#i love having chilblains :|

[the-moons-coffin]

wow I love january. i love the month where my hands get swollen and itchy and i can't do anything without it hurting. wow january

[cliozaur]

For a long time, both Valjean and Cosette lacked anyone or anything to love, and they were not loved by anyone in return. Cosette would eventually become everything to Valjean, a circumstance that would ultimately have consequences. But for now, he is learning how to love her: “When he saw Cosette, when he had taken possession of her, carried her off, and delivered her, he felt his heart moved within him… Poor old man, with a perfectly new heart!”

Cosette, still a child, is more adaptable, but it's heartbreaking how her attempts to love those around her were often met with rejection. “She had loved the dog, and he had died, after which nothing and nobody would have anything to do with her.” So, she sincerely loved Valjean. It’s such good luck (destiny, Hugo says) that they found each other.

They have their happy moments — Cosette doing her things, singing, playing, laughing, and Valjean looks at her with adoration, kisses her “tiny red hand, all cracked with chilblains.” (Uh, no, child’s hand shouldn’t be like that. It’s so sad.) He also takes on the role of her educator, teaching her to read, which aligns with Hugo's ideal of childhood education. Interestingly, I had forgotten that Valjean himself initially learned to read while in prison, with the intention to harm the society.

Together, they form a perfect family dynamic: “He protected her, and she strengthened him. Thanks to him, she could walk through life; thanks to her, he could continue in virtue. He was that child’s stay, and she was his prop.”

[hcdragonwrites]

Cozy (a @jttw-monkeybusiness Drabble )

So I made another one- this one was inspired by this ask (I suck at Hyperlinks I’m so sorry)

It rolled a bit in my brain and kept begging to be fleshed out, so I decided to give it life ! Enjoy!

Snow

Snow fell in white flurries, chasing away the blossoms and birds that had been sitting in the trees just moments before. The storm was in a full frenzy now, peeling petals from overeager trees who had budded too soon, and throwing the birds from the sky. The wind whipped up the cold powder to spray back in the face of the pilgrims as they continued on their journey. They had left the warm subtropical forest only hours ago, where Sophie had rolled her sleeves up to relieve some of the excess heat. Now however, she was shivering.

None of the group, save for Wukong, was truly equipped for the snow and cold. Pigsys ears were turning purple from the temperature as he tried, and failed, to hide from the worst of it behind Sandy. Sandy silently continued on, carving a path for Sophie (who trailed farther behind) to walk through. The snow was already deep, coming to her knees as they continued to follow the tiny path up the mountain. Black rock jutted upward and outward like broken teeth into the white air. Horse and Monk both were struggling ahead, Yulongs sides shivering in the wet as the snow melted on his fur. Tripitaka called Wukong over, asking him to scout ahead to look for a place they could shelter for the duration of this storm. Sophie could see there heads bent together as Master and pupil discussed. Wukong, for once, didn’t reply with a snort or a quick jab at how Trip should be lucky for him to be his disciple. Instead he had somersaulted off, gone in a flash of fur and tiger stripes, into the air.

“Would be nice if I could just somersault out of here.” Sophie muttered.

A freak blizzard had not been on the list of things Sophie was ready for. She had faced shape-changing demons, women that turned to great tigers to devour Tripitaka, mountain gods throwing stones down into their path and the like. Sophie was prepared for any person or creature - or at least- expecting it. The weather however? She was severely underprepared for. She had the travel clothes she had bought with the coin purse she’d been given. They were meant for light rain and mild heat. Not for a snowstorm. Sophies hair was getting wet and the cold was starting to chill her ears from where it melted.

“It’s so cold…” she muttered. She kept following Sandys footpath, thankful for the giant of a river demon and his slow shuffling walk. If he was walking normally he would have left her far behind in the snow.

Her foot hit a rock and slipped, sending her flailing into a rapidly growing snowbank. “F-f-f-freezing! AH!” Snow had gone down her shirt, sending a chill up her spine. Faster than a wildcat she had hopped from the bank, shaking herself.

“Hate snow hate snow hate snow—“ she chanted her mantra as she slapped off the powder, trying to prevent it from melting and wetting her clothes. Wet clothes would only spell disaster. Sophie could recall all the cold born illnesses from one special National Geographic did on Everest and the extreme exposure the hikers faced there: pneumonia, Trench foot, frostbite, hypothermia, flu, Chilblains, bronchitis —

Her foot slipped again as her mind was listing all the things that could happen. Sophie would have been in the snowbank a second time except something caught her by the midriff and hauled her up.

“Stupid women stay on your feet!” Wukong snarled in her ear, setting her down. Sophie nodded, teeth chattering and nose turning red as the cold began to chap it. “Of all the people here I thought at least you had the common sense to be aware of ice!”

From up ahead came the faint cry and heavy fall as Pigsys fell face first in the snow. Sandy had to quickly turn to hid a chuckle as the drenched demon began wilding swinging his rake around in rage.

“S-s-sorry.” She mumbled, shoving her hands beneath her armpits. “Slipped.”

“What’s wrong with your speech? You sound like a squirrel.” Wukong cocked his head, an eyebrow raised. He rolled his eyes when Sophie didn’t banter back irritated she wasn’t snapping back at him. That agitation grew when he felt something like worry begin to itch his pelt. Of the pilgrims, the two mortals were in his charge of care and were the most delicate. While Wukong could fight off monsters and Demons and wicked minded mortals he could not fight a storm. Well- he could if he really wanted to find the celestial body responsible for its creation. But that would take time- and time was not on his side on this.

Tripitaka had put on a brave face when he had asked the Monkey King to find shelter. That didn’t mean Wukong had not noticed how his Masters hands had turned red at the growing cold, how his body shivered and his nose sniffed. Wukong would have teased, poked and prodded at his master- it was his nature to rile and cause mischief. But when he had seen the half awake expression on the mortal man’s face, Wukong had bit his tongue (with great effort) and had instead nodded.

Seeing Sophie in a similar state made the itch beneath his pelt grow worse as fire ants had begun to bite his skin.

“Damn it.” He cursed beneath his breath. He snatched her arm, avoiding her hand, and started dragging her behind him. “Come on just a bit farther you softie. I found a cave up ahead where we can get out of the worst of it. You mortals are ABSOLUTELY worthless when it comes to weather —“

Sophie was only half listening to Wukongs ranting. She allowed herself to be dragged up the mountain pass, trusting the Monkey King to find a better route than her own dimming senses. The cold was like a blanket she wanted to escape out of. Or escape into? She couldn’t remember clearly. If she closed her eyes… she was so tired. The snow looked inviting, comforting. Like the best downy comforter. Like the fluffiest pillow.

Maybe I just … need to lay … down in the comfort. Just close my eyes for a few minutes.

They had been walking for hours before the storm blew in. Her feet hurt, her hands shook and it was so cold. Cold. She just wanted to sleep.

“SOPHIE LOOK AT ME!” Wukong yanked her and she was rattled enough to open her eyes wider in surprise. Sun Wukong was right in her face, leaning so close she could see every line of his facial markings in detail. His breath came from between his teeth like some dragons as he glared.

“Ye-es?!”

“Stay awake- we're almost there. If you fall asleep while I’m dragging your ass up the mountain I will bite your pretty nose clean off!” The demonic monkey spat, then, half carried, half dragged Sophie the rest of the way. Leaning against his back Sophie sighed. Through the clothing she could feel it- like desert sand warmed by the sun. Delicious heat. Sophie - who wouldn’t in normal circumstances have cuddled so close- practically melted against the warmth. What else could she do? Wukong was dragging her up the mountain- practically carrying her. She could see the bend in the mountain pass- a steep cliff where the road cut itself around and hugged the mountain as a snake would do climbing along a vine. Almost there.

“How come you get to be so warm?” She grumbled, not realizing she had said it aloud. Wukong had heard however, and his face became a storm cloud as his heart took a shuddering beat.

“Maybe grow some fur or ask for the Buddha to make you some furry creature. Bet he would too.” Wukong grumbled back.

Stupid fucking women.

They reached the curve in the mountain where Pigsy and Sandy- mostly Sandy since the pig demon kept complaining about how cold his snout was- were setting up three tents. The tents were simple, the leather treated against wet weather and solid. All pigsy had to do was drive the stakes into the stone which, it seemed, he was failing at.

“It’s so damn cold!” Pigsy snorted angrily stamping his hands together, having missed the spike for the third time. “Blasted Heaven and whoever ordered a storm now of all times! Don’t they know who’s crossing these mountains?”

“Less talking more working.” Sandy angrily chided. He had finished setting up the second tent all on his own. When Pigsy went to open his mouth to make another comment and the usually peaceful Sandy shoved him across the shallow cave to the last tent and the one closest to the entrance.

As Wukong walked past, Pigsy lifted an eyebrow at the strange sight. The Monkey King could see the pig beginning to lift a lip in a smirk only to stop when he noticed Sophie’s shivering.

“What did you do?” Those were the last words Wukong expected to come out of his fellow brothers mouth.

“WHAT DID I DO?!” He bared his teeth, fangs on display. He didn’t have time for Pigsy or for his own feelings to confuse him. He knew Sophie was practically clinging to his back like the newborn monkeys did to their mothers back on Flower Fruit Mountain. He was very aware of it. The last thing he needed was for this thick pink idiot to start shit with him.

“I DIDNT DO SHIT YOU THICK HEADED BOAR.” He spat, continuing past. “THIS IDIOT STARTED FALLING ASLEEP IN THE FUCKING STORM. NOW SHUT UP AND GET THE OTHER TENT SET UP.”

Wukong left Pigsy behind, angrily chattering to himself and feeling embarrassed all the while. He couldn’t let that thick womanizing boar know any of Wukongs feelings. If he did, the damn brute would only press his nose to it and route deeper. The sooner he got Sophie off his back the better. Even though he didn’t entirely want that.

He reached the back corner of the cave, setting Sophie down. She huffed, letting go with some reluctance to his warm back. The Monkey King knelt, leaning in. Sophie’s shivering was less. Good.

“I’ll be back- I have to make sure the pink ham doesn’t fuck up the last tent. Once I’ve tended Yulong and seen to my masters comforts I’ll be back to check on you.”

Sophie pulled her knees to her chest. She was still so cold. She wanted nothing more then to curl up and sleep- to find something warm and hold onto it. She heard Wukong from far off - but she nodded.

“S-S-sure… just gonna fall .. asleep.”

“Don’t fall asleep you idiot.” He snapped.

“Why not?” Sophie groaned. She was tired

“Remember. You are in wet clothes. Wake up just to remember - Think. Use that reading brain of yours.” He flicked her between the eyes. That woke Sophie up enough as the pain cleared her head.

“Ow, what the hell Wukong?!” Sophie felt like she had come out of a daze. Her fingers started rubbing at the pain. It wasn’t terrible but … she felt like a child be scolded. Sophie glared up into the smug monkey face.

“Awake? Good. Now fucking listen before you nod off again.” Wukong smirked just a bit. The itching beneath his fur had eased just enough upon seeing her get mad. He spoke slowly, for her sake but also to press in how much he enjoyed giving her orders- and being right about them. “Your clothes are wet. You can’t sleep in them. Change to new ones. In fact, bundle up as much as you can. I’ll be back to check on you.”

Wukong stood up, then turned back around to flick her on the forehead again.

“Ow! I’m up, I'm up!” Sophie rubbed at the space between her brows.

“Did you hear what I said?”

“Yes yes …” she uncurled herself and stood as well, looking down at the Monkey King. “Get out of wet clothes and get new ones. Bundle up. That really hurt you know.”

“If you are still in wet fucking clothes, I’ll do a lot worse then just smack you between the eyes.” And then he was away, already cussing Pigsy out who had, somehow, managed to rip the tent.

It was a only about twenty minutes later but Sophie had managed not to fall asleep. She had gotten into the tent and had peeled the worst of the wet clothes off. Her poor shoes were the worst for wear- the socks and the soles were soaked. She would have to wear her spare shoes tomorrow and let these ones dry. Sophie had set the wet clothes to the farthest side of the tent. She was now dressed in a pair of gray sweats, a long sleeve and her hoodie of bright orange with clementines decorating the front. She felt much warmer and absolutely exhausted. Her fingers were red where the cold had gotten them, her lips felt chapped from the dry air, and her body just kept shivering.

Sophie had retreated almost completely into the hoodie- only her face was viewable.

The tent flap lifted and Wukong stepped in, a bowl of some sort of wild berries and cold rice in one hand. He took one look at her huddled there on her sleeping mat and snorted.

“You look like some orange orangutan.”

“Hahah very funny. See how you like the cold when you don’t have fur.” She shot back. Wukong offered the bowl to her and she took it, digging into it with gusto.

“How’s Trip?” She asked between bites.

“Alive.” Wukong leaned back, putting his arms beneath his head as he stared up at the tent ceiling. “You two would have frozen if not for me- you were both starting to look pinker than yangmei fruit.”

“Thank you.” Sophie said.

“Mm? What are you thankful for ?”

Oh he was gonna ask her for all of it then? Sophie looked at him. Wukong had propped himself up enough to stare at her, waiting.

“Thank you for the food.” She lifted the now empty bowl- she had been famished - to him. “Thank you for finding a spot to rest. And … thanks for dragging me out of the snow.”

“You almost died I hope you know that.” He smirked, laying back down, eyes closing. She followed suit, too tired to sit up anymore or even bicker back with him.

“Yeah I did …” Sophie yawned. Usually she wouldn’t admit so readily to Wukong just how certain situations had made her dependent upon him. He was always, in some way or other, saving the lot of them. When Tripitaka was snatched up by some Goblins belonging to some chieftain of a nearby mountain, when Pigsy had boasted that they didn’t need Wukong and then (almost immediately) failed to find food when Wukong was sent away. He had stopped the dragon horse from foundering and taken to the care of his hooves and coat many a time. The Monkey King had seen to restoring the missing supplies from Sophie pack when a group of mischievous raccoon spirits had taken it. Wukong had even replaced Sandy’s teakettle when it was smashed in battle (Sophie was pretty sure he had stolen it).

He may act aloof and pompous but deep down, this big old brute cared for them. Even Pigsy.

Sophie felt her eyes grow heavy as Wukong kept talking about how she had stumbled in the snow like some “dumb struck fawn” until he came to help her.

As she relaxed to the sound of his voice rumbling on and on, it almost felt … cozy. Yes Wukong may like to slide the occasional wriggly salamander into her water skin, he may thumb through her things like they were his, he may call her idiot, stupid women, and softie. But. There was no real malice behind his actions.

He was also kind of … warm. She scooted closer, half listening to the Monkey ramble on about the idiocy of mortals and the greatness of beings such as him. He was rambling on about his natural prowess over mortals and how he had mastered the arts of immortality and Tripitaka couldn’t even master warding off a cold. Sophie fell asleep before he could get to the part about her looking like a slack jawed idiot in the snow.

Wukong was only a quarter way through his regaling of the story of how he had saved everyone this day when he felt hands wrap around his chest.

His heart nearly flew into his throat as he stopped dead in his speech. His mouth was open, voice cut off halfway through his speech. Sophie curled into his side, face buried in the crook of his neck and so close to his ear he could feel her breathing against its shell.

Electricity shot threw him, fur standing on end as if he had been in a thunderstorm.

He was suddenly very aware of many things. Of Sophie’s hands that had escaped that ridiculous orange sweatshirt and were now burrowed into his fur. One arm was across his chest. The second one was now, somehow beneath his head and tugging on his shoulder. Sophie’s face rested on his arm and in the curve of his neck, her face rubbing back and forth like a cat. As if … she was enjoying the feel of it.

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck.

Sophie moved just a bit, mumbling in his ear and Wukong felt his tail lash like it had just been bit. She didn’t say anything coherent but — the proximity alone—

Fucking Hell and all its Judges.

Sophie was … cuddling him.

She was practically twined around him.

And she smelled fantastic. Her scent always changed- sometimes it held a hint of lemons and the sweetness of grass, other times it floated like rain clouds and smelled of stones. But all of it together had a larger perfume beneath it. It was just her. Yes there were moments when her scent changed just enough that he felt like he was adding new spices onto his favorite dish. The essence of it, however, was just Sophie.

And now that cloud was all around him, filling his nose.

He looked at her, turning his head just a fraction to see.

Big mistake.

She was asleep, passed out completely. She looked so … fragile asleep. The dark circles beneath her eyes spoke of how she hadn’t been sleeping well. Her nose was stupidly pink like a Red Pika in her pale face. The cold must have chapped it. His eyes darted to her lips …

Mistake number two.

Wukong looked away, feeling his face flame. Fuck. Shit. He was stuck in a predicament now. He hadn’t meant to chat away about himself for so long that Sophie would fall asleep. Wukong was at war with himself. On one hand, he needed to get out of here. To leave before Pigsy and the others found out- before Sophie found out.

He couldn’t let anyone be that close to him- couldn’t let anyone be as close as Sophie was right now. It was a liability to his pride, to his reputation—

To his heart. Because if she rejected him it would ruin the friendship they had. And the feeling he had building in his chest- he would crush it in his fist before he let it jeopardize that peace between them.

I have to leave —

Wukong tried to move-

Only to feel Sophie’s fingers tug in his fur and her sleepy voice grumble “m’no don’t go.”

Jade Emperor flay me and boil me alive again.

In all the hundreds of years of living, Wukong had only felt trapped like this but once before. The first time he had lost his wager to the Buddha, having been unable to somersault out of his hand. The second time? He was trapped because he allowed it. He was trapped in a way no one in Heaven could have predicted- or had thought to do. Wukong had been placed in vats to be boiled, had wormed and tricked his way out of every trap and net that had attempted to keep his mischief managed. It had taken Buddha and his wager to finally end Wukongs terrorization of Heaven.

Wukong couldn’t move now. He was tethered here by frail fingers and the steady beat of a mortal's heart.

He could hear her heartbeat, feel it against his side. It was steady, soft. Like the steady roar of Water-Curtain Cave. Like the wind through the trees of the orchards on his mountain.

She was mortal. One day that steady beat would stop as all mortal hearts did.

That set his tail to lashing just a bit.

Hasn't she been afraid of dying? Of growing old? He remembered hearing a conversation late at night- when Tripataka and Sophie had those rare mortal conversations where he was explicitly not allowed to sit in on. He hadn’t known why it was such a secret conversation. So of course, since it wasn’t an order, Wukong had pulled a hair from his tail and made a doppel and floated somewhere nearby but out of sight to eavesdrop. The Monk and Reader had been chatting about death, about Sophie’s future.

Well her fears were unfounded. Doesn’t she know I would take care of her? Sophie shifted a bit closer as a gust of wind slipped beneath the tent flat he had left unsecured. Damn it all. Wukong carefully, o so carefully, shifted himself. He slid his body so he was now lying on his side, setting Sophie’s head beneath his chin. It was all the invitation Sophie needed to cuddle closer and escape from the wind.

“You stupid women.” He angrily whispered into her hair. He wouldn’t let her die. He would just fix that. He would fix a lot of her problems. She just had to tell him. He was Sun Wukong, Great Sage Equal to Heaven. He knew of a hundred different ways to achieve immortality. He could fix them all. Like her problem right now of being cold.

He was too tense to relax fully- too aware- but he grew just a fraction larger. His size now dwarfed Sophie’s a good bit and gave her a bit more to tangle into. And she did. Sophie curled her knees up, shivering slowing. Wukong waited. Watching. When finally the shivering had ceased he allowed just a fraction of tension to slide off of him. This stupid softie is gonna make me soft. The thought didn’t bother him as much as it would have months ago.

Maybe he wouldn’t get much sleep tonight but…

He could make her life Hell in the morning. It was something that she owed him on. His face was screwed furiously into a scowl because all he wanted to do was enjoy this moment but if he did- if he really truly did- he didn’t know if he would be able to stop.

She was most assuredly going to be bombarded tomorrow with the most annoying and snappish teasing and toying a King of Monkeys and tricks could give.

Sophie woke with a start as something cold and wet slapped her in the face. She panicked as any person would.

“GaH! DEMON!” She cried, grabbing at her face and throwing it aside. It was a wet rag.

“Relax.” Wukongs voice laughed at her. “Unless cloth can become possessed and has gained a hunger for red nosed mortal flesh, you're fine.”

He was at the tent flap, grinning ear to ear in a grin that promised problems. Really so early in the morning and he already wants to play games ?

“You could have woken me up in a number of other ways- why did you pick that?” Sophie rubbed at her face, feeling … huh. She didn’t feel as sore as she usually felt. When Sophie woke up there was almost a constant crick of pain in her neck from whatever odd angle she had slept in on the ground.

Maybe I had been so tired my body just finally didn’t care.

He shrugged. “You stink. Next place we stop at you better demand a bath of some sort or other.”

“Thanks….” She grumbled, letting the sarcasm drip off her words. She took the cloth up, rubbing the sleep out of her face and the worst of the dirt off her face and arms. She would kill for a warm bath, one that would wake up her bones and chase the last of the cold from her body. Once clean, she checked her wet clothes, bundling them away in a separate part of her pack to avoid them dampening the rest of her stuff. Then she stepped out of the tent, smelling the fire and the promise of breakfast being made.

Only for her feet to slip right from beneath her as a monkey foot stuck out and caught her ankle.

“WUKONG!”

He laughed, face full of malicious mischief as Sophie gathered herself up to chase after the errant Monkey. To do what, she didn’t know. He was a mystical demonic creature born of stone and she just a mortal women. As the morning light cut into the cave and Tripitaka had to order his disciple to calm down after he once again tripped her and she almost went sprawling into rocks, the pilgrims ate breakfast. They broke down their tents. And they were once again on the road.

None were the wiser of Wukongs happier mood. He hid it beneath a storm of frowns and a game of teasing torture as he became partically insufferable to Sophie. The threat of the hoop tightening spell was the only true damper to his mood when Tripataka heard Sophie scream as snow was dropped down the back of her shirt.

As the sun rose higher and the word was cast in a frosty flash of refracted gold, Wukong made a decision. He would solve Sophie problem of growing old. It was easy. And if Buddha couldn’t send her back…

Well she was a great sport for pestering and heckling. The least he could do as a benevolent King is give the poor women a roof over her head.

Maybe a few dresses down the line...

Girls liked dresses right?

“Hey Reader!” He called.

“What?”

“Dresses or suits ? What did you wear in that fake time long after this one ? Or whatever fake dimension you fell out of. What did you prefer ?”

And thus began the long hour debate that somehow pulled every one of them: Pigsy, Sandy and Tripitaka, into what was a heated discussion on the best attire for the best occasions.

[i984]

Snowy Escape

|Pairing|: Wednesday Addams x Chronokinesis! gender neutral reader

|Warnings|: HAND HOLDING AHHH, Probably Ooc! Wednesday Addams, author hasn't written fluff for a while now so it's rusty, your relationship is made vague in this one, Wednesday is a softie argue with the wall, let me know if I should add more warnings.

|Summary|: Wednesday witnesses a bewitching sight thanks to your powers.

|A/n|: I am finally back at the fluffy one-shot fic business. Check blog description for masterlist!

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Snow.

Such a pretty thing, no?

Vermont is the snowiest state in the USA, so it wasn't uncommon to see white covering Jericho in the cold season. And this year, it's no different. Your first winter in Nevermore Academy. With her.

Braids decorated in crystalline powder, heavy eyelashes hooded iridescent dark brown orbs. Wednesday had a speck of red covering her freckle-painted cheeks. Though the tip of her nose and ears blushed a lovely cherry. She looked positively enchanting like this; there's no doubt about it.

"Winter suits you perfectly," you murmured softly to the girl beside you.

"The bleak skies and the stifling cold does reflect myself well," her impassive voice answered.

You hold back a grin, "I was thinking more about how it makes you blush."

"It's natural," Wednesday's eyes traveled from the bleached ground to your face, "When exposed to freezing temperatures, the body tries to warm itself by circulating blood close to the surface."

She's greeted with the sight of an amused smile. "What?"

You snorted at the bite in her tone, "Yes, silly, but I meant the blush compliments your look really well."

Wednesday doesn't answer. Instead, she turns to look at the barren trees far in the distance. Her blush has deepened, and now her whole face glows crimson. You decided not to comment on your observation.

A gentle hush cloaked the school grounds; no students were walking around. Even though the sparkling winter scape of white and silver proves a captivating sight, most opted to stay inside, sipping hot chocolate, protected from the freezing chill.

But here you both are, standing in the middle of the quad, watching heaven spew its ivory confetti. 

"You said you wanted to show me something?" Wednesday breaks the comforting silence. 

"Yeah, about that..." Your words trailed off as you rubbed the back of your neck on instinct, eyes refusing to meet the ravennete's inquiring gaze. 

Indeed you had asked her to go outside after seeing snow falling from your dormitory's window; for a specific reason. 

Though now, you're not sure if it's a great one. 

Wednesday immediately recognizes the look of uncertainty on your face. The one you make when you've planned everything perfectly; but forgot to think about the uncontrollable variables, though which variables this time is still up for debate.

"Nothing is stopping you."

You finally turn your head to see Wednesday holding her usual blank stare, but somehow her face looks almost reassuring. Like she was challenging you to come through with your request. 

"Well, if that's the case..." You take a deep breath to calm your nerve before you shoot her with the determining question, "can I hold your hand?"

Wednesday's eyes widen in the wake of your words; the preposition caught the raven-haired girl off guard. She obviously didn't expect you to ask her that.

Silence lingered between the two of you, and with each passing moment, you got more anxious about her response. Suddenly, you're more aware of the skin-seeping cold and your chilblained feet. 

"You don't have to do it if you don't want to," you scratched at your eyebrow, "we can continue to watch the snow-"

The string of hurried words got silenced as soon as her icy hand met yours. Mouth gaping, steam exhaled from your lungs as shallow breaths fill the air. 

Warmth floods your body; now it's your turn to have blood rushing to your face. Eyes lowering to see the small hand interlinked with yours, you can't fight the grin tugging your chapped lips. 

It's the simple things, you thought.

"Thank you."

Her head moves in a subtle nod.

So simple it melts your worry away. 

A free hand now raising in the air, you look over to see Wednesday's brows doing the same, wonder etched in her features.

"Ready?" Intertwining your fingers with hers, you clasp her hand firmly, the heat radiating from the touch slowly warming her skin.

"What are you-"

The fragile flakes hung mid-air, shimmering as they reflected the trapped light when you stopped the world around you. You feel the recurring frosty blow hitting your face cease; the world is entombed in a dome of silence.

The serenity of it all has a captivating quality; it's not every day you stop time. A hum escapes your throat in contentment, and you feel the girl beside you shift in her place.

"How am I still moving?" Wednesday's words echo onto the vast space, curiosity evident in her sound.

"Whoever I touch when I use my powers will not be frozen in time," You explained carefully to her, "That's why I asked to hold your hand."

"Fascinating."

Now it's Wednesday's turn to raise a free hand into the air, but hers brushes the stilled powdered gem. The touch was delicate, testing if the snow would crumble in her wake.

But the particle stays unmoving. Except for the two of you, everything in the world is trapped in a stoning spell, lending the lucky ones time to appreciate the beauty of the panorama. 

The red scarf you gifted Wednesday for Christmas sits around her neck loosely, and her coat lifts as she stands on tiptoes above white concrete. 

Her quirking eyebrows, the slightly jutted lips, the crimson shade; everything about her enamored you. You may be able to stop time, but she stopped your world from circling the orbit, moving the course as if she's the sun in your life. 

"Bewitching," you breathed the word out, and Wednesday turned to find your gaze transfixed on her face. Not at the tranquil scenery or anywhere else. But at her. 

Caught in a trance, neither of you realizes the earth resumes its activity; whining winds gusts, and fluttery snowflakes puffed down once more.

You can beg for Chronos' patience for only so long. 

Wednesday takes both freezing hands into her coat's pocket. 

It's the simple things that matter.

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|A/n2|: Thank you so much for the anon who made the request, as soon as I see it my body jumps and grabbed my laptop to write. You saved me from procrastinating yet again.

[chiyeko-kurea]

one of my favorite poems + my analysis

i wanted to share it with you guys:)

(VERY poorly translated, sadly never as good as the original)

« Je vis, je meurs » Louise Labé, Sonnets, 1555

« I live, I die: I drown and I burn,

I endure at once extreme heat and cold;

Life is at once too soft and too hard,

I feel boredom mingled with joys.

At the same time, I laugh and I cry,

And I endure many torments of pleasures,

My fortune fades away, and lasts forever,

At the same time, I wither and I Bloom.

Thus I suffer love’s inconstancies

And when I believe I will suffer more,

Without knowing, I find myself at peace.

Then, when I feel my joy is certain,

And I am on top of what I could wish right now,

Love casts me back into my former grief. »

.

So there’s a few things i would translate differently.

1) I would write « I drown and burn » without the other « I » because in the original poem, the idea conveyed is really that the feeling of drowning constantly is parallel to the one of burning, happening in the same time in the author’s mind while being completely opposite.

The idea of drowning constantly (that I personally really relate to) = therefore maybe also feeling like suffocating/ choking constantly, not being able to breathe and a constant weigh inside the chest.

+ sinking further and further until one day reaching rock bottom -> the idea of giving up on ourselves?

Or you could also interpret the word ‘drowning’ as fighting to stay above water, to gasp for air, being between sanity and trying to stay there because if you give up you will drown into insanity and darkness that is trying to pull you in. With that interpretation you also get the idea of tiredness and eventually having to give up if you know you’re doomed to drown anyway, but you can’t stop trying to survive.

But i think in this case ‘drown’ is more that achingly slow, constant, oppressive feeling of slowly sinking opposed to the complete chaos of burning fire and being actively consumed alive/ having a fire inside ur mind.

2) Second verse is also poorly translated. It would be more like ‘i burn while enduring chilblain’ which is completely different from the original verse but closer in terms of meaning, to me. Same idea of opposite feelings, i think everyone interprets differently.

3) 3rd verse IS JUST SHIT!! WHAT IS THAT TRANSLATION?? It’s so lameeeee! Ugh. The idea that i felt in the OP (original poem) was like ‘Life is to me too listless/ limp/ (=basically ‘soft’ but in a pejorative way. Life is boring, tasteless, nothing worth much, nothing that excites her mind.) Also she says ‘TO ME’. To her. Her life, not life in general. Basically, how life is to her, « towards » her. But at the same time, life is too hard to her (not « for » her!) to the point it’s like torture.

4) The next verse is kind of a résumé of her whole fucking life. That i would translate as ‘i have great ennuis intertwined with joys’. « Ennuis » could be, indeed, translated as ‘boredom’, (the way i understood it) but also as ‘problems’/‘worries’. Basically either a long, dull, boring, worthless road with sometimes great joys/ or if you got for the different meaning of ‘ennuis’: lots of terrible problems and disasters in your life but sometimes also great joys, both mingled.

5) « love’s inconsistencies » -> Love is written in the OP with a capital letter. I don’t really think it’s necessarily romantic love, but love in general: what you experience, live, feel, discover, which is basically essential to life. Imagine a life where you don’t love any type of music, book, movie, food, weather, people, feeling, taste, smell… But primarily, I think she means that Love (as an entity rather than a simple feeling) kinda throws her around; and she is a ‘victim’ of it, she suffers from it and its intensity, unpredictability, force. She is condemned, as a human, to be a subject/ slave of love. She is not, and never will be, in control of that -and therefore her life.

6) The two last verses are so poorly translated it should be a crime. The idea behind them is really interesting!

« And I am on top of what I could wish right now » -> when she has everything she could wish for, she has obtained and achieved everything she ever dreamed off, longed for, ached for, when she has reached what is the ultimate completion of her desires that would grant her happiness; and finally everything that bothered her and kept her from tasting a freedom and peace of the soul is gone; when there’s nothing more she could possibly need or even wish for; she doesn’t. Feel. Happy. Anymore. She loses it. She feels the same as she used to before. It’s a never-ending cycle. She thinks she finally has it all, but it all crumbles, again and again and she can never keep it. She can taste it for a bit, but then it vanishes and she is right back in her ‘primary misery’.

She feels joy, she feels happy, she thinks it’s gonna last forever: it never does. For me, it really convey the idea of relapse. You get clean, you feel great, life is good, but then, how could you even think it was gonna last anyway? You relapse, fall right back in your misery.

I haven’t analyzed (corrected) the 2nd quatrain and the first tercet because this post is already very long (so i just corrected the most important ones)

and i don’t wanna bore you😭 but if you like poetry we could discuss it together if you want🫶

[donkeytonk]

Hunger, part 2

(Part 1 here)

In her cell Sula was sleeping, as she always was now, when Crispin arrived for the final time on the fifth day. "Sula, they - Leliana would like to ask you some questions. Can you come with me? Are you able to walk?"

Her mind was blurry. Who was Leliana? He had mentioned her name before. Was she the woman who had ordered Sula to be sent to the dungeon? So, at last, it was time to face her fate, and she was ready for it to be over with even if it meant torture, death, or tranquility. The anxiety of waiting had held its own terror, but now that the wait was over, she was unable to meet it without fear.

“What will she do to me?” she asked in small voice, half whispering because of the pain in her throat.

“Nothing. She’ll just ask you some questions. She won’t hurt you.”

Like a child, she nearly asked him to promise before remembering that it would not convince her. He had lied to her before. Instead she asked, “Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure, Sula.”

“Should I tell her – I can tell her that I’m a blood mage. I’ll say whatever I need to say, only don’t let her hurt my Circle! Please don’t let me let them be hurt.”

His face was troubled and he shook his head earnestly. “No, nobody wants you to do that. Just tell the truth, like you did before.”

She nodded and let out a shaky but resigned sigh and accepted his help in standing. Then he stopped her.

“Wait, you’re limping. Sit down and let me take a look at your feet.”

She struggled to remove her sodden boots and stockings until he took over, and the fiery inflamed chilblains on her toes were almost purple.

He let out an involuntary hiss of curses as he examined them. “I’m sorry, I should have treated them sooner. I have some salve that will help them.” She watched, almost hypnotized, as he rubbed a salve on them. He mentioned that there was rosemary in it, but she could not smell it. When was the last time she had smelled rosemary? Were there still lovely things like rosemary out in the world? Perhaps it was just as well in this stinking cell that her sense of smell had been blocked, but she would have liked to smell rosemary one more time. But his hands were warm as he applied the balm, and it felt as if they were the first warmth to touch her feet in years. When he reached for her boots, she shook her head.

“No, I don’t want them.” They were cold, wet, stiff miserable things, as were the blood stained stockings that she had knitted herself. But since she should not walk about with bare and blistered feet in such a filthy place, he wrapped her feet in the remainder of his bandages. And now, finally, it was time to leave the cell for better or for worse. The Templar guard unlocked and opened the cell door for them and she gave him a wary look as they passed. He did not follow them to the door, however. It was only Cripsin and herself.

She jumped as the dungeon door slammed shut behind then, and they were faced with more stairs than she had ever seen in her life, apart from those terror-filled moments when she had been dragged down them five days ago. It felt like an eternity to climb them all, like climbing those wretched mountains again, but they stopped to rest once they reached the top.

“Where is it? Where are we going?”

“It’s not much further. Sister Leliana’s study is here in the chantry. Just a couple more rooms to walk through.”

Sister Leliana. So she was part of the Chantry, and probably not inclined favorably toward apostate mages. “Will there be Templars?”

“No, no. At least…” He frowned, and Sula realized that he was in the dark too. He was just guessing at everything. Everything including the assurance that she would not be harmed. “I don’t think there will be. Just Sister Leliana. She’s Chantry but – I trust her. You’ll be safe. She won’t harm you. And I’ll be there too.”

For most of their brief acquaintance, Sula had come to despise the healer, to blame him (and the Inquisition as a whole) for the deaths of her friends and the injury to herself, but he was also her only ally in the world right now, the only person who had showed her any kindness in this wretched place, and now her only hope. She grasped his hand and blurted out her final plea. “If they do hurt me, don’t let me say the wrong thing and get my friends killed. Please. Don’t let them make me hurt anyone. I can’t.”

He looked down at her with something like pity in his eyes. She believed in that moment that he genuinely did want to help her.

“You don’t need to worry about that, Sula.”

Wrong answer. “Please! Promise me you won’t let me hurt them. Will you stop me? I can’t bear up, I can’t fight against any more pain. I know I can’t.” She was cut off by a fit of coughing. If they were to put her to the question by torture now, she would confess and blame anyone that they wanted. She had no strength to withstand it. Is that why they had waited so long? She spoke again in a hoarse whisper. “Please promise me.”

He turned his face away from her then, but after a moment, he finally nodded. “I promise.”

He would have to kill her.

“But that’s not going to happen,” he added, looking at her earnestly, compassionately. “All right? It’s going to be all right. Just tell the truth.”

She nodded too, and then rose again from the step where she had been resting.

He prepared to open the door. “Are you ready? It’ll be a bit brighter in here. It may hurt your eyes for a few moments.”

When they stepped into the nave, she was dazzled. She had never seen so many candles in her life, and daylight streamed through the windows that stretched high above. After a few steps, she looked down and was amazed to see that they were walking on soft richly worked woolen rugs in red and gold. When had she last seen such beautiful colors? Looking down was preferable to looking up. The nave was far too large and expansive, and she pressed closer to the other mage as they crossed to the other side.

“It’s just through here,” Crispin said as they reached another door. “Are you all right?”

He was looking at her and frowning with concern, which only furthered her own anxiety. Of course she was not all right. She was preparing to die, or perhaps worse. How could she be all right? But she nodded. There was no sense in delaying it any longer.

He knocked on the door and a voice called for them to come in. He entered first and Sula followed. The room was warm, incredibly warm and comfortable, and there was a deliciously enticing fire burning. She realized that she did still possess a sense of smell because she smelled wood smoke and it smelled like home. She wanted to run to the fire and warm her hands and feet and entire body next to it, to curl up on that rug and sleep beside the fire.

She jumped as a woman spoke. “Hello Sula. Sit please.” The woman was standing behind a desk and indicating a chair on the opposite side of it. Sula sat obediently. “Crispin, you may go.”

Go? He was leaving her? He squeezed her shoulder as he moved to the door, speaking words meant to sound reassuring but which she barely heard. He was abandoning her. Again. He had delivered her to judgment again. Again! He was the errand boy of judgment, just an escort guard. Of course he was. And his promise earlier on the stairs was useless.

She was still staring at the door that had closed behind him when the woman spoke again. “You have nothing to fear. Unless you are guilty.”

What comfort was that? Of course she was guilty of being an apostate. That had been thrown upon her without her choice.

The woman began asking her questions, simple ones at first. They were easy to answer. Harmless things, things that she probably already knew the answers to. Sula had to pause for attacks of coughing a few times. She was caught off guard when the woman began asking about their passage across the Waking Sea.

“What happened?” she asked.

“What?”

“You said there were eighteen of you at the fort, but twenty-seven of you had set out originally. What happened to the others?”

Lene with all of her medicines. Magnus taking charge of the food stores. Leath, Ronnie, Mel, and Cromarty with the three apprentices: Margaret, Hebona, Jeanie. Their boatwoman was a friend of the fishmonger that they had traded with for years, as were the other two boatmen. Sula had known Janet fishmonger personally and had trusted her. Their own two boatmen had brought them safely across.

“We lost them,” Sula whispered, fighting the pain in her throat. “I don’t know.”

Sister Leliana moved on, continuously onwards at what felt like a dizzying speed. Sula barely had time to think ahead before another question was fired like an arrow. She could not even remember what she had said so far.

“So you found the soldiers’ bodies in the woods, and you took their uniforms?”

“Not me, the scouting party –“ Sula froze. Was this it? The woman had not even needed to apply pain to get Sula to betray others in her Circle. “I mean, I didn’t see what happened when they found them.”

“You didn’t see, so you don’t know what happened.”

No, no! “I know they didn’t kill them, because we would have heard if there was a battle. We weren’t far away. I was with the apprentices, foraging. And then they came and told us.” She had to pause and catch her breath after another fit of coughing, but she added, “I saw the bodies when we made the pyres, and they’d been dead for more than a day, I’m sure of that.”

But already the woman was moving on, asking about their routines at the fort, about how the remaining soldier Pearson had taught them the way to dress and act like soldiers until the Inquisition came.

“I made a garden there,” she blurted. Then she added in a small voice, “I’m a gardener.”

She had told herself not to volunteer any new information, but it was harmless. Surely the woman would see that they were all harmless, wouldn’t she? Why would evil murderous apostate blood mages plant a garden? Why would they choose such a desolate spot if they wanted a garden and had demons to do their bidding? They were starving. They were homeless and had no more friends or allies in the world, as far as they knew. They had only taken the fort because they needed food and shelter. There were little children with them. They had only taken the uniforms to keep up the pretense so nobody would notice anything amiss. They had treated the bodies with respect, burned them on pyres just as they would have done for their own dead. They ate what they needed for sustaining life. No one else was eating it. Pearson alone could not have eaten all those stores in a year.

More questions about daily routines, and that wretched liar Pearson, more coughing. Sula had not had to speak this much in weeks.

“Crispin.”

Immediately the door was opened and the healer was there.

“We’re finished now. Take her to the new medics’ house. She looks like death.”

Sula could not understand what she was saying. She stared at the woman in dull confusion. What did it mean? But Crispin was helping her to stand again and was guiding her back to the door, away from the terrifying woman and her little room. Sula’s head was swimming. It was finished? She didn’t have to answer any more questions? No questions about blood mages and demons and battles? Finally all of the fear took over her body, and she began trembling as they walked through the nave. Walking, and then even standing still made her lightheaded. She clutched the healer’s arm to keep from falling onto the carpeted floor. He was speaking to her but she could not understand his words. The entire nave was turning dark, the candles just one shrinking bright and blurry spot in the distance.

Crispin caught her in his arms before everything blackened completely.

When she raised her head a moment later, he was carrying her to the large entrance door at the back of the nave. This wasn’t the way back to the cells. They were going out, back into the world. When they moved outside the light was blinding and the sky was enormous. She ducked her head and closed her eyes again, but she could smell cook fires, and she could hear people talking and laughing, and even birdsongs. The air was cold but fresh. She opened her eyes to a cautious squint and could see that they were in a village, an ordinary village with ordinary people, with dazzling snow and trees and houses. She glanced back at the Chantry in confusion. Was she dreaming? But there was no tempting demon trying to get into her mind, not this time. Crispin was carrying her, which was strange, but she was glad she did not have to walk just now. Everything was too big, utterly too much for her senses, and his arms seemed to be a safe, small, confining place for the moment.

“Where are we going?”

"There's a house outside the walls that the healers are using," he told her. "It's a little bit of a walk, but there's warm beds and hot food. All the clean blankets you want."

She coughed out a laugh that sounded like a sob. “And then, when will I have to go back?”

“Never.” His voice was soft but definite. “You will never have to go back there.”

“But they think I’m a blood mage?”

“Not anymore.”

“Are you sure?” The woman hadn’t even asked her about that. Didn’t that mean she still had more questions?

“I’m sure,” he said firmly. “You’re safe.”

"And my Circle?" She frowned, having trouble even remembering the details of the interrogation. It was all a blur. "She didn't even ask me their names. Or how to find them."

“Then they’re safe too.”

It was impossible to believe. Her greatest fear had been that she would implicate someone that she loved by accident or in desperation under duress, under torture. Could she really have escaped that fate? She could not even remember what questions the woman had asked her. But the healer sounded confident, and he was the only one that she could trust right now. And she was so utterly exhausted, her mind in a fog. She leaned her head against him and closed her eyes, still frowning as she tried to remember what had been said in that little room at the Chantry.

When she next opened her eyes, they were passing the city walls. She must have fallen asleep. In this area there were no roads or paths to be seen under all the fresh snow, and no more people at the moment. She could feel the cold snow beneath Crispin’s feet, the same way that she could feel her bees’ wings by placing her hand on their skep hive. Sula had always been friends with water in all of its forms, as befits a gardener born by the sea, but just now she was tired of snow. She set her hand on Crispin’s arm, then rested her head and shut her eyes again.

He continued walking at the same pace, then slowed and looked around, then took a few deliberate steps one after another. He watched as the snow melted and evaporated the instant his foot came near it. He was walking on the bare ground, but only in the space of his footsteps.

Sula opened her eyes, wondering why they had slowed.

“Is that you?” he asked.

His voice was light but she tensed, sudden fear overtaking her with the realization of what she had done. Magic. Simple, small and harmless, but magic all the same. “I’m sorry! Did you feel it?” She had not considered that the skep might not like its use in her communication with the bees. But no, it was worse than that. She looked around in a panic, expecting to see Inquisition soldiers marching towards them. “Did anyone see?” He was going to summon his soldier friends and the Templars and she’d be trudging through the snow again, tether chafing on her wrist, freezing feet, hauled directly back to the Chantry cells, and then…

“No! No, Sula, it’s fine. You’re fine, you’re safe. It’s all right for you to use magic here.”

“I didn’t think! I always – I did it without thinking. I’m sorry!”

He shook his head. “It’s all right, you don’t need to apologize. It’s fine.” He looked concerned, but he offered her a reassuring smile. “I appreciated it, walking without snow for a moment.”

Her treatment of the snow had of course stopped the moment he had mentioned it, and he was walking through the snow once again. After she had begun to calm down, and after a few minutes’ consideration, she pointed at a large rock nearby. “You can put me down right there.”

“Sula, you don’t have any shoes.”

“No, just put me down for a moment. I’m heavy. You can have a rest.”

She was not as heavy as she ought to have been, of course, after several months of privation, but even a little child grows heavy in a mother’s arms after a while. He carefully set her on a rock so she could sit with her feet above the snow, and then he sat next to her. He did look tired, she noticed, unless that was his regular appearance. She had not spent much time in his presence by daylight, apart from following behind him on the march. On some days she had stared at his back for hours.

Quietly, cautiously she spoke again. “Are you sure it’s all right for me to use magic?” she asked, even there was no one who could see or hear them.

“Yes, I promise. You can do anything you like.”

She could tell that he meant it. What a bold thing to say to a recently jailed apostate accused of blood magic and the deaths of dozens of Inquisition soldiers. Did he genuinely trust her that much? Perhaps he just trusted his own strength more. That would certainly make sense, as weak as she was.

She looked across the snowy landscape. “Which way are we going? What direction?”

“That way, by those trees, and then just a little further up. There’s a path, it’s just covered in snow right now.”

“With those tracks?”

“Yes, probably deer tracks.”

It made sense. Wild creatures tend to use the easiest path, just like people. She tucked up her bandaged feet and leaned down to touch the ground with her right hand. The snow cleared before it as it had done for Crispin’s feet. She could feel that the ground was frozen much deeper than she was used to at home, and quite saturated too, but the air was dry. There was an area where the earth was more compact; that must be the path where countless feet had walked. A thaw spread from her hand and formed a long ribbon of mist as moisture puffed up into the air, some of it glittering away as tiny ice crystals in the breeze. Below the dispersing ice fog was left a path of bare earth wide enough for one man’s stride all the way to the trees.

“It’s rocky,” she explained apologetically. It would not have been quite so muddy, but the rocks slowed her down and she was exhausted. Still, it had felt so good to reach out to the Fade and communicate with the soil and water, like stretching cramped limbs and feeling whole again, like greeting a friend after a long absence. Even the fresh mud under her fingernails was welcome.

Crispin was smiling. “That’s wonderful, Sula. That will make our walk easier. I didn’t know you could do that.”

“Yes.” All this time. All those days journeying through the snow that spilled over her boots and froze her feet, sleeping in the snow and waking in a puddle, snowmelt and mud, slipping on the ice, days in that damp and frozen cell, wet boots, wet stockings, the stink of damp straw and piss – she could have removed all of it. She could have swept up all the damp to make a rain cloud over that liar Pearson’s cell, if it weren’t for her terror of the Templar guard. She could have dried her stockings and boots. She could have cleared paths and slept in dry blankets.

But she had not had the power to quench the fire. That was beyond her ability. It had been a fire formed by a stronger mage than her.

“Are you ready to keep going?” Crispin asked. She nodded and allowed him to lift her again.

She was tired and coughing when they passed the trees and she did not have the energy to care about the snow any more. Her eyes were closed and so she was surprised when they stopped in front of a house. He lightly kicked at the door which was opened a moment later to let them in. It was warm and comfortably darker than the sun and snow outside, but anything unfamiliar made Sula wary.

“What’s this place?” Anxiety tinged her voice as she looked around.

“It’s just the infirmary,” he answered lightly. “You can sleep here for now.”

It was so strange to be inside a place that was not made of iron bars and stone. Even the interrogator's room at the chantry had been imposing, everything heavy and impressive, oppressive. Here was simplicity, efficiency, quiet order. There were sick and injured patients, of course, but even they were more welcome company than guards and rats and Pearson. Most showed no interest in her, and just a few gave her the merest glance.

And it was warm. There was a large fireplace on one wall with a bright blaze within that heated the room. She longed to lie down next to it and sleep for days.

Crispin was talking to another woman, perhaps another healer, and she led them to an empty cot. “Here,” he said to Sula as he laid her on it. "Are you all right to lie here for a moment while I find some blankets?"

She nodded in exhausted relief. She could lie here forever.

He smiled. “Good. I’ll be back in a moment.” She fell instantly into sleep. She woke again, warm beneath several blankets, when she felt her cot swaying and moving. She murmured in confusion and looked up at Crispin’s face, upside down, behind and above her head. How did that happen? "We're just shifting you to another room. It'll be a bit quieter there and you can sleep.” He and the other healer carried the cot into a smaller room. It had its own little fireplace blazing, and they set her cot beside it. Then the other healer left and Crispin crouched down next to her. “Are you comfortable? Warm enough?”

She smiled weakly, gratefully, and nodded. She could not remember the last time she had felt so warm, and she had only to turn her head to look at the delightful fire. "Can I stay here a while?"

"You can stay here as long as you want," he told her with a smile, "Would you like some water? Something to eat?"

“Just some water.”

He brought a jug and a sturdy cup as well as some pillows that he tucked behind her, helping her to sit up. He poured the water and set the jug nearby. “Here, and there’s more if you want it.”

She was thirsty, as ever, and the water was refreshing, but it was still a cold shock to her throat. She glanced out the door and gave him a cautious look. “Is it all right if I warm it a little before you drain me?”

He looked stricken, but she could not quite read his emotions. Regret? Pity? Shame? His answer was gentle. “I’m not going to drain you, Sula. You’re not a prisoner.”

She stared at him for a long moment, then looked back at the open door. “And there’s no Templar guard?”

He shook his head. “No Templar guard, no guard at all. You’re free and you’re safe here.”

After a moment’s hesitation, she looked down at the cup of water and it glowed gently in her hand. She drank the warmed water and sighed with satisfaction as it soothed her throat. You just need some water.

He was refilling her cup when the other healer returned, holding a larger cup with a handle. “I thought your patient could do with some soup,” she said. “There’s a fat chicken in it, leeks and carrots and some black pepper too.”

Sula could have wept. She nodded and reached out her good hand to take it. A few eager gulps warmed her entire body from within, and Crispin had to urge her to slow down. It was the best thing she had ever tasted. She had not realized how hungry she was.

When she had finished, he helped her to lie back again. “I’ll let you rest now. I’ll be nearby if you need anything.”

She watched him go from the room, carefully leaving her door ajar as he went; she had not even considered the anxiety of a closed door, but she was grateful for that little gap. She could still see the glow of the outer room, and her own little chamber was warm and dim with just firelight. Within moments she was deep asleep.

[Epilogue]

[writergirl3]

4 Town With A S/O Who's Always Cold

So, I guess I just thought this would be a cute idea. And it's totally not because I have terrible circulation. Seriously. Before Christmas, I got chilblains while wearing thermal socks and sheepskin slippers. We love that for me.

Anyway, hope you guys like this! 🧡

Robaire;

As a born and bred Canadian, Robaire isn’t that phased by the cold. In the nicest possible way, he will tease you for your inability to withstand any temperature below his preferred threshold.

Once he’s done with this light teasing, he’ll start doing what he can to get you warmed up. 

This will vary depending on where you are, but he’ll usually turn up the thermostat (which he doesn’t do for ANYONE else), and lend you some of his thermals. He always has a whole bunch with him that are made from this small family-run company in his home town.

Of course, he’ll always turn your inability to withstand the cold into a cuddling opportunity. And let me tell you, it works every time.

Jesse;

If you’re naturally cold-blooded, then you already share something in common with Jesse. This man is a complete whimp when it comes to the cold, and he’s never been able to hide it from you.

Whenever you’re both in a room together, the heating will be turned up to full blast. The other guys always complain when this happens, especially the Aarons. Jesse will shoot them all a look, though, and his bandmates will subdue with red-faced, sweaty grumbles.

Because you’re both blessed with the wonder that is poor circulation, Jesse always has supplies to keep you both warm. Specifically those super long hoodie things that come down to your knees. More often than not, you’ll both be snuggled up watching TV wearing matching ones.

Aaron T;

Like Robaire, T finds your hatred of the cold hilarious. He’s naturally warm-blooded, so you both might squabble a bit about the thermostat. Usually, he gives in to you, though.

Now, T doesn’t usually gather a whole bunch of supplies when you’re especially cold. Not because he doesn’t care, but because his body heat is honestly enough to warm anyone up. Even you. 

So, he’ll bundle you up against him and squish you into the warmest of hugs to revive you. In a way, it’s a match made in heaven, because T usually feels really warm and you cool him down. 

He’ll rub your sides devotedly while you cuddle, transferring any and all of his body heat to you. In no time, you’ll be all toasty again.

Aaron Z;

We know Z is protective of those he cares about, but this is increased tenfold when it comes to you.

After his warm fingertips encounter your chilly skin, he'll instruct you to stay put while he begins searching high and low for anything that might make you feel warmer. We’re talking hot water bottles, fuzzy blankets, heat pads, electric blankets, slipper socks- you name it, he’ll fetch it.

One thing he will always grab, without fail, is his beloved hoodie. It’s the navy Nike zip up that you sort of stole from his early on in your relationship. For some reason, the thick cotton and oversized fit always warms you right up.

With all these supplies in hand, Z will start bundling you up in a desperate attempt to raise your body temperature. The whole thing makes you giggle uncontrollably and, after thanking him, you’ll remind him that cuddles would have been sufficient. Of course, he complies.

Tae Young;

Now, Tae tends to freak out a little when you get cold. When he feels your icy hands against the warmth of his skin, he’ll worry that he won’t be able to warm you up again.

So, similarly to Z, he’ll insist that you wrap up warmly, even if you’re inside. He has a growing collection of fuzzy socks, and to be honest, they’re mainly for occasions like this when you’re chilly.

After bundling you up in warmer clothes, Tae will definitely make you a hot chocolate. He’s perfected the beverage down to a fine art, and will definitely go overboard with the cream and marshmallows. After taking his time to make the drink just right, he’ll blushingly present it to you in his favourite mug before cuddling you until you’re warm again.

---

Musing Meaninglessly Masterlist

[justavulcan]

COMING SOON: AIRMARK'S GUIDE TO PLANAR VEGETABLES

I would like to dedicate this Flora to my neighbors here in Sigil, who tolerate my greenhouse with mostly good humor; to my editor Sleeps-Never-Twice, who has sent rescue parties after me three times now since I started writing this volume; and to my partner Wren, who has brought me all manner of stimulant in my pursuit of finishing this volume before our vacation to Mt. Celestia. I thank you all for your love and support; or, in the case of my neighbors, your tolerance and acceptance of my garnish.

What follows is a series of selections from my Guide to Planar Vegetables, for your consideration and potential use. Traveling throughout the Planes, it is clear to most that all manner of beast, spiritual being, and person might help, hinder, or assault the weary traveler; this, then, is my attempt to make readers everywhere aware of the danger the local flora can pose, or to draw the attention of the curious to the more strange and wonderful of the Planescape's plant life. I hope the following entries serve well as warnings and appetizers both, and that your own gardening adventures proceed safely and with an eye towards finding beauty everywhere- even in the Lower Planes.

Eustace Airmark

Date varies by local Calendar

I will be posting one non-animate plant and one animate plant (plant monster) every week, in pairs by plane. This will also serve as the index post for the project, and will be updated as I have new entries. As always, if you find one of my creatures tempting to use, my price is only to tell me: how did it work out? The posts will begin on September 4th. Thanks again to my players, who in moments searching bookshelves for uncommon topics, force me to make things up on the fly that prove fertile ground for my overactive imagination. Airmark's Guide to Planar Vegetables would not exist without them.

Astral: Lotus Anchorite (CR 20); Astral Mangrove

Ethereal: Tombstone Lily (CR 16); Ethereal Marigold

Feywild: Alraune (CR 11); Blue Iris Flowerfly

Shadowfell: Fugue Weed (CR 10); Detainer Cactus

Elemental Plane of Air: Urchin Bush (CR 12); Cloudfruit Tree

Elemental Plane of Earth: Wandering Garden (CR 13); Jeweler's Delight

Elemental Plane of Fire: Sparkflower Seed Swarm (CR 4); Ignan Ashpetal

Elemental Plane of Water: Kelp Dragon (CR 14); Tidemat

Elemental Plane of Ice: False Chilblain (CR 12); Chilblain Ivy

Elemental Plane of Mud: Oblivion Yam (CR 5); Sludgy Sundew

Elemental Plane of Magma: Flameforger Tree (CR 11); Caldera Cactus

Elemental Plane of Ash: Smokecatcher (CR 9); Smogwood Tree

Limbo: Rainbow Bamboo (CR 15); Peacock Shrub

Pandemonium: Pandemonian Tumbleweed (CR 9); Mindmute Moss

Abyss: Ichordeep Emissary (CR 13); Shatterstone

Carceri: Carcerian Snapdragon (CR 8); Cathryan Coward-Weed

Hades: Gray Lily of the Waste (CR 17); Eurydicean Willow

Gehenna: Gehennan Grafting Tree (CR 19); Spitebriar

Baator: Minauran Creeper Lily (CR 6); Garrison Vine

Acheron: War-Drum Tree (CR 18); Rustbloom

Mechanus: Copper Sheet-Leaf Bush (CR 3); Meter Weed

Arcadia: Arcadian Lightning Tree (CR 6); Tuning Tree

Mt. Celestia: Springbush (CR 2); Provider Oak

Bytopia: Shurrock Mercywood (CR 6); Dothion Mercywood

Elysium: Pollen Cat (CR 5); Eronian Lotus

Beastlands: Krigalan Praying Orchid (CR 13); Beastborne Fern

Arborea: Whitesand Sentinel (CR 8); Heartshare Rose

Ysgard: Wanderpine Cone (CR 1/8); Wanderpine Tree

[jomiddlemarch]

on the cold earth under the cold sky

“Your feet are cold,” Joel said.

“You said you hated it when I wore socks to bed,” Grace replied. “And I don’t love it either. My feet get too hot.”

“It wasn’t a complaint, darlin’, just an observation,” Joel said.

“It seemed like a complaint,” Grace said. She wiggled her toes, which were cold, and let out a breath, which floated above her in a brief cloud. It was frigid in Jackson far earlier than expected, either a cold snap or the beginning of a long, hard winter, which reminded Grace of the Little House on the Prairie book where they spent the snowed-in winter grinding wheat in a coffee-grinder and she’d skipped to the end because it was so boring. Maria had asked everyone to conserve resources, bundling up instead of stoking fires. It worked okay during the day, but the nights were difficult.

“C’mere,” Joel said, pulling her even tighter to him.

“You don’t—sorry,” Grace mumbled. “Sorry for being a cold bitch.”

He laughed, a rich, warm sound like the Kenyan coffee she desperately missed though she’d never admit it, and jostled her into putting her feet between his shins. He was wearing a set of faded Black Watch tartan flannel pajamas over a white tee shirt and she should have found it hilarious when she saw him or almost homely, as close to sexy as Neptune, but should didn’t seem to apply since she’d left Before for Now.

“Never met anyone who’s less of a cold bitch than you, Gracie,” he said.

“Is that supposed to be a compliment?” she asked. She would have used all her willpower to keep from rolling her eyes if Ellie had said something similar, but she’d slept poorly since it got cold. It reminded her too much of the first winter after Kian was killed. Earth stood hard as iron, water like a stone ran through her mind on a loop, the loop preferable to any other memory.

“It’s the truth. You can take it however you want it,” he said, completely unoffended by the sound of his voice and the gentleness of his embrace.

“No matter what I say, I’m wrong and you’re right,” she snapped. I think you’re a cold bitch and kind of mean at the moment, if that’s worth anything, dead-Lauren offered. Grace was well aware she was being surly and rude and why? Because she was tired of going to bed with cold feet and waking in the night with her nose and cheeks feeling half-frozen, because there wasn’t much she could do when people came in with frost-nip and fucking Dickensian chilblains, because she’d once tried to go back to where she’d buried Kian that brutal winter and she couldn’t find his grave, couldn’t remember where she’d first pressed the shovel into the barely yielding earth, putting all her weight on the metal, in a hurry, too full of cortisol to shed a tear?

Because however awful she was, Joel was kind and calm, steady, putting a cup of something hot into her hand when she came through the door, helping unbutton her wool peacoat, even inviting Ted and Beard, Tommy and Maria to come over and sit by the fireplace, Joel with his guitar on his lap, playing when they asked, playing “Father and Son” for Ted without a request, without looking up from the guitar’s belly.

“Yeah, I don’t think so,” Joel answered.

“I’m tired,” she said. She wouldn’t explain, didn’t need to; let him draw his own conclusions.

“I think bears have the right idea,” Joel said. “Find a den, hibernate. Wait ‘til spring comes. Sounds good, now, for all that Ted has his winter wonderland plans cookin’.”

“They starve,” Grace said. “All winter, the bears use up their own bodies to stay alive.”

“That’s nothin’ new,” he replied.

“I already feel used up,” Grace said. It was an admission—of guilt? Weakness that he wouldn’t be able to stomach or respect? Ellie had started telling stories about Tess, how indomitable the woman had been, how determined. The admiration in her voice had been unmistakable. If Joel was around when Ellie talked, he nodded along, and there was sometimes something in his dark eyes, a gleam not unlike tears.

“I know. You just need a rest. Sarah’s mother could get like that,” Joel said.

It was a shock to hear him speak of her and so easily. Grace didn’t even know the woman’s name, whether they’d been married, together, exes who got along for the sake of the child, who hadn’t loved each other enough to break each other. Joel knew little more about Kian and not at all about the perpetual background conversation Grace had going with dead-Lauren. She supposed they were even.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I couldn’t whisk her away to Aruba either,” he said.

Grace made a conscious choice she might later deeply regret not to pursue the her in favor of  Aruba.

“That’s where you’d take me? Where we’d go?” In another life, Before or the Before when cordyceps never happened, the mutation milder, stronger, ruining the grain before it could be consumed by anyone, Chicxulub taking a left turn. In a world of planes and flying coach but never standby, fluted red paper umbrellas, lemons, buying Joel a fancy white guayabera, glaring at the woman on the lounger with her crocheted bikini top untied at the back who was staring at him too long, too obviously.

“Yeah. Or the Keys. Somewhere your feet couldn’t get cold,” he said.

It would be easy to tell him she loved him there. To feel it, think it and speak, to leap without looking behind her or beyond him, a world crazed with a tiny thousand cracks, without the devastating fracture they’d somehow survived. She didn’t have to look at him to know grey he was getting at the temples and scattered throughout his beard. She didn’t have to reach up under his tee-shirt to feel the scar on his belly.

“They’re better,” she said. “My feet. They’re not cold anymore.”

She started to move away or tried to. Joel held on.

“Stay,” he said. “Keepin’ you warm keeps me warm.”

Another fic for @pedrostories​ 1K celebration, using AU, hurt/comfort and the quote “Yeah, I don’t think so.”

[letoscrawls]

Hey everyone!! I'm not dead! And here's a Compendiary of what happened to Me in the cursed month of February (so far)

Did (and thank god passed) the exam i've postponed since 2020 because the professor traumatized me. He treated me and my project like shit again but he definitely has anger issues and in the end he apologized for acting like the devil incarnated. jesus christ that man is insane i'm telling you. i still hate him also he's the spitting image of papa stranger things (but ugly!!!!!! because papa was kinda...............)

Thought i was going to die since i lived in a state of total anxiety for two weeks bc of this exam????? like at some point i had tachycardia nonstop from 5pm all through the night and i didn't know how to make it go away. but!! i was laughing the whole time bc my head felt funny. felt like shit the morning after though. i'm fine now by the way <3

temperatures dropped like crazy here after the hottest christmas ever and my hand got covered in chilblains and let me tell you they SUCK. especially bc i only had them on my index and ring finger and they looked absolutely ridiculous :/ it's a family thing and it's the second time i get them ugh thank god they are finally going away because i couldn't even hold a pencil and this is actually the first thing i drew in forever

just the usual shit ton of work with kids etc. basically all my afternoons are dedicated to that and it takes away so much of my time eh.

So yeah!!! i'm doing wayyyy better now but for the past two weeks i've lived in hard mode and it's only february wtf??? i got a test soon and if i manage to pass it it will be a pivotal time in my school career and i'll finally be closer to graduation than i've ever been. like it's happening omg i can't believe this. worst experience of my life

And sadly i can't really think of anything else besides school. i used to be able to have like, mental breaks during the day but now i'm constantly planning my graduation and i need to stay VERY focused. But that health scare i got was like a slap in the face for me, and i can't let these thoughts get to my body like this, i know i say it everytime but i don't want to be a rotting trash can in my 30s because i didn't take care of my health during university :/ and planning breaks stress me tf out so i gotta figure a way to just relax naturally and take it easy

Okay if you read up until this point i love you and i'm gently patting your head with my balloon looking hand <3

[bonniebird]

Victor Frankenstein x Reader

Requested by @gatefleet

December event

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“Vanessa! Vanessa!” You called through the house. You had let yourself in and the door banged shut behind you. Vanessa smiled to herself. 

Though darkness troubled her there was ever a touch of sunlight streaming into her life, chasing after you as you made your way.

“What is it?” She asked when you found her and stopped short, panting a little as you looked half made with a tale.

"I just found out that Mr. Chandler and Dr. Frankenstein swapped secret santa gifts. I may. Have put a crazy love note in one of the gifts." You explained in a rush. She tried not to chuckle as she stood from her seat and set aside the book in her hands.

“Well, we must make haste and try to intervene before disaster can strike.” She said and let you tug her from the room. 

“I shall go and find Dr. Frankenstein. You o and find Mr Chandler.” You explained. Vanessa agreed before stopping and turning back as you left the house and went separate ways.

“Which was the love note for?” She asked curiously. You went quiet for a moment before timidly confessing.

“Dr. Frankenstein.” Your reply was given a curt nod as she turned and hurried in the other direction. You hurried your way through town and found Victor drawing on a bench at the entrance of a park not too far from his home. He spotted you and gave you a nod. Or you thought he had. Perhaps he looked right through you because as you approached you seemed to startle him slightly.

“(Y/N). I apologise. I was so busy…” He glanced down at his sketches as he quickly shut his folder of papers and brushed charcoal off his lap.

“It is no worry. I thought you might not have noticed. You tend to get so wrapped up in your work.” You said and smiled shyly. You sat with him for a while. He explained that he was watching how people moved around in the cold. The crisp chill of winter had seeped into the city and you noticed the way people moved about more quickly to get inside. You hadn’t noticed the chilblains or the way the drunk that had stumbled to the gutter had a red face because of the cold and not the brown bottle in his hands. So long had passed as the two of you talked that you entirely forgot about the gift until you spotted Vanessa making her way up the road. She had your neatly wrapped parcel in her hand. You had wanted the note to stay secret and the thought of handing it over now seemed rather large. But there was a sly way to Vanessa’s smile as she handed you the gift and sat with you both.

“Oh. This was yours. I was the one who had… you for the gift party.” You explained quickly and tried not to nervously stutter and fidget. Victor’s eyes went wide as he realised he must have caused some upset by exchanging the gift.

“Well. I shall save it for the right day. It may be my only gift this year.” Victor muttered. 

“Oh, I wouldn’t be so sure.” Vanessa said and smiled as you gave her an inquisitive look. Victor chuckled at that and left, explaining that he had more work to get to.

“What did you mean by that?” You asked Vanessa.

“Well, I took out your note and hid it in another gift. It’s a book on anatomy. It should arrive shortly. Your note will be in there so it shall be a secret.” She smiled wisely as you linked arms and made your way down the road together. You glanced back at Victor but his head was down and he hurried away too quickly to glance back at you.

“I shall never be able to pay you back for it.” You mumbled.

“You shall. By attending the parties I have to go to this week. You will come with me and keep me company. I hear that your dear Victor shall be attending a few as well.” She smiled at you as you beamed at the thought of a part with Victor. In truth, she hated the parties but she had promised to go and you would cheer her up to no end. Plus she’d get to see how things went on with you and Victor. She and Mr. Chandler had a bet on how long it would take for the two of you to confess your feelings and she planned to win.

Victor tags:

@savagemickey03 @zoomdeathknight @pheonix4269 @bloodrose @sarahbullet235 @lovelyy-moonlight @stellasblog @DeanWinchestersgirl87 @thekayarlene @linkpk88 @babypink224221 @lisainhell @spiderwebs-blog @gryffindorqueensworld @rockyrascal @twerp8999 @bluebear142077 @alexxavicry @kaylantus @supernatural-wolfie @love1deandra @archaeologydigit @im-eating-rn @bucketbunny @littlefreakingfangirl @hardladyheart @gatefleet @hardladyheart @hc-geralt-23 @plumes-de-nuit

[animeomegas]

But what if, due to the cold climate, Omega gets sick often. Alpha will have to choose between letting Omega go back or hoping that their body will get used to it. My first thought was Gaara being cold and everyone in the palace trying to explain that he can't wear the clothes he's used to or he'll get cold. And how surprised he will be when they tell him that when it snows outside, it means warm weather.

I myself am from a cold climate and I also need a person who will show the beauty of winter 🥶

Oooh, this would be such an interesting idea!

Like, the omega walks barefoot on the stone and gets chilblains because they don't realise they shouldn't walk barefoot. They stand by the windows often, because they are used to huge windows and watching the sunrise from them, but they don't realise the windows are often blocked off for a reason. etc.

Reader would have to slowly, slowly get them used to it. Guide them, ,give them lots of warm cuddles. I imagine the whole palace gets involved, trying to help him as much as they can. Gaara would be a good candidate for it hehe.

I'm from a mild climate, but I love the Winter so much. The beauty of Winter is not sweating all the time, and in my opinion there's no greater gift.

[autumnrose11]

December Drabbles Day 11 - fuzzy socks

“I hope Nanny comes back in soon,” Mary observed quietly, looking out at the whiteness of the winter world outside their window. “I’m quite missing him.”

Matthew chuckled softly, wrapping his arm around her waist, where she was seated on his lap in that armchair he so favoured. The blazing fire was warming his feet – their feet – and despite the cold, he was very, very comfortable.

“I’m sure she won’t be much longer, my darling … And we’ll have him all to ourselves this evening.”

“Hmm…”

Mary nestled closer to him, leaning her head against his chest, picking distractedly at the soft grey wool of his jumper; feeling the tender press of his lips to the top of her head.

“But in the meantime,” she murmured reflectively, “this is quite nice, isn’t it.”

“Oh, as nice as nice can be,” Matthew breathed, and pulled her in to kiss her soundly – and again, and again …

The crackling peace was interrupted by a knock at the door, and Mary quickly clambered off his lap, hurriedly smoothing down the folds of her crimson gown.  

Nanny came in – bearing in her arms a thoroughly upset George. He was bawling, his dear face scrunched in discomfort, the soft cheeks pink and red with crying; darkly lined with traces of tears.

“Heavens, whatever is the matter?” Mary asked, tenderly taking the baby in her arms and gently kissing the silky-soft golden-brown wisps of hair.

“Master George has got a chilblain, Milady,” Nanny said, over George’s plaintive cries. “The cold was a little too much, and I’m ever so sorry for taking him out when – “

“No, no, it’s quite all right,” Mary reassured her with a smile, “I’m sure it’s nothing very serious. A few hours with his papa should do the trick.”

The nanny curtsied and left, thanking her, and … it was just the three of them, her and Matthew and George.

“Shh, Georgie…” Matthew was whispering into his baby son’s hair, nestling him closer to the fire, “it’s alright – Papa’s here, and I’ll make it better, my little chap – I’m here, and Mama too – shh, please don’t cry, my little darling – I do love you so very, very much ..."

He didn’t know, what he was saying, not really; he only knew that the sound of his baby sobbing in pain broke his heart. He couldn’t bear it, the mere sound of it wrenching something within him; that made him want to do something, anything, to put things right for his little chap, and for his wife, when she needed him … anything at all to take their pain away. He nestled George close to his chest, protectively curling his arms around him, covering the tiny feet – red and swollen – with kisses, while George shrieked and sobbed against him.

“Here,” Mary said softly, “I think these will help.”

She was bearing a pair of Matthew’s socks – he recognised them by the dark blue fabric, the softest he owned. He watched, his heart swelling with adoration, as his darling, darling wife tenderly slipped them over their little boy’s reddened feet. They were about five times too large, it was true, but Mary folded them up so that the tiny appendages were snugly enfolded in his father’s overlarge socks. And it seemed then that George’s cries quietened – and he blinked up at his Mama with large blue eyes that still glistened with tears.

“There, my little chap – that’s better, isn’t it?” Matthew whispered, caressing his darling face – his heart breaking a little, still, at the sound of George’s little hiccoughs. He cradled him close, kissing his forehead again – and again … murmured loving endearments to his little chap that only a father’s heart could give, until he felt George’s head nuzzle into the crook of his neck, as though quite exhausted by the day’s events.

“Why don’t I fetch a book from the nursery?” Mary asked her son. “Shall I get Jack and the Beanstalk, my darling? It always was your favourite … Papa shall read it, and you and I can curl up against him, and listen – and the chilblains won’t bother you any more, Georgie …”

Matthew blew a kiss to her as she left. Mary smiled at them both before she exited their bedroom, as she watched the two darling men in her life with her heart too full for words.

It was going to be a lovely evening.

[mellow-hole]

my housemate and her GF just don’t feel the cold/feel hot very easily. girls the back door is open in the middle of june. ladies i’m SO cold. i love you both you little icicles but i have chilblains

[twicetolivetwicetodie]

Let’s be honest- tonight was just filler. Very messy filler (The B-Plot with Eddie notwithstanding)

It was so messy. Especially after how good last week's was. We could've done without the Khione Chilblaine nonsense. Like what even was that? And then the Speed Force?

Iris opening up to Allegra about her worries about Barry missing and the future was good, and her leaving a message for Barry in the time vault. And of course the scene with Barry and Iris in the hospital room!

All the Eddie stuff was good like that should have been the main focus. Eddie standing in his own grave and digging the bullet out of his chest and then laughing was so unhinged I loved it. I also liked him initially calling himself Malcolm. A nice nod to Cobalt Blue being Malcolm Thawne in the comics.

[paandaan]

The London winter deepened. It was bitterly cold all the time; and dark, the sun never there, round-the-clock glumness, dim to dark and back again. Yet this was my enthralled time, such as I had never had, such as would not recur. O halcyon winter, solstice of my days… a magic ring of hours, rounding itself within the undiscerning dark. I have stepped out of this charmed circle, gone on living, not wanting anything strongly. Should I be asked now what I wanted of life, I would say, ‘Happiness, I suppose,’ then add quickly: ‘But I’m quite happy, you know. A good husband, a child…’ If I were to tell the truth, that their existence, my family’s being in my proximity, remains vague to me as tombstones of strangers in a common cemetery, that only a certain winter exists for me, vivid and clear, surging with life, and that all else is neutral, formless, indifferent, people would think me queer. Only when my mind goes back to that London winter do I feel alive, instead of merely knowing as a fact that I live. In that closed memory do I count my heartbeats by the spirited blood’s surge, there once again I walk with Mara through the evening that is night, holding an electric torch in my hand, the blacked-out glass letting through a faint yellow ring at our feet, and I know what it is to love, to want to die for love. This is still so, and I’m a married woman with a child.

We talked a lot, Mara and I, at first not about us but of books, people, places, ideas… then later of ourselves, more and more. I could talk and talk and talk, and it was like being a child again, comforted, full-fed and never tired. But I don’t remember our words well, in fact I can scarcely recall one thing she said of all the things which at that time seemed so important and vivid. I remember our walking together best, the pacing, the streets, the cold, beneath invisible balloons of a haunted sky, forgetting the winter and the cold. Now it becomes in my day-dreams a walk through sunlit spaces, under windless trees, amid quiet grass. At the time our surroundings would on occasion break into our consciousness: a screech of buses, the rumble of the Underground, the tremor of the stone underfoot; hurrying passers-by, shoulders hunched, pounding with feet eager to run into tea-shops, to catch buses, away from the cold. But we were close held in mutual enchantment, and lingered on in the cold streets, pacing a lovely spring, unheeding, oblivious except by fits and starts of all that went on round us.

Of other winters I remember chiefly the unpleasantness, how ugly and painful to get up, to shiver, to catch overcrowded buses; the Underground smell of feet and breaths and rancid smoke; my hands rough with chilblains, clothes cold and stiff with grime. But about this winter, Mara’s winter, I continue to feel its substance, the wrench of its happiness like a pain, an ecstasy which flares up, despite what we did to each other; even when I was trying to kill it.

Whatever has happened, there is always that magic winter haunting and hurting me with its marvellous echoes. The shortest days of the year, when nothing had begun and nothing had ended, all the roads of life were alive, and time beat round me like a heart.

Winter Love, Han Suyin