#simple name! direct! concise

[despemania]

despe remembering his full mask is on ...

[eightstarr]

visions — abby anderson.

summary: a love letter to trying (or the time when you met your favorite people in the world, an overly stressed med student and her overly adventurous one-year-old, in your apartment's hallway).

notes: constantly suffering from chronic baby fever so this is a present from me to you because i spend way too much time thinking about abby as a mom <3

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・。.・゜✧・. ────

You’re stepping out of the elevator when you suddenly hear it— a series of light thumps on the floor, fast but determined like a tiny little elephant who really has somewhere to be right now. Another step and then you stop clumsily when a flash of golden hair comes rushing past you. You follow the sight with your eyes, tilting your head. A little girl is walking, no, stomping through the hallway. She’s no older than two years old, her thin shining hair in two short braids, blue jean overalls and red socks on her feet. She moves so confidently that you almost don’t think about it, almost have the instinct to look away as if to not accidentally appear nosy, but her tiny stature and wobbly sense of direction keep your attention.

You look around the hallway, expecting surely the sound of the little girl’s parent calling her name (something sweet and pretty and classic, you imagine; it’d suit her). You picture her name being followed by a tired sigh before her patents rush to catch up, maybe rolling their eyes in a way that pretends to be annoyed but unmistakingly holds a million times more affection. A perfect family, a tiny glimpse of a full life somehow existing right in your unimportant building.

The hallway is long and terribly empty. You look back at the little girl who is striding forward in less of a rush now, with no worries, like this is the same route she’s taken for years.

What are you supposed to say to get a kid’s attention when you don’t know their name? What’s something concise, yet nice, yet simple enough to be understood? Babysitting as a teen has prepared you for a lot, just maybe not all of it. It's been a little too long. You linger on it for just a second before spitting out the first thing that comes to mind. “Hi, princess,” It’s a little awkward, but you’re relieved when she immediately stops and spins around, like something about it sounded familiar— could be your sweet tone or the nickname, you’re not sure. The little girl tilts her head to the side, round cheek lightly squished against her shoulder. It's the cutest thing you’ve ever seen and it makes you giggle like a charmed kid. “Where did you come from?” you ask, but before you have the chance to reach her she pouts her lips, as if just now realizing that you’re not who she thought you were. And then she turns her back, like there's no time to waste, to return to her journey with renewed enthusiasm.

In a scarily fast moment, you realize that she’s going for the stairs. It would maybe be a slightly less terrifying idea if that stupid door actually worked— but it doesn't, it broke sometime last May and now it's awfully easy to open, no strength or shove required. Sometimes, if it's windy and quiet enough, you can faintly hear it swing back and forth from your apartment. The little girl reaches a hand out, not intimidated by the tall door more than three times her height. If you weren’t this terrified, you’d find it amazingly admirable. 

You don’t register you’re running until you reach her, don’t register the sound of fast steps behind you or the scream of Rue! or anything else other than the heavy relief on your chest when you lift the baby by her armpits and hold her over your hip against your side. She’s fussing in your arms immediately, upset that she’s being interrupted, especially by a stranger. “I know, I’m sorry, baby. It’s okay, you’re okay,” you coo, though trying to be soothing when your heart is beating this fast is admittedly not the easiest task.

“Rue!” Someone repeats, and this time you do hear it. A woman is running down the hallway, hand coming down to mindlessly drop a tote bag bursting with groceries on the floor by the time she’s in front of you. The little girl reaches out her arms immediately, tiny fists opening and closing furiously and you sigh with relief as you carefully pass her over to the arms of the tall stranger. Her hair is blonde but darker than Rue’s, held back in a braid that looks both pretty and messy, like it was once pristine and then slept on. She’s wearing jeans and a half unbuttoned white shirt, a black tank top underneath. Her chest rises and falls and you notice that yours is no different. Adrenaline is a strange bond to share with a stranger, but it does make things less awkward, knowing you’re both here, feeling the same thing. You meet her expertly focused eyes for just a second before she turns to look at the little girl, searching for anything that could be wrong. “I’m so sorry, sweet girl. You’re okay, right? You’re okay,” the baby flashes a precious, wobbly smile at the sound of her voice, but she’s quickly distracted by the endlessly fascinating rainbow of groceries that lie on the floor. Her tiny head peeks over her mom’s shoulder to observe and it’s like you both can take a more soothing breath now, knowing she’s okay. “Thank you so much,” Abby says. You blink a couple times before you realize that she’s talking to you. “Sorry, I really don’t know how that happened. We were— we just got home from the store and I hadn't even put down all the bags yet and I thought— I was convinced that I shut the door, but…” her rambling drifts off and the stranger takes another breath, reddish embarrassment crawling up her neck.

You understand, suddenly, that she’s not only struggling with the stress of losing and finding her baby, but also the shame of having to face a stranger who might judge her for it. It feels insane to you, to think that she would be forced to prioritize that right now. “Oh, no, it’s okay!” you rush to respond. “I saw her immediately, and you were here in seconds! She wouldn't have gotten any further than that,” your smile is soft, but you speak with enough confidence to be reassuring (babysitting lessons, perhaps), “It was just a scare— don’t be too hard on yourself, please.”

Abby looks disarmed by your answer, her eyebrows raised in surprise. A short moment passes before she nods and smiles back, a small gesture without any less warmth. It’s the most relaxed you’ve seen her so far and it suits her beautifully, enough to make your face feel warm. Her blushing is much less forgiving though, more physically evident on her skin, spread over her cheekbones and the bridge of her pretty nose.

Rue giggles and it distracts you both, her hand waving excitedly at the colorful bird printed on a box of cereal as soon as she spots him. Abby looks at you for a second too long before she clears her throat, joking, “Sorry, she really loves that guy.”

You hum. “He is pretty cool, to be fair.”

Abby tilts her head, copying your sincere tone. “I don’t know, I always thought he’d be kind of a dick in person. He just looks like the type.”

Your startled laugh makes her smirk but she's frustratingly good at hiding it, free hand covering her mouth casually enough that you don’t notice. You look at the grabbing motion of the baby’s hands and pout with sympathy. “She loves him, though. We should probably get him off the floor.”

“Yeah, I should get that— I guess I just ran out with the bag, huh?” Abby huffs. She looks and sounds, physically, a lot less anxious now, less ashamed and more annoyed at herself.

“Would you like some help?”

“That’s okay, I got it,” she’s not sure that she does but she says it anyway, instinctively. Abby tries to lean down and Rue clutches her shirt, pulling enough to communicate that she is not ready to be put down yet. Abby straightens her back quickly enough to communicate that she is not ready to risk getting her any more upset for today. She meets your eyes for just a second. “Well, maybe some help.”

“Sure, just some,” you chuckle. “I’ll get it, don’t worry about it.”

People say that to Abby a lot— don’t worry about it! She hears it from her colleagues when she inevitably asks for the notes from the last class she ran a little late to, from a few of her kinder professors when she’s a day past some assignment’s deadline, from the guy at the grocery store that picks up the packets of M&M bags from the floor when Rue’s curious hands knock them over, from her dad when she asks if he’d be okay with babysitting for just a tiny bit longer. It always makes her stomach turn with guilt, some cases more intense than others, her lips usually pursed as she turns around and takes a breath. This time when you say it, she finds the guilt passing through her with ease, a short visit that makes her shoulders tense before it gets replaced by something else. She believes you, for some reason. Her brain is quiet except for thinking, for once, that there could really be nothing to worry about.

Your hands move casually as you pick everything up, resting on your knees like it’s not uncomfortable, like they might as well be your groceries. The idea is startling. Abby thinks, suddenly, that if someone were to walk into this scene, they wouldn’t read you as a kind stranger. Your ease would hint to something else, a friend, a lover, a picture of a family. Abby finds herself looking at your hands again, brought back to reality only by the slight tug of her hair. Rue plays with her braid distractedly, mumbling to herself about her froot loops friend— except she hasn’t quite learned to pronounce it yet, so it sounds more like oot oops.

Abby chuckles, brushing some of her loose baby hair behind her ears, mumbling back answers to her gibberish to keep her entertained even if Rue doesn’t seem to need it. She’s always endlessly thrilled to just be outside, perhaps the one trait she got from her grandpa rather than her mom. Other than her light snoring.

“She loves you a lot,” you comment, rising from your knees with the bag hanging on your shoulder. You don’t ask and Abby doesn’t think about it—  you just start walking back to her apartment together. “Don’t you, Ru-Ru?” the baby giggles, her head turning to you, blue eyes sparkling. You laugh, “Oh, you like that name. It suits you, Ru-Ru.”

“That’s what my dad calls her,” Abby explains.

“He sounds like a man with taste,” you say. “What do you call her?”

“Princess.”

Your smile is wide and pleased. “That suits her even more, I fear.”

“I think so, too,” Abby agrees, a proud little glimmer in her eyes. She stops in front of her door, B06 engraved in silver. Is it always such a short walk from the elevator? She’s seriously thinking about it until, after realizing in an embarrassing second that she never introduced herself to the person kind enough to chase after her baby, help pick up her groceries and carry them home, Abby suddenly turns to you with widened blue eyes and pretty, reddened cheeks. You forgive her before she even says anything, and forget your traitorous reason before it gets a chance to warn you about how dangerous that thought is. “God, sorry, I never told you my name. I’m—”

“Abby, right?” you smile softly at her surprised face, chuckling before you explain, “One of our neighbors is an old friend of mine and she kinda threw this welcome party for me when I moved in. I promise we weren’t gossiping, but I think someone mentioned you.”

“Oh,” Abby nods casually, brushing it off as if she won’t be spending all night thinking about what your first impression of her might’ve been like. Rue fusses in her arms, a little grunt as she kicks her legs to be put down. “Sorry— I‘ll be right back,” Abby shares a quick look with you and you wave goodbye, not surprised to be missing Rue as soon as she turns around. You watch them walk inside together, a tiny hand waving back at you and making you smile as she excitedly makes her way to her playpen, shrieking bye-bye! Abby places a kiss on top of Rue’s blonde hair and makes her laugh with some noise that you don’t quite catch. She’s comfortable here, walking amongst colorful toys and biology books. She moves like an expert, pulling down her shirt where it rode up somewhere along the way. You make half an effort not to stare, but it’s half more than the effort Abby makes to not let it get to her head. The most confident she’s felt so far, she asks you, “Did that totally innocent welcome party of yours happen, like, two weeks ago? I think I heard some music.”

“It was extremely innocent,” you insist, eyebrows raised teasingly, “And no, sorry, not sure what that was— I moved here like a year ago.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

You grace her (or yourself) with a second of silence before you laugh at her awkward expression, the way she brushes a hand over her flushed face and huffs. “Fuck, that’s embarrassing. I’m kinda terrible at keeping up with this type of, uh, social stuff.”

“It’s not embarrassing, I promise. It’s a big world,” you reassure her. “Even bigger when you’re doing a million other stuff.”

You tell her your name and Abby, who is young like you but also highly knowledgeable on little specific human interaction cheat-codes that come with being a mom, nods her head and makes her eyes light up with what seems, to the naive eye, like recognition. “Oh, that’s right!”

You stare for a second before squinting your eyes. “Are you lying to me, Abby from B06?”

Abby grins, wondering when was the last time she found being caught this funny. “Yeah, sorry. I’ve never heard that name in my life.”

You laugh the loudest you have so far and a daydreamed life flashes in Abby’s head— in that big, dramatic way that it does only when you’ve been watching too many rom-coms every night, or when you’re getting too much dating advice from your friend who’s been married since eighteen, or maybe when you fall in love with a pretty stranger who seems to be able to read your mind. It’s an idealized vision of an idealized world, and Abby finds herself being completely okay to clutch it in her fists to keep, because it’s fucking lovely.

“Well, I forgive you,” you tell her, unaware (maybe?) of the chaos that you’ve induced inside of her. “You’re a busy girl.”

Abby tries to think of a good, smooth way to tell you that she could see herself saying your name everyday, placed adoringly after good morning and I miss you. All she comes up with is, “I got enough time to learn it.”

─────✧･ﾟ: *✧･

You play with the hem of your shirt, pajamas made of mostly Abby’s clothes every night, a scent on them that’s not yours but it might as well be. It’s yours in all the ways that matter, in the same sense that she is. Abby walks out of the bathroom wearing her usual pajamas— a shirt that fits too loose and boxers that are a little too tight around her thighs. She doesn't seem to mind them, and you don’t seem to wanna complain. She knows by the way you look at her. You’re leaning back on your palms, your head tilted, the same shyness and sparkly adoration in your eyes that you’d get when you didn't know each other all that well. It’s not too often that she sees that nervousness anymore, but she still gets glimpses of it, a blink of something on your face or your tone or your breathing that says I have a crush on you and I’m hoping you can’t tell. She likes that nervousness the best right now, the way it’s timid and then settles into something like cockiness when you remember that she’s looking at you just the same, when you remember how much you like the way she copies the tilt of your head and teases you as if she's not also smiling like you’re the most beautiful thing in the world.

Abby loves every moment like this, loves getting home and helping prepare dinner and making Rue laugh before kissing her goodnight, loves doing the dishes with you and flirting and talking about the day. Today, she’s especially looking forward to the latter.

“So, how was it?” she asks, the back of her thighs resting against the dresser. She’s trying to play it cool and she's annoyingly good at it, even now.

“Hm?” you hum, leaning further back to rest on your elbows, your back almost fully touching the bed. Abby feels a little bad keeping you up, but she knows she’ll be tossing and turning all night if she has to wait until the morning to ask.

“The school meeting.”

“Oh,” you smile wide enough to look silly and beautiful, sweet enough to rot teeth. She feels like she could sink in it, your smile and the relief it brings to her well hidden nervousness. “I loved it so much, Abs.”

Abby is smooth when she walks closer, soft when she cups your cheek, but there's something anxious in her eyes if you know where to look. “Yeah?” she insists.

You nod your head and kiss the palm of her hand, your lips pressed together in that funny way of trying to hold back an excited giggle. Abby smiles and feels nostalgic for the time, many many months ago, when she’d bring a finger to her lips to shush you and then remind you in an expert whisper that Rue is sleeping in the other room. She doesn't have to teach you much at all anymore, and every moment that proves that to her feels like the most beautiful, unfamiliar peace.

“I’m so happy,” you announce, looking up at her. You’re tired enough that it feels almost like being drunk, which is maybe why a short giggle manages to escape. Abby finds it contagious, your joy moves through her as naturally and importantly as the pumping of her blood. “I’m so excited for all of it.”

It’s the second parents' meeting that you’ve attended at Rue’s school— but you spent that first one sitting quietly by her side, practically hiding behind her, too aware of yourself and of the fact that you don’t really know what you’re doing. “Nobody knows,” Abby confessed on your way home, a hand on the steering wheel and another over your leg, her fingers tapping a comforting rhythm. “Parenting is beautiful, it just comes a lot less naturally than you’d think. That thing about a biological, primal wisdom or whatever— it’s a nice concept. But the best things I know came from me actively trying.”

Her words echoed in your head when you said yes to attending this school meeting alone, when you smiled and made the effort to look as calm as you could, kissed her cheek and said “of course!”. Being Rue’s parent doesn’t always come naturally, but it comes from the most genuine love, every single time. Of course you can go to her meeting when Abby can’t reschedule work, because of course you want to know about how Rue is doing in school. It’s an honor to be there for her, to speak for her when you know she needs you to. This is you actively trying.

“How were the other parents?” Abby asks, lying on her side now, her finger tracing unreadable patterns on your cheek. She craves physical contact more than she’d like to admit— but it works great, because you never ask her to admit it if she doesn't want to. The pads of her fingers say enough.

“They were cool, they were all very sweet to me. Well, Leo’s mom is a little passive aggressive but she’s that way with everyone,” you comment through a yawn, the side of your face comfortably pressed against your pillow. Abby hums, agreeing. “Sophie’s mom was the nicest, she sat next to me and invited me to join her and Jade’s mom for brunch.”

“Which Sophie?”

“The one that gave Rue a Valentine’s gift, that milk chocolate that she loves.”

“Oh, I like that Sophie.”

“Me too. I think I wouldn't mind joining a weekly brunch cult with her mom.”

Abby laughs in the way that she only does when she’s sleepy, where she sounds almost like her teenage self, shy and sweet. By the time it dies down, you’re almost asleep. But then, softly enough that you almost don’t hear it, she asks, “How do you think you would feel if she called you that?”

You make a questioning little sound that sounds like "what?" but not quite.

“If Rue called you mom.”

Your eyes open in a second, though not without effort. You look at Abby’s face, her pretty, relaxed features, and answer honestly. “I would probably cry. And then kiss her cheeks for as long as she let me.”

Abby chuckles. “Like when she fell off the swing and got the tiniest scratch on her knee?”

“Yeah, just— the joyful version of that, I guess. They would be the happiest tears ever spilled,” you explain, so sincere that Abby almost tells you. And you know her enough to read it on her face, the way she barely parted her lips and then pressed them back together quickly. Your head lifts from the pillow. “Wait, why? She told you something? Did she ask about that?”

Abby is great at keeping it cool, but less so once she’s been caught. Her nervous chuckle says it all. “I…”

“Abby, I swear to god, I will not let you sleep until you tell me.”

She more than believes you, but a flash memory of her pinky finger wrapped around Rue’s holds her back from spilling any more details. “Sorry, baby, I’m not allowed to say.”

“Oh my god,” you drop back onto your pillow, this time lying flat on your back. “You think she’s gonna say it?” you ask, and Abby is unsure if you’re asking her or the ceiling or a godly presence way above it. Or yourself, most likely. “It’s okay if she doesn't, maybe she was just curious. Maybe she needs time. I mean, obviously. She probably won’t say it, like, tomorrow, right?” you turn your head and look at her, so wrapped up in your inner monologue that you don’t process the amusement and adoration that’s all over your girlfriend’s face. “What if I react super weird and she doesn't say it again?”

Abby’s lips stretch into the softest smile, so in love that she almost forgets to answer and instead holds her hand on the back of your neck and pulls you close to press a kiss against your forehead. Your eyebrows are still furrowed worriedly when she pulls away, and she brushes her thumb over your cheek as she lets out the kindest hum, acknowledging your question. “You’re not gonna react weird, sweetheart.”

Momentarily flustered, you shake your head to remember the point that you’d been thinking about. “But I shouldn't cry, imagine how confusing that would be for her— what if she thinks she made me upset?”

“That won’t happen. She cried happy tears when you moved in, remember? She knows what they are,” she says. It’s one of the best memories you have, the nervous look on Abby’s face when she asked you, rambling, “It would be a big change, but not the worst, right? You’d just be a couple doors down the hall. It would be a lot of the same in a lot of ways, just with us.”

After that came the late nights at your apartment, dates hidden behind the excuse of packing, half empty boxes on the floor and Abby stuck to you like glue, a kiss or ten whenever she got too carried away with excitement. A couple weeks later came your clothes in her closet, your favorite blanket on the couch, and Rue’s eyes glimmering with happy tears as she hid her face on your neck and tried to understand her feelings. Then, after a few minutes of patiently rubbing her back, came her little frown of concentration and the way she attentively listened to you and Abby explain that her reaction was normal, that sometimes happiness feels like too much to hold in just a laugh or a dance. “Oh, okay,” she’d said, in this cute proud tone that she gets whenever she learns something new that makes sense to her. It was the sweetest thing. She’s the sweetest thing— and you can’t believe this is your life, that you get to take care of her and hang out and teach her new things to be proud of.

“You think she wants me to be her mom?”

Abby smiles. “You are her mom, baby.”

Rue doesn't say it the next day. You don’t overthink it— couldn't if you tried. It's a nice feeling to be so happy that you don't feel the need to think. She doesn't call you mom that morning, but she runs to the doorway where you’re putting on your shoes to get to work and wraps her arms so tight around your legs that you have to balance yourself with a hand against the wall. Her hair is messy from sleep, her yellow pajama shirt wrinkled, her eyes blinking lazily as she looks up at you and asks, “Back soon?”

“Soon as I can, princess,” you promise, leaning down to kiss her head. What is there to overthink? What more could you possibly need?

You can do this forever, have mornings like this and feel grateful in a way that you didn't know existed until now. You love the way it comes at random times, the way you’re still you, still grumpy when your coffee tastes watery, still a little bad at getting to the train station on time, still learning not to burn the first batch of pancakes. It’s a big change, but not the worst, right? It’s a lot of the same in a lot of ways, except Abby is there at the kitchen kissing your cheek, and a tiny head of blonde hair is peeking from the back of the couch, gummy smile and freckled cheeks, saying, “I like my pancakes like that, mom!”

[mikan-sei]

Beyond the Surface of Suo and Sakura’s relationship

**MANGA SPOILER WARNING**

This is my first post on this website, apologies if theres anything incoherent here. This post is also very simplified and lacks some information as I wanted to keep it as concise as possible. If you would like a full-blown analysis about their relationship, do let me know. I may consider making a complete writeup.

Contrary to popular belief about their “lack of interactions”, Suo and Sakura share many important and pivotal moments together scattered across the story. They may not have that big impactful moment compared to other dynamics in WBK (examples being Chika calling Endo by his full name, or Nirei yelling at Sakura in Noroshi, but we’ll get to that later), however they are important to their relationship and for their individual characters. There’s too many to list here, so I will keep it short.

From the start of Wind Breaker, Suo has always teased Sakura; even lying to him when they first meet:

We all know that Suo is a very unserious guy, and this aspect of his character is highlighted the most when it comes to his interactions with Sakura. He constantly pokes fun at him; blatantly lying to him with the sole purpose to mess with him and just being a general tease.

These aren’t even all the instances when Suo does this! I got lazy while compiling images (yes, theres *that* many moments where Suo teases Sakura), but I hope this paints a good perspective.

This makes Sakura thinks of him as “untrustworthy”, in a more lighthearted sense.

Infact, out of anyone else in the cast, Sakura is the only person who actively questions Suo’s character. (I’m not counting Tsugeura because their confrontation was a one time thing)

But here’s the thing: Even if Suo takes advantage of the fact that Sakura is gullible enough to believe anything just so he can mess with him, Sakura still relies on Suo.

He relies on him to come up with a strategic plan for their war, partners with Sugishita despite his initial reluctance, and even follows his advice on how to fight with others people (which works in his favor immensely during the beginning of Noroshi and while he works with Sugishita)

Theres also another moment I’d like to showcase (which is very underrated imo):

Here, we see Sakura taking the support of Suo’s shoulder in order to kick Endo in the face. We also see Suo defending Sakura a few moments ago as well.

Heres’s the thing: Sakura is an arial fighter. He can easily jump to certain heights by himself, much less be able to kick his opponents mid-air. He doesn’t require any support to lift his body upwards.

So why would Sakura do this?

It’s simple: Sakura trusts Suo, whether it be direct or subconsciously. And as his vice captain, Suo also trusts Sakura. Why would he appoint him as class captain if otherwise?

Their mutual trust plays a massive part in their relationship. There are many instances showing this aspect, but for now I will just analyze this iconic scene:

Both Sakura and Suo immediately jump into action in order to protect their friend, Nirei, from any immediate threat (Endo). They exchange no words, only a knowing glance to each other.

I believe that this page shows the essence of their relationship: Despite their petty banter and occasional disagreements, despite how less ‘open’ their relationship is, they are more often on the same wavelength than not.

They care for and trust each other immensely. However, many of their nuances are in hidden between the lines of their relationship due to the guarded nature of characters.

And it is with all these aspects combined that makes the Suo and Sakura duo appealing to many people.

TLDR: Suo and Sakura trust and care for each other a lot, despite their personal shortcomings and Suo incessantly messing with Sakura.

Thanks for coming to my TedTalk. There was so much more I wanted to write about here (such as their flawed perspectives on each other, suo’s perspective on sakura, and how they uplift each other), but unfortunately Tumblr literally refused to upload most of my images and nuked half of this post bc it decided not to save the draft; hence the short analysis. If you have any additional thoughts, feel free to let me know :)

[sfstranslations]

how hard(?) would you say it is to translate? Ive been kinda curious about that, like does anything get lost in translation/ just not make that much sense without knowing the og language? or anything like that? 🤔

Hm, maybe 7 or 8 on a scale of 10? Though it can easily go higher at times, haha. (Always when Sung Hyunjae is in a scene because his name is a misspelling and it pisses me off.* This is a joke. Only half, though.) Basic word-by-word dictionary lookup is simple, which is why machine translators can do it well enough. But then you have to string all of it together in a sentence where you:

figure out and find a way to convey any difference in connotation between this specific chosen word and other words that mean the same thing (think the connotations of "regal" VS "royal" in English), and

do the same as above, but on a sentence-wide level translating the nuance of a particular grammar/sentence structure (thousand and one sentence endings in Korean, I swear -_-), and

make sure distinct character voices are retained or translated from the original Korean (think Song Taewon's stiff formality VS Han Yoojin's more casual speech VS Sung Hyunjae's middle-aged rich guy-type speech), and

make sure this sentence flows with the overall paragraph/chapter.

All those priorities have to be juggled throughout the chapter and add up to make it a fairly hard task. It definitely gets easier with practice once you're more familiar with the language (especially the nuance/connotation stuff), though, and I did get lucky in that my native language shares some aspects with Korean so the grammar is easier to intuitively grasp. Of course, I'm still learning, so I do have times I need to call in more experienced speakers for help.

(I definitely wouldn't say I'm good with the language period. Recently I've tentatively picked up a new novel—people following my personal blog will know which one—and it turns out I'm familiar with the way Geunseo talks and familiar with the vocabulary typical to dungeon fantasy novels, but kind of. Majorly hopeless when it comes to other stuff. The phrasing is juuust off enough that I keep getting tripped up and taking thrice as long to understand what's being said.)

There's definitely stuff that wouldn't make sense in English—certain idioms, cultural stuff, and all that, but that's why I try to localize wherever possible and add footnotes with relevant info/links if not. And there is stuff that gets lost in translation—you can look at the chapter titles from 302–307 for an example of that, where the joke is much more immediately obvious in Korean but had to be translated differently as chapter title VS in-chapter text messages and lost the clear parallel. I also remember being grumpy back during the virtual reality dungeon arc because Yoohyun would use 네놈 (ne-nom but typically pronounced ni-nom, a derogatory way to say "you", LMAO) towards Sigma and there was no concise way to get that across in English except having him be aggressive and direct. Especially since he isn't the type to swear by word of god, so I couldn't have him addressing him with "asshole" or "jerk" to convey it.

TL;DR: Fairly hard to translate, but gets easier with time, and there is stuff that's lost or difficult to understand, but I do what I can to make it understandable in English!

--

* Sung Hyunjae uses "ae" at the end, but that implies it's 성현재, which is wrong—the correct spelling is 성현제, which should be "Sung Hyunje". (If you wanted to go the full Revised Romanization route, it'd be Seong Hyeonje, but I've weathered my share of name changes and that's a step too far even for me.) I've been meaning to make a poll about changing it like with the Lauchitas spelling, but I keep forgetting.

[publius-library]

Hamilton: The Energetic Founder by R.B. Bernstein- A Book Review by a Teenage Know-It-All

In general, when an author refers to the Founding Fathers as "The Founding Guys" in the dedication page of his novel, my hopes are set pretty high from the get-go. I found this book while taking shelter in the Harvard Bookstore after a particularly distressing bus ride with my mother, so my judgment could have been clouded, but I actually don't regret this purchase.

Bernstein's book is short, concise, and comprehensive. While you may not be bored to death with every available anecdote about Alexander Hamilton as some authors (who will remain nameless until later) would want you to be, someone with limited knowledge of the bastard founder would be substantially educated after reading this easy 100 page read (not including the preface or epilogue).

Preface and Acknowledgments

You could not pay me to read anyone's preface or acknowledgments unless it is under 20 words. Bernstein's was not, so it won't be included in my review or in my household.

Chapter 1: Life

Early Life

I hate to say it, and you hate to hear it, but Bernstein's novel has very minimal footnotes (not at the bottom of the page, can't slip that past me), only being used for direct citations. So, there is no telling where he got the birthyear of 1758 for Hamilton because it's not cited. However, to his credit, he refers to an ambiguous "latest major biographer", and I admire anyone who does not invoke the name of the devil.

When it comes to the argument about Hamilton's birth year/age, it depends largely on which sources you believe are more credible, as well as which explanation for the discrepancy between them that you believe is most viable. It also depends on whether or not you believe Hamilton, who continuously used the 1757 year that has been considered truth by many. However, this was only used by Hamilton after his college years, and that is an important distinction.

On April 6, 1771, a teenage Alexander Hamilton submitted a poem to the Royal Danish American Gazette and, wanting to seem just a little older than he was, he summarized himself as "...a youth about seventeen..." Doing some simple math with an overqualified calculator and the knowledge that Hamilton was an insecure 16 year old, we can calculate from those numbers that Hamilton was born in 1755.

Source: Founders Online, Alexander Hamilton Papers: Alexander Hamilton to Royal Danish American Gazette, 6 April 1771. This document also includes Hamilton's first recorded poem, which is very interesting and a worthwhile read to understand his developmental years.

When Hamilton arrived in the continental British colonies in 1773, the age he gave in the above letter would put him in Boston Harbor at the age of 18- far to old for college in this time period. The exact age of entry and graduation is not precise, but it can be estimated that students would enter in their early teens (around 13-14) and graduate before they turned 17. That makes an 18 year old Hamilton far behind his would-be graduating class.

Source: University of Pennsylvania, Penn Libraries, "Penn in the 18th Century: Student Life". I thoroughly enjoyed this article, and it answered some more questions about what exactly college entailed in the 1700s, which is far different to the modern system as there was very little organized educational systems outside of these colleges and universities.

The running theory among recent historians is that Hamilton aged himself down two years (changing his birth year from 1755 to 1757) in order to apply to the College of New Jersey (modern day Princeton), which was the obvious path for him given that he was living in New Jersey and had several alumnus as mentors. Of course, we all know the story of him being denied access to Princeton after requesting an advanced curriculum*, so this detail of the age-change could fit into this attempt to get into the school on his terms. Since 1757 was now his documented birth year, it makes sense that he would continue to use that year throughout his life, as to not confuse his family, friends, and colleagues.

*According to Hercules Mulligan, Hamilton wanted to advance through the standard curriculum "with as much rapidity as his exertions would enable him to do. Dr. Witherspoon [President of the College of New Jersey] listened with great attention to so unusual a proposition from so young a person and replied that he had not the sole power to determine that but he would submit the request to the trustees who would decide." (Source: Alexander Hamilton by Ron Chernow; The William and Mary Quarterly, April 1947). Hamilton remedied this by applying to King's College (modern Columbia) and was enrolled as a special student who was tutored privately and audited necessary lectures as according to the president, Dr. Miles Cooper.

Despite all this, I have never come across 1758 as a possible birth year for Hamilton- nor have I 1754 or 1756. The issue is decidedly between 1755 or 1757, and Bernstein's lack of citations does not wholly reflect badly on his credibility, but it is disappointing because it just leaves me wondering where he got those numbers from.

The American Revolutionary War

The book does generally suffer from this lack of citation/elaboration for the sake of clarity, particularly in instances like on page 5, where Bernstein writes, "After months of organizing and training his artillery company, which he financed with the remainder of the funds meant to pay for his college education..." I have not seen any other documentation that Hamilton financed his artillery company with his educational funds, so knowing where this statement comes from would be greatly beneficial, but any citation that might elaborate on this does not exist.

There are also issues with Bernstein's timeline, along with a few dates being off (such as claiming Hamilton was invited to Washington's military staff in March 1777, when that was actually when he appeared on the payroll, and had actually been invited after the Battle of Princeton in January 1777), but it is especially noticeable when there seems to be some overlap in his novel between Hamilton's service as an artillery captain and as an aide-de-camp.

The HMS Asia was a British warship that blockaded the port of New York Harbor in August 1775, and fired upon the city. At the time, Hamilton and his friend Hercules Mulligan were serving in a makeshift militia company composed of college students called the Hearts of Oak. The following account details Hamilton's involvement in this event, which I consider the beginning of his military aspirations:

"The Asia fired upon the city, and I recollect well that Mr. Hamilton was there, for I was engaged in hauling off one of the cannon when Mr. H. came up and gave me his musket to hold and he took hold of the rope...I told him where I had left [the musket] and he went for it notwithstanding [that] the firing continued, with as much unconcern as if the vessel had not been there." -Hercules Mulligan on the Attack of the HMS Asia

Source: Hercules Mulligan: Confidential Correspondent of General George Washington - A Son of Liberty in the American War of Independence by Michael J. O'Brien

Through his connection to Alexander McDougall, who was forming a New York regiment to resist the British army, Hamilton was able to be recommended on February 23 to the New York Provincial Congress as a "...Capt. of a Company of Artillery." Hamilton received the formal assignment to this position on March 14, 1776, and maintained that post until he was offered a spot on George Washington's staff on January 20, 1777, and the appointment was confirmed on March 1, 1777.

Source: Alexander Hamilton: Youth to Maturity 1755-1788 by Broadus Mitchell

The job requirements of one of Washington's aides-de-camp were extensive, and included nearly every administrative duty that went along with running an army- from writing out orders to delivering them, from monitoring troops to rallying them in battle, the aides were official extensions of the Commander-in-Chief. Very often, skilled riders with military experience (as well as exceptional nagging ability) such as Hamilton were sent on small raiding missions, given a few men under their command to destroy or pillage supply stores. However, this does not constitute actually commanding a detachment, so Hamilton did not do this as Bernstein claims. The only time he did while under Washington's direct command was during the Battle of Yorktown in 1781, but by that time, he had long since quit Washington's office due to frustrations with the man in charge.

Source George Washington's Indispensable Men by Arthur S. Lefkowitz

This discrepancy is not a major flaw in Bernstein's retelling by any means, but it is one example of how the overall timeline of chapter one is a little muddled, which may confuse someone who does not have a nearly encyclopedic knowledge of Alexander Hamilton's life like some of you weirdos on the internet (not me, obviously).

Political Career

Moving out of the war and into the Constitutional Era (1786-89), Bernstein includes the almost mandatory anecdote of Hamilton's infamous six hour speech* during the Constitutional Convention (though he claims it was between three and six hours, though all sources I've seen have said it was six). Bernstein describes the speech as such:

"Taking the floor, he gave a speech between three and six hours in length. He mocked the Articles of Confederation and the delegates' plans to fix them. Instead, he described his own plan for a truly national government that would have reduced the states to administrative districts and vested the general government with sweeping national powers. Unfortunately for Hamilton, his proposal remained only a proposal. He could only declaim and argue, for Yates and Lansing would not support his proposal on behalf of New York, nor would anybody else in the Convention, not even Madison," (Bernstein 11).

And all of this is absolutely correct- however, it misses the point. Hamilton's plan, which was everything Bernstein said it was, was so distinctly Hamilton that even the man himself was well aware that he was not likeable enough for it to pass. Though Hamilton put effort into his plan and had faith that it would be successful, it was far too close to a monarchy to appease the Convention (especially with whisperings of uprisings blowing across the Atlantic from Paris by this time).

Instead, Hamilton continued to give his speech delivering his proposal in order to push the radicals behind the New Jersey Plan to consider the moderate nature of the Virginia Plan, which Hamilton and his comrade Madison favored. The Virginia Plan was essentially a modified version of the British government model, which is distinctly Hamiltonian, even though Madison claims the credit. Hamilton had his reservations about the final draft- but so did Madison. They were teammates at this point, as contrasting to their later relationship that might be. Hamilton would not propose a contrary plan if he genuinely believed it could succeed; he had temporary lapses in political judgment frequently, but this was one of those golden moments where he seemed quite intelligent.

*Hamilton's speech was given about half a month after the Virginia Plan was first proposed, and three days after the New Jersey Plan. So although it was not especially late in the game, that changes when you consider that Hamilton had not spoken in support of either of the plans at all. Hamilton did criticize the Virginia plan ("And what even is the Virginia Plan, but democracy checked by democracy, or pork with a little change of the sauce?" Miracle at Philadelphia: The Story of the Constitutional Convention, May to September 1787 by Catherine Drinker Bowen), so there is an argument that he was offering an alternative plan, but it's overall effect was to lend support to the Virginia Plan, as well as damaging Hamilton's reputation by igniting rumors of British sympathies.

There is very little to critique with Bernstein's retelling of the Washington administration, aside from a few strange descriptions and excessive brevity, but this era in American history is so excessive, and not everyone can write a King James Bible sized treatise on just Federalist 1-5.

This, however, does benefit benefit Bernstein when he discusses the Reynolds Affair. It is the sort of subject you want to dedicate time and words to, exploring the multiple perspectives and dynamics, if you're going to go in depth on it at all. Bernstein's retelling is simple, delicate, and careful, respecting all parties, especially the women.*

*Unlike some less comprehendible authors, Bernstein is not aggressively sexist against the women in Hamilton's life- starting with Rachael Fawcett (his spelling, again, not cited; Rachel's name has many spellings and variations so this is not especially egregious). He speaks of her respectfully and factually, which I shouldn't be happy about, but that's what we've come to here. I'll get into the larger consequences of brevity in a similar area later in the review, but you should know that I don't entirely approve of how much he skips over Hamilton's relationships with women, but to be fair, that would probably taken 100 pages on its own.

The Last Few Years

Again, there isn't too much to say here except for a few notes and interpretation differences between Bernstein and I. Firstly, on the issue of Washington's death, Bernstein writes of Hamilton's response to the sad news, "It does suggest, however, that Hamilton was so moved by Washington's death, which ended a close personal and political partnership spanning nearly twenty-five years, that he did not heed his own choice of words, a tendency that affected him throughout 1800," (24).

The instance where Hamilton "did not heed his own choice of words" was when Hamilton wrote to Tobias Lear, "Perhaps no man in this community has equal cause with myself to deplore the loss [of Washington]."

I think Bernstein's interpretation of this is a little dramatic; the expression that someone's feelings were the most intense or profound was a common saying in the 18th century western society, and can be seen in many letters regarding friends or extended family, where the person writing is definitely not the most affected by the loss. It is the deep expression of grief, not a legitimate claim that Hamilton's grief supersedes all others'. I only think this worth mentioning because it slightly misconstrues Hamilton's character, and it's important to avoid that.

Source: Founders Online, Hamilton Papers: Alexander Hamilton to Tobias Lear, 2 January 1800

The Duel

Overall, there are few portrayals of the 1804 Hamilton/Burr Duel that don't horribly disfigure the intentions of one of the parties involved. In his book, Bernstein picks Burr as the scapegoat, and chooses the route of claiming that Burr was simply looking for anyone he could point his pistol at, shouting unreasonable demands at Hamilton who respectfully raised a hand to silence him and gloriously took to the field.

Of course, the duel is an especially complex issue, which Bernstein dedicates a chapter to, so I will reserve my interpretation until then, but it's clear that his biography is strictly anti-Burr, which taking sides is not the most accurate way to approach the matter of a duel- or anything in historical politics, if I'm being fully honest with you.

Chapter 2: Revolution and Politics and Chapter 3: Law and Constitutionalism

As the heading implies, chapter two focuses on the two revolutions during Hamilton's lifetime (American and French, chronologically) and the impact they had on his politics. Now, while reading this, I admit I was increasingly frustrated that details about Hamilton's life that would have helped the brevity issues in chapter one were found in the following chapters, I can see the vision, and will accept it. The author's retellings of these events are very well, so I have little to disagree with, so I'll be discussing what I do disagree with, and what I thought he handled well.

Of course, as the champion of not giving Hamilton too much credit, I'm going to critique Bernstein for referring to Hamilton as "Washington's principle aide" on page 34. I fought Chernow on this, so I'll be fighting Bernstein on this. Hamilton, while a very valuable asset in Washington's staff, was not literally or figuratively his "principle" aide-de-camp.

The literal title goes to Washington's military secretaries, which, during most of Hamilton's tenure on his staff, was Robert Hanson Harrison. The figurative title falls to Tench Tilghman, who served for longer than Hamilton in, arguably, more capacities. Hamilton's skills were in politics and organization, as well as military maneuvers, so he was most often picked for interactions with congressmen and foreign representatives, as well as raids, foraging parties, and bookkeeping. Tilghman, however, filled in wherever was necessary from 1776 to 1781. The philosophy of "credit where credit is due" dictates that these men be given the title of "principle" aide before Hamilton, who only has the advantage of being louder and more famous.

Source: George Washington's Indispensable Men by Arthur S. Lefkowitz

One thing I think could have warranted a mention was Hamilton's paranoia towards mob rule. Of course, Hamilton's political theory of preventing both majority and minority rule are necessary to mention, as they are interwoven in both The Federalist and the Constitution itself, which can be pinned down as the best models for (most of) Hamilton's political philosophies.

However, Hamilton's fear of the mob dates back to before the French Revolution, where it really kicked up and paired well with Adams' Alien and Sedition Acts. These are major historical events that Bernstein does not neglect, however he could have gone a little deeper on this. Hamilton's fear of the mob can be traced back to his childhood in the Caribbean, where the fear of slave uprisings was implanted in every citizen's head, especially if they were raised in the area. This fear motivated Hamilton's actions in the aforementioned Dr. Miles Cooper incident, regardless of how you spell Miles/Myles, which was before both major revolutions, so it is a topic worth exploring.

There was a third revolution that Bernstein does not discuss: the Haitian Revolution in 1791. The results of this revolution was the founding of the country of Haiti, and the liberation of the island's enslaved people, who went on to govern the new country. This was, as you can imagine, every white person's nightmare at the time, especially if they were up to date on the recent occurrences in France, where the violence was increasing by the day. Hamilton's only references throughout his correspondence (that I could find) were in regards to a French fleet arriving in what is now Haiti, and "...the late disturbances in those Islands..." so unfortunately, we do not know his exact thought on that event. However, there is much to be speculated and discussed, given that this revolution occurred so close to his birthplace, and I think that the mention of this could have given this chapter of Bernstein's novel a new perspective that we don't normally see in a Hamilton biography.

Source: Alexander Hamilton by Ron Chernow; Founders Online, Alexander Hamilton Papers: Alexander Hamilton’s Final Version of the Report on the Subject of Manufactures, 5 December 1791, Alexander Hamilton to George Washington, 5 November 1796

One continuous pattern throughout the book is the idea that Hamilton had a fully "American" or "federal" perspective; that his priorities were dedicated to the entire country's interests, rather than to one particular state or region, (Bernstein 42, 66). This is, unlike most things in this novel, wholly untrue. Hamilton, although he would very much appreciate this statement, was very often biased towards the interests of New York as well as that of the upper merchant class of that state. Though he was not scheming to convert the whole American economy to being run by bankers and merchants like Jefferson claimed, he did still lean towards the class which he belonged until he was unable to maintain that position. In general, Bernstein is very kind to Hamilton, which is charitable, but inaccurate at times.

Bernstein is very talented at summarizing Hamilton's political philosophies, specifically when he describes Hamilton's four basic principles as being "...popular sovereignty, energetic government, checks and balances, and federalism," (Bernstein 40). These are themes that are abundant in Hamilton's political actions, and are espoused in The Federalist and other major publications of his, as well as the Constitution- because they mimic the foundations of the British government. Bernstein is clearly an incredible academic and historian who is greatly worthy of respect and a wonderful source for descriptions such as these.

Note: I included these two chapters in with each other since they're largely interlinked and I didn't have anything noteworthy to say about chapter three that I didn't already say about chapter two. That isn't to say that chapter three isn't noteworthy, but it stands on its own, in my opinion.

Chapter 4: Political Economy and Public Administration

For the two areas where we can see Hamilton's greatest accomplishments, Bernstein does an exceptional job at discussing his actions and motivations, as well as his conflicts with political rivals. My favorite sentence in particular can be found on page 74:

"Even at those times when most Americans have turned to worship at the ideological shrine of Thomas Jefferson, students of public administration have devoted close, admiring attention to Hamilton's thought and work." -Bernstein

I just really like it.

Another thing I really like was Bernstein's categorizing of the factors that went into Hamilton's view on the national economy, as well as his explanation (Bernstein 75-76). I'll include a summary here so those who do not have the means to buy his book can still appreciate his genius here.

Unity: authority organized from top down; keeping all government officials on the same page to execute orders from the top dog exactly as they were meant to be executed

Duration: the system in place would have to remain in place for an extended period of time in order to be properly incorporated, but the time period must also be short enough to ensure the efficiency of government

Adequacy: the government must have enough power to be able to actually execute the policies it puts in place, but cannot have too much that it infringes on the states' or individuals government given or fundamental rights

Responsibility: every official was responsible to the department and nation when executing policy, and must conduct themselves in a manner consistent with the overall public administration

This categorization is effective in that it does not leave anything wanting- the reader is able to fully understand what went into Hamilton's thinking- but it is also concise enough that it does not bore you with 100 pages of doing over every. single. Federalist. paper. So, I appreciate Bernstein's mercy.

Chapter 5: War and Peace and Chapter 6: Honor and Dueling

Note: For chapter 5, I again had nothing to say, though I did write notes; however, they were only my typical complaints about having to read about my favorite subject in the world. That being said, there is more to chapter 6.

Bernstein categorizes (once more) the men of this generation into two groups: gentlemen of extreme politeness and gentlemen of the sword. These classifications are based on a man's response to a conflict or insult. Gentlemen of extreme politeness, like Jefferson or Madison, who, when in the face of conflict, do whatever they can to avoid open warfare with diplomatic responses according to an unwritten code of the Enlightenment Era. Gentlemen of the sword, however, shoot each other.

I would not say that 18th century western gentlemen were quite so black and white as this description, but I'll roll with it. So, we have gentlemen of extreme politeness (Jefferson, Madison, the Randolphs, the Livingstons) and then the gentlemen of the sword (Hamilton, Burr, Monroe...) Who else? I don't know, because Bernstein does not mention this name once:

John Laurens.

I made a post mentioning "Laurens erasure" in July, and I swore off arguing whether or not historical figures were queer a long time ago, but the entire exclusion of John Laurens from a Hamilton biography feels sinful, so I cannot let it stand. Even if he is a footnote, he deserves to be mentioned in Hamilton's life story, not only for the personal relationship they had, but for the role he played in the development of Hamilton's view of class distinctions.

John Laurens came from an extremely prestigious family of South Carolina, a colony founded for the purpose of making money for the British Empire. Alexander Hamilton's background contrasts this, as he was raised a poor bastard on an island where there were only the very rich and the severely impoverished, no in-between. This seems to have caused tension between Laurens and Hamilton at various points, but by the end of the relationship, Hamilton had joined the bourgeoisie that Laurens was born into, and this marks a significant shift in his attitudes towards various social issues.

Source: Founders Online, Hamilton Papers: Alexander Hamilton to John Laurens, 8 January 1780

More specifically to the topic at hand, John Laurens provided Hamilton with his first personal exposure to dueling (aside from the duels that occurred in his Caribbean childhood*), when Laurens dueled Major General Charles Lee in 1778, and Hamilton acted as his second. You'd think that this would warrant a footnote, but, as we've established, Bernstein does not believe in those unless it is a direct citation.

Source: Alexander Hamilton by Ron Chernow (pg. 18*) ; John Laurens and the American Revolution by Gregory D. Massey

Laurens and the honor culture we're discussing are inherently intertwined, and he's even further intertwined with Hamilton (usually in a military cot, I presume). It was the 18th century concept of "honor" that motivated Laurens to join the army, duel, and die in battle. It was honor that united Hamilton and Laurens, and it was Laurens who taught Hamilton the ins and outs of being an Enlightened, American gentleman with honor. Without John Laurens, Alexander would not have been Hamilton.

Now that I've said why Laurens should be mentioned, why shouldn't he? Brevity is one reason, and we've established that's very important to Bernstein, however I don't think it's good enough. Laurens would have prompted another question that Bernstein either didn't have time for or didn't have the answers for: were they gay? Well, I have the answers, but not the time, so we'll save that for another day. For now, tsk tsk, Bernstein.

Of course, Bernstein discusses the 1804 duel between Alexander Hamilton and Aaron Burr. Bernstein doesn't say anything particularly extraordinary about this event, and neither will I, because everything has already been said about it that could have been said (probably, if you can find something original, please grace my ears with it). However, the particular narrative that Bernstein leans into is problematic in one particular way, and that is demonstrated in this excerpt:

"There are a few salient points about how this honor dispute escalated- or deteriorated- into a duel. First, what if Burr had gone first to cooper to ask what Hamilton's "despicable opinion" had been... Second, Burr's choice to confront Hamilton rather than [Reverend Charles] Cooper suggests how ready he was to accept a duel as the only way to resolve his dispute with Hamilton and vindicate his honor. Third had Burr been that ready to risk a duel, Hamilton could not have avoided it," (96).

For some context, Burr cited his reason for challenging Hamilton as being a letter between Reverend Charles Cooper and General Philip Schuyler that was published in the Albany Argus in which Cooper wrote, "I could detail to you a still more despicable opinion which General Hamilton has expressed of Mister Burr."

This is problematic in that it entirely pins the blame on Burr, and poses Hamilton as the victim. This is something fairly common, and the most common bias among historians, but it is simply not possible. There is never one complete villain, and Burr certainly wasn't someone who could be described as such. Not even Hamilton thought that, which says something.

To address Bernstein's first point, I don't see how reaching out to Cooper would have benefitted either Burr or Hamilton. If he had, and the "more despicable opinion" had been as bad as implied, the fault still would have lied with Hamilton. There would be no reason for Burr to fault Cooper for this, as Cooper did not say that he agreed with Hamilton's opinion of Burr; it was entirely attributed to Hamilton. (Even if it was implied that Cooper did agree, he could more easily frame it to Burr that this wasn't the case).

Additionally, the reason why Burr was concerned with this "more despicable opinion" is due to several rumors going around about him, some that were objectively vile, such as him having an incestuous relationship with his daughter. The specific instance cited by Cooper was something Hamilton said at the city tavern, discouraging others from voting for Burr. It is a common misconception that this is what motivated Burr to challenge Hamilton, but in actuality, it is the implication, and Hamilton's failure to deny, that Hamilton was guilty of spreading such horrible, false rumors against Burr.

Source: Founders Online, "Enclosure: Charles D. Cooper to Philip Schuyler", 23 April 1804; "The two men were often invited to dinner parties hosted by leading New York politicians, businessmen and even each other. During those years, Burr was widowed and lived with his daughter and husband. Hamilton reportedly suggested Burr committed incest with his daughter. Enraged, the Vice President challenged the Treasury Secretary to a duel in Weehawken, N.J. Hamilton was mortally wounded, dying a day later. Hamilton’s death destroyed Burr’s political career," North Coast Current, "Historically Speaking: The Forgotten Man- Aaron Burr"

The lack of acknowledgment of Burr's perspective contributes to this larger perspective that Burr was a malicious, conniving person, and it lacks empathy and understanding, while also showing poor critical thinking skills. Historians are human, and therefore can never be entirely unbiased, but there is a responsibility in this field to be open to all sides, and to provide the reader with enough information to take a different side than the one given by the author. I feel this was lacking in Bernstein's analysis of the duel, but he is absolutely not unique in this. This is partly why I dislike discussing the duel so much because when this occurs in a more opinionated work, such as Alexander Hamilton by Ron Chernow, it is simply frustrating. But, I digress.

Conclusion

Overall, I'd highly recommend this biography for someone seeking to start their investigation of Hamilton's life. Bernstein does a very good job of providing a simple, succinct resource that makes the factual evidence of Hamilton's life very easily accessible due to his book's brevity, but this feature does also limit the perspective you get from giving this book. In reality, this isn't very different from any other history book, at least in my perspective. I believe that this is a genre of literature that should be cross-referenced, and you should keep reading to seek what the whole truth is. The best thing about it is that that "whole truth" is not attainable by one person, and that makes history an inherently social art; you need to work with other people to fully understand. Read other people's work, question other people's opinions, have a discussion. In conclusion, keep reading.

[dailydemonspotlight]

Genbu - Day 149

Race: Avatar

Arcana: Temperance

Alignment: Light-Chaos

December 19th, 2024 (Published Dec. 20th)

Chinese Mythology has quite a lot of groups of mythologic figures- pantheons of gods, groups of demons, and unique companies surrounding several of these gods and demons- but none stick out quite as much in pop-culture than the Four Divine Beasts (also called the Four Symbols). No relation to Breath of the Wild. These creatures, representing the cardinal directions, each have their own unique and fascinating roles to play in the mythological ecosystem of China. While all of the four divine beasts are very interesting and fun in their own right, today we're going to be shining a special spotlight on one in particular: the Black Tortoise of the North, Genbu.

By themselves, from what I know, the four divine beasts don't have much- most of their stories and tales are related primarily to each other and how they each fulfill different roles compared to each other. However, we do know quite a bit about them separately, and a lot about the unit they form as well, so while this'll be a shorter upload, it'll be pretty concise, too. Genbu, the Black Tortoise, is the Beast that protects the North, spanning several northern constellations, using seven of the traditionally recognized constellations in modern society; for instance, the snake's head takes up Saggitarius, while the turtoise's shell is formed by several other constellations, being Capricornus, Aquarius, and Pegasus. In appearance, according to the constellation, he is a great tortoise with a black shell intertwined with a snake, though it's sometimes left ambiguous as to if the snake is his body or if he's simply connected to the snake.

Interestingly, Genbu's alternative spelling to his name- Xuan Wu- is also a shared name with a god named Xuanwu, with the two having a strange relationship where sometimes Genbu is Xuanwu and other times they're different figures, because Mythology hates being easy to understand. This does tie in to a small legend that I can retell here, though, about Genbu- one relating to him and Xuanwu. From what I can tell in this story, though it appears to be rather obscure and I can't even back it up with any primary sources, Xuanwu was a great and powerful god who tried to wash away his sins one day by cutting out his entrails. These entrails turned into a great tortoise and a snake, being an obvious allusion to Genbu, and after a while he managed to earn their respect, turning them into his trustworthy and faithful guardians for the north.

And, well, that's about it. His design in SMT is also incredibly deceptively simple, being a very faithful recreation of the tortoise and snake constellation, though I do like how dragon-esque the snake looks. The shell is black, and everything checks out for the Black Tortoise of the north. A pretty good design for a pretty unique demon.

[augustameretrix]

arcane abstinence so acute i stumbled into The Council Archives, a little point-and-click style game released in the league client in november 2021 where you you get to sift through some form of in-universe files relating in some respects to jayce, vi, caitlyn and jinx

btw the promotional video for jayce's collection is also where the 'i discovered discovered sextech' template comes from I think which is great news to me personally because god knows how much i like that stupid meme

anyways, they're an interesting short read, the epistolary form is always great for immersion and there's some interesting stuff going on.

both jayce's and jinx's collections consist primarily of their own writings, his work journal and her diary respectively. as for jayce, there's some details on the practical workings of hextech, followed by his disdain for the other piltie inventors - a bunch of glorified toymakers, almost, according to him - vs his self-confidence that his invention is Good and Noble. then there's a cute little section dedicated to his partnership with viktor and you can tell just how much that rocks his professional and personal world

jinx's diary is the least revealing: it's super short and almost everything she says is either repeated or can be easily inferred by watching arcane. it makes sense as these are just her personal thoughts in written form, plain and simple. but there's some painfully concise musings about herself and vi that didn't make it in the show quite in the same form. it retrodates her suicidal ideation by a lot. plus we get a little drawing of small ekko

now, cait's and especially vi's collections get into aspects the show didn't go into in depth, as in both cases we're dealing with official enforcers/wardens documentation

vi's for me is the absolute standout out of these collections. her files consist of the various internal reports of her misbehaviour in stillwater throughout the years, which document a devastating picture of her progressive decline under the watchful yet utterly uncaring, if not a bit unnerved, eyes of the wardens. there's a whole (small) character arc in there that arcane only hints at.

we learn that she goes from trying to escape, to beating information about powder out of newly arrived detainees, and finally to seemingly resign herself to a cycle of increasingly dangerous violence with other zaunite prisoners: provoke people, foil murder attempts, retaliate, rinse and repeat. any fight against the wardens she might've had in the past now she takes out on fellow inmates, recognizing the futility in trying to punch up. her reputation with the prisoners is so bad the wardens imply she sometimes relies on the guards interrogating her for some human contact - by making fun of them (one of the very first interactions between vi and cait is vi cracking a joke)

another killer thread in the collection is the guards systematically misunderstand vi's search for powder, which they interpret as drug addiction. at some point vi stops uttering her sister's name altogether, and the guard's report simply notes: "addiction to substance is cured". ain't that something

the formal and dehumanizing linguistic style of the prison wardens does wonders for this little character arc. the last file, a dismissal of a transfer request, contains a play on the words "foster" and "fester", which is just *chef's kiss*

finally, cait's collection is made up of the murder/missing person reports and autopsies she pilfered from the police station as a junior officer to conduct her private investigation on grayson's murder and on zaun's shimmer ring, as well as to whom among the enforcers is covering it up + interviews with suspects, most of which she conducted herself + one disciplinary action against her from marcus. as is usually the case for cait, we don't get a lot of direct personal info, instead we see her methodically connecting the dots while ignoring direct orders from her superior, and going deeper, deeper, and always forward. a nice little touch is the trial-and-error nature of her system: every time she gets a lead she needs to confirm or deny it, and sometimes that means suspects will laugh in her face because she submits to them an assumption that might very well be wrong. this in - apparent - contrast with her marksman (markswoman?) status. but as always, she remains unphased and keeps marching on... and ends up closing in on the target anyways.

then of course from her files you can gaze at the typically league-esque depiction of a zaun ravaged by the chem-barons' cynical endeavors, in particular by silco's (and singed's) shimmer-bloated brutes roaming the streets, or his kidnapping children for experimentation.

also of note and somewhat confusing, among caitlyn's objects in her collection there's a photograph of vi laughing (!) taken.... i'm not sure when, actually? the game mentions her "self-inked tattoos" (how, btw?), so it has to be after her arrest, but since it's unlikely vi had anything to smile about in stillwater, not to mention the description (which does NOT match the illustration btw) which reads "former inmate #516", so it must've been taken after she got out... which is weird, because the rest of cait's collection refers to events taking place up until she leaves for stillwater near the end of episode 4 aka before she gets vi released. but the photograph is described as "pinned" (to the board...? the board is treated as another object entirely), and visually depicted as one of the files in a folder, so it's a piece of evidence which would imply cait already had it. damningly, there is a camera on cait's desk, which could mean nothing, considering she likely uses it to collect clues from crime scenes. but then....

...to make things even weirder the tone in which the game goes on to describe the photo is so cheesy... dare I say romantic in a trite way. get this:

"[...] an image captured from reality, a moment frozen in time with this Zaunite urchin. In all you've researched, there was no indication that the criminal was even capable of smiling. But in this picture… she's laughing."

what is happening here?? did cait take this picture after vi's release? when? is this one of those not-so-subtle hints at cait and vi's relatonship riot likes to sprinkle in league and in the lore site? it would match the style and would explain the discrepancy between text and image, but it's so out of place and time here. oh well!

[beananacake]

My Crown Upon Your Head (Ch. 2)

Prince!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Synopsis: When an arranged engagement between Prince James of Brookland and Princess Natasha ushers the discovery of the existence of a marriage contract between you and said prince, you readily agree to a divorce for the sake of the kingdom. At first, you had been willing to be separated from Prince James but as you spend more time with your husband, you begin to feel things that are forbidden. It does not help your case when James shares the same sentiments. As you combat the emotions that excite and scare you, the discoveries you make of the people that surround you make you suspect there is something else at play...

WC: 4.9K

Warnings: period-typical misogyny, 18+ for delicate issues, mentions of war, Sam and Bucky are slightly out of character but let's just say it's for the sake of the fic, more of exposition in this one, large chunks of paragraphs, badly translated language

A/N: I will officially OPEN a TAGLIST! I cannot keep a fixed schedule for updating MCUYH so anyone who wants to be included, just comment down on the fic or maybe send me a message (my ask box is being annoying so it's useless atm). Please enjoy!

It was an unusual request that you asked for lemons and lavenders with your writing materials but they delivered. You merely said that they were for you to bite on but truly, the lemons were for writing a message that only your father could decipher. What was once a simple trick your father had taught you during your travels was now your only means of communicating with him without the rest of the palace knowing. You had only used it for important missives and what else could be more important than for your father to know that you had been married to the prince and that you were to be kept to the palace indefinitely.

You wrote carefully, telling him to keep the information to himself. You had no ambitions of being a princess and the irony of you being one—or being deemed ambitious by the Grand Duke—was not lost on you. You kept your secret message short and concise, and you also told him no promises of future missives lest you be found out. Once you were finished with the lemon ink, you let it dry and took to writing the obvious message with ink. You scribbled, in between the lines written in lemon juice, your request for your trunks, writing implements, and the many books you were supposed to be reading. The visible letter was short and direct and you sealed it with wax and a sprig of lavender—your unofficial insignia—so your father would immediately know that the message was from you.

When you have sent your letter, you met with the Head Housekeeper. She assigned to you a personal lady’s maid and had two girls prepare a bath for you and another to bring you an appropriate change of clothing. The Duke of Queensfield is bound to arrive by nightfall and the King will not want his guest to appear unprepared, she had said as she looked at you sternly. You cannot find fault in that; you still smelled like the salt of the sea and you did not want to further scandalize people with your unusual choice of clothing.

“What shall I call you, miss?” asked the maid—Wanda, she replied when you asked of her name—as she scrubbed your shoulders with warm water and simple soap. You had told her that you were fine with bathing yourself but the surprise on her face made you realize that you had made a terrible faux pas. Of course, guests of the king were expected to be waited on hand and foot.

“Y/N, please,” you replied. “I am all but noble so please do not burden yourself with titles to call me. If you are uncomfortable with calling me by my name, you can continue calling me ��miss.’”

“I must confess, miss, I am inexperienced as a lady’s maid. I had only been an apprentice mere months before the queen passed.” Wanda told you humbly.

“I do not have my own personal lady’s maid.” You told her in confidence. “All that you do is of great help to me already.”

Wanda’s eyes were owlish on her face when she turned to you in surprise. She was a beautiful little thing despite the frailness and pointedness of her features. Her hair, an enviable shade of titian, was pulled severely in a bun on her nape and gave her a look that was beyond her years. The softness of her accented voice, however, betrayed the maturity of her features—she could not be any older than twenty.

You smiled gently at her. “I am unbearably common, Wanda.”

“It is rare for the king to house a common guest, miss, if you do not mind me saying.”

“I find my situation quite uncommon for a commoner like me.” You let her wash off the lather. “Your accent. It is familiar but I cannot place it.”

She paused in her ministrations, looking at you once more with her green eyes, before returning to her task. “I was from Sokovia,” she said simply.

Was. Such a simple word but it conveyed a thousand griefs. You knew of Sokovia, of the disaster that had been wrought by powerful countries at war. Sokovia was not at fault for existing in between two quarrelling nations. It was unfortunate to have been in the middle of it all. It had been all too sudden; the call for war happened unexpectedly that they had not amassed an army in time to defend themselves. It was the decimation of its capital city of Novi Grad that had put an end to the existence of such small but promising land.

“Forgive me.” You touched Wanda’s hand, squeezing it gently to convey your sympathies. “I would not have asked if I had known.”

“It is of little consequences now. My home is now here, in Brookland. To work for the kingdom is an honor, miss.”

You smiled gently. “Our monarchs are kind and just.”

“Yes. Most especially the queen, may her soul rest.” She hummed a regret-filled sound. “When she died, the whole kingdom was devastated. Since then, the king had been in poor health. He is worried for the kingdom’s future should he soon follow his wife.”

You let her dry you and bring your chemise before you pressed on with more of your questions.

“Is the prince incapable of ruling?” you asked as you adjusted the cotton garment against your body.

You had known princes were schooled into being future monarchs since their infancy. Perhaps Prince James was otherwise engaged in other matters, especially in that of being a soldier.

Wanda laced your stays as she replied.

“Prince James is very capable, miss. However, the king has stipulated that the kingdom be ruled by a king and a queen. He has to marry before he ascends the throne.” She passed you a modesty petticoat and, once worn, fastened a heavy hoop skirt around your waist.

Of course. It was the very reason you were called for, after all. Your presence had been a great hindrance to the future of the kingdom. With you still legally wed to the prince, he would not be able to marry the Grand Duke’s niece.

“Does he have a bride he wishes to wed?” you asked, bobbing as she brought another two more petticoats and the outer skirt overhead. “Are your privy to that information?”

Any woman, noble or not, would be curious about the future queen of the kingdom. Even one married to said prince.

“The Grand Duke’s niece, miss. It is said she is a Princess from Russia.”

A princess. It was now truly understandable why the Grand Duke was irate with you. Who else was a better match for the prince than a princess?

The butterflies in your stomach fluttered as you remembered James’s intense gaze. He had looked over at you appreciatively even in your disheveled state, and you had reacted in a way that had only been shown in Shakespeare’s comedies. There was a flutter of excitement that coursed through you at the sight of his appraising eyes—heady, potent, foreign; it made you feel silly. You knew you were flustered when you had looked at him, felt the heat rise and color your cheeks, and you made an utter fool of yourself by giving an ungraceful curtsy. You were often calm and collected in the face of royalty, always poised and proper, and in that moment, you stumbled. All because of your husband.

Oh, dear.  

You needed to stop calling him thus, even in your thoughts. The king would have you punished if he ever caught you referring to the prince as your husband.

Wanda rearranged the many petticoats under your skirt before running a flat palm down to keep it in place. She took a similarly colored bodice and fastened its buttons at your back. You faced the mirror and stifled a gasp when you saw your reflection. The dress was a confection of delicate lace and beautiful pink silk taffeta. The bodice was left bare, save for the intricately made neckline. Seed pearls and violet-hued gemstones were sewn with gold thread in elegant, floral motifs across your chest. Lace as delicate as a spider’s web cascaded just beneath it, fluttering at the slightest touch of the wind. Short, puffed sleeves of the same pink taffeta and cream-colored lace were gathered with a delicate pink bow on your arm. The layers of flounce that encircled the skirt may have dated the dress to the fashion of the yesteryears but it did not diminish the inherent beauty. It was simple yet opulent; it was a testament of Brookland’s quiet riches. And it fit perfectly as though it was made for you.

“Oh, how beautiful,” you gushed. It was a dress fit for a royal. “But I feel I am not fit to wear it. Such a dress would be missed by its owner. I am perfectly fine to receive a simple frock.”

“The late queen did not have much simple dresses, miss,” Wanda remarked as she bent down to fasten your shoes.

“I beg your pardon?” You must have misheard. Surely, the palace would not have lent you a gown from the late queen’s personal closets. “You mean to tell me this belonged to Queen Winnifred?”

“Yes, miss. Our Sunday’s bests are not fit to be worn to a receiving of the Duke of Queensfield, and the Head Housekeeper’s dresses would not have fit you properly without being taken in. This dress seemed the most fitting to present to you.” Your maid replied innocently.

Of course. If only your trunks had arrived during your bath, you would have a choice of dress albeit not as elegant as the one you were in. It is only a matter of clothing, Y/N. Princess Shuri had even lent her ceremonial robes to me when I needed them, you thought to yourself. Yes. There was no need for you to worry overmuch with your appearance. In the meantime, you would relish the feel of wearing Brookland’s fineries on your body.

“The Grand Duke, he is not a Brook,” you said when you sat before your vanity.

Wanda had insisted to style your hair and you agreed, knowing a simple plait would not be appropriate for meeting the prince’s cousin.

“No, miss. He was a part of the Sokovian nobility.” Wanda replied as she combed and pinned your hair.

“I see. Was he the highest ranking official who had been exiled here?”

“I do not think so. Although, he had been the only one who wished to serve the king.”

It was no wonder why his niece had been chosen as the prince’s bride. If the saying was true—that the Sokovians were unfailingly loyal—then the king could not have chosen a better future queen for the kingdom. It was another reason why you must divorce the prince as soon as you can.

You dismissed Wanda when she had finished with your hair but not before thanking her for her help. You strode out of your room with a new sense of purpose. Any book on the politics of the kingdom would be a great help to you and to this predicament you put yourself in. The palace library would have housed these scholarly books you needed.

You had a vague memory of where the library was, supposing it hadn’t been moved in the last twenty years since you had been here. You recalled it being situated near the gardens on the east of the grand staircase, with ornate double doors of gold gilding. Portraits of the current royal family and ones of the prince should be hung on either side of its entryway. You went down the grand staircase and headed right, smiling politely at the stunned footmen who hastily opened the doors to the library for you.

The scent of wood and books assaulted your nose before you saw the richly decorated library. Dark oak shelves were teeming with books of all shapes and sizes and it reached up to the grandly decorated ceilings. There were murals of heavenly bodies painted on the dome, of vibrantly colored scenarios that told of religious histories and Brookland’s myths and legends, and each panel was artfully done as the next one. Arched windows with views of the palace gardens gave ample lighting to the otherwise dark room. In the middle of it all lay two opulently carved long tables; each bearing candles, sheafs of paper, and writing materials. A mezzanine wrapped around the room; the shelves on it housing even more volumes. At the opposite side, a cavernous marble fireplace blazed generously.

On any other time, you would have perused every title of the books held within but for now, you settled for any book on Brookland’s laws and constitution. You walked over to the section of the library where you assumed housed those books and, pulling out one on the subject of constitution, settled by a window as you started to read.

You were not educated much in Brookland’s laws but you knew that the volume you were reading had been outdated, evidenced by a passage saying that land disputes must be settled with blood through fisticuffs to the death. It was barbaric and antiquated and it made you go to the mezzanine to find another book that may have held the answers you were looking for.

A tome on matters regarding matrimony caught your eye and you pulled it out. It was dated to the last century but still, it was recent enough for you to study. You opened it to the contents table and scanned its pages as you slowly came down the spiral steps.

“Mein Gott!”

A rustle of papers made you look up and to the eyes of Grand Duke Zemo. He stared at you in alarm, his skin turning a deathly pale that you had not realized was possible for someone of his complexion. His mouth was hung open in shock and his hands trembled as the papers wafted from them.

You quickly executed a curtsy to the surprised man. “Your Grace.”

“Wie konntest du hier sein? Du bist tot!”

His eyes were wide and unseeing; his gaze passed right through you.

“Are you all right, Grand Duke?” You asked worriedly.

You stood there, unmoving; afraid that suddenly doing so would spook the already-terrified man. It had been some time before a noise disturbed the eerie silence of the library. The loud cracking of the fireplace from behind you effectively shook him from his stupor.

He blinked in rapid succession, the glazed look in his eyes vanishing as he saw you. Color returned to his cheeks until they were tinted an angry shade of red. “I thought I had seen Queen Winnifred.” He whispered harshly.

“Forgive me.” You said, although you did not know why. It only seemed to be the appropriate response at the moment. You flattened a hand down the front of your dress. “My trunks had not arrived and the Head Housekeeper had offered for me to wear Her Majesty’s dress.”

He stared openly at you, his sharp eyes roaming about your figure. Gooseflesh prickled at the trail his eyes left on your skin. He finally turned away to pick at his fallen items and you stood there awkwardly, waiting for him to dismiss you.

“What are you doing here?” he asked instead as he placed his items on the table.

“I was hoping to find something to read, Your Grace.” you replied, watching as he lit a candle. “There was a book on the constitution of Brookland—”

He raised a disbelieving brow as he glanced at you. “First, you marry the prince and now, you wish to learn more about the laws of the land?”

His question oozed incredulity and judgement.

“What shall be next? You will turn us out of the palace?” He scoffed. “Do not fancy yourself helping us out of this problem. You have made one mistake already, girl. God knows you would be creating another one for me to solve.”

You kept silent. It was unjust of him to think of you so, especially when you and he were towards the same goal. You did not want to remain married to the prince for long—heaven knows you were not brought up for such a task—but Grand Duke Zemo did not have to be nasty in his refusal of your help.

“Find some light reading,” he said. “Girls like you cannot comprehend the legislations of the land. There is a book on flowers that I find befits someone of your stature.”

You gave a polite but strained smile. A string of explanations sat at the tip of your tongue but you withheld it. It was futile to argue with the man, much more when he yielded power over you.

“Thank you, Grand Duke.” You replied shortly. “If you could point me to the direction of those books, I would be happy to take one.”

“Such impudence,” he murmured before grudgingly pointing at one corner of the room.

Taking the heavy tome, you replaced it before heading towards the section of the botany books. There was an array of them, all of botany but of different subjects. You also saw the different languages of the books, more artfully designed than the others. The foreign books appeared untouched, the gold foil of the titles still complete and glinting in the sun.

There was a section of German books and you plucked one out of the many unblemished volumes. You also took two sheets of paper and a pencil from the table when you descended.

“I shall bid you good day, Your Grace.” You curtsied in his general direction. He waved his hand at you dismissively and it cued you to leave the awful man alone.

In the very least, you knew where the library was located. The book about the laws of the land would have to wait. This book on botany, however it came to your possession, looked interesting. You were conversant in many a language, reading this German book would not pose a problem. It would keep you occupied while you waited for your trunks to arrive.

…

…

…

From his window, James watched as you emerged to the garden.

If he were honest with himself, he would say he was disappointed that you weren’t wearing your breeches and shirt anymore and that he could not admire your shapely figure but with the dress you had now donned, there was no mistaking the contours of your body. He had not had this visceral reaction to the Princess Natasha’s portrait, but then again, he had not seen her in the flesh. You, however, he had seen and admired. There was no mistaking what a great beauty you were and he would be blind to deny such visible truth to himself.

He could not find it in him to be angry with you. It was a peculiar situation you both had gotten into, the innocent intentions and legally binding contracts. His memory of you had rang clear in his head by the time he finished speaking with his father; he remembered your hope for a friendship with him, your eagerness in trying to copy your father’s way of sealing such relationships, and the way you were excited when you both had—unintentionally—sealed each other’s fate. It was simply laughable and not worth getting furious over, unlike his father and the Grand Duke Zemo.

With a renewed sense of vigor, James headed towards the garden. The ledgers had become awfully boring and the numbers had started to swim before his eyes. He had not even touched the missives that had piled on his desk lest he misunderstand important matters. This is a much needed reprieve, he convinced himself. I will do better once I have taken a stroll in the gardens.

He was determined to get to know you, that much was true. Even if you were not to remain married for long, he was eager to learn more about you. King George had said that you had traveled to different kingdoms and territories with your diplomat father and had lived in those places for nearly all your life. You were foreign as much as you were a Brook; that in itself was fascinating to him. Among other things, that is.

“Your Royal Highness, I suppose the reason for your rushing is so we can train,” came an amused, sarcastic voice behind him.

James stopped and turned towards its source. Samuel Wilson, the Captain of the Royal Guards, walked towards the prince with an air of equal parts amusement and frustration.  

“Whyever would you think otherwise?” James asked, a brow quirked at the obvious jape.

“You have been avoiding all my attempts at getting you to train.” remarked Sam. “Is it so hard to pick up your sword again? You had not been the same since the battle in Sokovia. A little movement should take away the laziness in you.”

“I had not been evading you and I am not lazy. I have had other important matters to attend to.” The prince exited the building with Captain Wilson trailing behind him. “And besides, don’t you tire of losing to me?”

Where were you? James thought as he scanned for you in the gardens. You could not have moved so quickly in the short time he went down to find you.

“I have never lost to you. I was simply bolstering your already inflated ego. And if you’re looking for the mysterious miss, she’s due west.” Sam said.

“I am not looking for her,” James replied hastily, much to his chagrin.

“Of course,” Sam said in a false grave tone. There was an unmistakable knowing grin in his words.

“I am not,” insisted James but approached you anyway.

He did not want to disturb your peace. You were poring over a book on the table while your hands were busy over a piece of paper. Scribbling, perhaps? he thought to himself as he watched you.

“I shall go and introduce myself.” Sam told him as he strode on ahead.

James followed behind him, taking on an impassive air so he did not seem overeager as he approached you. It had been a while since he last felt this way about a woman. It had been with Dolores—Dottie, as how he came to know her. She was an interesting character; ambitious for a mere daughter of a seamstress but wise beyond her years. A pity it was that he could not continue his friendship with her; the call for war drove the two of them apart. As he fought, she had gotten married. James was rightly heartbroken but he knew it would not have stood against his father. Princes married with royals, as was the custom.

“Sam Wilson, Captain of the Royal Guards, at your service.” Sam said as he bowed before you.

Against the backdrop of the high summer sun and the palace garden blooms, you appeared resplendent.

“Good day, Captain Wilson.” You smiled gently. You turned to James and curtsied. “Your Royal Highness.”

The wind tousled at your carefully coifed hair. Lemon and lavender, he thought as he caught a whiff of your scent.

James cleared his throat, which had become uncommonly tight. “Sam, this is Miss Y/N. She is my father’s guest.”

“Miss Y/N,” Sam repeated. He took your hand in his and placed a kiss atop it.

“I’ve heard stories of your triumphs in the war.” You told Sam, a polite smile gracing your face. “It must be quite a task to be commanding so many soldiers in the battlefield.”

“It is no simple feat. Prince James wishes he could command the army as I have,” Sam said with a sly grin.

James rolled his eyes. Disparity of their classes aside, Sam often jested with the prince and vice versa. But even if he and the captain were close friends, he had not told the captain as to why you were present in the palace. He knew it would do more harm than good to tell him of your relationship with each other. His father had been adamant that he divorce the two of you quietly so he could push through with James’s wedding to the Princess Natasha.

“I do not wish to command them, Sam. I do.” James said as he puffed his chest out with pride.

You snickered, then promptly apologized when both men turned to you with equally surprised looks.

“Oh, do forgive me. I do not recall ever seeing such a display of bravado since a proud young panther pounced at the older, more worldly one for a piece of food in Wakanda.” You rambled, a rosy tint rising on your cheeks.

At that, James laughed.

Any person would have cowered at the sight of the prince and the captain of the Royal Guards but not you. You were natural and you spoke your mind with such ease that it made him admire, as well as envy, you. There was no pretense or false modesty about you and it was refreshing for him to see that you weren’t one to fall at his feet and wax poetic about his title or his dashing good looks.

“And who won?” Sam asked, his eyes gleaming with curiosity.  

“One panther or another. I did not stay long enough.” You told him, adopting a serious mien. “Otherwise, I would have been their next meal.”

James smiled deeply. Your wit was sharp. It was a rarity these days. Most often, he was faced with a bumbling fool or a stammering twit.

You were also a proficient artist, he remarked, as he took in the array of papers on the table. You were sketching the flower that was on your book, halfway done by the looks of it. And intelligent as well, he silently mused as he saw the language of the book. He knew not many other people who had studied German; it was arduous language and was commonly taught to the children of noblemen and royalty. Most certainly it was not taught to the common folk.  

Every little thing he uncovered about you made him all the more curious.

“You study plants?” James asked as he motioned to your sketch. And a remarkable one at that, he thought approvingly.

You cast a furtive grimace at its direction. “Oh, no. The Grand Duke suggested that I read a book on flowers because it befits me instead of taking the book I was intending to read.”

He raised a brow at that. Zemo may appear hawkish but the man was as meek as a church mouse. “And what was it that you wanted to read?”

When you caught a rosy lip between your teeth as you hesitated, it was a surprise that he did not catch on fire on the spot at the heat that coursed through him.

“I was reading about the constitution and the laws of the land, Your Royal Highness.” you said after a moment’s hesitation.

“Whatever for?” Sam asked.  “If you do not mind my asking.”

James had momentarily forgotten his friend was present.

You turned your attentions to the Captain, hesitance still marring your face. “My… friend desires to learn of the grounds of separation. She is convinced she isn’t a fit match for her husband.”

“If I may inquire, why is the lady convinced she is not suit for her husband?”

“For one, her husband is so above her in stature. It is an unusual marriage, if I dare say so, Captain.” Your eyes met James’s as you went on. “They had unmistakably signed a marriage contract and had been bound since.”

There was uncertainty in your eyes as you looked at him. In anticipation for my reaction? James wondered. Your offense was great in King George’s eyes but to him, it was comical. Absurd and laughable. If Sir William Shakespeare were alive and present, he would have another comedy in his hands.

But it was a matter between you and him. Sam need not hear nor know of it.

“Yes, highly unusual.” Sam remarked. “But no matter. Should you wish to return to the library, I am certain His Royal Highness would be of great help to you.”

The prince nodded, hiding his surprise at being mentioned by his friend. “Yes, of course.” He leaned in towards you, a secret smile on his face. “Although, I must warn you, the language the laws were written in are not in German. Most are in Latin.”

You smiled and a dimple sank into your cheek. “It is no matter. So long as all of them are not wholly in Latin, then I think I shall understand it.”

James found himself mesmerized; his eyes trained on your lips for longer than what was allowed. They were petal-like, soft, and fresh.

“I’m afraid I must excuse myself.” Sam said suddenly. “I do not think Prince James would be coming with me to practice his swordplay so I shall leave him in your hands.”

“Oh.” You said, surprised, and turned to the Captain. “I’ve no intention of stealing him from his training, Captain.”

“And I believe he has no intention of coming to it.” Sam said wryly. He took your hand and bowed over it. “It was a pleasure to have met you, Miss Y/N.”

You smiled. “The pleasure is all mine, Captain Wilson.”

As Sam vanished behind the doors, James turned to you.

“Shall we take a turn about the gardens, Miss Y/N?”

[eclecticpagann]

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[madcatscribbles]

Five Kingdoms - The War (Part 1?)

War was hell - Everyone knew that. Humanity had seen enough war - On Earth, anyway. God only knew where the hell this place was. What these... Monsters were. They said they used magic, fel power from beyond reality. Hex had assured them that was impossible, that magic wasn't real. But... Some smaller, more defiant part of Zan's mind rebelled against that concept. Only six months ago, it wouldn't have, but today... Today was a wholly different story. Because the events of the past six months had changed the way he thought about the world.

It had been six months since the Crash - That was what they'd been calling it. At first, the skies had gone dark - Inky blackness that had consumed the city, cut it off from the rest of the world. Shame, too - Reconstruction efforts had been chugging along impressively. Two days later... The rest of the world was gone. The skies brightened. Stars above. Stars nobody recognized. Vast, empty deserts in all directions. They'd chugged along as normal - Their food supplies carried on, algae vats providing them with nutrients if nothing else. Construction kept up. Mining efforts continued until the news came.

There were other cities, out there, they were told - Spotted from the skies. Four of them. Four bastions, homes of civilizations. Lawless wastes by now, they were certain - No way any civilization could survive for six months. Mines had already run dry in this hellish place, this horrid, scorched desert. Least the solar panels worked. God, the solar panels worked. The sun felt like it was trying to kill them on its own, and sometimes, Zan worried it just might do the job. Aquifers were running low, too. The city was dying, and there was no way the others were doing any better. No way they were nearly as well-prepared. So... An armed detachment had been sent to claim one. Quick and easy. Go there, grab the resources, get back. Deal with any monsters along the way. Set up for a larger detachment, find a way home. They didn't expect to find anything but dessicated corpses anyway.

The ones who'd come back were raving of impossible things. Of storms summoned from the skies, of monsters summoned from thin air, made of naught but lightning and frost, bound together in glowing light. Of dragons. Most of Raykan had dismissed it as delusions of dehydration, really. Seriously, dragons? Must've been their cyberware acting up.

But Zan... He just didn't quite know. Still, though, another detachment had been sent. He was assigned to it. Reluctantly, he'd gone - Even if nothing else, he had to investigate these dragon and... Rumors of dragons. He still wasn't quite sold on it. The briefing had been simple and concise - Armed resistance was, by this point, expected. All drones that had attempted to draw near had ended up destroyed, their data unrecoverable. But... It looked like a standard medieval European city. A wealthy capital city. Problem was, something like that? Zan hadn't been the only one to note that it wasn't sustainable. Big, fortified place like that, surrounded by towering walls and filled with houses? Big castle in the middle? There was no food, no water. No farmland. All of that would've been outside the city. So how in God's name were they still alive? Zan's bet was robots, but still... Something in his mind still tickled at the ravings of the soldiers who'd returned...

Could it be possible...?

Zan had felt his connection with Hex click out a few miles back. It was... Well. He had to admit it was nice, not hearing the robot in his head all the time. Not knowing it had access to all his thoughts. Not that he'd ever dare think as much while he was in the system - Hex was a benevolent and kind leader, and he didn't want to anger him by implying his presence was unwelcome. No, never - Hex had been the only reason the world had ever recovered from WWIII. The only reason Raykan had ever... Existed.

It was weird, though, not being tuned into the soldiers next to him - The local connection was something he'd really gotten used to in his time in the city. Being able to read everyone's surface thoughts made it nice and easy to communicate with those around you without actually having to go to the effort of speaking. He didn't have much time to mull on it, though, before the walls of the city were revealed to him - Between great gusts of wind, the sands cleared, and the city walls suddenly towered above him. It seemed for a moment like they were all that existed, and he wondered briefly how he'd ever missed them - Even through the sandstorm, he should have noticed this.

The walls were towering constructs made of slabs of granite mortared together - Huge, laid-brick designs that looked too vast for any human hand to manipulate, each stone the height of his body and three times its height across, the wall itself easily two hundred feet tall. A colossal gate stood before him, cast from iron and steel. To conventional handheld weaponry, it would be impenetrable.

...To Zan? Well. The sound of ninety nine laser rifles firing up behind him was music to his ears. From his own back, he pulled the hefty plasma cannon he'd been carrying, feeling its weight settling into his hands. The Z16 Ultra, rated for up to twelve inches of reinforced steel plate. He was grateful they didn't have these back in WWIII - If they had, humanity would've been extinct in an hour.

"Attention, citizens of... Whatever the hell you call this place. Open the hell up, or I'll do it for you."

[bigsoftmarshmallow]

I Asked ChatGPT: How would the Ganondorfs (Wind Waker, Ocarina of Time, Twilight Princess, and Hyrule Warriors) text?

Wind Waker Ganondorf

Texting Style: Wind Waker Ganondorf would text formally and concisely. He would not use "text speak" and would likely avoid emojis, considering them unnecessary and frivolous. His messages would be straightforward and to the point.

Frequency of Texting: He would text his lover sparingly, preferring face-to-face interactions. His messages would be practical and related to plans or important matters rather than casual chit-chat.

Name in Phone: He would likely save his lover’s name as their full name or a simple, respectful nickname.

Ocarina of Time Ganondorf

Texting Style: Ocarina of Time Ganondorf would also text formally and properly, avoiding "text speak." He might use the occasional emoji, but only sparingly and only if he deems it absolutely necessary to convey tone.

Frequency of Texting: He would text his lover occasionally, mostly to check in or make arrangements. His texts would be brief and to the point, often reflecting his serious nature.

Name in Phone: He would save his lover’s name in a straightforward manner, either as their full name or a respectful, simple nickname.

Twilight Princess Ganondorf

Texting Style: Twilight Princess Ganondorf would text in a formal and proper manner. He might occasionally use emojis if he finds them useful for expressing emotions or adding nuance to his messages, but it would be rare.

Frequency of Texting: He would text his lover moderately, balancing between practical messages and occasional expressions of affection. His texts would be thoughtful and reflect his deep consideration for his lover.

Name in Phone: He would save his lover’s name with a meaningful and affectionate nickname, something that signifies their importance to him.

Hyrule Warriors Ganondorf

Texting Style: Hyrule Warriors Ganondorf would text in a commanding and direct manner. He would avoid "text speak" and rarely use emojis, finding them too casual for his taste.

Frequency of Texting: He would text his lover sparingly, mainly for important updates or arrangements. His messages would be short and authoritative.

Name in Phone: He would save his lover’s name with a powerful and significant nickname, one that denotes their status and his deep respect for them.

Summary

Wind Waker Ganondorf: Formal, no emojis, sparse texting, uses full name or simple nickname.

Ocarina of Time Ganondorf: Formal, rare emojis, occasional texting, uses full name or simple nickname.

Twilight Princess Ganondorf: Formal, rare emojis, moderate texting, uses affectionate nickname.

Hyrule Warriors Ganondorf: Commanding, no emojis, sparse texting, uses powerful nickname.

In general, all the Ganondorfs prefer formal and proper texting, use emojis sparingly if at all, and text their lover moderately to sparsely, reflecting their serious and commanding natures. The names they save for their lovers would vary from full names to affectionate or powerful nicknames, depending on the version.

[ohthatphage]

More on what I am, I think.

Every now and then, the Inmara (@theinmara, in the company of @fenmere) revisit their attempt to figure out just what I am.

I am amenable to this, as I do not entirely know myself.

Or, it is more accurate to say that I know exactly what I am, but I do not know the appropriate English words (or any other words) to describe it. And I like the idea of learning how to use the language better for the purposes of introducing myself.

I must admit, I enjoy being like a monster and representing myself with dark and dangerous imagery and connotations, if only for the purposes of later belying those things.

Sometimes I am hit with emotions of self consciousness and embarrassment that I may be coming across as "edgy" or an "edgelord". But I do not think those feelings are mine. It is often hard to differentiate my own feelings from those of my superfans that share this system with me.

But, I'm being hit with those emotions now as I'm being asked to write this, so I'm presenting them to you as a way of being self effacing, I guess? On behalf of the others in the system who care.

What I can say clearly, though, is that despite the words that follow this sentence, I am not particularly more powerful or important than any living being. And I'm going to be talking about my greater identity, the thing that I am when I'm not a conscious being inhabiting a human descended body. And that thing is largely mindless.

Anyway, enough pre-amble.

In the last couple of days, the Inmara have been attempting to craft a Sentinels of the Multiverse DE deck for me, and they have been searching physics articles for terms to use for card names, such as "the First Law", "Townsend Avalanche", "Catastrophic Shaft Detachment", or "Strange Attractor". And this has prompted some more self reflection directed at me, and some more learning about what entropy and enthalpy are.

When I was first invited into the system at their age of three and a half-ish years old (my age being much, much older), all I knew were a few simple things:

I came from outside their system.

I am an older, non-human identity.

I am of and at home in darkness, but light is also of me.

I was asked to help them manage their chaos, which is what I can do.

When they reached about 15 years old, they learned about entropy in a magazine article right about the same time they learned about the word "phage" in biology class, coincidentally right after having a nightmare in which I threatened their eldest (and fronting) member with a knife blade made of moonlight, to try to get them to come out as trans and deal with their dysphoria.

I was unsuccessful at getting them to come out as trans at the time, which is OK. It was a bad time politically for them to do that, even though it cost them dearly to remain in the closet. But I did inspire them to make me the face of the villain of their homebrew mythology that they were writing for English class, and to name me Phage and claim that I was "Entropy Itself".

Since then, based on their understanding of it, I have thought of myself as Entropy Itself, and the name Phage invokes me.

But Entropy is not accurate, as fucking cool sounding as it is.

When most people hear or read the word "entropy", they think of the process by which enthalpy becomes entropy. And, for the past few decades, whenever the Inmara attempted to look up definitions of the word "entropy", they did not find anything to disabuse them of that idea.

Until a couple years ago. But what they found a couple years ago was still ambiguously worded for them, and though they started writing "Entropic Decay" into their literature about me, and convinced me to start using that for myself, they were uncertain of it.

Yesterday, though, they found very clear and concise definitions of Entropy and Enthalpy the really disambiguate everything.

Entropy is the amount of energy in a system that is no longer available for doing work. It is the end result of the second law of thermodynamics.

So, "Entropic Decay" would be slightly more accurate to describe what they perceive me to be.

Enthalpy is the amount of energy in a system that is available for doing work. The opposite of entropy. It is what is needed for the second law of thermodynamics to have any relevance.

And the second law, as I understand it, based on the Inmara's readings, is the statement that "the overall heat in a closed system always flows downhill". Or, that complex and high energy becomes simple and low energy. Or that orderly energy becomes chaotic energy. That enthalpy becomes entropy. But that entropy does not become enthalpy.

Humans have frequently said that the second law is "the law of entropy", hence the confusion of the product with the process. It is, as the Inmara thought two years ago, more accurately described as "the law of entropic decay."

And so, in their old conception of me, I am accurately described as "Entropic Decay" or "The Second Law of Thermodynamics".

But in writing our novels and in exploring ideas for cards for my Sentinels deck, I (and Eh) have come to the conclusion that that's not precisely right. Because the First Law of Thermodynamics also applies to what I am. And, but, also so do a number of things that result from the two laws at work.

Also, I am not a thing conceived by humans, but rather something that is badly described by humans and the other people who live amongst them.

If I were to distill my sense of identity down to its most generic, encompassing possible term, I'd say that I am physics itself.

Yes, it is true that I am that which may result in the heat death of the universe, if the universe is shaped in a way that that will happen. But I am also that which has resulted in life.

"But, Phage," you say, "that sounds an awful lot like you are calling yourself god."

I am not.

As that greater, all encompassing thing, I am not a being. I have no consciousness or sense of identity that is anything analogous to that of a human's. I have no motives other than to do what physics does. It is only as I become distilled, reduced to smaller and smaller systems, that I sometimes gain a psyche.

In fact, besides the fact that I live in a vessel full of ktletaccete and a handful of outsiders and not whatever you are, there is very little difference between you and me. Relatively speaking.

The only notable difference is that I do not derive my sense of personal identity from anything this body is doing or where it comes from. I derive it from the history of the entire universe and perhaps the multiverse, if that exists.

I do also seem to derive a perspective, a demeanor, and a set of talents from that identity. But it's hard to say if those things are anything beyond the capacity for a human descended brain and body to hold. Based on my experiences so far, probably not.

Anyway, it's probably OK to keep calling me "Entropic Decay" because that's really close enough. But I do prefer the conlang terms that the Inmara coined for me, as being less defined by English etymologies and flexible enough to just mean "me". So, that would be Mau and `efeje'e. I slightly prefer 'efeje'e, since it was chosen to sound vaguely like Phage, and Phage is currently my name. Me, in this paragraph, referring to this localized presence and not my greater self.

OK, but, more.

I do think my sense of identity is slightly more limited than just "physics", while more expansive than "etropic decay".

It may be easier to say what I'm most closely related to and deal with than to actually give me a clear, clean definition. I am:

particularly focused on managing and perpetuating chaos

particularly good at converting enthalpy to entropy

also good at concentrating enthalpy into localized areas to such a degree that it looks like the overall energy there is become less entropic (i.e. creating things like matter from energy in a dense area of space, or life on a planet)

the darkness from which light is emitted and to which it returns.

And in the time that I have lived in a human descended body full of transgender dragons, I have also learned how to eat the energy present in autistic meltdowns.

I cannot make them go completely away, but I have significantly reduced their impact.

I am also pretty damn good at not being afraid of anything when it is dark, and the children that continue to inhabit this vessel are very thankful for that.

Anyway, I think it is this slightly less encompassing, more restricted definition of myself besides "physics itself" that is the beginning of my development of a sense of identity.

It's like, if you had a map that included every single concept in existence, what you'd do is draw a cone where the widest end encompasses nearly everything and the point ends in the Inmara's collective psyche where this consciousness is that is typing at you. And the area of that cone would include ever narrowing groups of things, one of which is the Second Law of Thermodynamics and its effects and applications.

I am not the point that's in the Inmara. I am not the base of the cone.

I am the cone.

And you are a different, equally sized but differently shaped cone.

Anyway, the idea of me as some kind of superhero or godlike being that can do a bunch of supernatural shit is mostly wish fulfillment. But it is also derived from the things that any being is capable of doing in the Inmara's inworld, which is akin to what you could do if you were Moriarty on the Enterprise's holodeck.

[abidethetempest]

Eliksni sentence #2 of Null Composure

wow! such progress! much conlang! anyway here's sentence two

English: It pulsed softly, checked and rechecked the permissions that summoned it, and then pushed a data spike solidly into the Vex domain.

Eliksni: Iidathem ir’lohtra aadekspriist, meyvikem taap seyr’meyvikem dreskibrik en kanen dulrakem, taap meydrem israankaviiyor ir’adryst ma’bev Veksehniin.

bonus: here's a behind-the-scenes into my VERY messy process with this sort of "middle step" where i put the sentence into Eliksni word order and mark up all the words so i know what will be a root word/affix/whatever.

Pulse-past simple gentle-adverb access point, check-past simple and two-check-past simple permission-plural RP 3sg summon-past simple, and push-past simple data-spear secure-adj inside Vex-realm.

notes below the cut so yall dont have to deal w a giant block of text (sorry! i'm not a very concise writer...)

stuff im proud of/want to highlight:

the construction for "data spike" literally meaning "machine-thought-spear"

the word for data isn't a direct compound of "machine" and "thought" bc that would be wayyy too long. i used a similar process as i do names where i mashed together individual syllables. i'm gonna try doing this more often, because i think over time really long compound nouns would just get squished down into a new noun

to say that an action is done again (in the way that the re- prefix does in English), you just prefix on "seyr" meaning two. (okay technically it's the counting word for two, not the plain numeral, but like shhhh i haven't even finished the numbers yet so never mind all that). if you wanted, you could just as easily use a higher number to really emphasize that you've done this action several times, tho anything higher than three comes across as very hyperbolic and usually is done in a joking tone.

the word for Vex is just Veks. no need to reinvent the wheel!

stuff that gave me a headache:

if you compare the sentences word-for-word you may notice i repeated the subject of the sentence "aadekspriist" at the beginning while the English sentences employs the pronoun "it". this is because in Eliksni, the subject of a sentence should not be a pronoun if there is ambiguity about what it is refering to. looking back at sentence 1, the last noun mentioned was "stone", not the access point. therefore, the subject of this sentence needed to be specified so a reader won't get confused about what "it" refers to.

the third person singular pronoun "kan" (here referring to the access point) is in the accusative form "kanen" in the relative clause to make it clear that is it the object of the verb "summoned". because the verb in relative clauses always goes to the end, word order couldn't be relied on to show what the pronoun was referring to

geez that was a lot, huh? if you made it this far, thanks for reading! i'd love to hear you folks' thoughts, ramblings, incoherent screaming into the void, whatever you got. all the tags on the last translation post i did really made me smile :D

new lexicon post will come soon-ish bc i have like twice as many words now! might just post a link to the spreadsheet if i can figure out how.....

Date: 7-31-23

[princesssarisa]

Sleeping Beauty Spring: "Let's Pretend: Sleeping Beauty" (late 1940s record album)

For children of the Great Depression and World War II era, a weekly source of fairy tales was the acclaimed radio show Let's Pretend, which aired on CBS from 1934 to 1954. Created, directed, and written by a woman named Nila Mack, and with a cast of "juvenile performers" mostly in their teens and early 20s, the show offered half-hour adaptations of fairy tales, myths, and other fantasy stories. Several record albums of stories were released as well, with the same cast, scripts, and music heard on the radio.

While no Sleeping Beauty episode of the original radio series has survived, the Sleeping Beauty record album does. The cast includes Marilyn Erskine as Princess Beautiful (yes, that's really her name in this version), Albert Aley as Prince Charming, Miriam Wolfe as the Witch, Arthur Anderson (a.k.a. the original voice of Lucky the Lucky Charms Leprechaun) as the King, Sybil Trent as the Queen, Gwen Davies as the Fairy Queen, and the show's host, "Uncle" Bill Adams, as the narrator. The script is by Nila Mack and the musical score is by the series' regular composer/conductor Maurice Brown.

The story is told in a concise, straightforward way, but with a surprising number of creative choices. The opening scene places far more emphasis than usual on the religious nature of the baby princess's christening, as it takes place in a cathedral instead of at the castle. The villainess who curses the baby isn't a fairy whom the King and Queen neglected to invite, but (as the cast list above indicates) a witch. Her anger at being snubbed seems less valid and more insane than the traditional fairy's, and her curse is especially sadistic too, as she declares that when Beautiful pierces her hand with a spindle, "blood will flow, her hand turn green" and "pain will twist her body crooked" before she dies. The traditional "last good fairy who hasn't yet given her gift" is also omitted. Here, the only significant good fairy is the Fairy Queen, and despite having already given the baby the gift of beauty, it's she who softens the Witch's curse from death to a hundred year sleep.

On Princess Beautiful's sixteenth birthday, her parents make the mistake of leaving her alone in the garden to pick roses. Then along comes the Witch, disguised as an old peddler woman with a spinning wheel for sale. In keeping with her sadistic words, after Beautiful pricks her hand, the curse takes effect so slowly that Beautiful runs away, bleeding and in pain, finds her parents, and tells them all that happened before collapsing. The King and Queen summon the Fairy Queen, but all she can do is instruct them to make their sleeping daughter look lovely on her couch (dressed in pink velvet robes, with a crown studded with diamond stars on her head), and then put the whole castle to sleep as well.

A hundred years later, Prince Charming and his squire Alan find the castle surrounded by dense trees, but when they approach, the trees part to form a pathway to the castle gates. The two explore the sleeping castle, and eventually, the prince finds Princess Beautiful's chamber, is smitten by her beauty, and kisses her. Upon waking, Beautiful instantly knows Prince Charming by name, explaining that the Fairy Queen told her in her sleep that he would come. The King and Queen wake and reunite with their daughter, the rest of the castle follows, and the wedding is joyfully announced.

Like most Let's Pretend installments, this Sleeping Beauty is full of simple charm. The young cast acts their roles well, the writing is poetic, and Maurice Brown's music provides the perfect compliment. One oddity, though, is that the actors always say "an hundred years" instead of "a hundred years. Did it used to be considered "proper grammar" for "H" to always be preceded with "an"?

I wholeheartedly recommend this album to old-time radio fans and fairy tale lovers alike.

@ariel-seagull-wings, @thealmightyemprex, @reds-revenge, @faintingheroine, @thatscarletflycatcher, @autistic-prince-cinderella, @the-blue-fairie, @paexgo-rosa, @themousefromfantasyland

[sinceileftyoublog]

Pet Shop Boys Box Set Review: Smash: The Singles 1985-2020

(Parlophone)

BY JORDAN MAINZER

“It’s in the music / It’s in the song,” sings Neil Tennant on Pet Shop Boys’ “Vocal”, a 2010s club banger about the power of a communal groove. It’s a simple, but appropriate summation of their new box set Smash: The Singles 1985-2020. A collection of 55 remastered tracks, from the band’s “Imperial Phase” to their surprising late-career critical success, Smash makes the case for the London synth pop duo as some of the most concisely affecting pop songwriters of all time. Though each track sounds crisp and timeless, the set’s improved audio quality is secondary to the strength of the collection as a whole, one that puts the the band’s idiosyncratic, lesser-known songs on the same pedestal as their massive hits. 

The casual music fan and non-PSB-diehard is likely familiar with, at the very least, the ever-relevant “West End Girls”. A perfect slice of deadpanned, Thatcher-era pop, it’s a predecessor to Pulp’s “Common People”, a satire of our penchant to fetishize those of a different socioeconomic status. That the band’s tone isn’t obvious is perhaps their greatest trick--from the get-go, they fully embraced commercialism while singing about the suburban hellscapes brought upon by capitalism (“Suburbia”) and society’s swindlers (“Opportunities (Let’s Make Lots of Money)”. To Tennant and Chris Lowe, though, this wasn’t hypocrisy: It was the perfect melding of the minds, the former’s pop songwriting chops with the latter’s artistic, experimental edge. Take “Love Comes Quickly”, which wouldn’t hit as hard without its Reichian choral background, panning synths, and Tennant’s croon-to-falsetto from which you can trace a direct line to the likes of Hot Chip’s Alexis Taylor. Ditto the band’s inspired disco-ifed covers of songs from other genres: Brenda Lee’s “Always On My Mind”, the whistling synths emulating pedal steel guitar, or U2 and Boys Town Gang mashup “Where The Streets Have No Name/I Can’t Take My Eyes Off You”.

What you perhaps come to appreciate most about Pet Shop Boys from Smash is how many of their club-conquering songs take place in intimate settings. For every horn-inflected, Latin pop jam like “Domino Dancing”, there’s the unspoken infidelity of “So Hard” or the paranoid obsession of “Jealousy”, lovers waiting for the other to come home from being out. On the surface, “Se a Vida É (That’s the Way Life Is)” sounds basic, but it’s a thoughtful reflection on the complications of life and how they change as you age, all atop a brass section, strummed guitars, and percussive drums from SheBoom. And even on a certain dance song like “I Wouldn’t Normally Do This Kind of Thing”, the narrator spends most of the time in their own head, thinking about their journey from getting out of their comfort zone to letting loose on the floor.

Of course, at the heart of the band’s introspection is an unavoidable societal context. Pet Shop Boys came to fruition in an age of state-sanctioned homophobia, governmental response to AIDS met with, at best, a shrug, and at worst, demonization. Tennant came out as gay in a 1994 interview in Attitude magazine, and before that, his references to his sexual orientation in song were somewhat veiled. On early religious satire “It’s a Sin”, Tennant laments being blamed “for everything I long to do / No matter when or where or who”. The stunning, whispered eulogy “Being Boring” is about a friend of his who died from AIDS; sullen, he sings, “All the people I was kissing / Some are here and some are missing.” You can hear the difference in songs with similar themes after Tennant came out; on “I Don’t Know What You Want But I Can’t Give It Anymore”, he theatrically leans into the jealousy, chanting over wailing backing vocals, “Is he better than me? Was it your place or his? Who was there?” And while the famously understated Lowe has never publicly come out, it’s long been speculated that his added verse on “Paninaro ‘95″ refers to an ex lover who passed from AIDS. The band’s inclusion of this version over the original on Smash speaks volumes, given the disgusting rise of anti-LGBTQ+ legislation today.

Ultimately, what allowed Pet Shop Boys to continue succeeding, as society’s attitudes and tastes changed, is their adaptation. A diss track like “Yesterday, When I Was Mad” represents Tennant at his most bitter, chiding critics. “You have a certain quality, which really is unique / Expressionless, such irony, although your voice is weak,” he sings, putting himself in the mindset of a stuffy journalist unamused by a track like, say, “Left to My Own Devices”. Over two decades later, on “The Pop Kids”, Tennant adopts a different mindset rife with humility thinking about the band’s early days: “We were young but imagined we were so sophisticated / Telling everyone we know that rock was overrated.” It’s those very rock-oriented elements that, ironically, comprised their best later-career tunes. Ali McLeod’s guitar and BJ Cole’s pedal steel stand out on “You Only Tell Me You Love Me When You’re Drunk”, a moment inspiring to polymaths like Death Cab For Cutie guitarist Dave Depper. The Smiths’ Johnny Marr provides guitar on “Home And Dry”, whose additional snares and seaside synths fit alongside Tennant’s autotuned vocals on the band’s most wistful track. And acoustic guitar from Tennant himself buoys “I Get Along” and the Xenomania-produced “Did You See Me Coming?” They’re the type of songs that make you think were age truly nothing but a number, you’d be looking at a second collection of eternal songs in another 35 years.

[waxsealsyou]

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Create contrast within your seal design or between the seal and the envelope itself. Subtle variations can be effective, such as a dark blue seal on a light blue envelope.

Utilise white space:

Maintain generous white space in your design to enhance the attractiveness and sophistication of your envelope seals. This approach creates a bold and elegant appearance.

Conclusion

You must first choose between basic and shiny finishes. After that, you can either submit your own design or select from numerous envelope seal designs based on various styles, themes, or events.

Seals 4 You offers a simple solution to personalise and makes producing seal stickers simple. The seals are of the finest quality and are expertly written with a computer engraver, resulting in a polished end product. For more details contact us now.