fuck it. Screw dignity. He tries to get them to stop, he truly does. But he can hardly speak through his laughter, now actually crying from laughing too hard. He must look pathetic - laying on the ground, laughing uncontrollably, clothes and hair a mess with his cheeks wet, and most likely, flushed. "P- Pleahhahha-!" "Hmmm?~ Did you say something, Ango?" Dazai grins mischievously. "You'll have to speak up~" "P-Please-!" Ango manages to finally squeak. "P-Please stop! I a-admit defeat-!" Dazai stops tickling him almost instantaneously. "Good!~" It takes a while for Ango to calm down, flailing his arm at Dazai in an attempt to shoo him away as he, for whatever reason, shifts closer to Odasaku. He covers his face with his hands, feeling both the heat in his cheeks and an already familiar hand on his shoulder. He was panting, breathing heavily, and absolutely mortified. He was never going to live this down with these two around. Then he notices what looks like a flash from between his fingers. No... It couldn't be... He rolls over slightly to look up at Dazai, his worst fears being proven - the bastard was smiling happily at him, phone in hand. Ango quickly finds he lacks the strength to scold Dazai in a way that was preferred, only able to stutter like some sort of clueless asshole. "Y-You..." Dazai's grin seems to widen. "Yep!~" The bastard took a picture of him. He took a picture of him in his absolute lowest, weakest time. Ango lunges for Dazai suddenly, only to be held back by Odasaku. "That's not how you handle blackmail material, now, is it?" the redhead asks him. Ango tenses noticeably, looking back at him. "B-Blackmail...?" "Thaaaaaat's right!~" Dazai sing-songs. "We have sufficient evidence of you cracking under our torture tactics. Now you have to tell us everything we want to know, otherwise this picture gets released~ Say, over drinks, perhaps?" Ango grits his teeth, glaring harshly at the grinning brunet. He's an absolute mess, his heart rate is entirely fucked up, and he was made an absolute fool of. Odasaku pats his shoulder. "So, what'll it be?" Ango pauses for a second, adjusting his glasses with a defeated sigh. "...Fine. But so help me God, if either of you tries something like this again, I have two bullets with your names on them." As much as he hated to admit it, Ango knew in the pit of his soul that this wouldn't be the last time he would be forced to deal with these two. Perhaps he could drown his regrets of this experience over the drinks they were apparently going to get. He should have stayed home today.

[flamingbluepanda]

Lmao could I interest you in the ASMR prompt for Spirk? Idk how it would work out but I’m just dying to find out

(Anything for you babe!)

Jim has nightmares.

Spock knew this, intellectually. He’s known this for years. From his first day on the ship, he’s been able to hear Jim through the walls. From the the Khan incident onwards, he crossed the bathroom to wake Jim up every time one happened.

But it’s only once Spock started sharing a bed with him that he realized how… wide they were.

Jim was able to share a bed with someone, easily. But in the midst of a nightmare, he got physical. He flung his arms and legs out and screamed and babbled both nonsense and curses and sobbed and kicked bit scratched punched-

The breaking point happens when Spock- too tired from a 56 hour state of emergency after a lab accident and 4 nights straight of Jim’s night terrors being worse than usual (prompted by a letter from his mother)- doesn’t move out of the way of one of Jim’s arms quick enough.

Jim, probably thinking he’s Nero or something, grabs him by the throat and starts punching him. By the time Spock gets him awake and help arrives, one of his eyes is swelling shut, and his nose is broken in three places.

Jim is horrified with himself. It is mutually agreed upon that something has to give.

~~

Attempt one- Sleeping pills.

Jim’s tried them in the past, claimed they worked once they got the right ingredients that he wasn’t allergic too. And for a few nights they do work, Spock sleeps soundly.

And then, a red alert happens in the middle of the night. Spock spends five valuable minutes waking Jim up, and he’s still not lucid enough for the command training to kick in.

That time was a false alarm, but Spock, for the safety of the ship, insists that Jim stops the treatment. Jim agrees begrudgingly, asks Spock if he wants to move out.

Spock doesn’t- it’s too late for that. He can’t sleep without Jim.

~~

Attempt two- Hypnosis

Jim’s sessions with a hypnodoctor are… unorthodox. And while the nightmares don’t stop, they do get less violent. Spock appreciates this, truly.

The hypnosis employs the use of a series of touches, which Jim does every night.

The problem is, he becomes complacent, starts forgetting to do them. And then, they stop being affective.

Spock sighs as Jim wakes him, again, and this time manages to get out of bed before he can be grabbed. He mentally notes to find something else before going to soothe the love of his life.

~~

Attempt three- Music

This one is Jim’s idea. He reads that playing music at night can help with nightmares.

Spock, as a scientist, is offended that his boyfriend would take an article at face value like that, because it doesn’t work no matter what type of music they play. All this attempt leads to is Jim fervently apologizing and Spock writing a strongly worded letter to the author editor and publisher.

At least they can laugh about this one later.

~~

Attempt four- Muscle inhibitors

Another one of Jim’s ideas, this time backed up with science and Doctor McCoy.

Spock is more hesitant to hit the button which will make Jim’s muscles lock in place via small robots injected into the muscle fibers.

“It’s just for now sweetheart,” Jim whispers between kisses that are far too convincing, “Just until we can find a way for me to stop beating you up. I hate the fact that I keep hurting you.”

Spock agrees, begrudgingly. But Jim’s first night paralyzed, and he has the nightmare of the year. Spock wakes up to Jim begging an invisible enemy to stop, let him go, please don’t-

Spock is sickened by the fact that he did that, and refuses to do it again and for so far as to hide the materials. Jim and he get into quite the argument over it.

It ends with he and Jim both going to bed angry, and him getting pummeled in the midst of a nightmare.

“You should leave,” Jim begs him between sobs as Doctor M’Benga treats his wounds, “this isn’t healthy. Please leave me, I’m so sorry-“

Spock takes his hands, and says never.

Jim proposes then and there, in sickbay at approximately 3:30 in the morning. Spock’s only stipulation is that they have a Vulcan bonding as well.

M’Benga sighs and says “congrats but can you both get out of sickbay, Len’s gonna have my head if I have to wake him.”

~~

Attempt five- meditation

Jim is a horrible meditation student and far too turned on by his fiancée in his meditation robes. The attempt fails miserably but reaps some beneficial results in the form of sexual favors.

~~

Attempt six- physical activity

Spock proposes this plan after noticing that Jim sleeps better after strenuous away missions. And going to the gym every night works for a bit, even gets them both down a few pounds.

But then, Jim breaks his leg on a mission, and they are forbidden from the gym for at least three months. When they go back, it’s lost all affect.

~~

Attempt seven- ASMR

This attempt is honestly desperation on Spock’a part- the tarsus anniversary is coming up, along with Jim’s birthday and Christmas and it’s the worst time of year for his nightmares.

The earbuds work, but continuously fall out when Jim moves in his sleep. Spock, for a Christmas/birthday present, finds Jim a pair of over the ear headphones. Jim adores them and uses them for music, reports, and his nightly ASMR tape.

And it works, gloriously, it works. Spock considers giving offering to whatever deity clearly intervened.

Except.

Every night, just as Spock is falling asleep, without fail, Jim manages to roll over and smack the hard plastic of the headphones into either his cheek or his shoulder. It always hurts, but honestly Spock is willing to take it. It’s better than before. He says nothing, and the months leading up to their wedding are glorious.

But then, a gorn rips his arm out of it’s socket. The dislocation destroys his rotator cuff and snaps his collar bone, he has four and a half reparative surgeries over the span of a week to fix it all.

The first night he’s allowed to sleep in his own bed, Jim is so careful all night, tending to his every need, kissing every inch of bruised and scarred skin. Spock lays on his back and Jim puts on his tape.

Like clockwork, Jim rolls over.

The plastic cup connects right with the snap in his collarbone, and Spock can feel the stitches tear as he screams in pain.

He has his fifth surgery- an emergency one for where a bone fragment pierced his vein.

When he returns to his quarters, Jim has completely moved out.

~~

Attempt Eight- sleeping apart

Spock finds that his bed is now too cold, no matter how many blankets he uses or how high he turns up the heat. Jim has insisted it’s not forever, but he refuses to hurt spock anymore. Not when Spock’s the one person he never wants to hurt.

But the walls are thin, and Spock’s hearing is advanced, and he can hear the other half of his soul shrieking in pain every night.

The final straw is placed on his back four nights in, when Jim screams his name.

Consequences be dammed, he’ll let Jim kill him before he ignores Jim begging for his help.

He runs across the bathroom, jumps on the bed and without thinking his hand slides onto Jim’s face, melding with him.

For a moment Spock is horrified- non-consensual melding is a crime, after all- but then, he realizes Jim is relaxed. What’s more, Jim is still asleep. His mental presence recognizes Spock’s and is no longer scared, although he is approaching wakefulness.

As he slips out and Jim wakes up, Spock realizes the answer to all his problems.

And he, victoriously, in a moment of pure humanity, decides he has earned every single one of his degrees. He’d been starting to doubt it, after all.

If he couldn’t crack human dreams, what was the point of any of them?

~~

Attempt infinity- Bonding

Spock lays in bed on day thirteen of their honeymoon, sated and warmed by the setting risan sun flowing in through the window of the small cabin they had.

Jim wanders out of the bathroom and crawls into bed with him, yawning and warm. Spock kisses his forehead and shifts closer to him. Jim mumbles something about dinner later, nap now. He’s asleep in minutes.

The warm presence of the bond in Jim’s mind satisfies his fears, reminding him that he’s never alone. Jim- and by extension, Spock- sleep soundly, physically and mentally tangled together until undistinguishable from one another.

(HOLY HELL THIS GOT LONG AS F U C K. W O W Z A. @herrhasen (who’s also the fabulous @deheerkonijn Incase y’all didn’t know) I hope you enjoyed this! I had a blast writing it)

[qqueenofhades]

Medieval cosmetics: The history of looking good

So, I recently saw a post on my dash with someone lamenting the fact that in the medieval era, they would have been considered ugly as there was no makeup, and someone else offering a well-meant attempt to reassure them: that since they’d have no pox scars, rotten teeth, filthy hair, etc, all medieval men would think they were amazingly hot. While I appreciate the sentiment, there’s.... more than a little mythology on both sides of this idea, and frankly, our medieval foremothers would be surprised and insulted to hear that they were apparently the stereotyped bunch of unwashed, snaggle-toothed crones who put no care or effort into their appearance, and had no tools with which to do so.

(Or: Yep. Hilary Has More Things To Say. You probably know where this is going.)

I answered an ask a couple weeks ago that was mostly about medieval gynecological care and the accuracy of the “mother dying in childbirth” stereotype, but which also touched on some of the somehow still-widely-believed myths about medieval personal care and cleanliness. Let’s start with bathing. Medieval people bathed, full stop. Not as frequently as we do, and not in the same ways, but the “people never washed in Ye Olde Dark Ages” chestnut needs to be decidedly consigned to the historical dustbin where it belongs. “A Short History of Bathing Before 1601″ is a good place to start, as it follows the development of bathing culture from ancient Rome (where bathhouses were known for their use as gathering places and influential centers of political debate) through to the modern era. Yes, common people as well as the nobility washed fairly frequently. Bathing was a favored social and leisure activity and a central part of hospitality for guests. Hey, look at all these images in medieval manuscripts of people bathing. Or De balneis Puteolanis, which is basically a thirteenth-century travel guide to the best baths in Italy. Or these medieval Spanish civic codes about when men, women, and Jews were allowed to use the public bath house. There was also, as referenced in the above ask, the practice of washing faces, hands, etc daily, and sometimes more than once. Feasts involved elaborate protocol about who was allowed to perform certain tasks, including bringing in the bowls of scented water to wash between courses. They associated filth with disease (logically). Anyway. Let’s move on.

Combs are some of the oldest (and most common) objects found in medieval graves -- i.e. they were a standard part of the “grave goods” for the deceased, and were highly valued possessions. Look, it’s a young woman combing her hair (that article also discusses the history of medieval makeup for men, which was totally a thing and likewise also suspected of being “unmanly.”) The Luttrell Psalter, now in the British Library, includes among its many illuminations one of a young woman having her hair elaborately combed and styled by an attendant. There were extensive discourses on what constituted an ideally attractive medieval woman, and the study of aesthetics and the nature of beauty is one of the oldest and most central philosophical enquiries in the world (as were beauty standards in antiquity). Having a pale complexion was a sign of wealth (you didn’t have to work outdoors in the sun) and women used all kinds of pastes and powders to achieve that effect. Remember the Trotula, the medieval gynecological textbook we talked about in the childbirth ask? Well, it is actually three texts, and the entire third text, De ornatu mulierum (On Women’s Cosmetics) is dedicated to makeup and cosmetics. What weird and gross sort of things do they advocate, cry editors of “7 Horrifying Medieval Beauty Tips You Won’t Believe!”-style articles? Well...

First come general depilatories for overall care of the skin. Then there are recipes for care of the hair: for making it long and dark, thick and lovely, or soft and fine. For care of the face, there are recipes for removing unwanted hair, whitening the skin, removing blemishes or abscesses, and exfoliating the skin, plus general facial creams. For the lips, there is a special unguent of honey to soften them, plus colorants to dye the lips and gums. For the care of teeth and prevention of bad breath, there are five different recipes. The final chapter is on hygiene of the genitalia. [...] A prescription said to be used by Muslim women then follows.[...] The author gives detailed instructions on how to apply the water just prior to intercourse, together with a powder that the woman is supposed to rub on her chest, breasts, and genitalia. She is also to wash her partner’s genitals with a cloth sprinkled with the same sweet-smelling powder.

Wait so... hair care, skin and facial creams, toothpaste, lipstick, and sexual hygiene?? With the latter based on that used by Muslim women??? Zounds! How strange and unthinkable!

L’ornement des Dames, an Anglo-Norman text of the thirteenth century, offers more tips and tricks, and explicitly references the authority of both the Trotula and Muslim women: “I shall not forget either what I learnt at Messina from a Saracen woman. She was a doctor for the people of her faith [...] according to what I heard from Trotula of Salerno, a woman who does not trust her is a fool.” So yes. The beauty regimes of Muslim women were transmitted to and shared by Christian women, especially in diverse places like medieval Sicily, and this was valuable and trusted advice. Gee. It’s almost like women have always a) cared about their appearance, and b) united to flip one giant middle finger at the patriarchy. (You can also read more about skincare and cosmetics.) Speaking of female health authorities, you have definitely (or you should have) heard of Hildegard von Bingen, a twelfth-century abbess and towering genius who was the trusted advisor of kings and popes and wrote treatises on everything from music to medicine to natural science (she is regarded as the founder of the discipline in Germany). This included the vast Physica, a handbook on health and medicine, and Causae et curae, another medical textbook.

Did the church grumble and gripe about women putting on excessive adornments and being too fixated by makeup and the dangers of vanity and etc etc? You bet they did. Did women ignore the hell out of this and wear makeup and fancy clothes anyway? You bet they damn well did. Also, medieval society was fuckin’ obsessed with fashion (especially in the fourteenth century.) The sumptuary laws, which appeared for the first time in the late thirteenth and early fourteenth centuries, regulated which classes of society were allowed to wear what (so that fancy furs and silks and jewels were reserved for the nobility, and less expensive cloth and trimming were the province of the lower classes -- the idea was that you could know someone’s station in life just by looking at them). These were insanely detailed, and went down to regulating the height of someone’s high heels. So yes, theoretically, the stiletto police could stop you in fourteenth-century England, whip out a measuring tape, and see if you were literally too big for your britches.

(”But, but,” you stammer. “Surely they had rotten teeth?” Well, this is probably a bad time to note that in addition to the five toothpaste remedies mentioned in the Trotula, there are even more. Jewish and Muslim natural philosophers and herbalists had all kinds of recommendations -- see Practical Materia Medica of the Medieval Eastern Mediterranean. Also, since there was no processed sugar in their diet, their dentistry was far better than, say, the Elizabethans, and white and regular teeth were highly prized. There would be wear and tear from grist, but since fine-milled white bread was a status symbol, the wealthy could afford to have bread that did not contain it, and thus good teeth.)

Of course, everyone wasn’t just getting dressed up with, so to speak, nowhere to go. What about sex? It never happened unless it was marital rape, right? (/side-eyes a certain unnamed quasi-medieval television show). Oh no. Medieval people loved the shit out of sex. Pastourelles were an immensely popular poetic genre which almost always included the protagonist having a romp with a pretty shepherdess, and anyone who’s read any Chaucer knows how bawdy it can get. Even Chaucer, however, is put to shame by the fabliaux, which are a vast collection of Old French poems that have titles so ribald that I could not say them aloud to an undergraduate class. (”The Ring That Controlled Erections” and “The Peekaboo Priest” are about the tamest that I can think of, but I gotta say I’m fond of “Long Butthole Berengier” and the one called simply “The Fucker,” because literally people are people everywhere and always. And yes, you perverted person, you can read the lot of them here.) This was incredibly explicit and bawdy popular literature that was pretty much exactly medieval porn (and like usual porn, did not exactly serve as any kind of precursor of feminist media or positive female representation, but Misogyny, Take a Shot.)

So yes. Once more (surprise!) the history of cosmetics goes back at least six thousand years, and is one of the oldest aspects of documented social history in the world. It existed broadly and accessibly in the medieval world, where women had other women writing books on it for them, and was just as much as a concern as it is now. People have always liked to look good, smell good, accessorize, dress fashionably, try weird beauty trends, and so forth. So if by some accident you do stumble into a time machine and end up in medieval Europe, you’ll have plenty of choices. Our medieval foremothers, and the men who loved them and thought they were beautiful, thank you for your time.

[onejazztrackaday]

John Coltrane, A Love Supreme, Pt1 – Acknowledgement

In the spring of 1957, John Coltrane’s dependence on heroin and alcohol lost him one of the best jobs in jazz. He was the tenor saxophonist in what was known as Miles Davis’s “First Great Quintet”. Davis fired him after a gig, for which he’d shown up shabbily dressed, and visibly strung out. Some accounts suggest his dismissal also included a punch from the trumpeter.

Fortunately Coltrane saw it as a wakeup call rather than descending into oblivion. The liner notes to his 1965 album A Love Supreme, were written by Coltrane himself. In part he says:

During the year 1957, I experienced, by the grace of God, a spiritual awakening which was to lead me to a richer, fuller, more productive life. At that time, in gratitude, I humbly asked to be given the means and privilege to make others happy through music. I feel this has been granted through His grace. ALL PRAISE TO GOD.

The deeply personal and spiritual album is a suite of four pieces, recorded in one session on December 9, 1964. The ensemble that recorded the album would later become known as Coltrane’s classic quartet – pianist McCoy Tyner, bassist Jimmy Garrison, and drummer Elvin Jones.

The four parts of the A Love Supreme suite are

Acknowledgement (today’s track)

Resolution

Pursuance, and

Psalm

The last part, Psalm is the musical narration of the poem Coltrane included in his liner notes, where each note in his saxophone solo articulates a syllable from that poem. He did not point this out in the liner notes, but rather left it for the listener to discover.

His musical epiphany begins with a gong and cymbal washes in the opening track Acknowledgement, and continues with emotion and intensity throughout the suite. Under that opening gong, Jimmy Garrison begins a four note motif which Coltrane picks up in his sax solo, and which eventually becomes a repeated vocal chant a love supreme, giving the work its name.

Coltrane had a reputation for his emotionally intense, risk taking solos. Many consider this album his masterpiece, but recordings of live performances of A Love Supreme show the studio version to be somewhat moderated and restrained. Richard Brody in The New Yorker put it like this.

In the studio, there’s an undertone of serenity and also of composition that emphasizes the movement’s themes, of compression that builds the climaxes of a solo into repeated motto-like phrases or quick outbursts that soon resolve into calmer and more songful perorations. By contrast, the 1965 concert performance from France is full-throated, uninhibited, frighteningly wild and frenzied. It leaves a listener thrilled, shaken, drained; it’s a holy terror and a holy wonder.

But perhaps it would be true to say that in the studio album, Coltrane was being very deliberate. The musical narration of Psalm in his solo, was clearly more than just spontaneous improvisation. Lewis Porter, author of John Coltrane: His Life and Music, points out that in Acknowledgement, the four note riff which becomes the vocal chant is a theme that Coltrane consciously uses in subtle and careful ways throughout. 

Coltrane's more or less finished his improvisation, and he just starts playing the 'Love Supreme' motif, but he changes the key another time, another time, another time. This is something very unusual. It's not the way he usually improvises. It's not really improvised. It's something that he's doing. And if you actually follow it through, he ends up playing this little 'Love Supreme' theme in all 12 possible keys. 

To me, he's giving you a message here. First of all, he's introduced the idea. He's experimented with it. He's improvised with it with great intensity. Now he's saying it's everywhere. It's in all 12 keys. Anywhere you look, you're going to find this 'Love Supreme.' He's showing you that in a very conscious way on his saxophone. So to me, he's really very carefully thought about how he wants to present the idea.

And yet even though thought out and deliberate, these four musicians are moving and responding to each other in spontaneous ways. McCoy Tyner recounted that there was an amazing unspoken communication during the "Love Supreme" sessions. Coltrane apparently gave very few verbal directions. Rather the album was a culmination and natural extension of chemistry honed through years of playing together live.

It would be fair to say that with this album he had finally reached a peak that may never have happened had he not pulled his life back together. Sadly, Coltrane died of liver cancer just two and a half years later, at the age of 40 in July 1967. 

I’m not sure what he’d make of the Yardbird Temple, who began worshiping him as God incarnate. When they later became affiliated with the African Orthodox Church; as The St. John Coltrane African Orthodox Church, San Francisco they had to change his status from a god to a saint. Given that John Coltrane’s notes very clearly directed “ALL PRAISE TO GOD”, I suspect he’d be rather horrified.

You don’t have to go to such extremes to appreciate this amazing work. I hope you’ll find the time to sit down and listen to the whole album.

– Bozzie 🎷

[sherristockman]

Dirty Electricity — Stealth Trigger of Disease Epidemics and Lowered Life Expectancy Dr. Mercola By Dr. Mercola Did you know that a significant percentage of the diseases we now face is related to an artifact of electricity? In this interview, Dr. Sam Milham, author of ”Dirty Electricity: Electrification and the Diseases of Civilization,” explains the health hazards of dirty electricity or electromagnetic interference (EMI). Milham is a physician and an epidemiologist, and has spent decades (he’s now 85 years old) doing pioneering research in this field. In his book, he details the extensive journey he took to uncover the link between dirty electricity and human disease. In a nutshell, dirty electricity, or more accurately stated, EMI, impacts your biology, specifically your mitochondrial function, which we’ve now come to appreciate is at the heart of virtually all chronic disease. What Is Dirty Electricity? Sunlight is a natural or native form of electromagnetic frequency (EMF). There are also four basic non-native or artificial EMF exposures: magnetic, artificial light, electrical and microwave (which includes not only your microwave oven but also cellphones, routers and portable phones). Dirty electricity refers to the electrical component of this EMF spectrum. A more precise term is electromagnetic interference or EMI. “Dirty” is more of a descriptive layman’s term. But what exactly is EMI and how is it generated? Milham explains: “The electric grid began with Edison in 1892 at the Pearl Street Generating Station. It turns out that from the very second he started generating electricity, he was making dirty electricity. The way I know that is because if you read his publications, he had a big problem with his original generators … They had brush arcing. The way they made electricity was by spinning magnets that had brushes to pick up their contact points. All electric motors have brushes. Generators have them. They’re made out of graphite … Arcing and sparking makes dirty electricity, which are really high-frequency electric transients. They come and go. They’re spikey. They have very short latency times. From the outset of the grid, we’ve been exposed to this. It’s not the 60-cycle stuff. We’re talking about frequencies up in the kilohertz and higher; thousands of cycles per second.” EMI Microwaves Travel Far and Wide There are also microwaves, and this is not just your microwave oven, but your portable phone, cellphone and cellphone towers. “All transmitters, AM, frequency modulation (FM) and especially cell towers [produce microwaves]. Your cellphone works because there’s a transmitter out there that transmits to you. They all run on DC. Every cell tower in the world has a huge inverter in it to make the DC to run the transmitter, and also to charge the backup batteries. They make dirty electricity by the ton. Lots of schools have cell towers on campus. What they’re doing is they’re bathing the kids [with EMI]. It gets back into the wires; the ground (lot)wires and power wires that service it. The grid becomes an antenna for all this dirty electricity. It extends miles downstream … [A Brazilian study] looked at deaths from cancer [and] distance of residence from the base of the cell tower. They got effects out to 500 meters. That’s 1,500 feet. I’ll tell you, the cell tower can’t talk that far. It’s the dirty electricity — the EMI in the grid, in the wires running into your house, through the ground and through your power cords — that’s doing it.” Dirty Electricity Is Biologically Active A classic example of EMI is AM radio wave transmission interruption, as demonstrated in Milham’s video above. But why exactly should we be concerned about EMI in our homes? “Over the 50 years I’ve been doing this, it’s become super clear that EMI or dirty electricity is very biologically active. I wrote the book to warn the population because nobody seemed to pay attention to it. This is the major cause of all the so-called diseases of civilization,”1Milham says. I myself am becoming quite passionate about this issue. I’ve known about dirty electricity or EMI for nearly two decades, but I never fully appreciated the impact it has until I read Milham’s book. Then, the connections suddenly became apparent to me. For the last year, I’ve been diving deep into the scientific literature of mitochondrial function, and it appears this is how EMI affects your health. In other words, it likely increases mitochondrial free radical damage and contributes to mitochondrial dysfunction. Certainly, other variables contribute to disease as well, such as the processing of food, unbalanced nutrient ratios, pesticide contamination and so on. Still, the impact of EMI may be foolhardy to overlook. All Solar Panels Generate Dirty Electricity On a side note, many who use solar panels (photovoltaic panels) are completely unaware of the fact that they are a source of dirty electricity. I’ve had 15 kilowatt solar panels on my home for the last five years. Photovoltaic panels generate direct current (DC), which is essentially unusable in most homes. In order to use the DC current the solar panels generate, you need to use an inverter that converts it to alternating current (AC). The problem is, the inverter used to generate AC is a phenomenal source of dirty electricity. I remediated mine and radically decreased the EMI generated when the inverters are on during the day. Large, commercial solar arrays have a similar problem. They use inverters — sometimes thousands of them if they’re really big arrays — and they all generate EMI or dirty electricity. “If your utility has an appreciable wind or solar component, it is, by definition, giving you dirty electricity,” Milham notes. “[W]hen I first discovered this business, I went online; I studied commercial sources of photovoltaic inverters … I found this statement … [which] said that all photovoltaic inverters create amplitude modulation (AM) radio interference. What does that tell you? It says it’s all dirty.” This EMI connects or affects your biology when it’s on a circuit or in the earth. For example, if you have a solar panel in your house, not all circuits in your house will be hooked up to it. The only circuits affected by EMI will be the ones hooked up to the solar panel inverter. The EMI gets into the ground and can also affect your neighbors. Chronic EMI Exposure Raises Your Cancer Risk Once EMI is generated, how far away must you be from the wire in question in order to avoid biological interference? According to Milham, the distance can be quite significant. In many cases, entire areas of ground can be a source of EMI, raising the current in your body. “About three years ago, [the late professor] Martin H. Graham … and Dave Stetzer, who pioneered and studied this field and trained me … sent me an off-the-shelf fluke multimeter, which measures volts, amps and ohms. He showed me how to use it to measure current in my body. That’s been a mindblower … I put an electrocardiogram (EKG) patch on my chest for one lead … and the other [fluke multimeter lead] goes to an electrical outlet ground … It then measures the current in my body … The meter comes with everything you need. All you’ve got to do is take a 12-gauge wire and put a three-prong plug on it, where you only contact the round plug. That’s attached to your black electrode. That’s for the ground. The red one goes to your EKG patch on your chest (or to your mouth). I find that just walking on the pavement in an area, I could get very, very high, probably carcinogenic fields of current in my body. We’re talking millivolts [and] microamps … The National Institutes of Environmental Health Sciences (NIEHS) studied this years ago. They concluded that 18 microamps is sufficient to put enough voltage in your body to give you cancer with chronic exposure. You want to keep [your body current] under 18 microamps. The higher it is, the worse it is … I find 200 to 300 microamps in lots of places, just standing on the floor … One of my favorite places is a local farmers market here. Last year, I was horrified to find out that just walking or standing in that place, I was putting 200 microamps of current into my body2 … I was sitting at a Hewlett-Packard laptop and was measuring myself. I just touched the case of the laptop and found it was putting 80 microamps into my body. I finally got rid of it by putting a USB to an outlet ground. That fixes it.” Beware of Fluorescent and LED Lights Milham also discovered that almost all non-incandescent lighting puts high current into your body, directly from the light. This includes fluorescents, compact fluorescent lights (CFLs) and light emitting diodes (LED) light bulbs. Dr. Alexander Wunsch, a world class expert on photobiology, details many of the health hazards associated with LED lights, but the dirty electricity component is yet another reason to avoid these types of light bulbs in your home and office space. As noted by Milham: “This explains a lot. I started doing occupational mortality [investigations] 30 years ago … I was puzzled as to why the highest cancer rates [occur in] teachers, professors and office workers. Why is melanoma more common in people who work indoors than outdoors? Why is it more common in teachers and professors than in lifeguards or farmers? Why do you get it on parts of your body that never see the sun? It’s due to [nonnative artificial] EMF, as I’ve been measuring in schools and colleges. There’s just no place to hide.” In the 1950s, photobiologist John Ott studied children in a Florida school who had attention deficit hyperactivity disorder. He believed these kinds of behavioral problems were associated with the fluorescent lighting, and was able to improve the children’s condition by placing an EMF-blocking wire mesh screen in front of the lights that was then grounded. This and other findings are discussed in Ott’s book, “Health and Light: The Effects of Natural and Artificial Light on Man and Other Living Things.” Male Breast Cancer — A Sentinel for EMI Exposure Interestingly, Milham’s work suggests cancers are frequency-specific,3 meaning certain frequencies cause specific cancers. He also notes that male breast cancer is a sentinel for EMI exposure,4 just like mesothelioma is a sentinel for asbestos exposure. Unfortunately, few are willing to take the issue seriously. “In the second edition of my book I comment (willfully) that there’s an epidemic of male breast cancer in Camp Lejeune in the Marine Corps. I wrote to them and said, ‘Look at these 15 studies that link EMF to [male breast cancer].’ They were saying it was due to the drinking water contamination. There’s no way. It’s due to EMF for sure. They just ignored me.” Milham was also involved in an investigation5 at La Quinta Middle School in Palm Springs. Teachers were convinced an environmental problem was at fault for an epidemic of cancer among the staff. In all, 18 teachers at the school had developed cancer. Other schools in the system had at most two or three cases. The superintendent of the school hired an expert from the local tumor registry (cancer institute), who informed the teachers that their cancers were due to sun exposure. Milham initially spent months trying to contact the school, to no avail. The superintendent told him they were satisfied with the answers they’d received. Eventually, at the request of the teachers, he was allowed into the school for two nights to investigate, yet shortly thereafter, he was accused of criminal trespass by the school district. They simply did not want him to get involved. The state teacher’s association stonewalled him as well. “I tried to do another school that had a cell tower on campus and an epidemic of mostly breast cancer in the staff. Once again, they hired a University of California professor to come to a school board meeting and try to shoot down my [research]. They wouldn’t cooperate, so what are you going to do? You can lead these people to water but you can’t make them drink.” Historical Data Reveal Public Health Impact of Electrification Clearly, there’s a strong negative incentive against this type of information. What intrigued me is that when Milham did his initial analysis and historical review,6 he found a strong correlation between electrification and mortality from cancer, including female breast cancer and childhood leukemia7 — and this data dates back to 1900! By the turn of the century, most big cities in the world had electricity, while rural areas didn’t catch up until the mid-‘50s. So, for half a century there were two large United States populations covered by a good vital record system of deaths and births. One population group was exposed to electricity and the other wasn’t. When you compare these two groups, you discover some truly amazing differences in vital statistics. “At the turn of the century, if you lived in New York City or most of the other cities in the country, your average life expectancy was low-50s. If you were Amish and didn’t use electricity or if you lived in rural Mississippi or rural New York State, your longevity was in the 70s. Fast forward to the 1930s … the urban cancer [mortality] was 50 to 80 percent higher than the rural cancer mortality. That’s enough to blow your mind. It’s internally consistent.” Today, the risks are greater than ever before, thanks to ground currents. The electric grid in the U.S. is called a grounded Wye grid, designed for protection against lighting. The neutral center taps of their transformers are connected to the earth by a wire. In the U.S. about 80 percent of the current delivered to loads like motors and lights returns to the substation via the earth. Dairy farmers were among the first to sound the alarm that something was wrong. In the 1970s, they noticed cows were dying, weren’t producing milk and had trouble reproducing. “This big old BACI (before-after control-impact) is a wonderful canary in the coal mine for EMF,” Milham notes. Stetzer, Graham and others did a study in which they identified the parts of the EMF spectrum that impact milk production in cows. Interestingly, their findings reveal milk production is affected by certain harmonics at multiples of 60 Hz. At these intervals, frequencies have a harmful effect on the cows. Chances are, the same applies to human beings. Biological Mechanisms of EMI As mentioned, dirty electricity or EMI are high-frequency electric transients and harmonics that come and go. These aberrant peaks in frequency are emitted quite a distance, typically greater than 10 feet. This means that if you’re within range, these frequencies can resonate with your body, causing some biological effect. One suggested mechanism of harm is related to the production of a reactive nitrogen species (RNS) called perioxynitrate. Evidence also suggests it can affect mitochondrial function, which I believe is a major mechanism of harm. More generally speaking, EMI acts as a biological stressor. In one of Milham’s studies, he showed that by cleaning up the electrical environment, they were able to reduce the production of stress hormones. He’s also shown that by filtering dirty electricity from a library, the levels of neurotransmitters in people spending time in the library were beneficially altered. Milham also cites a study by two German researchers, who were able to demonstrate that the installation of a cellphone tower in a previously pristine valley produced long-term changes in a wide variety of measurable hormones, including stress hormones. More Information If you’re intrigued by this information and want to learn more, be sure to pick up a copy of ”Dirty Electricity: Electrification and the Diseases of Civilization.” You can also find more information, including copies of Milham’s research papers and scientific reports on his website, SamMilham.com. I’ve also provided a number of those papers as supporting references throughout this article. From my perspective, there’s no doubt dirty electricity is triggering and/or exacerbating chronic disease, and if you care about your health and longevity, I urge you to face this information head on, disturbing and discouraging as it may be. While it may be impossible to avoid all EMI exposure, there are ways to limit and minimize your exposure inside your home and, potentially, at work. Doing so may go a long way toward protecting your and your family’s health over the long term.