#de aged victor

[sugarbunbie]

for my love on ice

by AG1234VL

Summary: When Yuuri is confronted with a much younger version of his husband one morning, he decides to take him to the rink.

A soft, fluffy fic with de-aged Viktor and Yuuri showing his love on ice. Roughly 1.5k words. Rated G.

Written for Yuri On Ice Gotcha For Gaza.

Thank you @lamusadelils for the donation and prompt! I had a lot of fun writing it and I hope you enjoy this little fic <3

Thank you @yuri-on-ice-action for making this all possible.

[bernard-the-rabbit]

Il me semble que je vais fusiller une fleur.

[edwardian-angel]

Maureen O'Hara as Esmeralda

The Hunchback of Notre Dame (1939)

[illustratus]

Frontispiece to the book Le Conte de l'Archer by Armand Silvestre

Illustration by Victor-Armand Poirson

[comicchannel]

Funko Pop Comic Covers Marvel X-Men Age of Apocalypse Sabretooth - 63

Link para compra BR: *Possível importar pelo Link abaixo

Buy here: https://amzn.to/41nbAvE

[gurutrends]

Carmen Pano: Who she is, her age and what relationship she has with Víctor de Aldama

Carmen Pano, a Spanish businesswoman , is at the centre of a corruption scandal that has shaken the political and business world in Spain. Her case is connected to the “Koldo case,” a multi-million dollar fraud in the hydrocarbon industry, and she was arrested by the Civil Guard on December 16, 2024. Authorities insist that his arrest is solely connected to the fraud being investigated, despite…

[clemencetaught]

@jeoseungsaja sent in: things you said when fear cut deep (THG verse? 👀) || when the unspoken is named ( things you said prompt. )

13. things you said when fear cut deep

What was the point of two years ago?

He rushes past the receding crowd, past the faces of shaken children dressed in their evening best clothing. Some will be going to the red bean pastry booth by the entrance of the reaping. Some will linger at the edge of the square. Some will return to the safety of their parents’ arms. All are safe from the Capitol for another year. It’s a luxury that, even after winning the games, he’ll never have again.

There’s a stone anchored in his stomach, which is ironic considering that his head feels light. Dizzying as if someone has filled his lungs with smoke.

I won the Games. I survived their game.

His bag is slung loosely over his shoulder. He learned that the lighter he packs, the better- the less of District Three, the less of him the Capitol will find out and if there is one thing Patrick knows about the Capitol, it’s that they will take, take, and take until there is nothing left to take from, like a towel wrung of all the water it can hold.  Ignoring the shouting from the head peacekeeper and the mayor of their district ( both of whom, he can’t help but wonder if they played any role in the selection this year- ), he slips past the peacekeeper guarding the room farthest down the hall.

It was the room he had been taken to when he volunteered for the games- Patrick never thought he’d see the inside of it again.

Fingers trembling, he grasps the doorknob. The rusted brass scrapes his right palm.

I did it so he wouldn’t have to.

Ambrosia’s voice keeps echoing in his head- the way that cloying voice called for Lee Hyuk and the way the silence in the following moments rang so clearly in tandem with his own silent screaming for someone to volunteer, it could have been even louder than Ambrosia’s voice.

And he never thought his dear friend would either.

He’s not going to make it.

He opens the door.

Inside, Patrick finds Hyuk pacing. Where are the other people, he wants to ask- where are Mister and Missus Nam? He would have thought they would be one of the few, if perhaps the only two who would want to say goodbye…it’s a stark contrast to the female tribute whom from what Patrick observed in passing, to have quite a few people coming in and out of her room. She’s lucky in that sense- knowing she has a family. Knowing that she is loved.

But Hyuk-

His hands are shoved inside his pockets. From afar, Hyuk looks no different than usual, a solitary figure with a permanent frown etched onto his face- they always said that if he smiled more he could actually be considered handsome. Hyuk would always snap back saying to mind their own business. It’s Hyuk’s default, showing a stony resolve in the face of adversity-

But Patrick knows, knows his friend better than anyone else. Knows from the pallor on his face, from the way he can’t sit still otherwise he never move again, to the way his jaw is set even tighter than usual-

For a moment, Patrick stares at him. He opens his mouth- what does he say here? How does he help his best friend who is about to be carted off to the Capitol as cattle?

Patrick closes his mouth. He can’t. But he swallows the lump into his throat and without warning, tackles Hyuk in a hug.

I failed.

He tucks his face into the crook of his dear friend’s neck as his hands grip the back of his button down for dear life. He squeezes his eyes shut, trying to calm the shaky breaths that come out. This is all Patrick is going to take. One moment of despair, of selfishness and then it’s all about Hyuk.

Patrick looks up and rests his hands on his dear friend’s shoulders.

“You’re not going to die,” Patrick says finally. “Not if I’m here.”

His fingers dig into Hyuk’s shirt. He doesn’t know who he said that for- for Hyuk or  himself. That Hyuk is still here. That the Capitol hasn’t made a feast of him yet. No Hyuk is still here right now. They may have been given the worst cards, but the round hasn’t started yet. If played well, Hyuk might just make it through.

“I’m going to be your mentor; I know a few people in the Capitol- I-I’m sure if I convince them, they’ll sponsor you. They’ll give you the supplies you’ll need to survive in the arena. You’re strong and you know how to fight- they’ll back someone who they think has a chance of winning. We just need to make sure you leave a strong impression. I’ll teach you everything you need to know about the Games. I know it’ll look like the odds are against you, but, but-” A shaky breath. The 54th Victor of the Hunger Games blinks, rapidly.

I don’t want you to die.

“We’ll get through this together. I promise, Hyuk-ah. We…you-“ He pulls Hyuk into another tight desperate hug. “You’re going to be okay; I’ll make sure of it.”

[niqhtlord01]

Humans are weird: A Human’s Oath

( Please come see me on my new patreon and support me for early access to stories and personal story requests :D https://www.patreon.com/NiqhtLord Every bit helps)

The Praxis Prefecture was one of the few galactic powers that held on to the notion of kings and queens even as they reached the star faring age of their people. Praxians were largely bipedal species much similar to humans save for their skin being varying shades of crimson and their eyes cold black.

Every few years they would hold a series of games meant to entertain the masses of their realm and dissuade them from thinking about their diminishing lifestyle. At the end of these games was the creme de la crème event known simply as “The Gauntlet” which was the main focus for all who attended.

Comprised of a series of brutal and harrowing challenges, with some even resulting in death should one fail, the reward for passing through “The Gauntlet” and reaching the end alive was the most special prize one could ever dream of; a royal wish granted by the reigning family themselves. A winner could ask for anything should it be within their power, not go against the laws of their realm; nor impact the royal family themselves. That last one was instituted after several winners tried to directly marry into the royal family as their prize.

It had been several long years since “The Gauntlet” had produced a victor and many this year were expecting the same. The bodies quickly began mounting as contestant after contestant failed and died during the trials which only further scared away the previous applicants until only one remained; a lone alien hailing from a species that identified themselves as “Human”.

This seeming paragon proceeded to survive challenge after challenge with nary a scratch on them as they edged ever closer to the end of the deadly encounters. When the final Gorgonuk lay dead, its head caved in from repeated blows from a common rock, the human stood victorious to the cheering throngs who had watched their journey.

A hush fell over the crowd as the royal family descended to the human atop their floating platform and congratulated their victory.

“Name your wish.” The elderly king said.

Without hesitation the human replied “I wish for a place in your honor guard.”

The crowd was silent; perplexed by the insanity of the human’s wish. They could have asked for a fortune so vast it would take three dozen generations to spend, or be given an entire world to rule as a king in their own right, even should they have a darkened heart ask for every first born to swear loyalty to themselves; yet they had instead asked to join the royal family’s personal guard.

No human had ever joined the honor guard as it had been an institutional rule that only Praxians could join. However, this rule was not an official law and as such did not violate the rules of agreement for the wish granting.

“Very well,” the king spoke, “kneel.”

The human dropped to one knee as the king withdrew a slender sword from his cane.

“By the decree of flesh and blood,” the king began as he stabbed the right shoulder of the human and withdrew it dripping with blood, “do I bind you to my family’s service, until the end of time itself. Arise now, and take your rightful place.” The human rose to their feet, blood running from their shoulder wound and gathering as a small puddle at their feet, and nodded thanks to the king as the crowd cheered once more.

The oath had been made and accepted.

 With that climactic ending the games were finished and the realm returned to their day to day lively hoods. The human was inducted into the ranks of the honor guard as was promised and immediately began training.

It was a grueling affair made worse by the general disdain the present honor guard held towards the human. Many had spent their entire lives in service to the royal family and had descended from long family lines whose loyalty had stretched back to the founding of their galactic realm. Yet now here stood a common cur in their eyes, who won their place by sheer luck.

Days of training became weeks, weeks became months, and then finally months became years until finally the human was deemed ready and was given a suit of royal power armor.  Armed with the latest weaponry, armor, and generator systems; the royal power armor turned any individual into a walking tank capable of leveling entire armies by themselves.

Though the human was jubilant at finally donning the armor, times outside the palace were far from pleasant.

The wealth and prosperity of the kingdom had fluctuated greatly and the common citizen now openly questioned the wisdom of their rulers. Some even dared to openly ask if they needed a royal family and if they could not govern themselves better.

Idle tavern talk grew to marches in the streets until one day an angry mob that stretched out to the horizon stood in front of the royal palace and demanded the end of the royal family.

What was worse was that at the head of this violent host stood several royal guards clad in their armor who had defected to the mob’s side. Within the palace the royal family feared for their safety and wept at the notion that this would be the end of their legacy. To their surprise the lone human who had won his place in their guard stepped forward and proclaimed that they alone would handle the crisis and that they had nothing to fear.

Striding outside the palace alone, the human came before the masses and demanded to speak with their former comrades. The gathering slowly parted as the traitor guards stepped forward and faced off with the human.

There were five in total, led by none other than the former leader of the royal guard Dem’va’rok.

“Stand aside human.” Dem proclaimed; their voice booming from the speakers built into their armor. “Your blood is not what we seek this day.”

The human said nothing as they slowly looked across the helms of their once allies.

“Does he speak for you all?” the human asked softly. “You would forsake your oaths of duty to your king?”

One by one the traitors nodded and Dem grinned.

“What is duty compared to needs of our people?” Dem asked.

The human’s hands tightened around their weapons.

“A question you will take to your grave.”

With a swift motion the human lashed out and removed the heads of four of the traitors leaving Dem alone. The clattering of helmets filled with severed heads echoed across the crowd as they watched the purple blood flow from the open neck wounds; the bodies collapsing like puppets whose strings had finally been cut.

Several onlookers from the crowd screamed out in horror and recoiled from the violence. From there it set off a wave of panic that flashed across the mob like wildfire until all of them were scattering across the hills. Dem could hear their screams as they fled in panic, yet his eyes lay focused on the human who stood before him.

Unlike his alien compatriots who had grown lax and slothful with their duties, the human had spent every day training hard to prove their worth and their right to stand amongst them. What had once been a glorious order of wardens and guards of the royal family had become decadent and a mockery of what it had once been.

Dem drew his own sword and prepared to face the human but was surprised when they instead drove their sword into the ground.

“I won’t need that for what comes next.” -----------------------------------

An hour later the lone human returned to the throne room followed by four leaders of the mob.

The royal family watched in horror as each of them carried a severed head of a traitor royal guard with the human carrying the bloody remains of Dem’va’rok’s head. Their gantlets were stained with still fresh blood from where the human had used their bare hands to pull the former master’s head from their body.

“My lord,” the human spoke as they bowed and presented the head of Dem’va’rok “, the fools who cast aside your generosity have been dealt with and shall trouble you no more.”

They motioned to the cowering leaders behind them. “These are some of your subjects that wish to present their grievances to you and seek your wisdom in their resolution.”

Fear compelled all of the former ring leaders to nod their heads rapidly as they held back tears of fear.

“Do not be afraid.” The human counseled them, “For our king is as wise as he is compassionate. He will hear the words of his loyal subjects, but I will suffer none of those who have betrayed such kindness.”

With that the human stepped away and the ring leaders spoke their grievances and to their surprise the king listened to them and did not have them slain on the spot. What had been the day to end a kingdom became the day of a kingdoms evolution into something new.

Not all of the demands were met, but not all were dismissed so easily. New governing bodies were formed under the king to assist the well-being of his citizens while the king remained in complete control. As a result the overall situation of the realm began to slowly lighten and improve as years went by until the loyalty to the royal family was once more shared in every dwelling.

Yet none could say if it was from true love of the king, or from the fear the piercing gaze of the new leader of the honor guard instilled upon all that looked upon them.

[monarchberrysblog]

𝑼𝒏𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒅𝒊𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒂𝒍

part 1.5 — a fool in love 🩵

An inspired baby daddy au from @yougavemeyourheartyouknow as I wanted to add my own spin to it!

🎧 summary: just two, small unexpected coincidental encounters with Miguel and his dog.

🎧 content warning: doggie shenanigans, food is mentioned, fluffy content, miguel and reader are feeling each other slowly but surely

🎧 word count: 1.5k words (something small)

🎧 author’s note: ugh, I took a wee break, and damn it, I needed it, so! But we are back with baby daddy Miguel's chaos and wholesome content.

❄️ not proofread! ❄️

encounter one: cilantro 🌿 y cebolla 🧅

The tantalizing aroma of tacos de trompo wafted through the air, weaving its way into your consciousness and calling your taste buds to life. It was enough to draw you from the cozy confines of your apartment and into the vibrant scene of food trucks that lined the street outside your complex.

As you approached, the familiar figure of the owner—a middle-aged man with a warm smile and hands deftly working with the spices and meats—greeted you with a knowing smile. “Cuatro tacos de trompo?” He asks with a smile. You nod, handing him a ten-dollar bill.

Before the older man takes the wrinkled bill, someone from behind holds a twenty-dollar bill and orders their meal. That damn detergent smell… “Victor, dame cuatro tacos de barbacoa.” The older man takes the twenty and flattens it out with his hands. “Y voy a pagar sus tacos de trompo tambien.”

The older man nods before calling into the food truck, listing off the order to the cook.

/

“You didn't have to pay for my meal.” You held your container of tacos. “It's no problem. I might as well because I keep running into you.” He forces a laugh as well as you do. “Yeah,” You nervously laugh as you swig your soda. “Bella is nothing but a troublemaker.” You shrug and walk beside him.

Nothing came to mind, really, no words at all. Just a feeling. A feeling of familiarity. It twisted at your stomach like the bag in your grasp twisted with every swing or stride. It would be strong enough to make you throw up butterflies if it could. But nothing comes out.

The coke soothed out the butterflies, working as a detangler. But what could you say? This is a guy you ran into twice at Central Park, but it felt as if he ripped your heart out, ate your heart in two bites, and proceeded to eat your brain, plaguing away your words.

It felt as if your body betrayed you, telling the remains of your brains, “Good luck! You're on your own with this man.”

You look down to the gum-covered pavement of the sidewalk but stop when you see the familiar stairway to your apartment. “Well, this is my stop.” If it was possible and comical, you nearly climbed up the stairs like a little kid — on all fours. If anything, you didn't want to look out of shape in front of this stranger and be gasping for air after a flight of stairs. Instead, you take your time of going up the stairs, not daring to stoop down to a degenerate level.

“Oh, I’ll see you around.” He sounded disappointed — a little too disappointed to your liking. You nod awkwardly before a nervous giggle leaves you. You stop and clear your throat.

“Thank you for walking me home.” You stumble into your warm apartment complex, the warm air of the building blowing the warmth away from your cheeks and ears.

“It’s no problem.”

encounter two: wrapped up in each other’s business

Despite it being a few months after adopting the puppy, Bella had finally grown out of her puppy pads. No longer relying on them, she waited by the door every morning, ready to take care of her business. Her trots soon became measurable walks in the park, no longer having to run to catch up to you. But as soon as she grew, her pulls became stronger…

The cheerful sounds of Bella’s enthusiastic barks echoed through the park, mingling with the delightful jingle of her name tag and leash. Her little paws pattered energetically across the cold concrete sidewalk.

Her yaps pause, and her eyes lock on a familiar man and his dog. She tilts her head to the side and focuses on them, precisely the same Dodgers hat she saw a couple of weeks beforehand.

She looked over at you with pleading eyes, attempting to get any form of attention. But your attention was on your mobile device, mindlessly tapping at the end tap screen. She whined to you before tugging on her leash. She pulled you along the concrete path of the park, leading you toward the German Shepherd and his owner. Her heart swelled with excitement, tagging you along for another play date. But the enthusiasm ends as you lead her to another path instead. “C’mon, Bella. We have to take you to the groomers.”

She whines before tugging with all her might and pulling you back to the path. “Hey, Bella—” You stammered.

She tugs you along, running full speed towards the familiar Dodgers cap. She yaps happily as you yell out in dismay.

“Not again!” You whine out, stumbling down the sidewalk and across the park. “Bella! Bad dog! No tugging!” You demanded as you got tugged away from your usual path.

“What did I say Bella?” Bella dashed forward, her fur glinting in the sunlight as she expertly maneuvered the leash around you and Miguel, creating an unexpected twist. With a mighty tug, she pulled you both together. Your bodies are pressed tightly chest to chest. “Oh no! Bella!” you exclaimed, heat rising to your cheeks in embarrassment. His detergent overwhelmed your senses as you tried not to breathe down on his smell.

Meanwhile, Bella looked up at you, her eyes sparkling with joy, utterly oblivious to the chaos she had caused. Apollo, barking as if he were trying to aid his owner in escaping the entanglement, echoed around you, adding to the whirlwind of the moment.“Hey.” He greets you through the barking dogs as you feel your cheeks blossom into heat.

“It’s been a while.”

“Seems like karma wants us to run into each other once more.”

encounter three: bedsheets and duvets

“Apollo, bajate, estoy tendiendo la cama.” Miguel pulls at the clean bedsheets, egging the dark German Shepherd to jump off the bed. The large canine does this before grabbing the bedsheet and taking the semi-clean sheet. “Que no! Apollo!” He reaches for the bedsheet and grasps on it, only to feel the burn of the fabric slipping through his palm like a snake slithering past his grip.

“Apollo, no!” He pounces for the bed sheet, playing a round of tug of war. “Que Noooo!” He yells out, realizing he sounds like his aunt in this interaction with his dog. Even though he was a gym rat, it felt as if his dog could do much more than him, such as dragging him out to the hallway.

“You caused enough trouble at the park with that little dog, Bella! Don't fuck with me, Apollo!” With one final yank, he falls back, his hand holding the torn bed sheet.

“Apollo…” He groans before the large canine barks and runs laps around him, holding onto the torn blankets in his mouth.

He shoots an all-knowing look at the canine and looks at his naked bed. “…why?” He questions. The dog only whines in response, dropping the bedsheets onto the floor and nuzzling close to Miguel, seeking forgiveness. He gives in when he feels the wet nose against his cheek and nose. “Alright, bud, I forgive you.” He gives the German Shepherd well-needed ear scratches as he looks off into space momentarily.

“Looks like we need some new bedsheets. This is the second time this week.” He tosses the flimsy material into the laundry bin and reclines back against the wall of the hallway.

Homegoods felt… sanctioned.

Going into a store like this in the late evening filled Miguel with dread. The idea of having people gawk at him while shopping for bedsheets was something he didn't want to do. Mainly if the bedsheets only available for his bed were patterns of little cats or little hearts. Who knew that patterned bedsheets were still prevalent? Even for a king-sized bed. He exhaled a sigh of defeat when the sight of kittens playing with a ball of yarn on the bedsheets came into view.

He looks down the isle and the familiar silhouette stops his wandering eyes. There you were. Bella in your arms while holding a package of new bedsheets. His breathing hitched before he darts his eyes away. It was embarrassing enough to be tangled in leashes, but seeing each other three times after the park was too much for Miguel.

He looks once more, and a pair of eyes are on him. The young puppy barks, recognizing the same baseball cap. He inhales with gritted teeth but looks down, using the lid of his cap to hide his face.

“Bella, no!” You hissed, looking away from the bedsheets displayed and looking where she was looking. When you do, no one is down the aisle—a vacant space is what you only see. “Silly Bella, no one is there.” You coo to the canine, scratching her head gently with a free hand. She whines quietly and looks adamantly into the space while you shop.

The cocker spaniel smells the air. The clean laundry smell collides with your rosy perfume. The combination is sweet yet clean. The small puppy stays put in your arms, enjoying the rocking motions.

tag list:

@yougavemeyourheartyouknow @opaloharas @hyjionie @zaunsin @kavimoo @keiva1000 @slushycoookie @miguelsfavwife @ilovetaquitosmmmm

[puppetmaster13u]

Well the brainrot is real.

So the war going outside, is the result of a failed marriage between Aquaman (Who in this world was never really taught kindness for his human half as Atlanteans killed his dad when retrieving him) and Wonder Woman, because during the wedding, Queen Hippolyta is killed. This is a plot of Aquaman's brother and his lover, but no one knows. And when WW eventually finds out and informs Aquaman said brother launches a failed attack that makes it look like WW led him into a trap. So Aquaman doesn't believe her and it's an utter mess lemme tell you.

But Anyway. Kal. Local test subject turned slightly feral (if polite) dad now. Has no clue what he's doing, but he's trying. Figures out what settles the smaller sorta-hims and how much they all need to eat and that holding them helps. Has pushed the scratchy blanket towards the edge of the blanket nest to bulk it up as he curls around the three babies. Very much in awe as one manages to determinedly grab onto his finger. Also very upset about them being here where they'll get sickly or trained like he was and is, but unable to express it.

Danny? Just doing his best to comfort his dad (this is his dad, even if the situation is fucked up) as best he can and is not letting go of this finger since he's too small to hold his hand. Also just realized, would Danny even know that the three of them are clones? @radiance1 @hdgnj ?

Got an Idea based off of our Reblogs of @radiance1 Danny Reincarnates as a Clone Prompt.

But. What if, it's in Flashpoint timeline. Now you might say, but wait, isn't that timeline destroyed? Actually there was a continuity where it didn't, and we got to see more of Batman Thomas Wayne. But that's not what I'm getting at Because more importantly? At least for this? Kal is stuck in a lab under Metropolis, treated as an experiment and specimen. Like literally known as Subject 1. He's been there since the ship crashed as a baby, never ended up with the Kents, has never seen the sun or anything. He's kept in a room with red sun lights and is visibly Not Healthy. So why not add in clones to this?

Now does Danny know why he reincarnated? No. He doesn't really remember. What he does know? Is that he's physically baby. And he thinks he might be sick?

He's not to sure what's happening at first, vision not the best while he adjusts to suddenly being aware and able to move. But he recognizes labs. He recognizes cold halls and is understandably upset.

He sees himself in the glass- a tiny toddler with black hair and inhumanely blue eyes wrapped in a blanket that feels scratchy against his skin. Then he's in a room- more akin to a box with a wall cot- too big for him- a desk, and toiletries. And then there's a face peering down at him, gaunt face of a teenager- maybe young adult- looking starved, the same inhumane blue eyes wide in near awe and perhaps a hint of panic as they let out a raspy chuff.

What the fuck kind of place is he at...?

[secretmellowblog]

Les Mis Canon-era Paris Photographs: Jean Valjean and Cosette’s route to escape Javert, in Pictures!

Jean Valjean's escape through Paris is Victor Hugo's way of mourning the Paris he knew from before his exile, the Paris before the modern renovations.

Hugo wrote Les Mis from exile in Guernsey, at the same time as Paris was undergoing a series of massive renovations. The "Old City" of medieval Paris that Hugo loved was being replaced by the “New City" of Baron Haussman. The dark medieval labyrinth lit by oil lamps was being replaced by modern wide streets and standardized architecture lit by gas lamps. Victor Hugo is nostalgic for the Paris he remembers before his exile-- so Jean Valjean is able to escape Javert using things unique to the Old City. He escapes through a labyrinth of tiny medieval streets in a neighborhood Hugo claims was destroyed during the renovations; he climbs over the convent wall using the rope from an oil lamp, the very oil lamps that were being replaced by the more modern gas lanterns. The dark maze hides him from police surveillance in a way modern streets cannot.

A man named Charles Marville photographed Paris shortly before many (though not all) of the renovations occurred. In this post I'll go through all the different streets mentioned in the Valjean-Javert Paris chase chapters, and provide Marville's photographs whenever they the image has been labeled with the name of the street. Note that there may be some inaccuracies. Some street names changed over time.

Here is a map of what the chase looks like, taken from the book "Paris in the Times of Victor Hugo."

A quick overview: Jean Valjean starts in a slummy half-built suburban area. This area is highly associated with the King; the royal Jardin des Plantes is nearby, and King Louis XVIII often rides by in his carriage during the afternoons. After travelling down a bunch of streets, "zigzagging" back and forth, Jean Valjean decides to cross the Seine over the Bridge of Austerlitz (a bridge named after one of Napoleon's victories.) Then he reaches the areas of the city near the Faubourg Saint Antoine that are more associated with working class rebellion. From there he enters a dark isolated half-built medieval neighborhood near marshes and timberyards, with narrow mazey alleyways, that Hugo mostly made up. Hugo pretends this medieval neighborhood used to exist, but was destroyed like many others during the recent renovations. Now that we've gotten the overview out of the way, let's go more specific!

The chase starts out in "the old quarter of the Marche aux Chevaux." At the time, this was a less inhabited and poorer area of Paris; it's described as basically a slum. Here are some of Marville's photographs :

Then we're told "Jean Valjean described many and varied labyrinths in the Mouffetard quarter, which was already asleep, as though the discipline of the Middle Ages and the yoke of the curfew still existed. He combined in various manners, with cunning strategy, the Rue Censier:"

"and the Rue Copeau," (according to the map I linked earlier, the Rue Copeau is now the Rue Lacepede. Here is Marville's pic:)

"the Rue du Battoir-Saint-Victor and the Rue du Puits l’Ermite. There are lodging houses in this locality, but he did not even enter one, finding nothing which suited him. He had no doubt that if any one had chanced to be upon his track, they would have lost it."

"As eleven o’clock struck from Saint-Étienne-du-Mont:" (note: this refers to the church of Saint-Etienne)

"he was traversing the Rue de Pontoise, in front of the office of the commissary of police, situated at No. 14." (Jean Valjean sees Javert and the police following him on this street, because they're visible in the light of the lantern from the police station.)

"He took a circuit, turned into the Passage des Patriarches, which was closed on account of the hour,"

"strode along the Rue de l’Épée-de-Bois

and the Rue de l’Arbalète, and plunged into the Rue des Postes."

"At that time there was a square formed by the intersection of streets, where the College Rollin stands to-day, and where the Rue Neuve-Sainte-Geneviève turns off." (Note: these streets are labeled Montagne-Sainte-Geneviève, but not Neuve-Sainte-Geneviève, so they may be different streets! But I'm putting them here anyway.)

"It is understood, of course, that the Rue Neuve-Sainte-Geneviève is an old street, and that a posting-chaise does not pass through the Rue des Postes once in ten years. In the thirteenth century this Rue des Postes was inhabited by potters, and its real name is Rue des Pots." (Annotation: Hugo's bein silly and making little puns. He's snarkily pointing out the "new saint-genevieve street" is old, and the post street rarely has post-chaises/carriages go through it.) (Jean Valjean hides in the shadows and watches to see who shows up in this big square intersection of streets. In the moonlight, he recognizes Javert.) "He slipped from under the gate where he had concealed himself, and went down the Rue des Postes (which I shared a picture of previously), towards the region of the Jardin des Plantes." (Note: the Jardin des Plantes is a royal garden. Here is a modern photo from Wikipedia.)

"He left behind him the Rue de la Clef,

"then the Fountain Saint-Victor, skirted the Jardin des Plantes by the lower streets, and reached the quay. There he turned round. The quay was deserted. The streets were deserted. There was no one behind him. He drew a long breath.

He gained the Pont d’Austerlitz." (The Pont d'Austerlitz, named after Napoleon's victory at the battle of Austerlitz, is a very famous bridge. Marville has no photographs but here's an 1830 engraving:)

"The bridge once crossed, he perceived some timber-yards on his right. He directed his course thither. In order to reach them, it was necessary to risk himself in a tolerably large unsheltered and illuminated space. He did not hesitate. Those who were on his track had evidently lost the scent, and Jean Valjean believed himself to be out of danger. Hunted, yes; followed, no." Here's the quai by the pont-au-change-- a different quai, but gives you an idea of what the areas around the Seine often looked like.

(Then Jean Valjean sees Javert and the other police on the Bridge of Austerlitz, following him. He hurries towards the darker alleys of the city.)

"A little street, the Rue du Chemin-Vert-Saint-Antoine, opened out between two timber-yards enclosed in walls. This street was dark and narrow and seemed made expressly for him."

Here's an abandoned timber-yard-ish looking picture:

But Marville has no photographs of this street. I'd have to double check, but iirc this is the part where Hugo starts to 'make up' more street layouts. I wouldn't be surprised if this street really WAS made expressly for him (meaning Hugo made it up.) "The point of Paris where Jean Valjean found himself, situated between the Faubourg Saint-Antoine and la Râpée, is one of those which recent improvements have transformed from top to bottom,—resulting in disfigurement according to some, and in a transfiguration according to others. The market-gardens, the timber-yards, and the old buildings have been effaced. To-day, there are brand-new, wide streets, arenas, circuses, hippodromes, railway stations, and a prison, Mazas, there; progress, as the reader sees, with its antidote."

(Here Hugo talks about the Haussman renovations directly, claiming that if his street layouts are "inaccurate" it's because these are some of the Old Medieval Streets that were razed during Paris's recent renovations. He goes on for a while comparing Petit-Picpus to various other areas that were changed during the renovations.)

"Le Petit-Picpus, which, moreover, hardly ever had any existence, and never was more than the outline of a quarter, had nearly the monkish aspect of a Spanish town. The roads were not much paved; the streets were not much built up. (....) Such was this quarter in the last century. The Revolution snubbed it soundly. The republican government demolished and cut through it. Rubbish shoots were established there. Thirty years ago, this quarter was disappearing under the erasing process of new buildings. To-day, it has been utterly blotted out."

The Petit-Picpus, of which no existing plan has preserved a trace, is indicated with sufficient clearness in the plan of 1727, published at Paris by Denis Thierry, Rue Saint-Jacques, opposite the Rue du Plâtre;

and at Lyons, by Jean Girin, Rue Mercière, at the sign of Prudence.

Petit-Picpus had, as we have just mentioned, a Y of streets, formed by the Rue du Chemin-Vert-Saint-Antoine, which spread out in two branches, taking on the left the name of Little Picpus Street, and on the right the name of the Rue Polonceau. The two limbs of the Y were connected at the apex as by a bar; this bar was called Rue Droit-Mur.

The Rue Polonceau ended there; Rue Petit-Picpus passed on, and ascended towards the Lenoir market. A person coming from the Seine reached the extremity of the Rue Polonceau, and had on his right the Rue Droit-Mur, turning abruptly at a right angle, in front of him the wall of that street, and on his right a truncated prolongation of the Rue Droit-Mur, which had no issue and was called the Cul-de-Sac Genrot." Here is @everyonewasabird's attempt to puzzle this out:

It was here that Jean Valjean stood."

Then Jean Valjean escapes by pulling down an old oil lantern, strung up by ropes. Hugo notes that this would have been "impossible if the streets were lit with gas, the way they would be after the renovations. This picture shows an old oil lamp strung up by ropes:

Finally, Jean Valjean climbs over the wall into the Petit-Picpus convent. This convent is fictional. Hugo pretends it used to exists but is no longer around-- another relic of the early 19th century that has been lost over time.

TLDR:

Jean Valjean's escape through Paris is Hugo way of mourning the Paris he knew from before his exile, the Paris before the modern renovations. To quote Volume 2 Book 5 Chapter 1:

The author of this book, who regrets the necessity of mentioning himself, has been absent from Paris for many years. Paris has been transformed since he quitted it. A new city has arisen, which is, after a fashion, unknown to him. There is no need for him to say that he loves Paris: Paris is his mind’s natal city. In consequence of demolitions and reconstructions, the Paris of his youth, that Paris which he bore away religiously in his memory, is now a Paris of days gone by. He must be permitted to speak of that Paris as though it still existed. It is possible that when the author conducts his readers to a spot and says, “In such a street there stands such and such a house,” neither street nor house will any longer exist in that locality. Readers may verify the facts if they care to take the trouble. For his own part, he is unacquainted with the new Paris, and he writes with the old Paris before his eyes in an illusion which is precious to him. It is a delight to him to dream that there still lingers behind him something of that which he beheld when he was in his own country, and that all has not vanished. So long as you go and come in your native land, you imagine that those streets are a matter of indifference to you; that those windows, those roofs, and those doors are nothing to you; that those walls are strangers to you; that those trees are merely the first encountered haphazard; that those houses, which you do not enter, are useless to you; that the pavements which you tread are merely stones. Later on, when you are no longer there, you perceive that the streets are dear to you; that you miss those roofs, those doors; and that those walls are necessary to you, those trees are well beloved by you; that you entered those houses which you never entered, every day, and that you have left a part of your heart, of your blood, of your soul, in those pavements. All those places which you no longer behold, which you may never behold again, perchance, and whose memory you have cherished, take on a melancholy charm, recur to your mind with the melancholy of an apparition, make the holy land visible to you, and are, so to speak, the very form of France, and you love them; and you call them up as they are, as they were, and you persist in this, and you will submit to no change: for you are attached to the figure of your fatherland as to the face of your mother.

[ledesaid]

Seeking a Father for Saturday ►○◙◄ #1

Do you know the solution to enjoy the snack table on Bring Your Child to Work Day?

Billy had an idea, you might be thinking of the same answer, and no, it doesn't include cloning himself...

Just asking for a small, tiny, and harmless favor.

What could go wrong?

There is a gift bag at stake, and Billy knows from a good source, Nightwing, that Batman has included two limited edition toys and a generous supply of various candies for several weeks for each child who confirms their attendance.

"So... if I didn't hear wrong... you want me to bring you in your mortal form on Saturday?"

"Yes?"

There are very few people Billy would ask this of. Really very few. If he really didn't want Batman to find out, this was the way... or so Billy believed.

"Your bravery flatters me, kid, but that statement is going to get you in a lot of trouble. I've already pawned my firstborn."

"So... is that a no?"

"Sorry, Cap, but hey, there are many good guys in the league, try another. I've heard from a good source that Batman has a horde of kids at home. Jefferson calls them Batman Incorporated."

Well, getting Constantine's help would have been easy, but he didn't want to impose... but he had no more viable ideas. It would be very strange for Victor to say he's his dad, and Zatanna would scold him for lying like that...

It's not a lie, it's not a lie if the truth is slightly altered to be clarified at the end... preferably before the day ends. A simple "Hey, it was just a godchild, nephew..."

But now he was doubting... His secret was important... who in the league?... Who in the league could he ask for help?

As Mr. Constantine said, Billy was brave... he needed an adult who was also brave... Someone who could lie... obscure the truth and have fun in the meantime... Brave...

Brave... Brave like...

A lantern.

And coincidentally, he had three today. Hal, Jon, and Guy.

Billy knew Jon wouldn't be very open to helping if he found out he was a child; Hal prided himself on being single and not having kids; Guy was someone who couldn't be forced to tell the truth... He was a cool guy!

And you know what would be even cooler?

For him to be his ticket to the gift table!

Finding him alone in the cafeteria was lucky and even more so that there wasn't a Kryptonian in the watchtower to spy on their conversation.

"Hey, Guy, got a minute?"

"You're in luck, big red cheese, my burger is taking its time, shoot..."

"Well.... you've heard the fuss for Saturday... for the day to bring..."

"... your gremlins to work, Nightwing is spamming everywhere."

"I have a small... Yes!, a small... um..."

He didn't think much about it certainly, this was very spontaneous. How could he tell Guy, 'Hi, I'm a kid who wants you to be my dad for Saturday and hey keep it secret or Batman will eject me from the watchtower for not meeting the minimum age'?

There's no way. Not in Billy's mind at this moment. And wasn’t he supposed to be the brave Captain Marvel?!

"Look, Guy, I'm actually a ten-year-old kid who wants a gift bag and the whole show on Saturday, but I can't tell Batman or he'll kick me out..."

It's an understatement to describe how Guy’s expression bewildered. Billy supposed it didn't go so badly upon seeing Guy laughing heartily while slapping the cafeteria table.

"Damn, Cap! That's the funniest thing I've heard in the last decade!"

But Billy didn't blink. He also didn't doubt. It took a bit, but Guy seemed to understand that Billy was serious.

"Hell, you must be joking... You're joking, right, Marvel?"

"Not at all."

Guy looked at Billy from head to toe... Trying to find some logic...

"Are you an underdeveloped kid or something? Or is it some magic thing that gives you these steroids?"

"A magic thing."

Guy grabbed his burger to savor it.

"Well... I've seen weirder things out there."

"So... is that a yes?"

Guy mumbled unintelligible things while chewing, but to Billy's surprise who was about to run away...

"If you cover one of my shifts, we have a deal, Cheeky Red Cheese."

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

Part 2

[tossawary]

One of my favorite Discworld books is actually one of the more obscure ones, "Moving Pictures", which is about the invention of films and the movie business in this fantasy world that has dwarves and trolls and wizards and so on. It has its rough patches like every early Discworld book, but Ginger's speech about people who were born in the wrong time or wrong place for their dreams really gets to me in a good way, and I love all of the references to classic films and commentary on fame and creativity. It also has classic characters like Gaspode the Talking Dog and C.M.O.T. Dibbler, and it introduces Detritus's romance with another troll named Ruby.

Perhaps most importantly to me is that this book introduces Ponder Stibbons, who is a wizard, and who goes on in later books to be one of the most important members of the Unseen University (he holds like twelve different positions), in that he's one of the few people who can competently manage a project and so ends up managing nearly everything. (Bear with me, it's been a while since I read any Discworld and my memory is a little rough.) In "Moving Pictures", Ponder is the classmate (roommate?) of a fellow named Victor Tugelbend, who is one of the main characters.

Victor begins the book as a career student, in that a wealthy relative left him a great deal of money exclusively for school; so as long as he STAYS in school, all of his living expenses are paid for. If Victor graduates, that's the end of the money. If Victor drops out, that's the end of the money. But if Victor manages to hit a specific mark range in the 80s every year, then he gets to stay on for another year and try again, and so Victor is perhaps the most dedicated and knowledgeable wizardry student in the university's history, because you have to know what the right answer is in order to intentionally get a certain number of the questions wrong, so that you can continue to coast along on your college fund.

Ponder's graduation is (accidentally) Victor's fault, because Victor runs away to get into the movie business. (I won't spoil what happens, but it's VERY funny.) Now, I like to imagine after the events of the book, after Ponder holds a faculty position in the university, Victor comes BACK to the university occasionally as a disgustingly well-paid external consultant, which drives Ponder UP THE FUCKING WALL. Like, people are so stingy all of the time but SOMEHOW the university budget has room to bring your offensively handsome dropout roommate back just to say, "Hmm, yes, that looks bad. Have you tried turning it off and on again?" I'd throw a fit, honestly. (As soon as Ponder has enough seniority, he probably puts his foot down to stop this if Victor isn't actually useful. Maybe he is, idk, but maybe not for THAT consulting fee.)

I also like to imagine that Victor Tugelbend and Theda "Ginger" Withel are still together, maybe even still acting (badly? mediocre-ly? decently?) together, in some dingy little theatre (Ginger is the director and runs their acting troupe like a tyrant) where the front seats are regularly filled with middle-aged folks who still sigh over the memories of moving pictures. (Moving pictures are now, presumably, VERY illegal in Ankh Morpork.) Victor and Ginger have only because even more attractive as they've gotten older, which is EVEN MORE OFFENSIVE to poor Ponder because his former movie star former roommate is married to another gorgeous former movie star?! I'd throw another fit.

Anyway, I think Ponder deserves to have an affair with a pair of aging former movie stars. I like to imagine this purely because I think it's funny. He seems kind of busy for marriage, so joining someone else's marriage part-time might be good for him. It probably makes most of the rest of the Unseen University faculty breathlessly envious and that really does it for him.

And I think that this affair would OF COURSE be covered by every newspaper and tabloid in the city, including The Times, and William de Worde and Sacharissa Cripslock don't fully understand why their entertainment reporter is so breathlessly excited about people who were famous over a decade ago? (Supermarket tabloids love to tell me about alleged affairs of people who were famous 20+ years ago.) The article on Victor Maraschino and Delores De Syn's failing marriage* is their bestselling newspaper in months and William puts his head down on his desk in despair. (He's fine. This happens on a weekly at least basis. He just needs a minute.)

*Victor and Ginger are very happy with this situation, actually. They're going to take Ponder to dinner to go on a double date with Ruby and Detritus soon. Victor and Ponder are going to get distracted arguing about some of the Inadvisably Applied Magic research projects, but that's fine, because Ginger wants to talk to Ruby about this one-troll-woman-show concept. (Detritus will proudly hand out tickets at the Watch station and accidentally intimidate all of his coworkers into accepting the invitation.)

[f6bron]

you adored me before.

pairing : chamber x fem!reader x deadeye

note : victor is deadeye (fanon), 3 of them are around high schoolers’ age, childhood friends to lovers trope, reader comes from a lower-class background

The sun had just begun its descent, casting a golden glow over the prestigious school grounds. You stood anxiously at the entrance, feeling out of place amidst the affluent parents and well-dressed students. You couldn’t ignore the whispers and glances of disdain, the way they were judging you for your worn-out clothes.

It made you feel small, like you didn’t belong in their world.

But it’s just how the world works, on your part. You’re used to it.

Just as your discomfort peaked, Vincent and Victor entered your vision.

“Y/N!”

Vincent, the ever-energetic and cheerful twin, sprinted towards you, his face alight with excitement. Victor followed behind at a more leisurely pace, a small, reassuring smile on his lips at the sight of beautiful you.

“Sorry for making you wait for us. Victor was being too slow.” Vincent said, only to be interrupted by a warning smack at the back from Victor.

“He’s lying to you. He spilled his food on his book, and [sighs], well… someone had to help him clean it up.” Victor corrected, making you chuckle shyly.

Vincent rolled his eyes at his brother dramatically before turning his attention back to you.

“Shall we get going?”

You nodded, a soft smile spreading across your face. To your surprise, Vincent grabbed your hand, his touch warm and reassuring. Victor, not to be outdone, gently took your backpack from your shoulder.

“Oh, Victor you don’t have to–” you started, but were cut off by his soft smile, which is a rare sight coming from him.

“No worries, okay?” He said, with a soft but firm voice.

“Thanks…” you mumbled, turning away to hide the blush that crept up your cheeks.

The twins shared a knowing glance, both wearing smiles that hinted at their not-so-secret affection for you.

Arriving at the aquarium, your excitement was palpable. As soon as you stepped inside, you were captivated by the vibrant displays and the myriad of sea creatures swimming gracefully behind the glass.

A few days earlier, the three of you sat together at the neighbourhood park, your usual hangout spot. You mentioned in passing that you had never been to an aquarium.

“What do you mean you’ve never been to one ?!” Vincent exclaimed, his eyes wide with disbelief.

You shrugged, feeling a bit embarrassed. “The tickets are too expensive…”

Victor hummed thoughtfully, “Well, if that’s the case, we should go to one this Friday. Take it as my treat.”

Oho, finally! A reason to bring you out on a date, Victor thought. Until…

Vincent’s eyes widened in offense. “Hey, I should be the one saying that!”

“I want to bring Y/N only. You, on the other hand… You’re on your own.” Victor said, shooting his twin a deadly glare.

Vincent gasped dramatically. “Espèce de fils de pute! (You son of a bitch!)” he retorted, earning a laugh from you as the twins bickered.

You darted from tank to tank, your eyes widened in wonder. Vincent and Victor hung back, watching you with adoration in their eyes. Your enthusiasm was infectious, and they found themselves so whipped over you.

You had become an important part of their lives, and they had to protect you from all the dangers in this world. They were determined to keep you close, to make you stay with them.

Forever.

Victor pulled out his phone, snapping a candid photo of you. The way your face alight with joy as your doe eyes admired the marine life, it’s too adorable for him.

He’s going to make you his. One way or another. Victor has to.

But, too bad, he has a competition. Who might that be? If it’s none other than his younger brother.

Speak of the devil. Vincent nudged his brother, noticing your picture on his phone.

“Send me that.” he whispered. Victor scoffed lightly, “Certainement pas (No way). This one’s for my eyes only.”

Vincent pouted. “Allez (come on), now. I got some of her photos too. Do you want them? Y/N looks so pretty–”

“What are you guys talking about?” You questioned, which startled them both.

“We, uh– we were talking about those fishes,” Vincent stammered. “Yeah! It’s just, uh–”

“But I heard you said my name.” You asked, curious eyes staring into their souls.

Trying not to cause more suspicion, Victor quickly cut him off. “Oh, the showcase is about to start. Isn’t that what you’ve been waiting for, Y/N?”

Your eyes lit up with excitement. “Yeah, let’s go!”

You took off towards the showcase location, with Victor following close behind, after giving Vincent a narcissistic smirk.

You bitch.

He lingered for a moment, shaking his head in disbelief before catching up.

(A/N): a drabble for now… huhu

masterlist.

[worldofkuro]

I SWEAR! EVERY TIME I READ YOUR CHAPTERS I ALWAYS HAVE A MINI HEART ATTACK OMFGOSH!!!!! AAAAHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!

On another note, what would it be like if Reader was a Latina?

Like, she would curse under their breath in Spanish if she got annoyed or she would say something to Alastor in Spanish, instinctual or not, like “Mí Amor” (My Love) or “Mí Vida” (My Life)

Or, like, even curse out someone in Spanish,

for example, when Victor wasn’t leaving when they both were at Alastor’s door at the fire, or even when Trey went to go 'Talk' with Reader in the paramedics van,

(or generally any situation, It doesn’t even have to be all angsty like that, Idk, I’m not a writer, lol)

Generally, she just says stuff in Spanish and it can be instinctual, or it can just be that she just wants to

Maybe even teaching Alastor (or generally anyone else) some words in Spanish, if they’re willing or are just curious

MAYBE EVEN SHOW ALASTOR SOME FOOD OF HER CULTURE!!! (I’m sorry, I’m getting way too excited, I’m Hispanic, and I’ve just been wondering, for quite a while, what it would be like if Reader was any sort of Spanish culture) Again, I truly love this story, and I can’t wait to see more!!!

Oh thank you dear, I’m pleased you enjoy this story so much. I hope you will keep loving it :)

Now, now, if you were a latina, Alastor would want to learn everything about your culture from a very young age. When he was a child, it was mostly childish curiosity. Why couldn’t he understand you when you were talking with your mother in a language he couldn’t understand? Would you teach him so he could speak like that with his mother and his father would never understand them?

Alastor is intelligent so he would catch some sentence without you being aware of it. You would be having a tantrum with your mother and Alastor would take your hand, speaking in perfect spanish. 

“ Cálmate, eres demasiado ruidosa.”

Your mother and yourself were so shocked Alastor thought he made a mistake but when you jumped on him with a big smile he would let out a sigh of relief. Your mother and Marie would be surprised, Alastor was only 9 years old and he already could understand most of the words you were saying.

As he grew older, his curiosity with your culture and language became less… innocent. His obsession was the main cause of it, of course. But as an adult, he would be almost completely fluent in Spanish and knew most of your culture.  He also enjoyed the attention of course which made you repeat to him so many time:

“ A donde te quieren mucho no vengas a menudo.” 

He loved your food, the spices would almost make him moan of delight. Give the man Cochinita Pibil or Tortas Ahogadas, please, he is salivating. You both would spend so much time in the kitchen trying new recipes.

Alastor loved when you were so mad you would switch languages. Even more when you were in front of John who couldn’t understand anything you were saying.

“ ¡Háblame una vez más, te reto y te colgaré delante de toda Nueva Orleans, hijo de puta!”

“ Alastor… What is she saying..?”

“ Oh, she wants you to keep talking.”

Your best friend Alice would learn the language to gossip with you 100%. Sometimes Alastor would join the two of you and you would have three people in a coffee shop, gossiping in spanish.. Even if sometimes it would be so obvious who you were talking about.

“ Mira a esa perra.” Spat Alice which made you and Alastor turn around. You were already joining Alice in her harsh words as Alastor smirked before drinking his coffee before speaking.

“ ¿No es ella profesora de español?”

“ …”

He enjoyed your accent. He had a list of words that he loved hearing from your mouth. He didn’t know why but when you were stuttering on those words, he would smile, finding you so cute.

He would smile when you would call  him “ Mi Vida.” more than “ Mi Amor”. The fact that you saw him as your whole life made him lightheaded.

When Alice was born, he would ask you if you wanted to teach your daughter your language. No matter if you wanted it or not, Alastor would be happy with your choice. If you didn't want to share your culture and language with your daughter, that meant it was something secret between the two of you.

If you wanted it, he would be confused about the warmth inside his chest when you were teaching your daughter some words and you would hug her when she had the words right. He would find himself smiling when your daughter had the same accent as you and would stutter on the same words as you do.

[thenightling]

Pet peeve about the Internet *Pretending* to have read Frankenstein

I am so tired of everyone and their dog on the Internet saying "Actually the monster was The Doctor." or "Frankenstein was the Doctor. Not The Creature." And no one notices what's wrong with this. First, Victor Frankenstein (in the novel) was no doctor. He was a student of metaphysics. He never graduates. He's not a medical doctor at all. He found the secret of life while reading the works of Agrippa and Paracelsus. A self-proclaimed sorcerer and alchemist. Now what makes Victor a Monster? He had f--king postpartum depression. No. Seriously. THAT is what makes everyone call him a monster. The term Postpartum didn't exist yet but that's what is described. He's excited about creating life. He even chose various parts for their beauty. The Creature has luxurious black hair, and perfect teeth (a detail left out of most film adaptations). But the eyes are yellow and watery. There's an effect that we'd today call Uncanny Valley. Victor does not find him hideous until he comes to life. Then Victor flees. It takes him months to recover from his "Brain fever." He has a sort of nervous break down. When he finally comes home it's to discover his youngest brother has been killed and The Creature has framed an innocent maid for the murder (and is hanged for it). YES, The Creature is sympathetic. Abandoned by Victor and rejected by the world but both make horrible mistakes. Victor is no innocent but he isn't Satan either. Someone on Tumblr even blocked me for trying to point out that Mary Shelley wanted us to sympathize with BOTH Victor and his Creature. It's not black and white. The person claimed I clearly never read the book and then blocked me after saying "Another person who didn't read the book trying to school me." Not only did I read the book but Frankenstein is in my top four favorite novels. To me, seeing the Internet constantly parrot the "The Doctor was the monster" is like seeing the rather sexist "Beauty and the Beast is Stockholm Syndrome" (which actually means "I don't trust Belle and will ignore her agency as a character.") Or the not-so-subtle transphobia attached to the Hot take of "Disney's The Little Mermaid gave up who she was for a man." which requires ignoring that Ariel wanted to be human before she ever saw Eric. I even got into an argument with someone about that once who insisted that she only sang "Part of your world" after she saw Eric. No. That was the reprise. The first time she sang it was before she ever saw Eric. Also I'm sick of people "correcting" those that call The Creature Frankenstein. The Creature views Victor as his father. Usually a son takes his father's surname. On a lighter note we have the people who PRETEND to have read Dracula, sharing the old man image of him with the handlebar mustache as being "This is what Dracula actually looked like in the book." I often point out to them that he de-ages in the novel and is later described with dark hair with grey in it. And a pointed beard. One person, who didn't want to admit they were wrong, tried to claim he was disguising himself so no one would reocognize him. That the beard was false and the hair was a wig. Umm... Why? The only person who knew what he looked like was Jonathan Harker. And at the time Dracula thought Harker was still in his castle. I know this is a long post but to sum it up... Please, stop repeating memes about classic stories as if they are fact and try reading them for yourself. It may not quite be what you've been lead to believe.