#also: albeit edward was in a very different situation

[fideidefenswhore]

Sorry for bothering you but I would like to know ,what is your interpretation of Elizabeth ,Edward and Mary’s relantionship? I heard a lot of stuff and I wanna know your opinion

Also ,the quote about you picking Anne for a girl’s night ,in which book it is ?

Aaah, errrm...again, I might update this in more detail later, because I have a lot of thoughts on this. (He said, before going Full Meta Pretentious)

And you are never bothering me. Sometimes I have spoons, and sometimes I don't.

Broad strokes:

Mary had conditional affection for her siblings so long as she did not see them as a threat, and so long as they were not significantly empowered. So, this is why she seems to have had more tenderness towards Edward while he was Prince rather than King, why she seems to have not had affection for Elizabeth until she was disempowered in 1536 (and then, lost it, once Elizabeth was her own heir and very beloved by the people).

She was also holding, as one of the Acts during her reign makes clear, the belief that they were bastards, and she was not. So she always felt an inherent superiority towards them that's underlying the affection...it's a sort of patronizing affection, really. It's not less authentic for being so, just more complex. There's also the likelihood that this has been nurtured by her faction, who seems to have held a long bitterness towards the memory of AB in the existence of Elizabeth, to the literal death-- among Margaret Pole's last words were an exhortation for those in attendance to her execution to pray for the lives and souls of the King, Prince Edward, and Princess Mary...Elizabeth was omitted. Did she believe she was not the King's daughter, or was this an implication that Edward & Mary were the only 'legitimate' children? Had Fitzroy been alive during this time, we could maybe better understand her intent behind this, had he been omitted as well, unfortunately we don't know.

Edward believed himself superior to both his sisters, but seems to have been more patronizing towards Mary, despite being the younger, even before becoming King. There's not an equivalent letter about Elizabeth to the one he wrote about Mary, where he's scolding her for dancing so much and such. But, he's in-waiting to becoming the most important man in the kingdom (arguably, he is that, as his father is the past, and he's the future), and has been told that it's his place to be the moral standard and instruct his future subjects. This is all part and parcel of that, although one wonders if there's some insecurity underlying all this, because Edward was very intelligent, and he wouldn't have been unaware that much of Catholic Europe believed Mary was legitimate.

Elizabeth he's closer to in age, Elizabeth he's brought up with, Elizabeth he's educated alongside. Elizabeth was always more conformable than Mary, and seems to have genuinely revered him both as Prince and as King. So, Edward's affection for Elizabeth was probably less complex than his for Mary (which turned mainly to resentment). On the other hand, he did eventually write her out of the succession, which is where the superiority comes in (although we don't know if he would have done so in any context...had Elizabeth married a Protestant, had Elizabeth had a/ child/ren by 1553-- specifically and 'better', a son-- I think it's entirely plausible he would have made her, at the least, regent to her child in his will).

Onto Elizabeth...Elizabeth believed herself Mary's superior insofar as intellect, and perhaps even her equal or better, insofar as birth. She might have believed that by the terms of her father's Succession Act (one condition of which was, Mary would maintain the Henrician settlement insofar as the Anglican Church-- something Mary reversed), she was entitled to the throne. Mary was both her persecutor and savior: she arrested her, but she also released her. She then tried to place many conditions upon her freedom, including marriage to men of Mary and Philip's choice, not Elizabeth's. Ultimately, she did not disinherit her, and Elizabeth's transfer to power was as smooth as it was, in large part, because Mary relented and maintained her as heir.

They were also all (although not equally) bonded through being motherless, and being completely orphaned at the same time, also, although at very different stages in their lives. Mary is the only one that truly had any memory of her own mother, was this something they envied? Edward was the only one that truly had the memory of his mother openly honored and revered, was this something his sisters envied? For Elizabeth and Edward, it's another bonding point, although probably not ever one made explicit, or actually discussed: they're off-center, they are only half of what they 'should' or 'would' have been, because half of what made them is no longer there. Did they have this sense that neither could escape, of an absent filial imprint, of the palimpsest of what was there before, desperately searching fresh ink? Of absent or unfulfilled identity, of absent maternal protection?

What do you do when your father is your god? How do you comprehend your world when he's not there anymore?

|

That's from an interview of both Julia Fox & John Guy, about their dually authored book, Hunting the Falcon. The quote is about AB, although personally if I said it, it would apply to Anne of Cleves, as well.

[ultward]

Okay, I gotta ask about your fic version of vampirism. What are major changes between your depiction and canon? what stayed the same? and what fun things did you add for pure self-indulgence and just cause you could.

What about the physical changes from Human to vampire? How do gifts work? (Idk if your vampires have gifts or not).

HOO BOY ALRIGHT LET'S DIG INTO THIS

most notably, vampires can consume a wide variety of beverages, including alcohol. i think i got into the "biology" of this in the fic itself, but basically their bodies just absorb liquids the same way they do blood, it's silly vampire magic, it doesn't matter

all of stephenie's stupid and racist skin bleaching stuff is gone, and they get to keep their freckles/tattoos/etc

in canon i think vamps can only get scarred from vamp bites? but i expanded that a little to include claw marks from other vamps + scars from werewolves (of both the shifter and lycanthrope variety, since my version of caius is covered in werewolf scars)

most of the stuff about how vampires work in general is the same as canon! they're nigh invincible crystalline monsters who sparkle and shimmer in the sun and crack like statues when they get hurt, and you can only kill them by tearing them apart and setting them on fire

HOWEVER my vampires are MUCH more monstrous than in canon. i think twilight vamps have the ability to be quite scary if they want, but in my fic i really wanted to play up the idea of them being mythical apex predators. as such, they have a sort of "aura" about them that the cullens are always actively repressing. it allows them to be both incredibly alluring but also unsettling, causing a "terrified but drawn in" effect in most humans - it's a red flag, but also a lure. bella is completely immune to it, which would be a terrible thing for her if she was in any other situation

following that up, vampires who let themselves stay in this "natural" state can tend to be a lot more animalistic, which is definitely something present in canon but i wanted to amp it up a little more. the vampires are very much inhuman and monstrous, and the cullens are putting in work every day to not appear that way

i've also given vampires a much more intense "soulmate connection" that's pretty much exactly the same as canon imprinting. this is just because i wanted my fic to be a twist on the typical soulmate trope where the concept of "love at first sight" is kind of terrifying and inconvenient! i really just played up hints of things that were already in canon, like the fact that denying the bond is... unpleasant for both parties

at the same time, i also wanted to emphasize platonic and familial relationships, so i included the idea that vampires can have more than one "soulmate" and will often have very strong non-romantic bonds with others (though these are less apparent to them at first). this is why the cullens are drawn to be a family, but also why bella and edward are such good friends! they're literally platonic soulmate besties. i love a brotp

i think another related thing i hinted at somewhere is that if a vampire has a human soulmate, that human will slowly begin to gain some vampiric traits (slow aging, increased strength, etc) no matter whether they're bitten or not. bonds are incredibly powerful things in my au, and they're capable of enacting physical change - albeit very slowly

there's also the idea of vampire science and experimentation, of course. most of it has to do with testing out the effects of venom on various types of beings in different states. this is how i wound up with things like ghouls, who are essentially just much weaker, feral vampires (almost like zombies). they, in turn, spread through a different kind of bite-induced infection that causes a rot, which is how bella ends up in her strange state of slow-turning undeath after she gets bitten by a ghoul and rosalie

turning and gifts are pretty much the same! the change takes 3 days under normal circumstances and it's super painful. gifts are accentuated traits from your human life (or amped up versions of proto-gifts, as in alice's case)

i think the last big difference is the idea that vampires are capable of growth and change (not physically, but mentally). if you read the fic, the characters will often talk about how they're incapable of changing due to their nature, but their actions throughout the story definitely contradict this! the vampires aren't perfect and they have issues they have to work through, and they sometimes use their nature as an excuse not to work on themselves - but they're absolutely capable of change

the tl;dr here is mostly that i wanted vampires to be able to drink, i wanted them to be a lot more monstrous, and i wanted there to be a little more mysterious magic at play! i think that the canon twilight vampires are pretty cool, but i also think that stephenie went to weird lengths to explain everything about them, and sometimes it's better to just be like "it's magic lol".

also you didn't ask but my werewolves are different as well! i've never found a good way to actually drop this in the fic yet, but the shapeshifter-type wolves are NOT a phenomenon exclusive to the quileute tribe. there are a bunch of other packs around the world! it's still a genetic thing that gets passed down through families, but it's widespread because in my lore it originated from twilight's other elusive werewolves, the children of the moon. essentially, it's a defense mechanism that evolved in some lycanthropes over time since it was beneficial for humans to be able to protect themselves against vampires. maybe some day i'll figure out how to write that into the fic itself lmao

[mean-scarlet-deceiver]

down the mine :3

Hmm, so! I know one objection to my darker-and-grittier interpretation of “Down the Mine” could be But Jobey, didn’t Gordon treat this as no big deal, a good laugh?

He DID but I think that is perfectly in character for him! And I think it remains a pretty flattering angle to his character!

Albeit, at first, I think Mr Express Engine didn’t really know how serious it was when first he was told. He is Not The Kind of Engine To Hang Around Mines, you know, and probably had an image in his mind that matches the illustration and the adaptation, what @angryskarloey just so perfectly described in the comments of that post as "these supposed 'mines' are really more like cut-and-covered tunnels.”

But also, even when seeing and getting a better idea of how grave the situation was, Gordon would have remained utterly cool and focused about it. And afterwards, all’s well that ends well—the brush with death would only heighten his motivation to be kind to Thomas afterwards and propose an alliance that wipes away all sorts of their old issues... and after that I don’t imagine Gordon ever lost a bit of sleep, despite what a tremendous close call they all just had.

Being an oblivious ass can be Really Useful, you know. Gordon barely has nerves.

[content warning for talk about engines losing their consciousness/engine death below the readmore]

This also tallies with how I imagine things went down among the standard-gauge gang during WWII. As you definitely know, and as I think I’ve mentioned haphazardly in different places on this blog, I tend to see the situation with many European rail vehicles during WWII suffering a pandemic of “facelessness.” The heavy demands and scant comfort plus some of the downright horrors of war work tended to loosen this species’s somewhat chancy hold on sapience. And it’s a domino effect—once one engine “departs,” others who see it blank and faceless on the rails are upset, and therefore more at risk for their souls nope-ing on out of there themselves.

‘Course, many rolling stock souls “returned” gradually post-war… but not all. And they tended to have blacked out those years completely, which did leave them a bit “out of it” for at least some while. (Duck, I think, would have been in this boat.) So I posit that in-universe this was a big reason for the popularity of the first RWS books, and for the NWR’s apparent strong fortunes in a era when British rail overall was dragging—they were one of those uncommon, mostly more rural places where all their engines were still fully “with it,” still very much alive and alert and ready to entertain visitors after the war. A tribute to the care and pains Sodor took with them, a testament to the strength of their found family dynamic, and also? Each engine played a particular, invaluable role in keeping up the railway’s morale during this period:

(Not that each was the only one doing this sort of thing, but this was the obvious place where each of them really shone):

Recently-rebuilt Henry took on a huge outsize share of the physical load, deliberately volunteering to spare the others as much as he could

Edward, who had gone through this situation of friends “departing” during war service once before, took care of the others on the emotional side of things, cheering them and making sure they were “seen” when they seemed to be in danger of despair

Percy welcomed and trained the influx of clueless, motley, often American lend-lease engines that the military allocated to expand and operate Tidmouth Harbor, which was hopping (and, towards the end, bombed) during the war

Thomas was the friend and protector of every evacuee child—most of the ones relocated to Sodor were taken in the Ffarquhar area, and Thomas, who brought them letters and supplies and news, was their rock

James to be honest had a really rough time during the war, for various reasons rocked even harder than the rest. He did all his work (no small feat in itself) but seldom had spoons to spare beyond that (no shame in it). However, when he was enough himself to complain about the usual old petty things, it truly put some heart into the others, making them feel like their memories of life before the war were real and not just some dream after all. (In particular, his impressive efforts to avoid going to the Works so as to skip the wartime livery entertained everyone enormously, at a time they all really needed a smile!)

Gordon… Gordon was the leader of the war effort. Almost complete opposite of James. He gave up grumbling completely—there was work to be done! If he was ever even slightly fazed by anything—no one ever saw it. Probably coz they were too busy being bossed around by him and exhorted to their duties by him and turned into a Rail Guard unit by him and mind you this was all a good thing, Gordon’s idea of military discipline was imposed high-handedly and also with unflagging spirit and his ridiculous impression of a Major General on wheels was too baffling to resist and also the only even slightly funny part of this era.

Coal trains, troop trains, supply trains—Gordon had to deal with all of these on the regular and he did it with almost theatrically grim eagerness. Must keep rolling, must keep rolling! The Express dropped way down in importance during this era and Gordon’s priorities changed accordingly; he gladly left it in the care of weaker engines while he did the even heavier and dirtier work—ahem, sorry, while he sallied forth into the fray and did his bit for King and Country and we’ll be putting paid to some krauts with these beauties, won’t we boys?

There was not a patriotic mantra or saying that Gordon did not repeat ad nauseam, there is not a scrap of half-baked war news that he did not promulgate, there is not a general on the Allied side that Gordon left uncanonized, there is not a single battalion on the entire Axis side that Gordon left uncursed. (Also, he learned some colorful cursing. A very time-limited special edition of Gordon, as after the war he zipped his lips and never regaled them with any of his old blue streaks ever again! Sometimes the others wonder if wartime!Gordon really happened or if they all just hallucinated that.)

It would be an exaggeration to say he was tireless—like all of them, he was taxed to his limits—but he was also a force of nature, truly magnificent, and if his leadership was a bit heavy-handed and his exhortations rather cliched what of it? It was still exactly the sort of leadership they needed. When you were too tired to move another wheel or lift another foot, you did it anyway, because you knew if you didn’t Gordon the Big Engine was going to holler on the double, man, on the double! and then goddammit you’d move anyway, because—for all the others did a good bit of bug-eyed side-glances at each other (oh. my. god. why is he like this????)—you somehow did not dare let him down. Not because he was shrill or abusive, mind you. He was simply whole-hearted and somehow, someway, he seemed to really enjoy the endless crises and toil. His “high spirits” may not have spread to every engine, but his didn’t flag, anyway, and that absolutely did rally humans and engines alike.

And that is the side of him that, albeit in a less extreme version, popped out again in the mine incident. He took in the hazard in his usual sort of dim way, but by sheer force of will he kept it at a distance and did not fully acknowledge how bad it was. And, sure enough—he helped keep disaster at bay, and then slipped back gracefully and without apparent trauma to usual life once the crisis had passed.

Though there was one hiccup during his postwar transition to regular life. Earlier there had been talk the Sodor Home Guard battalion would give him a rank during the fighting; it was decided against on grounds that Gordon, bound to his rails, could not fulfill some matters of Home Guard discipline. After the fighting there was again talk at even higher levels of giving him the rank retroactively in recognition of services rendered. In the end it was again decided no once more, rather than open up the can of worms of integrating civilian engines into official social structures (military vehicles do have ranks, however—but in the UK at least, this is the only concession to any sort of legal rights for vehicles and there was keen pressure to keep this singular acknowledgment of vehicular sapience unique). This was a bitter blow for Gordon at the time. I’ll be honest, though—it may have been complete bullshit and unfairly discriminatory, but also? It was lucky for him in the long run. If Gordon had been officially inducted into the Home Guard, it would have become his whole identity. He’d have never dropped his wartime "military airs," and therefore it’s very unlikely he would have unbent and learned the humility and grace he later did. So, a near miss really.

tl;dr: “Down the Mine” was not the first time Gordon looked at the face of death and kept a stiff upper lip and good cheer and allthatsortathing. During the war, our big lad ran on vim, vigor, and pure unadulterated patriotism for six solid years, and he ordered and rallied everyone about to within an inch of their sanity. (Oh, he also more literally ran on oil during some of the war, lol. Don’t ever mention this in his hearing though, not if you value your life. He was proud and matter-of-fact about this at the time, but the first day in peacetime the Big City Engine sneered about oil-burning engines, Gordon snapped back to being Himself and has been extraordinarily sensitive about that period of his life ever since!)

[volturialice]

so i saw a post on tumblr a few days ago about how jasper would handle the loving a human situation so much worse than edward. because, you know, we are talking about jasper-vampirey-totally-traumatized-ex-war-machine-and-an-empath. and i've been thinking about the vampire jasper x human alice thing. considering that, for any reason, he doesn't want/won't kill her, how do you think it would proceed?

I’d be interested to read that post! I actually disagree that he would handle things "worse" than edward, although that's a low bar. I think there are a couple key factors at work with vampire jasper/human alice.

[longass meta under the cut]

1) jasper's terrible control

let's face it, this dude cannot stop snackin on human blood. there's no such thing as cute one-on-one meadow time with him—if you're a delicious blood-filled human and you go into the woods alone with jasper, you ain't coming out alive. and if you're his singer? forget it, you're dead the second you walk over the threshold and so is the rest of your biology class.

there was always some suspension of disbelief involved in buying into the idea that edward was able to get near enough to kiss bella etc in the first place. smeyer tried to have her cake and eat it too with the whole "I could snap and kill you at any second...but let's make out" stuff. she justifies it in-universe by first giving edward Super Control and then having him claim he's simply incapable of hurting bella now after the whole believing she's dead thing in NM, and therefore his Super Control is even better. but ngl, that second part always struck me as pretty lazy writing (“the Power of Love did it!”)

so when people write vamp jasper/human alice, that's something to take into consideration. I personally think the best way to solve jasper's control issues is to make human!alice's blood smell actively bad to him, either because of medication she's on or for some supernatural reason (a reverse-singer? why not.) I went with option A in Perihelion, because it's easy to put Crazy Asylum Girl™ on some good ol' fashioned Brain Drugs.

and even then, I think jasper would still struggle a lot with control. there would be close calls. there would be times he insisted on having conversations in public, or not getting too physical too fast. times he would irish goodbye mid-makeout in order to go drain fifteen deer. from a narrative standpoint, it's a very fun conflict with a lot of potential for drama and comedy.

(especially since alice has far less patience than bella and is constantly trying to speed things up and skip ahead in her relationships lmao)

2) jasper's attitude toward humans

like you said with the traumatized war machine thing, he's much further removed from human experience than edward, who is actively trying to reclaim his humanity at every turn. jasper doesn’t see being human as a morally superior or aspirational state. he was conditioned for 80 years to devalue any life, and to view humans as Food, Not Friends. we get a glimpse in MS of the way he still struggles with that. so to suddenly be in love with someone whose humanity you struggle to recognize would lead to some wild cognitive dissonance. he might end up taking the same She's Not Like Other Humans view as edward.

he’s also a far less...teenage-y character than edward (bella in book 1: “the two older guys looked like they could be teachers”) who is used to adult levels of responsibility and agency, so that’s another big obstacle to falling in love with a human high school kid.

I think the one respect in which jasper and edward react the same is their horror at falling in love with a human, albeit for different reasons (edward: oh god, I'm a monster stealing this pure angel's future and putting her in danger!) (jasper: oh god, I'm attracted to my food source! a puny adolescent mayfly! what is wrong with me?) a pre-alice jasper has zero romantic ideas about One True Loves or whatever (consider how his last relationship went), so it would take him longer to come around to the idea that it's even worth it to try dating a human.

what I take away from this whole thing is that alice would definitely have to be the pursuer, at least at the start of the relationship. jasper’s not gonna go out of his way to get to know her, which is usually step 1 of falling in love. sure, her gift might intrigue him, but she’s the one who would have to go the extra mile to communicate with him. he’s giving her nothing.

3) jasper’s attitude toward vampirism

this one is really the kicker for me, because, as I touched on above, jasper sees nothing special or remotely useful about being human. to him, being a vampire is everything—it makes you safe, it makes you powerful, it makes you live forever. souls? souls are a fake thing the Church came up with to frighten the sheeple into compliance. humans have nothing to lose and everything to gain from becoming vampires.

so accordingly, once he accepted that he was in love with human!alice, jasper would want that girl bitten asap. every second she stays human is a second she’s in danger. another thing jasper has in common with edward is paranoia and overprotectiveness, which in his case is even more justified due to his violent background. the difference is that jasper is extremely practical and solution-oriented, and the obvious solution is “turn alice into a vampire,” not “hide in her bedroom and kill every spider.”

this can lead to its own interesting conflicts, of course. maybe human!alice doesn’t want to be a vampire, or isn’t ready, or lives under the thumb of abusive parents. maybe she gets institutionalized and goes missing. she’s vain enough that maybe she refuses to be changed until her bad haircut grows out, or she gets the chance to be drunk in las vegas at least once, or she gets just a little taller (“pleeeease I know I’m totally gonna hit five feet if we just wait one more year!”) jasper usually respects her agency, but this is one situation in which I can see him way overstepping and going so far as to change her without her consent (though he would probably need to enlist help from someone other than carlisle.)

in conclusion

so is jasper “worse” at dating a human? maybe, but he also doesn’t let her stay human for long, which in my book means he’s already handling things waaaaayyyy better than edward. there are no weird marriage ultimatums or “let’s try to have sex while i’m still human” bargains with jasper. no ghosting for six months and leaving alice unprotected. no soul-related arguments whatsoever.

how I think things would proceed

I mean, it totally depends on all the other factors I listed! I know that feels like a cop-out answer, but there are sooo many ways to execute vampire!jasper/human!alice (or vice versa, though that’s a somewhat different ball game.) for a long time I avoided writing the dynamic myself because it felt like other people had done it better, but then I completely caved and ended up with Perihelion. that story is definitely on the back burner, but any time I’m inspired and think of some specific thing I think would happen with vamp!jasper/human!alice, that’s where I’m gonna put it!

[that-spider-witch]

On the topic of Book!Edward Hyde

Or rather: The topic of his existence (or lack thereof).

Browsing through the J&H tag, I’ve seen a lot of book readers be spiteful of every single adaptation of the character and its pop culture version because it misses the moral of the book: That Hyde and Jekyll were just one and the same, and that Jekyll was the one doing all the bullshit that went down and that Hyde was just a mask to keep his reputation intact.

Most of these rants go on to imply or outright accuse of any author doing the split personality take on the plot to have never actually read the original book, or that Edward Hyde never existing is something that the book leaves loud and clear, something irrefutably canon.

Having read the book too, I’m here to say: Yes and no. You could read the book and still get a “two character, one body” impression from it. Allow me to explain...

While the plot of “Jekyll is Good, Hyde is Bad” is truly bullshit and the very thing that the original novel rips into pieces, whether Hyde could be considered to have a will of his own is a little more ambiguous and it can actually be interpreted either way.

Note that I’m using the word “will” and not “personality”: Hyde is still Jekyll, they both have the same personality, but while Jekyll is a rational human being, Hyde is Jekyll but without the strings of societal norms, morals and impulse control holding him down.

Book readers who go by the take that Hyde never existed also claim that the book is very clear that the changes brought by the formula are just external: Jekyll is completely himself the whole time and “Hyde” is just a mask.

And this is true... At first. Depending on how you interpret Jekyll’s unrealiable narration, “Hyde” actually slowly develops something of a will of his own as Jekyll’s evil nature, given a body of its own by his dumb experiment, continues to develop.

Here’s a fragment of how Jekyll describes the experiment and the very first transformation:

“That night I had come to the fatal cross-roads. Had I approached my discovery in a more noble spirit, had I risked the experiment while under the empire of generous or pious aspirations, all must have been otherwise, and from these agonies of death and birth, I had come forth an angel instead of a fiend. The drug had no discriminating action; it was neither diabolical nor divine; it but shook the doors of the prisonhouse of my disposition; and like the captives of Philippi, that which stood within ran forth. At that time my virtue slumbered; my evil, kept awake by ambition, was alert and swift to seize the occasion; and the thing that was projected was Edward Hyde. Hence, although I had now two characters as well as two appearances, one was wholly evil, and the other was still the old Henry Jekyll, that incongruous compound of whose reformation and improvement I had already learned to despair. The movement was thus wholly toward the worse.”

“Edward Hyde” (who at this point still doesn’t truly exist as his own being and it’s just a mask for Jekyll to use) is evil because Henry Jekyll himself is evil. But while Jekyll-as-Jekyll has good personality traits as well as bad, Jekyll-as-Hyde is just everything that Jeyll finds evil about himself and nothing else. This paragraph also states very clearly that Jekyll’s intentions were never good.

If this was the only instance in which anything along the lines of “two characters as well as two appearances” was mentioned, then yes, there would be no room for debate on the whole “Hyde is just a fake identity and nothing else” because there wouldn’t be evidence of the contrary. It would be clear text.

Except that Jekyll, unreliable narrator that he is or not, also gives us evidence to support the theory that Hyde, while still not being a completely separate split personality on his own right, does develop a certain awareness of himself and a will to act somewhat separate from Jekyll’s. 

Of course, this all still falls on Jekyll’s own fault, and even if we consider Hyde as something of an alter, he’s still nothing but the scapegoat that Jekyll uses:

“The pleasures which I made haste to seek in my disguise were, as I have said, undignified; I would scarce use a harder term. But in the hands of Edward Hyde, they soon began to turn toward the monstrous. When I would come back from these excursions, I was often plunged into a kind of wonder at my vicarious depravity. This familiar that I called out of my own soul, and sent forth alone to do his good pleasure, was a being inherently malign and villainous; his every act and thought centered on self; drinking pleasure with bestial avidity from any degree of torture to another; relentless like a man of stone. Henry Jekyll stood at times aghast before the acts of Edward Hyde; but the situation was apart from ordinary laws, and insidiously relaxed the grasp of conscience. It was Hyde, after all, and Hyde alone, that was guilty. Jekyll was no worse; he woke again to his good qualities seemingly unimpaired; he would even make haste, where it was possible, to undo the evil done by Hyde. And thus his conscience slumbered.”

Something all book readers will be familiar with is that Jekyll’s narration uses “I” when writing about most of Hyde’s actions, while also mentioning both Henry Jekyll and Hyde on third person. Jekyll tries to dissociate himself from his crimes this way.

But... Whether also done by Jekyll to still reflect guilt from himself or not, the text also refers to Hyde as having a nature of his own, albeit one irreversably connected to Henry Jekyll’s own hidden desires.

“Between these two, I now felt I had to choose. My two natures had memory in common, but all other faculties were most unequally shared between them. Jekyll (who was composite) now with the most sensitive apprehensions, now with a greedy gusto, projected and shared in the pleasures and adventures of Hyde; but Hyde was indifferent to Jekyll, or but remembered him as the mountain bandit remembers the cavern in which he conceals himself from pursuit. Jekyll had more than a father’s interest; Hyde had more than a son’s indifference. To cast in my lot with Jekyll, was to die to those appetites which I had long secretly indulged and had of late begun to pamper. To cast it in with Hyde, was to die to a thousand interests and aspirations, and to become, at a blow and forever, despised and friendless. The bargain might appear unequal; but there was still another consideration in the scales; for while Jekyll would suffer smartingly in the fires of abstinence, Hyde would be not even conscious of all that he had lost. Strange as my circumstances were, the terms of this debate are as old and commonplace as man; much the same inducements and alarms cast the die for any tempted and trembling sinner; and it fell out with me, as it falls with so vast a majority of my fellows, that I chose the better part and was found wanting in the strength to keep to it.”

There’s a clear divide here, with Jekyll and Hyde having something of a different outlook on life, something that outright doesn’t make sense if we are to consider Edward Hyde as just Jekyll’s alias. 

Something to note here is that the divide between the two personas is not of a moral nature, but something much more mundane and selfish: To Henry Jekyll, his social status is everything, and his main drive to keep transforming into Hyde again and again is to enjoy a life of sin without repercussions. To Hyde, said social status can go to hell for all he cares, but still keeps the ruse because his concealment is ultimately necessary for his continued existence, something that the narration will go back to later.

After this point of the book, which is when Jekyll goes to sleep and wakes up transformed on his other body the next morning, the doctor becomes scared and goes cold turkey for two months, having decided to stop being Hyde forever and return to a normal life. It doesn’t lastlonger than that: Hyde returns not because he takes control, but because Jekyll turns himself into Hyde on purpose once again, by his own free will.

“I do not suppose that, when a drunkard reasons with himself upon his vice, he is once out of five hundred times affected by the dangers that he runs through his brutish, physical insensibility; neither had I, long as I had considered my position, made enough allowance for the complete moral insensibility and insensate readiness to evil, which were the leading characters of Edward Hyde. Yet it was by these that I was punished. My devil had been long caged, he came out roaring. I was conscious, even when I took the draught, of a more unbridled, a more furious propensity to ill. It must have been this, I suppose, that stirred in my soul that tempest of impatience with which I listened to the civilities of my unhappy victim; I declare, at least, before God, no man morally sane could have been guilty of that crime upon so pitiful a provocation; and that I struck in no more reasonable spirit than that in which a sick child may break a plaything. But I had voluntarily stripped myself of all those balancing instincts by which even the worst of us continues to walk with some degree of steadiness among temptations; and in my case, to be tempted, however slightly, was to fall.“

Something fun to note here: Jekyll describes Hyde, and/or himself when he’s Hyde, as being comparable to a child. First by merely noting that Hyde’s body is younger than Jekyll’s, then by comparing him to a “son” and Jekyll as the “father”, and now comparing the murder of Danvers Carew to a child breaking a toy. 

Speaking of the murder, Jekyll is 100% guilty of it: Even if Hyde was a completely different being with his own traits and goals, which he is not, Jekyll would still be responsable by virtue of willingly going through the transformation again like an idiot.

That being said, the text continues to give Hyde some semblance of personality:

“Hyde had a song upon his lips as he compounded the draught, and as he drank it, pledged the dead man. The pangs of transformation had not done tearing him, before Henry Jekyll, with streaming tears of gratitude and remorse, had fallen upon his knees and lifted his clasped hands to God. The veil of self-indulgence was rent from head to foot.“

From this point on, everything goes to hell: Henry Jekyll is relieved that now that Hyde is a wanted murderer, he now has no choice but to stay as Jekyll and leave that sinful double life of his finally behind (”Jekyll is the Good half” my ass!). But, surprise surprise! He starts to transform unwillingly, and now he needs to constantly drink the potion to stay as Jekyll. 

Fun fact: Do you remember which thoughts are the ones that trigger the first unwilling transformation after the murder?

“I sat in the sun on a bench; the animal within me licking the chops of memory; the spiritual side a little drowsed, promising subsequent penitence, but not yet moved to begin. After all, I reflected, I was like my neighbours; and then I smiled, comparing myself with other men, comparing my active good-will with the lazy cruelty of their neglect. And at the very moment of that vainglorious thought, a qualm came over me, a horrid nausea and the most deadly shuddering. These passed away, and left me faint; and then as in its turn faintness subsided, I began to be aware of a change in the temper of my thoughts, a greater boldness, a contempt of danger, a solution of the bonds of obligation. I looked down; my clothes hung formlessly on my shrunken limbs; the hand that lay on my knee was corded and hairy. I was once more Edward Hyde.“

The thought that he, too, was just like any other man. Something that his Hyde half knows as a fact, but that Henry “I’m superior than all these lazy peasants around me because I’m rich... I mean, because I have active good-will” Jekyll considers undignified, and therefore, cruel or evil. O Sweet, sweet Victorian hypocresy.

And it is from here on out that the narration acknowledges Edward Hyde as being his own character somewhat, somehow, at least as part of Jekyll’s conciousness.

After the transformation and the visit to Lanyon:

“My reason wavered, but it did not fail me utterly. I have more than once observed that in my second character, my faculties seemed sharpened to a point and my spirits more tensely elastic; thus it came about that, where Jekyll perhaps might have succumbed, Hyde rose to the importance of the moment.”

“Then I remembered that of my original character, one part remained to me: I could write my own hand; and once I had conceived that kindling spark, the way that I must follow became lighted up from end to end.“

“He, I say—I cannot say, I. That child of Hell had nothing human; nothing lived in him but fear and hatred.“ 

“When I came to myself at Lanyon’s, the horror of my old friend perhaps affected me somewhat: I do not know; it was at least but a drop in the sea to the abhorrence with which I looked back upon these hours. A change had come over me. It was no longer the fear of the gallows, it was the horror of being Hyde that racked me.“

It’s curious how Jekyll’s narration uses “I” when looking back at Carew’s murder, and yet it is just from here on out that he’s oh so repulsed by Hyde than he uses He/Him pronouns for him. 

And, most of all, when he has locked himself up:

“The powers of Hyde seemed to have grown with the sickliness of Jekyll. And certainly the hate that now divided them was equal on each side. With Jekyll, it was a thing of vital instinct. He had now seen the full deformity of that creature that shared with him some of the phenomena of consciousness, and was co-heir with him to death: and beyond these links of community, which in themselves made the most poignant part of his distress, he thought of Hyde, for all his energy of life, as of something not only hellish but inorganic. This was the shocking thing; that the slime of the pit seemed to utter cries and voices; that the amorphous dust gesticulated and sinned; that what was dead, and had no shape, should usurp the offices of life. And this again, that that insurgent horror was knit to him closer than a wife, closer than an eye; lay caged in his flesh, where he heard it mutter and felt it struggle to be born; and at every hour of weakness, and in the confidence of slumber, prevailed against him, and deposed him out of life. The hatred of Hyde for Jekyll was of a different order. His terror of the gallows drove him continually to commit temporary suicide, and return to his subordinate station of a part instead of a person; but he loathed the necessity, he loathed the despondency into which Jekyll was now fallen, and he resented the dislike with which he was himself regarded.”

And what immediately follows is my favorite part of the book:

“Hence the ape-like tricks that he would play me, scrawling in my own hand blasphemies on the pages of my books, burning the letters and destroying the portrait of my father; and indeed, had it not been for his fear of death, he would long ago have ruined himself in order to involve me in the ruin. But his love of life is wonderful; I go further: I, who sicken and freeze at the mere thought of him, when I recall the abjection and passion of this attachment, and when I know how he fears my power to cut him off by suicide, I find it in my heart to pity him.”

This petty behavior of supposedly destroying and vandalizing Jekyll’s stuff to spite him is mentioned yet again just a few sentences later,along with the following line:

“This, then, is the last time, short of a miracle, that Henry Jekyll can think his own thoughts or see his own face (now how sadly altered!) in the glass. Nor must I delay too long to bring my writing to an end; for if my narrative has hitherto escaped destruction, it has been by a combination of great prudence and great good luck. Should the throes of change take me in the act of writing it, Hyde will tear it in pieces; but if some time shall have elapsed after I have laid it by, his wonderful selfishness and circumscription to the moment will probably save it once again from the action of his ape-like spite.“

This assertion from Jekyll that, as far as he’s concerned, he will be already dead when he transforms for the last time, is what closes the book:

“And indeed the doom that is closing on us both has already changed and crushed him. Half an hour from now, when I shall again and forever reindue that hated personality, I know how I shall sit shuddering and weeping in my chair, or continue, with the most strained and fearstruck ecstasy of listening, to pace up and down this room (my last earthly refuge) and give ear to every sound of menace. Will Hyde die upon the scaffold? or will he find courage to release himself at the last moment? God knows; I am careless; this is my true hour of death, and what is to follow concerns another than myself. Here then, as I lay down the pen and proceed to seal up my confession, I bring the life of that unhappy Henry Jekyll to an end.“

If taken at face value, these lines actually paint Edward Hyde as being somewhat able to think his own thoughts and do his own actions, while still just being the childish, “ape-like” part of Henry Jekyll’s mind. Emphasis on childish, not evil, the evilness is all on Henry. Edward Hyde is still nothing but Henry Jekyll’s psychological scapegoat, and the one that Jekyll technically leaves behind to deal with the mess he himself created by “dying”.

I’m not trying to get more people to interpret the book this way nor am I saying that the ”Hyde is not real and Jekyll is a lying bitch” take is actually wrong, because it is not. I’m just pointing out the book could actually be interpreted differently by different readers, and they’d still have sentences in the book to back their interpretation on.

Now, if we could all stop hating and throwing shade on every content creator out there who “got the book wrong”, that’d be peachy. 

[twistedtummies2]

Top 20 White Rabbits

“And the White Rabbit, what of him? Was he framed on the `Alice' lines, or meant as a contrast? As a contrast, distinctly. For her `youth', `audacity', `vigour', and `swift directness of purpose', read `elderly', `timid', `feeble', and `nervously shilly-shallying', and you will get something of what I meant him to be. I think the White Rabbit should wear spectacles. I am sure his voice should quaver, and his knees quiver, and his whole air suggest a total inability to say `Bo' to a goose!” - Lewis Carroll

...Really what can I add to that? Pretty bloody accurate description, I’d say.

Like many other figures in Wonderland, the White Rabbit is a character who has been taken to both kinder and darker extremes over the course of history and all its reinventions. In the book, it should be stated, there are very few characters in Wonderland who are outright evil, and even fewer who are outright good. They’re all wrapped up in their own worlds, their own madness, and are ultimately neutral figures who can be helpful or hurtful depending on the situation. The Rabbit is no exception: he is polite and friendly when Alice meets him at the Croquet Game, but he is quite unkind towards his own servants. You could argue his unpleasantness is due to his frustration, however, and he is never a truly threatening presence. On the other hand, he works for the Queen, and does not seem particularly perturbed by her ways. The fact he has the important role of leading Alice down the rabbit hole - albeit inadvertently, in the original story - also cannot be overstated. Like all the rest, he’s something of an enigma. Of the different reimaginings you’re about to see, some characters keep this ambiguity to some level or another, but most tend to veer more clearly towards good or evil; the interesting thing is, unlike most other characters, the Rabbit’s split between the two is relatively well-balanced: there are lots of friendly Rabbits, but there are also lots of decidedly nasty ones, too. However, we’ve spent enough time on this business...and we mustn’t be late for our very important date, you know! So, without further ado, here are My Top 20 White Rabbits! 

20. Ernest Milton, from the 1949 Lou Bunin Film.

19. The Spider-Man Version. (A.K.A. Lorina Dodson.)

18. Alan Gray, from SyFy’s “alice.” (In this version, “White Rabbit” is the name of the Queen’s elite science team; Gray’s character, Agent White, is based directly on the actual Rabbit from the books.)

17. The Version from the American McGee’s Alice Games. (Voiced by Andrew Chaikin in the first game, and Roger L. Jackson in the second.)

16. Dave Willetts, from the UK Tour of “Wonderland.”

15. The Will of the Abyss, from Pandora Hearts. (Voiced by Ayako Kawasumi in the anime.)

14. Wilfrid Brambell, from Jonathan Miller’s TV Play.

13. Jonathan Cecil, from the 1986 BBC Miniseries.

12. Peter White, from Alice in the Country of Hearts. (Voiced by Koki Miyata.)

11. Bibwit Harte, from The Looking-Glass Wars.

10. The Version from Jan Svankmajer’s Alice (1988).

9. Patrick Richwood, from Adventures in Wonderland.

8. Edward Watson, from the Royal Ballet Production (2011).

7. Red Buttons, from the 1985 CBS Miniseries.

6. The Disney Version. (Originally voiced by Bill Thompson.)

5. John Lithgow, from Once Upon a Time in Wonderland.

4. Michael Sheen, from the Tim Burton Movies.

3. The Version from the 1999 Hallmark TV Film. (Performed by Kiran Shah; Voiced by Richard Coombs.)

2. Michael Crawford, from the 1972 Film. (Yes, Phantom fans, THAT Michael Crawford.)

1. Ed Staudenmayer, from Wonderland.

[bonjour-rainycity]

The Long Way Around ~ Chapter 3

Link to previous part: https://bonjour-rainycity.tumblr.com/post/623036690414649344/the-long-way-around-chapter-2

Pairing: Jasper x Reader

Word count: 2040

Warnings: None

Jasper’s POV

The back door slams open as Rosalie enters the house. “Carlisle, how dare you?!” Her emotions slap me in the face. Fury, hurt, disappointment, grief. 

Y/n is startled by the new, angry presence and drops into a defensive crouch. 

“It’s okay,” I try to reassure her. “It’s just my sister.”

Emmett, who is only a step behind Rosalie, sees the new addition to our coven and eyes

her warily. I can tell he intimidates her, as does Rosalie’s anger, so I place myself in front of Y/n, blocking her view. 

Rosalie stomps up the stairs in the direction of Carlisle’s study. Wordlessly, Emmett, Edward, and Esme follow. Usually, I would be there too, helping to diffuse the tension and anger. But today, and likely for the next eight months or so, I’m glued to Y/n’s side, highly hesitant to leave her alone to get into trouble. I also don’t want her to hear the fighting upstairs, as it could set her off. Until I get to know her and her emotional climate better, I want to avoid any potential upsetting situations. I just don’t know what’s going to set her off or how she’ll react. 

“Let’s go outside,” I suggest, “and I can introduce you to the others.” 

Y/n agrees, but I can feel her mental exhaustion. The four of us had spent the last six hours explaining everything there is to know about vampires, our laws, our specific family, special abilities, the need to keep a low profile, and what Y/n can expect as a newborn vampire. Needless to say, it all left her a bit overwhelmed. 

We run into the forest and meet up with Alice, Arthur, and Bella, who weren’t as eager to get home as Rosalie and Emmett. I had warned Y/n about the approaching vampires so she doesn’t get defensive, but I can still feel her unease at being so outnumbered. Like a reflex, I relax her. 

Alice steps forward first, introducing herself. “Hello, Y/n, welcome. I’m Alice, and this is my mate Arthur and my sister Bella. We’re so glad you’re here.” 

Y/n nods, still relaxed. “Thank you, it’s nice to meet you all.”

“Did Rose kick you out,” Arthur questions with a laugh. 

I grimace. “I just felt it best if we left. She’s really upset.” 

Bella nods sagely. “Don’t be too hard on her. We really shouldn’t expect anything different, given the situation.” 

Y/n’s unease returns. She shifts on her feet. “Did I cause a problem?”

“No, not at all.” Bella reassures her before I can. “Rosalie still has trouble accepting this life, and she’s upset on your behalf, thinking you’ll not want to accept it, either.”

“How are you doing with all this, by the way?” Alice chimes in, concern in her voice. 

Y/n plays with her fingers, a startlingly human gesture. “It’s a lot to take in, I-” she heaves a sigh, and suddenly, she’s off. 

Arthur jumps to grab her but she’s too quick and easily shakes him off with a fierce snarl. 

Already breaking into a run after Y/n, I scent the air, relief flooding through me when I only smell a coyote. She must’ve caught the scent when she took the breath to speak. Immediately, I drop back, not wanting to cause her, or myself, any further distress. I still keep her in my line of sight and speed, though, unwilling to let her get too far away.

Bella comes to a swift stop at my side. “So this is what an actual newborn is like, huh?”

“Yep,” I nod grimly. “Just fine until they smell blood, and then all bets are off.” 

“We’ll need to think of a cover story,” she reminds me. “People in town are starting to look for her. How did you explain this to the friends that brought her here?”

I make a face, guilty. “Carlisle says he ‘mildly drugged’ them.”

Bella purses her lips. “That’s risky. What if they remember?”

I shake my head. “Edward and Alice are watching closely. As of now, we’re in the clear.” 

Y/n comes back to us then, hesitant. From her, I feel the thrill of the kill and slight embarrassment. “Coyotes taste better than deer, at least.” 

Walking up to us, Alice chuckles. “Yeah, but they put up a bit more of a fight.” Y/n then notices the tears in her shirt, and shifts sheepishly. 

“Don’t worry,” Alice smiles, taking Y/n by the arm. “I’ll pull up Pinterest and you can show me some styles you like. Rose and I will go into town tomorrow and get you some essentials.” 

Good-naturedly, Arthur rolls his eyes. He assumes, like me, that Alice’s version and anyone else’s version of ‘essentials’ varies greatly. 

“Thank you,” Y/n replies. I can tell she means it. 

Then I feel her hesitancy, and I wonder what she’ll say next. 

“You mentioned my friends…” she starts slowly, playing with her fingers once again. “What happened to them, exactly? I don’t remember that night very well.”

The four of us are quiet, all waiting for someone else to fill in the blanks. I expect it to be Alice, since she’s the one who had the vision. But she doesn’t offer any information, choosing to keep what she knows to herself. I wonder why? After five long seconds of silence, I can’t take it anymore and jump in. 

“You really should ask Carlisle or Edward, as they were the only ones there when you arrived.” Upon feeling her disappointment, I continue. “But from what I know, your friends brought you here in hopes of getting you medical attention and Edward made sure they got home safely.” 

“And what do they think happened to me?”

I swallow, preparing myself for the hurt about to slam into me. “That you died from your wounds.” 

Even prepared for it, the intensity of her feelings nearly chokes me. 

“And my family?” Her voice wavers, though of course she can’t shed any tears. 

“The same.” Hesitantly, and hoping she doesn’t decide to rip my arm off, I put my hand on her shoulder and channel comfort. “It’s the only way, I’m sorry.”

She takes steadying breaths and unknowingly accepts my comfort. “I get it. Even if I hadn’t become...this...I would be dead. That guy got me pretty good, from what I can remember.”

“Is he still out there,” Arthur questions, looking at me. 

I shake my head. “Edward took care of it. The authorities should be on his trail by now.”

“Good.” Y/n’s voice is quiet, her emotions conflicting. 

Alice’s eyes glaze over as she’s caught in a vision. Arthur positions himself at her side, looking around warily. But there’s nothing to fear. Alice only sees that Rosalie is done yelling at Carlisle and it’s clear to go back. 

When we get back to the house we see Emmett on the back porch with Edward, checking out his new scar. 

“Looks wicked,” Emmett says with a grin. “Piss off the newbie a couple more times and you can twin with Jasper.” Emmett eyes me playfully, causing me to roll my eyes. 

From Y/n, I feel shame. She approaches Edward slowly. “I’m sorry I bit you.”

Ever the gentleman, Edward shrugs it off. “I shouldn't have grabbed you like that. I can see how it would have been frightening.” 

Still, Y/n doesn’t feel better. “I’ll try not to do it again.” 

Thankfully, Emmett jumps in to alleviate the awkwardness. “I’m Emmett.” With a winning smile, he holds out his hand. When Y/n shakes it, his smile widens. “Killer grip. We’ll have to go sometime.”

She scrunches up her face. “Go?”

“You know. Fight.” 

Y/n chuckles warily, shaking her head. “I’m not much of a fighter. If I was, maybe I wouldn’t’ve gotten stabbed.” She makes a face at the memory, but Emmett’s good nature doesn’t fade. 

“That’s okay, we’ll teach you.” At that, he sends a nod my way. I would rather hold off on teaching the most dangerous vampire in our coven how to further take us down, but that’s just me. 

Edward snorts. 

“C’mon, let’s get you some new clothes and a shower.” Alice gently takes Y/n’s arm and drags her inside. Arthur and I follow closely. 

Politely, Bella waited until Y/n got inside to fuss over Edward’s new scar. I feel her annoyance and anger, likely towards Y/n, and hold back a grimace. She’ll have to get used to it, I think, knowing Edward can still hear me. There’s a lot more where that came from. Now, I feel Edward’s annoyance. But he’s dealt with newborns before, albeit a while ago, so it shouldn’t come as a shock. 

While Y/n is in the shower, I take the opportunity to go to my room and change clothes. From a floor below and a couple of doors down, I feel Rosalie’s deep sadness, hurt, and anger. I sigh, knowing I can’t ignore my sister’s feelings even if she probably wants me to. Maybe she’ll let me help. I head downstairs. I knock on the open door and lean against the frame. “Want to talk about it?” 

Rosalie sits, unmoving on her bed, staring out the window. She’s quiet for a long time. When she finally speaks, her voice is soft, vulnerable. “I know it’s too late and my sadness does no one any good. But I can’t help it.” 

I take this as acceptance of my presence and walk slowly into the room to stand by her shoulder. “She’s not you, Rosalie.” 

“I know that,” she snaps. Then, she takes a deep breath. “This life is just a hard pill to swallow. And she never even got a choice.” I place a hand on her shoulder, which she doesn’t acknowledge. But, she doesn’t bite my arm off when I send her soothing emotions, so I take that as a win. 

“I’ll apologize to Carlisle soon,” she continues, sounding resigned. “I know he only does this from the goodness of his heart. It’s not his fault we disagree so strongly.” Then, she chuckles ruefully. “Maybe Y/n will like this life.” 

“Maybe.”

From down the hall, I hear the water turn off. “I better go.” 

Rosalie rolls her eyes. “You don’t have to hover all the time. She’s fine.”

I shake my head, remembering vividly the dangerously mercurial behavior common to newborn vampires. I lower my voice so Y/n can’t hear. “She could snap like that. I’m not going to risk any of you getting hurt.” 

Rosalie scoffs, but her emotions can’t lie, and I feel her gratitude. Knowing I know, she gives me a little shove. 

“Go on then, do your job.” 

On the way out I catch Emmett, who gives me a pat on the back. “We’ll be down in a bit. Gonna chill for a few minutes.” 

I nod, knowing Rose isn’t quite ready to interact with Y/n. Of course, we let her be. It’s not smart to push Rosalie Hale. 

Esme meets Y/n outside the bathroom door and kindly strokes her hair. “I thought we might watch a movie tonight. Is there something you would like to see?”

Instantly, I feel warmth from Y/n, her first positive emotion since her arrival. It’s a wonderful respite from all the chaos, and I let it wash over me. Involuntarily, I take a few steps forward, wanting to be closer to the pleasant feeling. 

Mischief crosses Y/n’s face, and she looks at me with one eyebrow raised. “Shadow, is there anything you would like to watch?”

I can hear Emmett snickering. Esme tries, and fails, to hide a smile. Even I have to bite the inside of my mouth to keep from grinning, but it doesn’t quite work. The teasing is a nice break from the tension, fear, and shame. 

“Lord of the Rings,” I throw out randomly. 

Y/n turns back to Esme, her smile widening. “Midnight in Paris it is.” 

Esme chuckles, puts her arm around Y/n’s shoulders, and leads her downstairs to the living room. I follow, unable to keep the smile off my face. 

A/n Thank you for reading! Next chapter, we’ll get to see what Y/n thinks of her transformation and of her ‘shadow’. I’m excited! Please let me know what you thought of this chapter and if you would like to be added to the tag list!

xx,

Bjr

Link to next part: https://bonjour-rainycity.tumblr.com/post/623226519560617984/the-long-way-around-chapter-4

Tag list: @puer-de-infinitate @charliestuff @hindustani-diaspora @one-thread-can-save-a-life

[dwellordream]

“...In presenting that value-set, I also think Dhuoda provides a valuable corrective to current pop-cultural assumptions about the values and behavior of the medieval aristocracy (often considered with little concern for the variety created by the vastness of the period). In this pop-imagining, the nobility is cynical and machiavellian: they break faith regularly, are at best irreligious (and frequently actively anti-clerical), they often brutish, largely holding ‘book learning’ in contempt, and hold to strict realpolitik (‘power is power’).

We might call this the Game of Thrones aristocratic values (if it seems like I pick on Game of Thrones a lot here, it is because it is by far, above and away the most culturally impactful representation of the Middle Ages – albeit in fantasy form – in the last decade at least), but the same basic framework shows up in the nobility of The Witcher (novels, games and series) and dozens of lesser works; those sets of assumptions in turn seep into works that at least imagine themselves to be historical (particularly the crop of middling historically set medieval political dramas that emerged in Game of Thrones‘ wake, most of which, it seems, feature scheming, amoral, irreligious and often brutish aristocrats).

And of course it doesn’t come from nowhere – the grim turn in the presentation of the medieval nobility is itself a reaction against an older trend of presenting the European Middle Ages as a lost period of morality, a ‘clean’ past (think The Adventures of Robin Hood (1938) or even to an extent the Lord of the Rings (but only if one has not read the Silmarillion)). And that vision – all chivalry and little violence (a vision which is itself a terrible misunderstanding of what chivalry was and to whom it applied) – is worth reacting against. The courts of the actual Middle Ages were not inhabited by perfect, pious Sir Galahads. These were military aristocrats; they did quite a bit of fighting, much of it very nasty. In a week or two, we’ll take a closer look at some military aristocrats writing about violence (Bertran de Born and Antarah Ibn Shaddad, to be specific); their attitude is hardly pacific.

But for now, I want to focus on the contrast between Carolingian values and the Game of Thrones aristocratic package. In no small part because, quite frankly, I find the GoT aristocratic package showing up more and more in my own students and the assumptions they make about how people in the past viewed their world: that learning was devalued, that religion was viewed cynically, and that ‘power politics’ was normal and accepted (you may sense the presence of some of the underlying assumptions of the Cult of the Badass there as well – if knights were powerful fighters, mustn’t they be badasses as well? But this is an anachronism – the medieval vision of the great fighter (e.g. Roland from the Song of Roland) has precious little to do with the modern ‘badass’ action hero)

...Of course the most obvious difference is in Dhuoda’s emphasis on William keeping his vow of homage, both because such an oath was literally sacred and people in the past generally believed their own religion, but also because – as she quite clearly flags – breaking troth without justification could be well and truly dangerous in a society that functionally ran on oaths of fealty. These social dictates meant something quite important to this class.

...Another clear difference is the value placed on counsel and learning. The GoT aristocrat often attends councils but rarely take counsel meaningfully; they bark at their subordinates, belittle their ideas and generally bully them (this isn’t restricted to Game of Thrones of course; cf. both Richard and William Wallace in Braveheart for instance). But Dhuoda stresses the need to both offer good counsel and to listen to it as well. This is by no means unique to Dhuoda – cf. Einhard on Charlemagne’s temperament in court (which in turn becomes a fixture of the chansons – the old, often wise king, patiently holding court and listening carefully to his advisors; often this figure is, as in Roland, quite literally Charlemagne). An important component of the ideal lord was one who took counsel effectively, and an ideal vassal offered it eloquently and intelligently (note that Dhuoda stresses both the content of the advice but also the quality of its delivery).

And of course that was important. The advisers to high lords and kings were themselves (along with a handful of scholars and clerics) important military men. Were a king to opt, instead of listening patiently, to berate and shame his subordinates, he might well end up with a war on his hands (as, of course, Charles eventually does when he executes Bernard; while William dies in 850, his brother (also Bernard) remains a thorn in Charles’s side until the latter’s death in 877.) And in a military system where armies were composed of a retinue-of-retinues generating consensus among the major aristocrats (the men Dhuoda calls magnati) was crucial for actually winning those conflicts.

And where the GoT aristocrat is often dismissive of ‘book learning’ of any sort (GoT, in contrast to its books, quite clearly concludes that Tyrion’s book habit is a useless waste of time and he seems to be the only member of the nobility who engages in it), Dhuoda is adamant: reading is important, as are learned men at court. I honestly wonder why the nobles of Westeros continue to maintain maesters given that they never listen to them. Contrast Dhuoda’s advice: read, and collect a lot of books, she tells William. And she is demonstrating that emphasis; Dhuoda is at pains to show off her own reading and learning throughout – one imagines as a way of building credibility with her reader (her son). That performance of education is one she expects will be understood and respected by other military aristocrats.

In this, Dhuoda is not unique, but an exemplar of her historical moment, the Carolingian Renaissance, a resurgence of literacy and interest in literary culture. Einhard goes on at some length about the education Charlemagne made sure his children had (and how Charlemagne himself, starting late in life, strove to be proficient at reading and writing, but was never more the middling). Charlemagne even went to considerable lengths to assemble scholars in his court (particularly through Alcuin of York; one of these learned men recruited by him was Einhard). That emphasis that the king and his court ought to be learned continues through the later Carolingians (Dhuoda’s contemporaries) and into the High Middle Ages (the period c. 1000 to c. 1300). Whereas the Carolingian era effectively ends in the tenth century, literacy continues to widen over the following centuries; in a sense, the Carolingian Renaissance doesn’t really end.

And finally, this was a society that – rather than being cynical about their religion – was absolutely soaked through with it. Religious thinking was not limited to Church or prayer, but suffused how these fellows thought about politics and every day life. Major political decisions were made with deference to religious concerns (demonstrated most dramatically, perhaps, in the ability of a series of Popes to humble a sequence of German emperors during the investiture controversy). Secular leaders – including the aforementioned Louis the Pious most famously – poured resources into religious observance both to demonstrate piety, but also in the very real fear for their own souls. Even ruthless monarchs were often quite religiously observant (Edward I Longshanks, – the villain of Braveheart – for instance, was a very regular church-goer).

Now, does all of this mean that medieval courts were a paradise of proper conduct? Of course not. The annals of the periods feature their share of rogues and scoundrels who are accused of defying the standards of aristocratic values in one way or another. And even within the standards, there was plenty of space for violence – conflicting obligations, situations where multiple vassals felt entitled (through inheritance or promise) to the same land or title and so on. There was no shortage of potential justifications for conflict, but those justifications are typically framed with within the aristocratic code of conduct, as a product of its conflicting obligations, rather than simple, opportunistic realpolitik.

...Contrary to the popular image of a boorish and brutish group, it was an aristocracy that valued literacy and learning and placed great store in a shared code of conduct (which, again, was not a peaceful code of conduct – there were rules, but those rules involved quite a lot of violence and did almost nothing to protect most commoners) and tremendous weight on religious observance. The ideal Carolingian warrior-aristocrat was literate, pious, considered and slow to anger, taking counsel from their greater vassals, fearsome on the battlefield and fearful in the Church.”

- Bret Devereaux, “A Trip Through Dhuoda of Uzès (Carolingian Values).”

[tothedarkdarkseas]

2doc vampire AU, where Murdoc thinks he's coming over all suave and seductive a la Lestat, but in reality his approach to Stu is more sad, lovelorn stalker in the vein of Edward Cullen

Murdoc would be persona non grata in the vampire underworld. There's a general feeling he lets the side down with his lack of class, and he might have walked off with a few too many priceless heirlooms in his time. So he shacks up with a vampire hunter (Noodle) and a conduit for passing spirits (Russ) to protect himself. Vamps are scared of ghosts because they're all terrified they might encounter one of their vengeful victims. Murdocs choice of flatmates only pisses off the elite even more, ofc

Murdoc is off the red stuff and trying to channel his bloodlust into every other vice he can think of instead. It's going swimmingly until the day he crashes into Stu Pot and almost kills him. He tells himself later he did it to avoid the investigation, but the truth is, he doesn't know what makes him break the promise of a lifetime and turn Stu. He doesn't know if he regrets it. He veers between feeling massively guilty about it and insisting he saved Stu and Stu owes him forever.

Just imagine how weird and intense the unhealthy codependency of a vampire sire bond would be when it's Murdoc and 2-D. I kind of can't believe no-one has actually done this before?

You're onto something anon, and just in time for the holiday season! It is sort of surprising how few vampire AUs there are-- I've definitely seen some oneshots here and there over the years and several conceptual AUs, but considering the far-and-away popularity of vampires in pop culture, and even just in the like, cultural microcosm of "fandom AU culture" (this feels like a very silly thing to type) you're definitely right to say it hasn't been as deeply explored as you'd think. Considering my whole bag has been mundane, bleak, un-fantastical writing, in no way would I be the right person to explore any properly thought-through supernatural AU (I am a Buffy fan though, and yes the Angelus/Spike/Drusilla nightmare relationship is Niccalcrackerpot goals) but you've absolutely hit the nail to hook me in on Murdoc being classless, unsuave, more a menace than anything romantic or alluring, still doing petty crime as a literal immortal being. Persona non grata is the perfect description. I'm also a sucker for immortality with consequences being thrust upon a person in a life-or-death situation, whether by someone else's selfless/selfish hand whom they would grow to resent, or of their own desperate "choice" when faced with no other alternative.

The challenging power dynamic of the vampire and sire relationship is infinitely more interesting to me when it's subverted in this way, with the relationship dynamic between the two men still adhering to an emotionally immature but rightly aggrieved and aggressive Stu against a cruel but manic, weaponizing-the-world's-disgust-to-steal-some-sense-of-gratification-from-social-degradation Murdoc. (That's a legible sentence, don't let anyone tell you otherwise.) This really dials the early phase conflict of the externalized "You owe me" and "You ruined my life" vs the internalized denial "I can never make it right" and "I would be no-one without you" up to eleven. I'm all-in on exploring Stuart's loss of identity, arrested development and overcompensating rage toward Murdoc through this unique lens of quite literally being the thing Murdoc made him; being completely, fundamentally, genetically different from anything he ever was or would ever be without Murdoc. It gives Stuart a fairly straightforward psychological reason to want to assert himself over Murdoc and establish an identity for himself, fueled further by a mortifying fear of being "the boy," the plaything, the underling to the pathetic man who hit him forever. I'd love to see how he is so shattered by this, and yet so unwilling to exist in a capacity where he is seen as being owned, or even just governed by Murdoc, and how this comes in conflict with his complete lack of foundation, entirely situational confidence and lack of leadership capabilities. Murdoc is similarly unwilling to say how troubling his own actions vs intentions are and is compelled, albeit in the way a bloodied scrappy animal is compelled, to at times rest at another's feet before biting at them in the morning. I'm a big fan of the whole "hung from the same rope" angle of their relationship and this, er, well. This really cinches that for all eternity. It's an interesting way to portray their connection, the metaphor definitely holds weight!

Sorry if this answer isn't adding much to your idea, but it sounds like you've got a lot of the exposition plotted out! Meanwhile I'm just here to cram the same dysfunction I already like in there, haha. Thanks!

[pluto-art]

Out of the Cold, Out of the Cavern

Type: Fan fiction (PatB) / Self-insert/Y/N/OC (sort of...) Genre: Hurt/Comfort (what else?) Words: 4,841 Rating: K+

Fan Fiction Link: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13724127/1/Out-of-the-Cold-Out-of-the-Cavern

As usual, I recommend the fan fiction version, which includes all of the italicized words.

Thanks to @shuunthenonbeliever, I was inspired to finally write this. :)

“One-sixty… one-eighty… two hundred,” the plump woman said, sliding a packet of bills off her jewel-laden fingers and into yours, like water pouring out of a spout.

“Thank you,” you replied, hesitant to pocket the load with those two, round, black eyes still staring at you, burrowing into your soul. They belonged to a young girl, nine or ten in age, perhaps, with short, auburn hair, her little white and turquoise dress bouncing up and down as she rocked back and forth on the balls of her feet, waiting, watching.

“She’ll need watch every weekday from three to nine,” instructed the woman, barely even looking at you or her daughter as she checked her purse for something. “If you have any trouble you have my work number.”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

“But you’ll be no trouble. Will you, Elmyra?”

“Oh, no, Ma’am. Nopey nopey nope! We’re gonna have so much fun laughing and cuddling and playing with all my fuzzy whittle animals!” screeched the girl, in a voice that scratched like sandpaper.

“Yes, dear. Be good to your new babysitter, all right? Mommy has to go to work now.”

“Bye byeeeeeee!!” Elmyra waved, smiling widely in mock innocence as her mother stepped out the door.

“Bye,” you called out, a bit half-heartedly.

As soon as the door snapped closed, Elmyra turned to look at you expectantly, beaming.

“All right. She’s gone. You can go play with your pets,” you said.

“Yaaaaaaaay!! I’m coming, my fuzzy whuzzies!”

And off she hopped, skipping down the hall and around a corner ever so gayly, to a spot that you knew to be her bedroom, where all manner of horrible and unspeakable things happened.

You turned, leaned against the front door, and inhaled a long, deep breath of air, practically sliding against the thing as you counted out the greens in your hand -- one one-hundred, a fifty, a ten, and two twenties. Yep. Checked out.

You pocketed the loose change, paused, then got up and stuck it in your backpack instead. It’s not like it was going anywhere for a while. Besides, you hated carrying around more than you needed to in your small pants pockets.

Tossing the backpack next to the living room couch, you collapsed onto said couch and took a gander at your new surroundings.

It was a quaint little abode. Could have done with a new paint job, perhaps, but the yellow interior and old-style furniture wasn’t completely abhorrent. The whole cottage was rather cute, in its own weird way, sporting the occasional gothic chandelier that would have looked much more at home in Edward Scissorhands’ house, or a wastebasket that was far too frilly and posh to even be used for its original purpose. But the seating was comfortable, the cable was working, and, best of all, the fridge, stuffed to its seams, was, according to Mrs. Duff, 100% at your disposal. If there was anything that solidified a job offer for you, it was free food.

Not that the job was all chipper and charm. You knew what you were getting into when you took it, and the intermittent screams coming from Elmyra’s bedroom, as well as the cat that nearly bit your finger off from earlier as you tried to coax him out from under the kitchen table, were stark reminders of that. Everyone in the city of Burbank knew who the Duff family was, whether it was personally or from the horror stories passed down the school halls. Most who visited their house, unless they were a close family friend or relative, never wanted to step back in it again. It was common knowledge that you only went to Elmyra’s if you wanted a nice, long day of yelling and suffering, and all in your dorm would have rather died than take on the job of babysitter when it was posted online. But you took it. You took it… partially ‘cause you had no choice. What with a full-time college schedule and not much else in the cupboard save for ramen and three-day-old apples, cash was in short supply and desperately needed, and even though the last thing you’d rather do was keep watch over this kid, you also couldn’t find a job anywhere else. Besides, the pay was good. Excellent, in fact. Two hundred every Friday. You might even splurge on Chinese this weekend.

Sliding the remote off the thick, wooden table, you flipped through the channels, one-by-one, finally landing on National Geographic. The narrator was deep in discussion about the living habits of bats. Appropriate, you thought, as Elmyra flitted out of the room, make-shift cape trailing behind her and blindfold on, zoomed into the kitchen and grabbed a packet of cookies before zipping back into her room, sounding very much like a bat as she laughed in a loud, screeching tone the entire time. You did a double-take as she slammed the door behind her. Were there… other voices coming from the room? No. That’s silly. You shook your head. Crazy.

The next couple of hours went by surprisingly uneventfully; so much so, in fact, that you wondered if there was any basis in the rumors that floated around about the Duff residence being a literal “house of horror”. Some even said the place was haunted. It wasn’t until 6:55 PM, when you went to remind Elmyra that dinner was almost ready, that you got a whiff that things weren’t… quite what they seemed.

Of the menagerie loose throughout the house, Elmyra owned a total of one cat, a parrot, a turtle, and two white mice. The turtle hid. The parrot squawked. And the mice? The mice… talked.

“Narf! Hello there!” the taller of the two said, as you meandered into the room. You cocked an eyebrow and hesitantly lifted a hand to wave at him.

“Hi…,” you replied, a little taken aback.

The shorter mouse didn’t look up at you. His focus was heavily trained on a notepad rife with complex calculations far beyond your intellect. He was scribbling away as if his life depended on it. He also called you a “disposable hindrance”, albeit indirectly to his associate, something you didn’t entirely appreciate, but you also didn’t dare talk back. Not yet.

“Oooo. Munchie time! Come on, little mousies!” Elmyra cheered, and she grabbed both rodents tight around the neck with her short, groping fingers, stuffing them into her shirt pocket as she ran out of the room and in the direction of the kitchen.

You stood behind for a moment, nonplussed. Okay then.

A soft shuffling down the hallway made you turn. It was the cat. He still looked quite wary of you.

“Hey, kitty,” you cooed, gently but not in a childish fashion; more like you were simply greeting a friend. “You gonna let me pet you this time?” you asked, bending down and holding out a hand for him to sniff.

Tenderly, cautiously, the cat stepped up to you, wagging its tail slightly behind him. You narrowed your eyes. A wagging tail wasn’t necessarily a good thing, especially when it came to cats, but this was… different. The closer he got to you the more he wagged it, as if he was… excited? Curious? He sniffed your hand… and licked it. Odd. Then he peered up into your face, lolled out a long, pink tongue, and barked.

You sat back a little, wide-eyed, as the cat-dog jumped up onto your legs and actually started licking your face. It was… weird. Cute, but… weird.

After a few hearty licks, the cat, satisfied, jumped back down, scratched itself, and ran off to play with a ball. You wondered why he hadn’t come up to you before. Perhaps he still had more of the cat than the dog in him. You also now understood why some people claimed that this house was “haunted”. Two talking mice and a barking cat. Not exactly “spooky”, under your terms, but definitely unusual. You wondered what other treasures this quirky household held. Pirate bones? Dinosaurs? You had to admit it was rather exciting.

Shuffling back into the kitchen, you found Elmyra at the table, greedily shoveling the macaroni and cheese you’d made for her into her mouth as she watched a cartoon program on tv. The mice sat beside her in a little highchair, both now dressed as infants, the big-headed one looking absolutely miserable. Now and again, Elmyra would shovel a huge spoonful of mac and cheese into one or the other’s mouth against their will. Lanky mouse didn’t seem to mind it too much. Grumpy mouse turned to look at you with an expression that read: “shoot me”.

“Elmyra, be careful with how you feed your pets, okay? They might not like too much mac and cheese…,” you suggested, cautiously, frowning a little at the big-headed mouse in pity.

You knew, of course, about this kid’s harsh treatment of her pets. Everyone knew. But her parents were rich, and could probably buy out the police station and the A.S.P.C.A. if they’d wanted to, and so no one said anything. Still, as an animal-lover, you were curious. Just how badly did she handle her critters? Maybe you could do something to relieve their pain while you were there? And the situation was bad, certainly, but you’d seen worse, and there was only so much you could say besides, at least while she was awake. Too much rebellion and you’d probably be fired. That being said, you fully intended to assist in giving the poor things a little reprieve once Elmyra went to bed in an hour, and so you let the macaroni-shoveling slide… for now.

8:00 PM came and went, with little deviation from the norm aside from Elmyra quickly popping into the kitchen again at 7:23 PM, opening the freezer, and succinctly closing it before racing back into her bedroom. You shrugged at the gesture, barely turning around from the tv, figuring she probably just went to grab some ice cream. Thankfully, Elmyra not only went to bed early, but also was a heavy sleeper, so by the time 8:15 rolled around she was already obediently in bed and snoring, needing only a reminder from you ten minutes prior. The lanky mouse opened an eye as you peeked in. He was sleeping in the bed with her.

“Sorry,” you muttered, making to close the door, but the little mouse sat up.

“Wait! D-Do you mind checking on Brain? Elmyra said he went to Antarctica, but… he hasn’t been back in a while. You’ll go look for him, won’t you?” he asked, twisting his tail as he said it.

“Sure. I’ll look for him,” you responded pleasantly, and you meant it. The mouse smiled.

“Oh, thank you!” he whispered, tucking back into bed. “Good night!”

“Night,” you whispered back, closing the door softly behind you.

You frowned. Antarctica? More than likely, cranky mouse was simply hiding somewhere, but internally you promised to keep an eye out and check a few cupboards.

Several drawers, a pantry, numerous cupboards, and a couple of closets later and you still couldn’t find the little mouse. You even checked the higher areas of the house, wondering if “Antarctica” meant somewhere scalable and colder. Your first thought, of course, had been the freezer, but that was preposterous. She wouldn’t be that cruel. Would she…?

Out of pure curiosity, you headed back into the kitchen, grabbing a bowl from a cupboard as you did so. You were hungry anyway and figured that a hearty helping of ice cream before you left in half an hour certainly couldn’t hurt. You had free reign of the fridge, after all.

You set down your little blue bowl on the counter. You grabbed a spoon from a drawer and set it in the bowl. You even snatched a couple of Oreo cookies from an Oreo cookie box nearby and plopped them next to the bowl for good measure. Could never be too careful.

Noticing that Elmyra had left a box of frozen fruit pops on the counter without putting them back, you shook your head, grabbed it, opened the freezer door…… and dropped the box onto the floor with a loud plop. Hastily, you whipped off your red sweater, reached into the freezer, and pulled out a little white ball of frozen fur and whiskers.

“Oh, you poor baby,” you cooed, cradling the small mouse in your sweater as if he were precious cargo. You tittered. “Goodness. You poor thing. She actually put you in here??”

Closing the freezer door, you brought the mouse up close, pressing a finger to where his heart would be. His eyes were shut tight, and he was curled so firmly about himself that it took a little doing to get your finger up to his chest. He didn’t stir as you moved him about. There was a heartbeat… barely, faint as a whisper. It was a miracle he was still alive.

Almost instinctively, you cupped him in your hands, brought him over to the sink, and slowly turned on the faucet, checking that the water was lukewarm before carefully sticking him under the steady stream. You didn’t want it too hot right off the bat. Even a warm temperature might be a shock.

Two minutes later, after you’d let the (hopefully) stimulating mini waterfall wash over him, you turned off the faucet and proceeded to dry him off with a towel -- softly; slowly. He still hadn’t stirred, not even a little, and you gulped. Were you too late..?

8:35 PM. The stillness of the night, save for the now dimmed volume of the television, found you sitting once more on the couch, this time with a fuzzy occupant in hand. Big-headed mousie -- the… Brain… he was called? -- lay cradled in your arms, encompassed about with a very soft, very woolly blanket indeed. It was the fluffiest you could find in the house. Nothing less would suffice, in your mind. You could only imagine how frightening of an ordeal it must have been, shivering, cowering in a freezer for an hour, not knowing if the next breath you took would be your last….

A thumb gently stroked the snow white fur of the sleeping mouse, and you couldn’t help but massage that oversized head of his from time to time, muttering to him in soothing tones as you did so.

“You poor thing…. I’m so sorry I didn’t see you in there earlier,” you apologized, even though he probably wasn’t listening. He still hadn’t opened his eyes, the only indication that he wasn’t dead being the steady beat, beat, beat of his thumping heart every half a second.

“You gonna blink for me, sweet heart?”

And then, as if on cue, the little mouse sloooowly blinked, opened his eyes, and stared at you.

“Hey there, little one,” you whispered, smiling at him. “Atta boy….”

His eyes began to shift around, rapidly, and he frowned, as if trying to take in all at once where he was and what had happened.

“It’s all right. It’s all right,” you reassured him, readjusting your grip a touch as you continued to hold him close to your chest. “I’ve got you. Elmyra’s asleep. She can’t do you any harm. And if she tried I wouldn’t let her.”

He opened his mouth, closed it, opened it once more, and subsequently shut it again, as if at a loss for words. Perhaps he really was speechless, or perhaps he was still a little stiff from having been locked up in the freezer for so long. Whatever the reason, he continued to stare at you, almost unblinkingly. As you went to pet him again, he reeled back, breathing faster than normal.

“Shhh. Shhh. It’s okay,” you said calmingly, pausing a mite before resuming your soft massage of his head. “It’s all right, little one. I’m not gonna hurt you.”

And slowly, hesitantly, he settled.

“‘Antarctica’,” you mused, shaking your head. “I’m surprised you survived that. Poor thing….”

You continued to talk to him; comfort him. After a solid five minutes of being stroked and cooed to, he actually leaned into your hand. You could tell he enjoyed the massage, reluctant as he was to admit it. A heavy sigh escaped your lips. You couldn’t help but feel sorry for the little fellow, even if he had been a bit of a butt to you earlier. How often did this kind of thing happen to him? Weekly? Daily? How often did he bath in this torment? You decided to ask him.

“Does she do this kind of thing to you often?”

He nodded, gaze still trained on you.

“Like… daily?”

He nodded again. You sighed.

“I’m so sorry….”

He actually shrugged.

“It’s… my life,” he coughed out, in a deep, chocolatey voice that was a little raspy. It was almost comical that a voice that low could come from something so diminutive.

“Well, it shouldn’t be your life,” you countered. “You don’t deserve any of this.” He simply blinked at you.

“How long has she had you for?”

He shrugged again.

“Over a year..?” he guessed.

“Over a year…. Sheesh…. How are you still alive?” you asked, actually chuckling a little… and regretting it immediately after. This was no laughing matter.

“I… I don’t know,” the Brain admitted, his body vibrating for a second as it released a shiver. For once, he looked away from you. “I don’t know….”

There was something in the way that he said “I don’t know”, something in the way his voice quivered a touch as it floated off into the air, that made your heart break in two. It was as if he himself couldn’t believe they’d held out as long as they had; that they hadn’t given up all hope by this time. It was a dry admittance, a sad admittance, and he blinked rather rapidly and sniffed after saying it, as if trying to bite back tears.

Any animosity you’d had for such a creature had completely dissipated by this point. His honesty. His helpless quaver…. They’d destroyed it. With all the more tenderness, you rocked him gently to and fro, taking extra care to massage his whole little body, as best he’d let you anyway, trying to iron out every last bit of pain trapped in those delicate bones. He barely even resisted, save for asking once why you even bothered to help him in the first place.

“Because I think you needed it,” was your blunt response.

He’d looked away a little shyly at this, before turning back to look into your eyes.

“Thank you,” he muttered, and it sounded sincere.

You simply nodded, smiling at him, continuing to rub out the pain as best you could.

8:47 PM. You tossed a frown at the clock. Mrs. Duff would be back in about thirteen minutes. The time you had spent with your new charge hadn’t felt like enough. You were fully aware that you couldn’t take him back to your place for extended relief. He’d have to return to Elmyra’s room, or, at the very least, be put back somewhere in the house before the mother arrived. This posed a bit of a problem, however, for by this point he’d fallen back to sleep in your arms. You stopped rocking him back and forth for a moment to simply… look at him.

He was so small. Much smaller than expected for a pet mouse. Perhaps he’d been a field mouse in the past? A body that fragile shouldn’t be thrown around in a house by a volatile little girl. He should be cared for; comforted; loved.

8:48 PM. He was actually snoring, so quietly it was barely audible. Despite yourself, you leaned down… and kissed him on the top of his head. He stirred, but didn’t awaken.

“I’m so sorry,” you whispered again, swallowing thickly.

You looked at the clock. 8:49 PM. You sighed.

You couldn’t do this. You knew you couldn’t do it from the moment you opened the freezer door and saw him lying in there. Two hundred dollars a week wasn’t worth it. You were going to be fired and that was that. Screw the money. The thought of leaving the two mice in such a condition as this was unbearable. You couldn’t rescue all of her animals, of course, and you hated the idea of stealing, but this one had almost died.

8:50 PM. You groaned. This wasn’t going to be easy….

\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/

Sunday morning saw you bright and early, topping off some pancakes in your dorm room with maple syrup, cutting up a few tiny pieces, and setting aside said pieces on a small napkin on a table. Two little white mice immediately stepped up. You smiled at them as you dug into your own, much larger portion of the breakfast, watching the sun rise beyond the balcony.

In the end, you’d chosen the lesser of two evils: voluntary departure. The moment Mrs. Duff had returned home, you’d politely thanked her for the payment, but regretted that you didn’t think you could continue to operate as babysitter. She’d been disappointed, but not surprised. It wasn’t the first time a new hire had quit so suddenly. The turn-over rate with Elmyra was high.

And so you left, leaving the two mice behind at the house, but had returned the next day around 1:00 PM while Elmyra was in school and her parents were preoccupied. She had a tendency to leave her bedroom window open, you see, and it didn’t take much convincing to persuade the mice to consider new living arrangements. The taller one, whose name turned out to be Pinky, was a bit uncertain, and felt bad about ditching without even a note of thanks or apology, but the Brain said it wouldn’t matter, that Elmyra would get over it soon enough and find some other tiny rodents to torture, and so Pinky relented. Not that you could blame him for being hesitant. You also felt bad about literally kidnapping them in this way, but you couldn’t think of any alternative.

Watching Pinky happily lick maple syrup from his lips, however, and observing Brain take notes on a pad while he chewed on pancake satisfactorily, you felt it had been worth it. Pinky still felt a bit guilty about ditching Elmyra so suddenly, but he seemed to adjust to change surprisingly quickly, and sweet breakfast food every morning was a-okay in his book. Brain was still getting used to you, and spoke only when necessary, but he hadn’t forgotten the freezer incident. When he did speak to you it was fairly formal and polite, and he’d even let you scratch behind his ears now and again. Pinky was undoubtedly the friendlier of the two, and you enjoyed spending time with him, talking about movies and playing board games, but there was a special place in your heart reserved for Mr. Grumpy. You figured that would always be there after what had transpired several nights prior. All you could see whenever you opened a freezer door now was an ivory, frost-bitten body trembling in your hands.

Bright sunlight was pouring into the dorm room now, alighting the chairs, the tables, the dishware…. Smiling, you stood up, plate in hand, and stepped out onto the porch, choosing instead to rest in one of the outside seats, the better to enjoy the day’s warmth.

Several minutes later, as you popped a piece of pancake in your mouth, something, or someone, crawled up into the chair beside you. You looked down. It was Brain.

“Hello,” you greeted him pleasantly.

“Hello,” he replied. He licked his lips a little timidly. “Umm….”

“Yes?”

“I…. Well, I… I just wanted to say that… you’ve…. Well, it’s… it’s nicer here than at Elmyra’s….”

“Glad to hear that. I would hope so,” you smirked.

“And… I…. Well, I… um…,” he stammered, scratching at his neck.

You smiled.

“It’s okay,” you said. “You’re welcome.”

He looked up at you, then back at the sunrise. A minute passed. Quietly, inconspicuously, he sidled up close to you, and leaned his entire body against yours, closing his eyes as he did so. Your heart warmed at this show of trust. Oh….

Gently, so as not to startle him, you brought up a hand and began massaging him.

“I love you, little one,” you whispered under your breath.

In response, he pressed closer against you. It wasn’t at all what you expected from him, but you gratefully accepted it all the same.

You both sat like that for a long time, enjoying the touch of the sun’s rays, Pinky finally joining in some moments later as he snuggled up to his friend. Brain actually wrapped an arm around Pinky... and smiled. Pinky hugged him back.

A grin tugged at the corners of your mouth as you watched them, before turning your attention back to the sunrise. Hot pancakes. A beautiful view. Soft mice. And no Elmyra. It was nice. 

As you petted the two little fuzzies cuddled up next to you, warm and full and far away from any girls who would put them in freezers, one thing became absolutely decided in your mind: no amount of money could ever substitute for this.

The End

--------------------------

Author’s Note:

I promised myself I’d never do a self-insert. Granted, that applied more to drawings, and even then I’ve made a couple of exceptions in the past, but writing out this kind of thing is still a bit embarrassing to me. I feel like it tampers too much with the canon universe, but, then again, so do AUs and even fan fiction in general. Every story is a “what if”.

This one came about, however, because I was inspired by a friend of mine, Shuun. She’d written a very sweet little story called Haven Forbid (which I suggest you check out), that was, in turn, partially inspired by a soft idea I’d had in which a young woman, taking on the job of Elmyra’s babysitter, discovers Brain trapped in the freezer and proceeds to nurse him back to health. The idea in general is one I’ve had for months and months and months. Whenever I daydream about cuddling and comforting Brain, it often comes back to this particular scenario. So, yes, it’s a flat-out self-insert. Ha-ha. I just normally don’t like sharing these things publicly, but Shuun inspired me to be brave. Heh. :)

Although this is written with a y/n perspective, the character of the babysitter is basically me. This is what I would most likely do if in this situation. Pinky, Elmyra, and the Brain is a show that I not only abhor, but that hurts my heart terribly. The pain I feel regarding Brain, watching him get beat up, tossed around, thrown against walls, choked, and all manner of other despicable things, is nigh through the roof. So dearly do I yearn to rescue him from such a predicament that I’ve literally been in tears thinking about what he had to endure in that show, even though it’s technically not canon. He can be a little butt himself sometimes, but he absolutely did not deserve any of what he was put through in that series.

Hand me a little frozen Brain and I’d do exactly what you saw in the story. Let me warm him; hold him; love him; tell him he’s not alone…. He’d probably balk at a majority of it, but, deep down, he wants to be comfortable and secure as much as the next person. I have so much love for this little fellow. A lot of the time he needs a kick in the pants, to be certain, and occasionally he’d rather be left alone than spoken to, but once in a while, even though he’d never admit it, I think he also needs a kiss to the head.

(As a side note, the title of this story was… paaaaartially inspired by the famous “Out of the Frying Pan, Into the Fire” chapter title in The Hobbit.)

[bitchloveskcbaseball]

Losing Resolve

Pairing: Edward x MC

Tides of Fate Part 1

A/N #1: This is my piece for @wackydrabbles​ prompt #43 - Is this a game to you? 

A/N #2: This is my first attempt at writing for Distant Shores and to be honest I’m not sure I’m entirely happy with how I’ve written Edward, but I’ve decided to stop thinking about it and just go with it.

A/N #3: This is set after Chapter 5

Trigger Warnings: This is going to be at least a 2-part series that will have mentions of violence, torture and death in Part 2. I don’t plan for it to be very detailed - mostly just an explanation after the fact - but still wanted to give everyone a heads up. (I’m really sorry this wasn’t here on initial posting - this wasn’t the direction I had been planning, but as I was working on Part 2 after posting this and it took a unexpected turn and I think I like where it’s going, so I’m adding this now. 

Edward rushed out onto the moonlit deck after having been woken from his slumber by an agonized scream. The sight that greet him – Peyton leaning heavily against the railing at the edge of the deck, beautiful features contorted with pain – had his breath catching in his throat. Another cry slipped from her lips as he approached, causing him to flinch away from her until he realized she didn’t seem to be aware that he had joined her.

Concern filled his voice as he called out to her, “Miss Bellamy?”

Still she didn’t acknowledge his presence, so he reached out to run his hand down her arm before he could think better of it. Something was clearly wrong and he’d be damned if he didn’t do all he could to help her. He laced his fingers with hers, hoping he could break through to her, but pulled away in shock when a sharp, tingling sensation ran through his hand and up his arm at the contact. What was that?

“Edward?” Peyton’s voice, thin as it was, cut through his thoughts and brought his attention back to her.

“Are you alright?” As soon as the words crossed his lips, Edward was cursing himself. Of course, she wasn’t alright – her breathing was quite labored as she was sagging even more against the railing.

“No. I – ahh!” Her legs finally gave out and her eyes slammed shut, her hand clutching at her right side. He tried to catch her before she hit the deck, but she was just out of his reach from where he’d been standing. I should have been closer. I should have been helping her.

“Peyton!” He crouched down beside her, hand coming up to cup her cheek. “What is it?”

She turned her face into his palm and, for a moment, he lost all sense of time and place, his senses overwhelmed by the intimacy of the action. He let himself revel in the feeling of her skin against his own, giving into the undeniable pull between the two of them.

“You… you said… my name…” Her voice was strained, her words interrupted by the gasps each breath tore from her lips, distracting Edward from focusing on his slip-up.

He did, however, realize his thumb was stroking her cheek, so he quickly dropped his hand away from her face. He had to force himself to ignore how her expression morphed into one of disappointment. “Tis not what I meant.”

“I know. S’my side,” she stated as if he couldn’t see her holding her hand to the spot.

Biting back his impatience, he prodded, “What happened? Were you injured earlier on the cargo ship?”

“No. Dunno what happened. Hurts to breathe.”

Edward tried to keep his expression passive, but the sight of Peyton in such discomfort caused his chest to ache. “Can you stand?”

“Not on my own.”

Closing his eyes for a brief moment, Edward steeled himself for what he knew needed to be done. “May I…assist you, Miss Bellamy?”

“Ugh. Can you not use my last name right now? My side is all the pain I can take tonight.”

Letting out a deep sigh because he knew he’d never be able to deny her with the current state she was in, he ignored the implication of her words and whispered, “Peyton, may I assist you?”

Despite the pain still etched in her features, a small smile crossed her lips and it warmed Edward’s heart. He’d never admit it to anyone else, but he had found himself going out of his way with great frequency to make her smile.

Shaking his head to bring his attention back to the current situation, he wrapped an arm around her uninjured side and asked, “Are you ready?”

Peyton took a deep breath, wincing with the movement and then muttered, “As I’ll ever be.”

Moving as gently as he could, he lifted her to her feet. Despite his best efforts, however, he could tell from her whimpers and the way her grip tightened on the hand she was holding that it was an excruciating endeavor. Once he got her standing, he let her lean against his side as she attempted to catch her breath.

When her breathing had settled a bit, he asked, “Can you walk?”

“Think so,” she panted.

Keeping his arm securely around her, he slowly started moving them towards his quarters.

“Where are we going?”

“My quarters.”

“No…Edward…”

“Yes, Peyton. Tis not up for debate.”

As they inched their way towards their destination, the pair was quiet, albeit for different reasons - Edward because he was so distracted by having her in his arms and Peyton because each step hurt as fiercely as if someone were bludgeoning her side.

Once he had her settled as comfortably as possible into his bed, he eased himself down next to her. Suddenly he found himself unable to put distance between them, despite knowing he couldn’t allow their relationship to grow. It was much too risky for her. He also couldn’t resist holding her hand in his own, fidgeting with her fingers as he tried not to think about the fact that someone was going to have to examine her injury. Because, of course, it appeared that someone would have to be him.

Taking a deep breath, he tentatively asked, “May I?” and gestured towards her side.

Rather than answering him, she reached across her body to tug at the hem of her shirt with her left hand, pulling it up to expose her midriff. He tried desperately to not react, but couldn’t help the hitch in his breathing at the sight of her creamy white skin. The feeling quickly died, however, when he saw the huge bruise spreading across her side.

“Peyton!” Her eyes narrowed at him, and he realized his tone had come out much more accusatory than he’d intended. He tried to soften it as he asked, “Why did you not tell anyone of your injury?”

“Didn’t have it before I went to bed.”

Eyes narrowed on her, Edward seethed, “Miss Bellamy.”

“Really, Edward? Are we back to that?”

He stood up from his spot next to Peyton, irritation and hurt coursing through him. “If you’ll not be telling me the truth, yes.”

“I am, ahhh…telling…you the…truth!” Peyton tried to reach for him, but her face twisted up and her hand dropped down to clutch at her side again, the movement clearly having increased her discomfort.

Edward raised an eyebrow at her. “How did you get an injury like that, in your sleep?”

Peyton averted her gaze the instant he asked and he felt his temper rising. Here he was, worried out of his mind over her, and she was trying to keep secrets from him. When she remained silent, he gave up and stormed over to the door. He may not have it in his heart to kick her out of his quarters, his bed, but he refused to stand there and be lied to.

Still, he couldn’t resist delivering a parting shot, so he paused with his hand on the door knob and bit out, “Is this a game to you?”

“No! I –“ she broke off with a sharp gasp and Edward’s heart clenched at the sound. Despite the hurt and anger he felt, he couldn’t deny how deeply he cared for her. His desire to comfort her was so overwhelming that he almost rushed back over to her side, but he forced himself to stay in his spot instead, his back still facing her, as he waited for her to elaborate. After taking a few, shallow breaths, she continued, “I don’t…I’m not sure you’ll believe me…”

Part 2: Rifts Apart

Tag List: @burnsoslow​

I wasn’t sure if anybody else wanted on the tag list for this (since it isn’t for my main man Bryce lol) so just lemme know if you’d like to be added for the future 😁

[blackbutler-readerinsertsandjunk]

How do you think things would be different if o!ciel was the one who got sacrificed instead of r!ciel? Like a reversal au.

OOF this is very thought-provoking!! I like the concept!

if you ever have any requests for how any specific arc or anything might change, feel free to send them!

also, I know there are a bunch of different fanon names for r!Ciel, I chose Astre as the one I’ll use until further notice!

ASTRE

The contract with Sebastian would still exist, albeit it would be between Astre and Sebastian rather than Ciel and Sebastian, and it would be for similar reasons ― Astre called out for someone, anyone, to help him, and Sebastian manifested. Astre’s contract mark is on his eye, but it’s on the opposite eye of Ciel’s mark.

Astre’s motivations and Sebastian’s end of the contract are different than Ciel’s. Astre doesn’t want simple revenge. He wants his family back. Until Sebastian and Astre find a way to resurrect Ciel, Vincent, and Rachel in exchange for Astre’s soul, Sebastian is stuck playing butler. However, it probably seems worth it to Sebastian. Astre’s soul is easily more tormented and delectable than Ciel’s would have been thanks to Astre’s personality… which, considering how exquisite Ciel’s soul would have been to a demon, is saying something.

As warm as Astre is to his family, he finds it hard to connect with other people. Though he would have taken in Bard, Mey Rin, and Finny for their skills, he wouldn’t have the bond with them that Ciel has. This would make them more likely to not go on the offensive as a first resort, talking to anyone who might come to the manor while their master is away instead of immediately attacking. Such a curiosity about other people would mean they were reluctant to kill unless it was absolutely necessary, and they may not have, for example, killed the circus troupe.

Astre can be more cunning, manipulative, and cutthroat than Ciel. While his first instinct isn’t violence, he often jumps to means that others would consider cruel or last-resort very quickly. He also tends to solve the Queen’s cases faster, with pinpoint accuracy, and rights things by outsmarting whoever his opponent is ― setting things up to all but ensure that his foe will be their own undoing. He always was better at chess than his little brother.

The one person Astre wouldn’t have taken in would be Snake. When the half-serpent came looking for his family and was led to Astre, what happens next is devastating. Astre would tell him point-blank what happened to the other circus members, whether they were actually killed or whether they were forced to flee London because of the entire situation. He would be almost proud of his own involvement in it, and would order Sebastian to get rid of Snake so he wouldn’t be able to say a word. Astre’s work is still secret, after all. But somehow Snake would get free… and now Astre Phantomhive has a new enemy.

Astre works more frequently with Undertaker; as an expert on death and, as he finds out later, a Grim Reaper, Astre believes that Undertaker is the key to bringing his family back from the dead. Because Undertaker’s own agenda involves the revival of Ciel, he’s only too happy to give and gain information. He might not even demand a joke as payment if he might be able to send Astre on errands for him. He also entrusts his mourning locket for Claudia to Astre sooner than he did to Ciel.

Astre’s relationship with Sebastian is far less strained than Ciel’s was. For some reason, Astre simply doesn’t harbor the animosity toward Sebastian that his twin did. He regards the demon with a kind of cold professionalism, and furthermore, respect. He doesn’t feel the need to exchange barbs with Sebastian, which might make their relationship appear to lack depth. The truth is, it does lack depth. Astre doesn’t fear Sebastian in the slightest, and despite his respect, holds no real type of affection for him. Sebastian will serve him happily, but the two of them are rather indifferent toward one another.

If you thought Edward didn’t like Ciel, wait till you see how he responds to Astre. The two of them can hardly be in the same room at the same time.

It’s entirely possible Bravat would have shown up earlier. As someone who’s at least connected to Undertaker in that he’s collecting blood for transfusions to be used to keep Ciel alive once the Bizarre Dolls evolve far enough, the potential that Astre would meet him sooner than Ciel did isn’t that far-fetched.

[panlight]

The discussion of the hikers just reminded me how frustrating it is that Bella's control is lauded as singularly unique when both Carlisle and Rose did the same. Carlisle was in a city of hundreds, at least a few who would be bleeding. Rose managed to not kill anyone on her way to Royce, despite being a newborn/enraged. And they're both still clean on the killing innocents thing, decades/centuries later. But everyone praises Bella as the only one to manage that, despite the evidence right there.

It’s such a weird oversight??So much about the newborn mythology is weird.  Bella is under the impression she’s only going to be “thirsty” for years and won’t be interested in love or sex or anything but literally in the Cullen family two couples got together when one was a newborn?? So clearly romantic love and sexual attraction as a newborn are possible?? She says she heard about everyone’s “wild newborn” year but we the readers don’t. All we know about are Carlisle’s (ran out of a crowded city--so he was, logically, surrounded by human scents and heartbeats, then starved himself for months) and Rosalie’s (killed her rapists without spilling--or drinking--a drop of blood, but again, could certainly smell them and hear their heartbeats). We know vaguely of Jasper’s newborn year but he was raised specifically in an environment of war and violence.  So we only get the extremes, we don’t get any real detail about Emmett, Edward, Alice and Esme. There’s some in the guide, but “struggles” but again, pretty vague. It’s not that Bella’s self control isn’t impressive. It is, although it always felt a little like lazy writing to me rather than something that was truly earned.  SM says Bella “braced herself” and was “mentally prepared” but I didn’t personally get the sense we saw much of that prepartion in the actual story? There were, IMO, better ways to explain/justify her good self control, like her aversion to blood as a human making it easier for her to ignore it (it still triggers memories of being queasy as a human, maybe and those memories help distract her), or the fact that she had endless love and support in her early vampire life. Yes, she knew what she was choosing and that probably helped, but she also didn’t quite have the same kind of total life upheaval that everyone else did. She didn’t leave her life behind--she just picked up where she left off three days ago.  She still has her husband and his family and her friends and her father and she doesn’t have to vanish and start over etc. It IS probably a lot easier to control your thirst when everything else is going pretty well and according to plan, rather than having to leave your old life completely behind and cut off all ties with everyone you knew and loved. Choosing to become a vampire vs just waking up as one with no warning also can’t hurt.  Bella might be unique but so is her situation. I just wish Rose and Carlisle got the credit for being amazing, controlled newborns that they deserved.  Rosalie was clearly in kill mode when she went after her attackers, but managed to refrain from the blood drinking. It’s cold and calculated but impressive.  Part of what Edward’s so impressed with with Bella is that she’s in hunting mode and is able to stop (albeit . . . because he was there to distract her), and Rosalie was arguably “hunting” too, albeit in a different way. And Carlisle was completely alone. He managed to get out of a large city without killing anyone, and then resisted the urge to feed, the burning in his throat, for months. Within like her first 20 minutes of being a vampire, Bella nearly kills those hikers. Yes, it’s impressive that she was able to stop, and impressive she was able to meet with her father so soon, but like, credit where credit is due: Rosalie and Carlisle were also very impressive and determined, albeit it different ways. Apples to oranges to peaches. 

[emptynarration]

A Disgrace

Heeeyyy

You don’t know it, you don’t care, but here it is. A little drabble for my god au.

God Author gets disgraced.

~

Nearly everyone was gathered here. The hall was full of angels, their images reflected on the surface of the portal. Author was kneeling on the stone floor, his back to the portal, his toes hanging over the edge and just above the liquid. Around him where the four Angels of Order -Dark, Enis, Kink, and Adore. Dark had an angry scowl on his face, Enis and Kink seemed mostly neutral, while Adore seemed unhappy about their situation.

“Aiden, God of Life and Death, and our creator. We, angels and gods alike, have made our judgement upon your fate. For your carelessness, your indifference towards your children, and your frivolousness and uselessness, you will be disgraced.”, Dark spoke, his voice carrying loudly through the filled hall. No other angel dared speak, the gathered gods standing closest to them looking on with various expressions. The oldest, Illinois and Bill, seemed unhappy. They didn't agree with this decision, though they couldn't really defend Author either. The youngest, Mike and Yancy, seemed to fully agree with Dark's words. Meanwhile Edward, right in the middle of their ages, was outraged.

“You can't do this!”, he exclaimed, glaring at Dark with nothing but contempt. “We need Author! You can't disgrace your creator!”. Dark's wings flared, sending a slight gust of wind through everyone, near growling at Edward in turn. There were a few who shared Edward's sentiment, but no mere angel would dare speak against the Angels of Order. They had voted, and they had been in the minority. “We can, and we will.”, Dark snarled; only calming once Kink laid his hand onto his shoulder, redirecting his attention back to the matter at hand. It were Illinois and Bill who had to calm Edward -though nothing could quench his anger. This was wrong.

“Aiden.”, Dark said, looking down at Author with disdain. Mentioned god had merely listened quietly to them talk, head lowered and gaze on the ground. “Do you have any words for your defence?”. Author looked up, a sad smile on his lips, as he looked at Dark, and then Enis, Kink, and Adore, before his gaze swept over everyone gathered around them he could see from his position. “My children.”, he said, and while his voice was quiet, it was carried through the silence fallen over the hall -even Edward's anger simmered down to something heavier. “I'm truly sorry for my actions, my inactions. I love you, I love every single one of you, and I'm sorry I wasn't able to show that to you. I created you all with the means of making your own judgement, and if this is truly what you have decided is best, then I will not stop you.”.

A lot of the gathered angels felt... saddened by Author's words. Somewhere they knew, they knew he loved them. They knew he truly, genuinely wanted them to be happy, and safe. Some were doubting their decision of disgracing Author. Dark didn't let Author's words affect him. He's known him the longest, he was the oldest one here -he had been the first Author had created. He knew him better than anything. But he was hurt, and he was angry, and that clouded his judgement. “Dark, we can't function without him.”, Edward's voice was softer, anger reigned in and simmering just beneath the surface. There was no way they could take over the work Author did. He was the god of life and death. He was the creator. Even if he didn't know what exactly Author did, he knew they needed him. Dark ignored Edward's words. He shared a look with the other Angels of Order, before reaching out. His hands grasped Author's halo, a soft warmth enveloping his hands.

The other Angels of Order did the same, albeit with different emotions. Even if Adore didn't want to, they had to all the same. The decision had been made, and even if not all had agreed on it, they all were needed for this. “Aiden, God of Life and Death, and our creator.”, Dark looked down at Author, feeling nothing. Even as the god looked at him, with such a mournful expression, Dark stood his ground. “We, the Angels of Order, have made our decision. May you rectify your wrongdoings in the future.”, the angels' grips tightened on the halo, Adore biting their lip -“I'm sorry”, Author's quiet words went unheard- “You are disgraced.”.

The halo shattered beneath their hands, a shock went through Author -eyes widening, wings flaring- before he lost consciousness. A shock went through the gathered angels, as Author collapsed forwards, away from the portal, while at the same time he -or a copy of him?- collapsed backwards, disrupting the once unmoving surface of the portal. Looking after the figure falling down to the Realm of Humans, their fall was accompanied by the many feathers of their three pairs of wings, as it should. No one could make out what the figure looked like, through the feathers and clouds. And Author laid unconscious, collapsed to his side, laying in a bed of feathers. His wings laid limp, and it was painfully obvious how wrong they were. They had been huge, six wings taking up a lot of space. But now, they looked ruffled, ripped, not even half their original size. And his halo... it was only half of the ring, though even this half was shattered, broken pieces weakly shining.

“Look at what you've done!”, Edward's anger was back full-force, though there was also a strong wave of concern and worry washing over him. He rushed forward immediately, dropping to his knees next to the unconscious Author, wings flaring slightly to keep others away. He gently grabbed Author, pulling him into his arms. He was still alive, though Edward couldn't help but worry -not only because he was the God of Health, but also because he cared. He held him against his chest, slowly standing. While he was more than worried about the god in his arms, he couldn't help the immense anger he felt either. “Are you happy now?”, he growled, glaring at Dark with nothing but hatred. The angel had the audacity to not look any sort of remorseful, though he didn't seem very happy either. Edward scoffed, holding Author close, and stalked off. The angels parted for Edward, as the god determinedly and urgently took large strides to leave the hall.

Adore looked after Edward, watching him disappear into the hallways. Sparing a quick glance towards Dark, Enis, and Kink, they decided to quickly hurry after Edward. Illinois and Bill were soon following after Adore, ignoring everyone else. Many angels looked lost, wings shuffling, feathers ruffling, angels fidgeting. Dark stood with his back straight, clasping his hands behind his back. He wouldn't say it, but his hands burned slightly. There was no trace of whoever or whatever had fallen down into the Realm of Humans left in the mirror-like surface of the portal. Without a word, Dark took his leave as well. His job here was done, and there was no point in dwelling on it. What had happened wasn't normal in the slightest, but that hopefully wouldn't be a problem...

[azraelskeith]

Markiplier and his basic placements (Astrology)

This is an attempt of delineation as someone who is a wee bab in astro (Need to say this because y’all will smite me). This is a basic interpretation of Mark Edward Fischbach, also known as the Youtuber Markiplier and is one half of the duo in Unus Annus. He was born on June 28, 1989 in  Honolulu, Hawaii at 5:36 AM, as per his 30th birthday video. 

This will be in the traditional and in whole signs.

Cancer ASC, Sun, Chiron and Venus - The Cancerian archetypes are visible in this. He is often shown as very expressive, reactive and sensitive. There are several times he has cried (Whenever his community does wonderful things), can’t hold up his laughter (Try not to laugh challenge videos) and even anger (The whole Youtube chat banning thing). He is basically a soft boi both inside and if he feels things, he will definitely let people know despite at times he has difficulty restraining it (opposing Saturn). He is also affectionate, sentimental and nurturing. These characteristics are what people might perceive to him and how he presents himself in general. Cancer ascending has a typical feature of having soft faces and small stature soooo I’m sorry Mark if you are reading this.

Taurus moon - Taurus moons want comfort and emotional stability. His moon is in 11H (friendships, alliances) so there is this chillness when he is surrounded by his close friends. He does collaborate with them a lot as well and you can tell his rowdy enjoyment in being with them. He loves the security he has regarding his friends, preferably a small circle of friends, and trusts them a lot. He did say he is an introvert multiple times, as his moon is trine with his sun, this can be an indication of that.

Gemini Mercury and Jupiter - He is very articulate in his communication, especially about his experiences in serious topics, as per the domicile of Mercury. He can make so many reasons to get himself out of it and can talk for hours. He also uses his platform for charity livestreams several times.

As his placements are in the 12H, which are about limitations, restrictions, it can also mean self undoing. 12th house often has significations relating to mental illness, this can relate regarding to his ADHD. Jupiter in Gemini shows a detriment state, which means how he approach and process his thoughts specifically (conjunction with Mercury) are different and often goes in excess. This can go in scattered and in over the top manner despite his intentions are good. Also, as mentioned, this is the house of restriction, at times he doesn’t set much boundaries to himself. One example is when he has to do a tasteful nude calendar and had to sign thousands of it, which he did in days. This is for a charity event for Cancer Research Institute. At that time as well, he had promised a ghost pepper challenge but he had to pass it out because of the calendar and health reasons.

Leo Mars - Mars is in Leo in the 2nd house, the house of possessions, financial resources and support. Albeit jokingly, he did say “I AM A MAN WHO HAS 5 OVENS.” and has a competitive streak in every little thing he does which he has to check and be humbled regardless, especially to his circles. Multiple times he showed a dare me attitude and pushing his limits to see how far he can go, despite Ethan teasing him he is a “masochist”. This can indicate his part of being prideful and cockiness as he often shows it as a joke multiple times. This placement can show the potential to leadership, especially regarding his friendships (square to Moon in Taurus  along with Venus in Cancer in the 11H, also squaring to Pluto in 5H), but as mentioned prior, he has to be aware of the line between his pride and temperament professionally and emotionally. (Ruler of 10H and 5H also indicates it). One example I can think of was about the Markiplier and Cyndago situation years ago, which he did an apology for it and another, even though this is a fun activity, was the Presidential Fitness Test in Unus Annus with Ethan, where he punched the wall (can be out of the competitive pressure), injured himself and sincerely apologized to him afterwards. 

Capricorn Saturn, Uranus and Neptune - These planets landed on his 7th house, which is more about his partnerships/relationships. This can go to his relationship with Amy, his girlfriend. Yes, she is a Gemini, but in this context, she shows a Saturnian nature to him. One example is her helping him with his schedule and projects. She can be a big influence to the discipline and adjustments he has to do to get on his day and to make his commitments meet (Opposing his Cancer placements). Another one that can show indication is his business partner of the clothing brand Cloak, Sean McLoughlin (Jacksepticeye), it has a nice touch that he has a Capricorn stellium. Another is to his fellow Youtuber and friend Ethan Nestor (Crankgameplays), his partner in Unus Annus, who according to him, has a Capricorn rising. Being in trine to his Moon in Taurus shows stability and reassurance within their common circles.

Pisces MC -  As this is in trine to his Cancer placements, he has a reputation of emotional outbursts and creativity in various ways in his videos. Also, he has ventured to different kinds besides Youtube, such as having an improv tour You’re Welcome and voiced over multiple characters, especially in the podcast Edge of Sleep.

Mark is slowly finishing his Saturn Return this year. In the past years, there have been big significant changes mostly pertaining to his relationships/partnerships. As said in the Capricorn section, Amy is a big influence to Mark’s daily life and creative projects, she has been more of the back end of things but did a tremendous input especially to his biggest project A Heist with Markiplier last year. Also, Ethan and Mark launched Unus Annus, a Youtube channel that uploads one video a day and it will all be deleted a year later. They try new things every video and they have the Memento Mori as another slogan and says death themes a lot. This is such a Saturnian theme especially in Capricorn. Because of this, he has become incredibly busy and hence has to keep and follow a schedule. In 2018, Sean and Mark launched their clothing brand Cloak.

This 2020 will be very interesting as his annual profection will be in the 8th house, the place of resources of others, death, taxes, etc., where its ruler (Saturn because it's in Aquarius) is in the 7th (relationships/partnerships). I kind of see this in the Unus Annus project they had going on, as it attracted a fanbase and celebrating its last video this year and eventually disappearing will be a significant thing (ending a thing, or a “death”). This can also mean a possible venture of shared resources via partnership, as he shared that there is a works for a sequel of A Heist with Markiplier.

Sources:

Patrick Watson’s site

Skyscript site

Astro Peeps I talked in Astro Twitter

The Houses: Temples of the Sky by Deborah Houlding

Chart Interpretation Handbook by Stephen Arroyo

[crvelsovls]

—

ophelia tate has been walking around town. hazelgrove is familiar of the thirty-one year old hunter. she is aware of the supernatural residents in town. the people of hazelgrove can agree that the librarian can be vehement yet still be reticent. let’s just hope things in town can settle down. + delicate fingers adorned with moonstone gem rings, a coy smile spread across peach-tinted lips and a slender form shrouded in an air of mystery and intrigue. 

s’up buttercups ?? ‘tis me again, here with my second gal ; ophelia. she’s my clever lil huntress who’s loosely based on various past muses of mine. she’s a lot more... innocent that delphine but she’s still quite fiery and sarcastic dkjsdsh anyways, i’ll save you all from my pointless babbles but as usual, pls flick that lil grey heart n i’ll shimmy my irish butt into your ims for plots !! : )

FUNDAMENTALS.

full name. ophelia penelope tate.

nicknames. o, phe, & effie.

current age. thirty-one.

birthday. january thirty-first.

gender. cisgender female.

pronouns. she / her.

species. human.

nationality. british.

religion. raised a catholic but no longer practices.

birthplace. london, england.

current residence. hazelgrove, me.

sexual orientation. bisexual.

romantic orientation. demiromantic.

education. english literature degree.

occupation. librarian at hazelgrove public library.

CONNECTIONS.

birth mother. natalie tate. †

birth father. alexander tate. †

full blood siblings. astrid tate. †

maternal grandmother. katherine reynolds.

maternal grandfather. marcus reynolds. †

paternal grandmother. anika tate.

paternal grandfather. edward tate. †

maternal aunts. odette reynolds.

maternal uncles. none.

paternal aunts. sophia tate.

paternal uncles. duncan tate. †

PROFICIENCIES.

spoken languages. english, french, & latin.

negative traits. capricious, ornery, impulsive, guileful, & caustic.

positive traits. ardent, whimsical, intrepid, graceful, & poised.

strengths. etiquette, bold, rational, practical, original, perceptive, direct, & sociable.

weaknesses. dramatic, impulsive, quick-tempered, insensitive, impatient, risk-prone, unstructured, misses the bigger picture, & defiant.

skills. skilled with blades and various knives, hand-to-hand combat, perception, persuasiveness, good judgment, & able to use initiative.

talents. retaining information, memory recall, knife throwing, & quick thinking.

APPEARANCE.

eye colour. blue.

hair colour. blonde.

height. five feet, four inches.

weight. 52 kg.

build. she is of quite a petite stature, and slender with mild curves.

scars. a long, silvery one running along half her spine.

tattoos. n/a.

piercings. earlobes.

glasses. yes, but usually wears contacts.

MISCELLANEOUS.

zodiac. aquarius.

element. air.

house. ravenclaw.

myers briggs type. estp-t.

alignment. neutral good.

enneagram. type seven.

temperament. sanguine

intelligence type. interpersonal.

character label. the orphic.

past mental disorders. post-traumatic stress disorder, depression, & suicidal tendencies.

current mental disorders. undiagnosed.

addictions. nicotine.

vices. wrath, envy, & pride.

virtues. temperance, charity, & diligence.

allergies. penicillin.

diet. vegetarian.

dominant hand. left.

accent. mostly english with a mild twang of notable american.

blood type. b negative.

vehicle. bottle green 2015 volkswagen beetle.

BACKGROUND.

trigger(s). mention of exorcism, mentions of murder, & mentions of death. 

born and raised in london, the tate family seemed picture-perfect. though, underneath, the story was very different from how it seemed. while ophelia and her younger sister were showered with love and affection, their parents remained mostly absent albeit for fleeting moments in time. it wasn’t until ophelia grew older that she became more curious about what led her parents astray for weeks at a time. under the illusion that her parents were simply important figures, perhaps lawyers or detectives, a childish ophelia had never considered that their lives had been tainted by a much more corrupt presence. 

eventually, it transpired that her parents were hunters. more specifically, people who hunted down supernatural creatures and put an end to their existence. or, tried, at least. how ophelia stumbled across this fact was by pure chance. her grandfather had been visiting and she had walked into the basement where she witnessed her father and his father attempting to exorcise what she then described as a ‘man with black eyes.’ nowadays, she’d refer to said man and his kind as demonic bastards. 

of course, with their sights elsewhere, the demon managed to free himself only to murder her father and grandfather in the process. if it hadn’t been for her mother, ophelia would have ceased to exist that night also. it was that night that her mother shipped them off to live with their aunt for a while but eventually, after a week or so, her mother returned.

seemingly, everything had been fine until one night when their home was attacked by a pair of vampires. these vampires having been survivors of their mothers attack on their nest, thus they tailed her and laid low until the most opportune moment where they attacked. how ophelia managed to escape that night was anybody’s guess. though the rest of the household hadn’t been so lucky.

having lost her parents, sister and aunt to supernatural creatures, ophelia grew up with a deep rooted hatred for every creature of the night. it had taken her many years to learn of each creature, their weaknesses, strengths and, most importantly, how to kill them. but once she had mastered the art, she set out on a mission to hunt like her parents before her. admittedly, in the beginning, she’d had some near misses, brushing with death many times. but with more hunts under her belt, the better she became.

eventually, ophelia decided to leave london behind in search of the states where she was certain there would be ample supernatural beings endangering the lives of innocents. she moved around for a few years until she settled in hazelgrove where she soon learned that the town harboured an abundance of things that went bump in the night. it was this fact alone that she opted for staying put where she also works as a librarian; constantly researching and reading up on various creatures.

becoming a hunter hadn’t been something that had ever crossed her mind until she’d lost everything. in fact, it had been a path that she should have never stumbled across if it hadn’t been for her witnessing the demon that night. still, nevertheless, it was the road she’d travelled down now and with resentment deep in her bones, there would be no stopping her.

PERSONALITY.

to all who encounter her, ophelia can appear on the surface an extremely reckless and careless woman with a huge tendency to adopt a sardonic tongue during almost all occasions. given her demeanour and attitude, it would be fair to assess that all the blonde is, is a satirical mouthpiece with a permanent simper corroded into the corner of her lips. despite this all, the shell of ophelia does contain much more substance. regardless of her blasé attitude, a passionate, whimsical girl remains deep within the high walls of her persona. it’s almost safe to say that the facade she paints over herself every day is nothing more than a basic ruse; a temporary fixture to aid in slowly but permanently fixing the broken fractions of her mind. it goes without saying that ophelia is constantly shrouded in mystery, concealing her true emotions and feigning any feelings whatsoever. although a sensitive, vulnerable aspect of her persona remains, it seldom prevails against her impulsive, sarcastic, intelligent nature. the problem with being clever is already knowing the things others try so desperately to hide from you. ophelia knows how others view her, she sees how they look at her. everybody assumes she’s too difficult to reason with and believe she’s even tougher to understand. it is this that enables ophelia to flirt with danger, use her words as a weapon and also a bargaining chip. it is this that gives ophelia an overwhelming sense of adrenaline, swimming through her veins and fuelling the fire that lies within the pit of her stomach.

QUICK FACTS.

can drink any man under the table.

smol but fierce.

one of those people who just excels at everything they try their hand at.

has a very high pain tolerance. seriously, it’s kinda freaky.

the only thing she’s truly terrified of is spiders. those eight-legged cretins have her shaking like a leaf.

absolutely adores animals. much prefers them to humans.

was raised a catholic and went to an all-girls catholic school but she no longer practices.

doesn’t drink much as she doesn’t like to be out of control even in the slightest.

she quite likes being a hunter and she does the job very well. attention to detail is key when she’s working.

is a very reckless driver, it’s a surprise she hasn’t been in an accident yet.

looks innocent but really isn’t in every sense of the word.

she’s that bitch that loves reading and has a thing for poetry.

she’s quite adventurous and loves to feel the adrenaline in her blood.

doesn’t take herself or her life too seriously.

a bit meddlesome and a troublemaker.

always up for a good time and is usually the life of the party.

outspoken and quick-witted with a sharp tongue.

WANTED PLOTS.

for wanted connections and potential plots, i’m open to just about anything so feel free to hmu for connections or any plots you can think of !! some i’d really love are :

best friend ( pls give my girl a bff she can tell everything to and can party with and just do best pal stuff with like platonic soul mates pls. )

childhood friend ( they maybe drifted apart ? )

an on off relationship ( pretty much like a fwb type situation or casual hookup situation that could develop into feelings or just remain casual. )

a potential love interest ( bonus points if it’s angsty. )

exes / past flings / one night stands.

enemies and rivals.

drinking / party buddies.

and obviously connections with fellow hunters and the supernatural oOoOoOo.