#edmund edward same thing

[anakintwinkletoes]

got any more *licks lips* turkish delight...?

[thatscarletflycatcher]

The problem with discussions about Henry Crawford is that there are two different questions being asked at the same time: 1) Can Fanny reform Henry? and 2) Can Henry reform?

Austen answers negatively to the first one, but I'd argue she's very ambivalent in her answer to the second.

Austen is not in the habit of "punishing" her villains; none of them are struck by accidents of fortune or anything the like, but we commonly perceive the downgrade between what they could have had and what they end up having. Edward Ferrars is an infinitely preferrable husband to Robert Ferrars, but Lucy Steele never seems to become aware of that fact. Isabella tries to get Captain Tilney over James Morland. Mr. Elliot is not crying by the corners over the fact that he lost Anne Elliot. Even Willoughby's regret is not about Marianne's actual goodness, but his personal convenience. Austen's "villains" as a rule are morally stupid people.

When Aristotle says that no one can be good who is stupid, he doesn't have in mind things like being good at Math or being well read or quick-witted; he's thinking of a certain intuition, clear-sightedness about what is good, what contributes to human flourishing, and this seems to be a strong component of what Austen calls sense. Sense is almost convertible (if not completely) with prudence, and prudence is a rather intuitive virtue, as it regulates the when, the how, the how much, etc of the other moral virtues. (and there goes my first thesis topic that I never did!).

In that way it is interesting that only 4 characters are said to possess sense in Mansfield Park: Edmund, Fanny, Henry, and Tom (and Tom doesn't even fully count, because his is expressed negatively: instead of having sense, he doesn't lack it). Here are the Henry instances:

"He did not want them to die of love; but with sense and temper which ought to have made him judge and feel better, he allowed himself great latitude on such points." "Henry Crawford had too much sense not to feel the worth of good principles in a wife, though he was too little accustomed to serious reflection to know them by their proper name; but when he talked of her having such a steadiness and regularity of conduct, such a high notion of honour, and such an observance of decorum as might warrant any man in the fullest dependence on her faith and integrity, he expressed what was inspired by the knowledge of her being well principled and religious." "That punishment, the public punishment of disgrace, should in a just measure attend his share of the offence is, we know, not one of the barriers which society gives to virtue. In this world the penalty is less equal than could be wished; but without presuming to look forward to a juster appointment hereafter, we may fairly consider a man of sense, like Henry Crawford, to be providing for himself no small portion of vexation and regret: vexation that must rise sometimes to self-reproach, and regret to wretchedness, in having so requited hospitality, so injured family peace, so forfeited his best, most estimable, and endeared acquaintance, and so lost the woman whom he had rationally as well as passionately loved."

(I'm not counting the one time Edmund calls him a man of sense, and the one time Sir Thomas does the same, for obvious contextual reasons).

It's not only interesting that he is the only rake to be called a man of sense by the narrator (Mrs. Smith calling Mr. Elliot a man of sense in Persuasion is clearly not meant to be taken straight), but that it is always specifically tied to moral perceptiveness; he was morally perceptive enough to know he shouldn't have played the way he did, and he chose to ignore it. He perceives Fanny's moral worth, and it is the core reason why he wants to marry her.* He also perceives William's moral worth as something both good and desirable:

"To Henry Crawford they gave a different feeling. He longed to have been at sea, and seen and done and suffered as much. His heart was warmed, his fancy fired, and he felt the highest respect for a lad who, before he was twenty, had gone through such bodily hardships and given such proofs of mind. The glory of heroism, of usefulness, of exertion, of endurance, made his own habits of selfish indulgence appear in shameful contrast; and he wished he had been a William Price, distinguishing himself and working his way to fortune and consequence with so much self-respect and happy ardour, instead of what he was!"

Both here and at the end of the novel, Henry's moral perceptiveness leads to remorse for his own moral wrongdoings. Compare this to Willoughby's regret over Marianne:

"Willoughby could not hear of her marriage without a pang; and his punishment was soon afterwards complete in the voluntary forgiveness of Mrs. Smith, who, by stating his marriage with a woman of character, as the source of her clemency, gave him reason for believing that had he behaved with honour towards Marianne, he might at once have been happy and rich. That his repentance of misconduct, which thus brought its own punishment, was sincere, need not be doubted;—nor that he long thought of Colonel Brandon with envy, and of Marianne with regret. But that he was for ever inconsolable, that he fled from society, or contracted an habitual gloom of temper, or died of a broken heart, must not be depended on—for he did neither. He lived to exert, and frequently to enjoy himself. His wife was not always out of humour, nor his home always uncomfortable; and in his breed of horses and dogs, and in sporting of every kind, he found no inconsiderable degree of domestic felicity."

This sense/moral perceptiveness of Henry Crawford, and his experiencing remorse for his own wrongdoings sets him apart from the other Austen rakes. He's also not a drinker or a gambler; he does take at least minimal care of Everingham ("Everingham could not do without him in the beginning of September. He went for a fortnight") and did some modifications to it as soon as he got it. The same way Darcy's character is revealed as we see Pemberley, so the inflexion point of Henry's redemption attempt is his trying to become a better master of his estate:

For her approbation, the particular reason of his going into Norfolk at all, at this unusual time of year, was given. It had been real business, relative to the renewal of a lease in which the welfare of a large and—he believed—industrious family was at stake. He had suspected his agent of some underhand dealing; of meaning to bias him against the deserving; and he had determined to go himself, and thoroughly investigate the merits of the case. He had gone, had done even more good than he had foreseen, had been useful to more than his first plan had comprehended, and was now able to congratulate himself upon it, and to feel that in performing a duty, he had secured agreeable recollections for his own mind. He had introduced himself to some tenants whom he had never seen before; he had begun making acquaintance with cottages whose very existence, though on his own estate, had been hitherto unknown to him. This was aimed, and well aimed, at Fanny. It was pleasing to hear him speak so properly; here he had been acting as he ought to do. To be the friend of the poor and the oppressed! Nothing could be more grateful to her; and she was on the point of giving him an approving look, when it was all frightened off by his adding a something too pointed of his hoping soon to have an assistant, a friend, a guide in every plan of utility or charity for Everingham: a somebody that would make Everingham and all about it a dearer object than it had ever been yet. She turned away, and wished he would not say such things. She was willing to allow he might have more good qualities than she had been wont to suppose. She began to feel the possibility of his turning out well at last; but he was and must ever be completely unsuited to her, and ought not to think of her.

I have half an idea of going into Norfolk again soon. I am not satisfied about Maddison. I am sure he still means to impose on me if possible, and get a cousin of his own into a certain mill, which I design for somebody else. I must come to an understanding with him. I must make him know that I will not be tricked on the south side of Everingham, any more than on the north: that I will be master of my own property. I was not explicit enough with him before. The mischief such a man does on an estate, both as to the credit of his employer and the welfare of the poor, is inconceivable. I have a great mind to go back into Norfolk directly, and put everything at once on such a footing as cannot be afterwards swerved from. Maddison is a clever fellow; I do not wish to displace him, provided he does not try to displace me; but it would be simple to be duped by a man who has no right of creditor to dupe me, and worse than simple to let him give me a hard-hearted, griping fellow for a tenant, instead of an honest man, to whom I have given half a promise already. Would it not be worse than simple? Shall I go? Do you advise it?” “I advise! You know very well what is right.” “Yes. When you give me your opinion, I always know what is right. Your judgment is my rule of right.” “Oh, no! do not say so. We have all a better guide in ourselves, if we would attend to it, than any other person can be.

This is even more hammered in by the narrator: "Had he done as he intended, and as he knew he ought, by going down to Everingham after his return from Portsmouth, he might have been deciding his own happy destiny."

All these elements seem to point towards his being redeemable; he almost managed it! If only he'd gone to Everingham instead of London, catastrophic failure would have been averted! And yet at the same time we are told this:

Henry Crawford, ruined by early independence and bad domestic example, indulged in the freaks of a cold-blooded vanity a little too long. Once it had, by an opening undesigned and unmerited, led him into the way of happiness. Could he have been satisfied with the conquest of one amiable woman’s affections, could he have found sufficient exultation in overcoming the reluctance, in working himself into the esteem and tenderness of Fanny Price, there would have been every probability of success and felicity for him. His affection had already done something. Her influence over him had already given him some influence over her. Would he have deserved more, there can be no doubt that more would have been obtained, especially when that marriage had taken place, which would have given him the assistance of her conscience in subduing her first inclination, and brought them very often together. Would he have persevered, and uprightly, Fanny must have been his reward, and a reward very voluntarily bestowed, within a reasonable period from Edmund’s marrying Mary.

Ruined by early independence and bad domestic example. Mansfield Park is in a way a rather pessimist novel: it is a novel about education, and once your education has "set", your character is fixed, and your fate determined. Much of Maria and Julia's disgrace was also directly caused by their upbringing in a household where all importance was given to superficial qualities, and very little effective affection was shared; one can compare the restrained calm of Mansfield as a reflection of Sir Thomas' own unwillingness to see reality and give himself some discomfort in making others comfortable, with the bustle of the Musgrove household, and connect the dots to what makes the relationship between sisters Maria and Julia so different from the one between Louisa and Henrietta in similar situations.

In the end, it's a bit of a Schröedinger's cat situation. Can Henry reform? Yes, says Austen, he has the qualities needed for moral improvement, but no, his upbringing ruined him, and his character is fixed.

While this idea is the strongest in MP, it is present one way or another in all Austen's novels. Characters reforming is usually more about one specific quality or moral tone not being fine tuned than proper metanoia. Darcy was taught to do right, and did right; what he needed was to add proper humility and kindness to his practice. There is an exception, though, the one thing Charlotte Brontë and Jane Austen agree upon: a close brush with death is the best recipe for moral cure in the otherwise incurable.

Maybe the key is to wish Henry a good pneumonia, or a strong horsefall-induced concussion.

_____________

*On a side note, it's interesting that before he proposes, he considers how attached Fanny is to Mansfield, as undeserving as he thinks the Bertrams to be of her affection, and even draws a plan that contemplates giving her pleasure that way too: "I will not take her from Northamptonshire. I shall let Everingham, and rent a place in this neighbourhood; perhaps Stanwix Lodge."

[darkbluekies]

The origin of the ocs

Silas Achilleos:

I have always loved to write and read mafia fics. I wrote them before I wrote fanfiction, during fanfiction and now. When I created this account, I wanted a mafia man who's main characteristic was that he was kinky. I didn't like the ones I had read about that bent their partner over their lap for every little thing and that their entire relationship was built on sex. I wanted someone that felt human. So i made him in November 2022.

Silas name comes from a store I used to walk by all the time. I have no recollection of knowing about the name before I saw that store, so unconsiously the name must have come from there. I liked it because it was a name I hadn't been familiar with and I could "mold" the name to whatever I wanted, i had no connection to a certain person. I could make my own. His surname, Achilleos, was chosen because it reminded me of the character "achilles" and how he was untouchable besides one part of his body. Like this, i wanted darling to be Silas "achilles heel".

Silas personality comes from my want of something different. I wanted some humor, some drama, some weak spot. I made him childish, hypocritical, emotional. I didn't want him to be 2d.

Dr Karl Kry:

I have always loved the atmosphere of hospitals. I don't know why. They almost give me "backroom" vibes. I thought that it could be interesting to try to write about a doctor even though I have no medical knowledge. I have always loved to write characters that are weak and dependent on someone, which would work perfectly if I created a doctor. I created him in December 2022.

Dr Karl Kry's name comes from swedish. "Karl" means "man" and "Kry" means the opposite of being sick (not sure if english has the exact word). I thought that it could be fun if a doctor had that surname because only swedes/nordics would be able to get that little joke.

His personality is a bit of a mixture between the sterotypical swede and an opposite to what you think a doctor should be like. He's cold, quiet, doesn't like touch and is very modest while still being very professional and "sweet". He is quite old fashioned and carries traits that were normal then.

King Edmund of Vesanus

He wasn't supposed to be a character. I had gotten inspired to write the "Masquarade massacre/dance with death" oneshot because of a music video i used to watch when i was a kid (Eric Saade: Masquarade) and i wrote the oneshot in January 2023. It quickly became my most liked story so I decided to add him to the characters.

Edmund's name was originally Edward, but I have a character in one of my private novels with the same name and I thought that it would be weird for me if I named them the same thing. I decided to use a similar name and I decided upon Edmund. It sounded like it could belong to a royal. His kingdom "Vesanus" is in latin and means "mad/insane/frenzied" and I thoght that fit him extremely well.

His personality comes from the stereotypical spoiled king imagine, but I also wanted to make him ... human? He is a teenage boy who doesn't know who he is and only knows that he is the crown. He is lost and I think that shows. Edmund is ignorant, spoiled, rude and yet teasing, humorous, childish and caring.

Jerry (Yubin) Kim:

My first girl. She was created as a side character in a kpop mafia fanfiction i wrote back in 2020 and then reaccured in another kpop mafia fanfiction i wrote in 2021, although she was not a yandere back then. I loved her character and knew that I had to add her here.

Her name is special, to me. I don't remember why I named her Jerry, all I know is that I wanted a male name for a girl, and Jerry is a boy name that also feel like a girls name. That is the name she goes by, but her birth name is Yubin, although she doesn't go by that anymore. Her surname is a popular surname in korean, so that doesn't have much behind it.

Her personality is a rollercoaster. When I created her back in 2020, she was a bit different to what she is now. She was much happier, joked a lot, didn't have much darkness in her. She was pretty flat. Now that she's here, she has evolved into a much more human like character, much more rounded. She is a pretender. She feels one thing but pretends to feel different. All her joking persona isn't all real, she is pretty emotional. Jerry has many layers and many emotions she can't understand, she feels a lot of guilt, fear, love and hate, but presents a careless, joking girl to everyone else.

Hedwig Carter:

Hedwig is a character that was evolved from another character I was writing. In the beginning of this account, i tried out different kinds of characters to find the ones I wanted. I was writing a "quiet kid" yandere oneshot because I wanted this typical yandere setting, aka being in school. But I didn't like the character, I already had men (kry and silas) and I wanted it to feel like yandere simulator, so I scrapped that oneshot and created a girl. She wasn't supposed to be rich, but I decided to add it to have more to work with. I created her out on an evening walk in January 2023.

I don't like when characters who are supposed to be "normal" have "non-normal" names. I cannot imagine a girl who goes to school like everyone else having a name like "elowen", "amethyst" etc. i want the name to fit the situation and feel natural. Hedwig is one of those names. It feels wealthy, yet natural. It is distinctive, yet normal. The name Carter came to me when playing the game "titanic adventure out of time" when you have to go down to the cargo and the steward are like "YOURE A CARTER!!!" because the Carters owned the car that was on board the ship and a car in 1912 was expensive and etc. The name just stuck with me and felt like old money wealth, which she is.

Hedwig's personality is meant to be the opposite to Jerry, but they are quite alike too. Hedwig is sweet, innocent and loving. She doesn't like being mean. I wanted a rich popular girl that wasn't rude, entitled or a mean girl. Hedwig has a hard time controlling her emotions and can easily become "hysteric". I wanted an opposite to what's usually done - the rich popular girl is the one obsessed with someone instead of the other way around.

[bethanydelleman]

I saw a post you reblogged at some point about Fanny being stuck in a time loop and it got me thinking: if the main men (both protagonists and antagonists) of the different Austen novels time travelled back to the day they first met their love interest/the start of the novel - whichever is latest so wentworth, knightley, and Edmund Bertram would travel to the day the main events of their novels start - who do you think would end up changing the least of the events and the most (intentionally or not)?

Because I feel like Knightley would change the least and Henry Tilney and the three S&S gents would come next. But like Wentworth would immediately throw the entire novel off track and like Darcy and Henry Crawford would come in close second trying to change their truly awful first impressions

(Also I just want to add that I really love your Austen takes and discussions 😊)

Thank you!

This is a fascinating idea. Here are my thoughts:

Wentworth just marches into Uppercross Cottage and proposes again. Doesn't even wait to be properly introduced to the family. He's getting Anne back NOW. (She says yes, of course)

I can imagine Darcy having a tiny little crisis as he decides if he really wants to be married to Elizabeth, maybe he could just not accompany Bingley to Netherfield and his life could go the way he planned... nah, he can't resist. Off to Netherfield he goes and he lets Bingley introduce him to Elizabeth at the assembly ball. Things progress unimpeded and by Christmas there is a double wedding and Wickham's character is known throughout Hertfordshire. He skips town and Lydia is packed off to Pemberley to benefit from some better society. (Side note: Mrs. Bennet would push Mr. Collins on Mary if she had any inclination that Darcy liked Elizabeth).

If Bingley knew everything, he'd never leave Jane. He'd return from London and marry her, no matter what Darcy or his sisters said. (I wrote that once actually)

Does Wickham count as a main? Because I don't want him having the ability to predict the future. Yikes on bikes!

Henry Crawford is very interesting, because does he actually understand where he went wrong? I'm not sure he does. Can he resist a flirtation with two very pretty sisters? That would be a fun fan fiction to write. Because if he went for Fanny right off the bat and she knew nothing else about him... he'd probably succeed with her, secret Edmund love or not. And she certainly wouldn't have a leg to stand on in refusing his proposal.

Does Edmund come back in the same timeline as Henry? That would be so agnsty! If not, he'd probably be doing whatever he could to keep Maria and Henry apart, but he's shockingly ineffective in canon, so would he even be able to change anything?

Henry Tilney would probably just try to prevent Catherine being sent home alone. He could easily come back early.

Mr. Knightley's best move would be to tell Robert Martin to propose in person. I doubt Harriet could have resisted. Then he could just sit back and watch everything else play out.

Honestly, I don't know if Frank Churchill would change a thing, other than making sure his final letter was posted to Jane. He enjoyed the subterfuge.

Poor Edward Ferrars has to travel back while engaged to Lucy? I feel like he wouldn't even want to relive the novel, there is nothing he can do anyway.

Colonel Brandon would probably change a lot. He could immediately save Eliza and challenge Willoughby. He might even spare Marianne from a lot of pain.

Reginald de Courcy (Lady Susan) would likely act as well and save Frederica earlier than in the novel.

[delphinidin4]

I just had a brainwave about Mansfield Park. This might be something that Jane Austen fans already know and think is obvious, but I've never heard it discussed, and I think it really clears up a lot of things about this book for me.

So scholars are always talking about how this book intersects with slavery. First of all, the Antigua property that isn't doing so well would have been worked by enslaved people (keeping slaves was still legal in Antigua, though selling them there was not). Also, at one point Fanny asks Sir Thomas a question about the slave trade, though it isn't really elaborated on. I saw this discussed again and again in the (admittedly little) scholarship I read on this book, and it always seemed weird to me that they zeroed in on that detail.

More recently, I read Margaret Doody's book on the names Austen used in her work, and she pointed out that the famous legal case that declared slavery to be illegal in England was called the Mansfield Decision. Any reader at the time, reading that novel, would have that information in the back of their head, and it would have informed how they read the book.

This much I knew. But I always felt like these arguments never really explained what slavery had to do with the love story of Fanny Price: even Doody never seemed to connect this factoid about the title very deeply with the novel's themes (a problem I had with a number of her discussions in that book).

More recently, I saw it pointed out that Fanny Price is treated like a slave by Mrs. Norris, and I thought, "Aha! Finally, an explanation!" But it still didn't feel complete to me.

But I just realized: you can take that metaphor a lot farther. (For this argument, please keep in mind that Austen, though on the side of the abolitionists, was a 19th-century woman who didn't have the same sensibilities about the discussion of race as we do now.)

--Like an enslaved person, Fanny is taken from her home and her family and moved far, far away (she isn't kidnapped, of course, but stick with me).

--The family that she joins considers her to be naturally stupider than they are because she has not had the advantage of their education. This is similar to African slaves, whom white people looked down on and thought intellectually inferior because they didn't have a western education.

--The term "family" at the time included the household servants and slaves, not just the actual family. Fanny, the poor relation, joins the household less like a cousin/niece, and more like a servant or an enslaved person. She is literally relegated to sleep in an attic, like a maid.

--Fanny suffers a great deal emotionally because she misses her family (especially Edward). Austen, as an abolitionist, would likely have read accounts like Olaudah Equiano's autobiography, which often described the intense emotional suffering of enslaved people separated from their homes and families.

--One of the justifications slaveholders gave for slavery was that they were "improving" the lives of the Africans they enslaved, by teaching them Christianity and occasionally, trades or other forms of education. Fanny is ostensibly being brought to Mansfield to give her a good education. And while she does get that education, she really functions much more in the household like a servant to Lady Bertram and Mrs. Norris.

--Fanny IS taught a great deal of morality by Edmund, who is a bit of a prig. It seems hypocritical of him to be constantly "schooling" her in morality when it often seems like Fanny is more naturally ethical than he is. This mirrors the hypocrisy of white slaveholders who deigned to teach their slaves Christianity while acting extremely unchristian themselves.

--Fanny ends up with an inferiority complex because she is constantly torn down by Mrs. Norris and treated as inferior by Maria and Julia. In reality, she's very intelligent, well-read, and ethical in a way that none of them area. This mirrors the way black folks were unfairly treated as inferior by white society.

--The injustice of the Bertrams toward Fanny is so obvious to outsiders that even the morally deficient Crawfords are indignant about it. Mrs. Norris makes a snide remark to Fanny about "who and what she is" (a reference to racism?) and Mary Crawford is indignant on Fanny's behalf and rushes in to comfort her. Henry Crawford--at least, after he falls in love with Fanny--says that the way the family has treated her is disgraceful, and that he is going to show them how they should have been treating her all along. Austen may be pointing to the idea that slavery is SO wrong that it should be obvious to everybody.

I conclude that the book is titled Mansfield Park because Austen wants to point out that while slavery may be illegal in England, poor relations are still often treated like slaves by their families.

That being said, here are some questions this analogy throws up:

--Why is Sir Thomas so much nicer to Fanny after his stay in Antigua, where he would have been witnessing slavery on a daily basis? What does this say about him, both as an uncle and a slaveowner?

--Fanny goes home to Portsmouth, and finds that she doesn't like it and it isn't as neat and orderly as she would like. Is this Austen saying that if enslaved people went back to Africa, they would find that they still felt western society to be superior? How would we square that idea with the point above that westerners are not superior to Africans?

--Why does Fanny end up with Edmund? If he's analogous to the son of a slaveowner and she's analogous to a slave, why is she in love with him in the first place, and why does Austen seem to reify her choice by making them get together in the end? (Remember that even Austen's sister Cassandra felt strongly that Fanny should have ended up with Henry Crawford, not the priggish Edmund.) Is Fanny brainwashed by the Bertrams? How does that relate to the slaveholding analogy?

[tallteenturtle]

Nancy Drew: Curse of Blackmoor Manor

I fell down a bit of a heraldry rabbit hole recently and decided to spend several hours compiling info about the Penvellyn family off the wiki and then used online heraldry resources to analyze their individual coat of arms. Did the game devs intend the shields to be interpreted this way? Probably not. But if I dont over-analyze 20 year old childrens computer games what else am I going to do with my life??

Here are all the people whose portraits hang in the great hall along with info we learn about them from Jane (and occasionally Nigel), their coat of arms, and my amateur interpretation of the symbolism.

Randulf ( - 1401)

“Randulf the Red, so named for his bright red hair, was considered a hero at the Battle of Poitiers. For his heroism, King Edward III awarded him with the lands in the region called "Penvellyn". That's how we got our name.”

Randulf's coat of arms says "IN HOC SIGNO" which translates to "in this sign (you will conquer)"

Comet; unknown in heraldry but refers to the family treasure

Red; Military might, warrior.

(putting the rest under the cut to save you much scrolling)

Odo (1354 – 1404)

“Yeah, he isn't very exciting, really. Liked farming and cows. His son Milo is much more interesting.”

“Those Manuscripts are very old and brittle. They date back to the 14th century. Odo Penvellyn collected most of them. His father Randulf and son Milo were rather more interested in military victories than in book collecting.”

Odo's coat of arms says "PROSPERITAS" which translates to "success".

Milo (1376 – 1423)

Green; Hope, joy, loyalty

Deer/hart; One who will not fight unless provoked, peace and harmony

“Milo inherited not only his grandfather's red hair but his military prowess. Milo was instrumental in the Siege of Caen and was awarded even more lands by Henry V.”

Milo's coat of arms says "VICTUM INVIDEO SILENTE" which translates to "the conquered shall envy the dead".

Hugo (1401 – 1466)

Comet; unknown in heraldry

Red; Military might, warrior

Teardrop; “One who has endured torrents”

“Um, he had a lot of kids, and his dates were 1401 to 1466.”

Hugo's coat of arms says "CITO FIT QUOD DEI VOLUNT" which translates to "what the gods want happens soon".

Albert (1427 – 1508)

Bee; Industrious, diligent

Acorn; Antiquity, strength

Red; Military might, warrior

Green; Hope, joy, loyalty

“He was very mysterious and the people of Blackmoor were afraid of him because he knew all these scientific things. No one knows much about him, though.”

Albert's coat of arms says "TIMENDI CAUSA EST NESCIRE" which translates to "ignorance is the cause of fear".

Edmund (1447 – 1499)

Book (open); Manifestation, knowledge

Blue; Truth, loyalty

Green; Hope, joy, loyalty

“He was into cows. He did a lot of breeding of cows and sheep and got some kind of award from the King.”

Edmund's coat of arms says "UT SEMENTUM FECERIS ITA METES" which translates to "As you sow, so shall you reap".

Charles (1478 – 1553)

Hawk (Falcon): One who does not rest until objective achieved, purpose, goal-oriented

Red; Military might, warrior

Blue; Truth, loyalty

"Ooh, ooh - Charles was a very famous judge and wrote very important books on law. But his boy, Garrett, drowned when he was really young.”

Charles's coat of arms says "MINIMA MAXIMA SUNT" which translates to "The smallest things are the most important".

Thomas (1526 – 1584)

Rainbow; Good times after bad

Moon; Serene power over the mundane

Sun; Creativity and enlightenment

Blue; Truth, loyalty

“He was Charles's grandson and wrote a lot of poetry. He also had 3 wives: Catherine, Anne, and Mary. But not like at the same time. They died and he just remarried.”

Thomas's coat of arms says "AGE PRO VIRIBUS" which translates to "in all that you do, do your best".

James (1560 – 1650)

Eagle (2 heads); Joining 2 strong forces

Purple; Nobility and justice

Green; Hope, joy, loyalty

T is presumably for Thomas, no heraldic meaning

“He never married but one day, when he was very old, a baby was found on the doorstep to the manor. He took her in and raised her as his own. That was Elinor.”

James's coat of arms says "ARS LONGA" which translates to "art lives long" (from the phrase, ars longa vita brevis - art is long, life is short).

Elinor (1626 – 1650)

Maltese cross; Blessings, protection

Red; Military might, warrior

Green; Hope, joy, loyalty

Blue; Truth, loyalty

Purple; Nobility and justice

“Just that she was burned as a witch but it wasn't true and her father, James, died when he saw her die and then the family fled to France. I don't want to talk about this.”

Elinor's coat of arms says "AUDACES FORTUNA IUVAT" which translates to "fortune favors the bold".

Corbin (1670 – 1741)

Lion rampant; Courage, integrity, strength

Red; Military might, warrior

Purple; Nobility and justice

“Uh…I dunno. He doesn't have a coat of arms in the Great Hall because he didn't live here; wasn't even a British subject. That's all I know.”

Corbin's coat of arms says "NUNQUAM DEDISCEO" which translates to "never forget".

This shield is notably absent from the great hall, and also is the only one to feature decoration on the outside of the shield.

Sun; Fountain of life, intelligence, innovation, creativity, enlightenment

Wheat; Faithful

Vines/Ivy; Strong and lasting friendship, academia

Philippe (1689 – 1777)

“He made a fortune in the New World and bought back most of the lands that were confiscated by Cromwell.”

Philippe's coat of arms says "NOVUS MUNDUS" which translates to "a new world".

Penelope (1714 – 1783)

Fleur de Lis; Symbol of France

Purple; Nobility and justice

Blue; Truth, loyalty

“I don't know very much about her, except that she was very loved by practically everyone in England, and there were a million poems written about her.”

“Those are mainly Penelope Penvellyn's collections of French novels. She was a patron to a raft of artists, and her salon was quite popular. She was quite the libertine, even kept her maiden name after her marriage.”

Penelope's coat of arms says "PULCHRITUDO IN OMNIA" which translates to "there is beauty in all things".

Martha (1739 – 1791)

Pegasus; Poetic genius and inspiration

Fleur de lis; Symbol of France

Lion rampant; Courage and integrity

Wheel; fortune, cycle of life

Purple; Nobility and justice

Red; Military might, warrior

“She was completely daft - she'd wear really bizarre outfits and she was one of the first women to ride on a steam train.” (This is particularly impressive as the steam train did not exist until 10 years after her death. Oops!)

Martha's coat of arms says "SINE SCIENTIA ARS NIHIL EST" which translates to "without understanding, art is nothing".

Brigitte (1759 – 1833)

Unicorn; Extreme courage, virtue, strength.

Teardrop symbolism; “One who has endured torrents” gold means generosity or elevation of the mind.

The gear and atom are not traditional heraldic symbols but can represent progress and science.

Red; Military might, warrior

Green; Hope, joy, loyalty

Blue; Truth, loyalty

Purple; Nobility and justice

“She never married and was bonkers for astronomy; she adopted her sister's son, Richard, who later got killed at Waterloo."

Brigitte's coat of arms says "LUDI SINE GAUDIO LUDI NON SUNT" which translates to "sport without fun is not sport."

"Brigitte with her eyes so bright, looks toward heaven at midnight on the longest night of year, that's the one she holds most dear. 'Starry friends,' she's often heard to say, 'how I wish that I could make you stay.' She knows though they can't remain, time will bring them 'round again."

Only shield to have white decorations on the colored background

Star; Divine quality from above

Dove; Loving constancy and peace

Compass; Direction

Purple; Nobility and justice

Richard (1787 – 1815)

“He died in Waterloo fighting against Napoleon.”

Richard's coat of arms says "SI SIC OMNES" which translates to "if only this could last forever".

Edward (1809 – 1904)

Banner down center shield (the Pale); Military or defensive strength

Star; Divine quality from above. The specific star (nautical star) is not traditional heraldry but symbolizes finding way home.

Red; Military might, warrior

Green; Hope, joy, loyalty

Purple; Nobility and justice

“He was a big explorer and went all over the world. He wasn't very close with his son, who was also an explorer. They'd only see each other by chance in weird remote places like Samarkand or Walla Walla.”

Edward's coat of arms says "BIS VIVAT QUI BON VIVAT" which translates to "Whoever lives well lives twice".

Knight (especially on horseback); The soul guiding the body; man’s journey through life

Lightning Bolt: Swiftness and power; spiritual enlightenment.

Unicorn; Extreme courage, virtue, strength.

I dont know what the warrior with the spear and sword means

Scepter; Emblem of Justice

Green; Hope, joy, loyalty

Blue; Truth, loyalty

William (1833 – 1901)

“He was an explorer, just like his father. He was kind of a whiner, so I heard.”

William's coat of arms says "DIES PERDIDI" which translates to "another day wasted".

John (1873 – 1954)

Bend Sinister (the band across the shield); Sometimes used to indicate illegitimacy. If that is the meaning here that would be very interesting and explain why he wasnt close with his father

Red; Military might, warrior

Green; Hope, joy, loyalty

“He was this huge naturalist and did a lot of exploration in the Amazon. I think there's a plant named after him. Or maybe a monkey; I forget.”

John's coat of arms says "PER AURES AD ANIMUM" which translates to "through the ears to the spirit".

Malachi (1894 – 1972)

Parrot and mouth not traditional symbols but probably represent interest in wildlife and linguistics.

Green; Hope, joy, loyalty

Blue; Truth, loyalty

“He was a doctor of medicine and did a lot of research on icky skin diseases.”

Malachi's coat of arms says "NUMEN LUMEN" which translates to "divine light is my guide".

Alan (1923 – 1993)

Sun; Fountain of life, intelligence, innovation, creativity, enlightenment

Purple; Nobility and justice

“He was my grandfather but I didn't know him because he died when I was little. I guess he was nice.”

Alan's coat of arms says "PURGAMENTUM EXIT" which translates to "garbage out" (referencing part of a programmers' saying "garbage in, garbage out").

Serpent; Wisdom

Red; Military might, warrior

[littlebabyyd0ll]

THE LION AND THE LAMB, PART ONE

Forced to leave your home land for the hand of the man your sister had previously been wed to, you find yourself travelling from heaven to hell. Fallen angels couldn’t really be beautiful, could they?

warnings: reader is barb’s sister, explicit themes of death, gothic genre, vampirism, arranged marriages. r’s father physically and mentally abuses her. slight NSWF themes within. you are responsible for your own media consumption.

kinktober day one my angels!!! enjoy!! 18+ only.

main masterlist ! series masterlist ! kinktober 2023

Unbound cobblestone lurches the carriage side to side once more, like an abandoned ship far out at sea, taken captive by the powerful hold of Poseidon. It wasn’t much long ago that you were sea sick from the choppy waves, accompanied by your father and his men on your travels from the bright light of your home, to the drizzling haze that was cast over the country of Hawkins. Oh, how it lived up to its reputation. Hawkins was a dark and dreary place, constantly overcast and damp with the rain that fell upon stone homes and muddied roads. The people of the country watched your bright golden carriage with an unsettling known certainty, a grimace which they all shared under the rule of their king. Draped in their dreary colours of grey and stained white, as though all colours were banned from the land. It haunts you, the undead look in their eyes as you clutch at the windowsill whilst rolling past. 

These were to be your people, your devout servants of the kingdom. 

No life shimmered in their eyes. No hands raised in warm welcomes and waves of the sight of their new queen-to-be. The people of Hawkins were used to this parade, used to the shining golden riches come from afar, accustomed with the cycle that would meet their new queen. For it happened on repeat, to every suitor that King Edward was engaged to marry. You knew, too. For it had been your sister, only months ago. 

Forcing your eyes away from the rain sodden faces of the kingdom’s people, you turned back to the other lively body in the carriage. Your father, crown tall and proper upon his head, paid no attention to the villagers as you rolled on past. His sharp gaze was unwavering on the scroll in front of him, the one composed by the King of Hawkins himself. A proposal of marriage to the King, your father, for the hand of his second eldest child, the last daughter in the line of succession. You. 

Of course, despite what happened with Barbara, your elder sister who was sent mere months ago to be wed to King Edmund, your father had been delighted by the offer, and had readied your things to leave within the hour. You had faced treacherous oceans and sinking roads to get here. All signs to turn back, to rid yourself of this fate, to run and never return. And, yet, here you sat, dress full and far too outlandish for the style of the people here. The sweetheart neckline of your glimmering, ballet-slipper pink dress seems foolish for the weather, as do the puffed sleeves that fall upon your shoulder. The corset is tight and restricting, but the ribbons that cinch the back of the gown are simply delightful and princesslike. You stand out like a sore thumb in a land like this. 

Nerves prickle under your bare skin, and suddenly your tiara weighs heavy. You see the way that your father eyeballs the number of riches that King Edward has offered for your hand and have to force yourself not to sneer at the all too familiar look. The same look that he got when King Edward had written for Barbara’s hand. As your time as princess you have come to learn many things, but one in particular. 

Men will do anything for power, glory and riches. 

“Must you go through with it, father?” Your voice is softer than intended, has none of the strength and authority that your mother once had. You had hoped to plea with him, to present a case like the sinners in court, though you truly were an innocent in all of this. 

There’s barely even a look of recognition as your father’s dull tone fills the emptiness of the rumbling carriage. “The relationship of two kingdoms is not something I am willing to endanger for your personal happiness, daughter. You will fulfil your duty as your mother did, as did your sister.”

“And look what happened to them both.” You interfere, small hands bunching at the tulle of your dress, one of the most expensive in your collection. Only the best to impress your husband-to-be. “They are dead, father. Cold as stone and buried six feet under. Are you not convinced that the same awaits me? Awaits any girl that is forced into the clutches of a powerful man?” There it is; the passion, the fire, the dare. It's the very thing that makes your father’s nostrils flare and has his hand swinging towards you. His jewelled, golden ring pierces the delicate skin upon your pigmented lips and has your face barrelling towards the small window. 

Your surprised gasp is overthrown by his tone. “It is that very attitude that surely killed them both. You will do well to remember your place in this world. You are nothing but a pawn. You are a peace treaty between lands. If your blood is the one that is spilled, so be it. My sons are becoming great men, and they are to be my legacy.” He leans forward, glaring into your tear sodden eyes. He traces the stains that run down your cheeks, sadistic pride fills his bones. He is no more family to you than King Edward. You may share blood, but he is no father of yours. “Nobody will remember the losses of a few princesses. King Edward has ruled for a glorious lifetime. You are not his first wife, and you will surely not be his last.” The words sting at your heart, to know that he is willing to bury you under a gravestone for gold, for numbers on parchment. “That is your fate, daughter. Loathe it, spite it, I do not care. But you will obey it.”

Of course you would. That was your duty. But the truth bares no kindness, no comfort in the depths of its sadness. You force your gaze away, force yourself to stop the rapid rise and fall of your chest, and dab the wound upon your lip with the handkerchief halfheartedly thrown at your lap. Your glossy eyes watch as the bumpy hill rises, and the stone walls come into view. The castle is magnificent, tall spires piercing the swirling skies and mighty defences standing proud as protection, though no one has dared to invade Hawkins in almost two hundred years. The thought had your stomach churning. Gossip of King Edward told a thousand different stories, some say that he is hypnotically handsome. Some say that wives fall dead because they grow jealous of his untimely beauty, one that they could never parallel. Others say that they drop dead at the sight of him, for he is so old that they would rather die than bed him. No one could tell you the age of the king, even when you had offered a satchel of gold. 

Once more, all good fates called out to you, begged at you not to exit the carriage and not to follow the path to the chain strung doors. And yet, a part of your soul yearned for the dark wood cast in iron. You ached to find out if the rumours were true, ached to be wed, ached to live as queen, as you had dreamed as a little girl. Subconsciously, as your father’s men knock repeatedly at the wood door, you raise your hand to the dried blood upon your lip, camouflaged with freshly applied rouge. In the depths of your heart, you hoped your fiancè to be a kind man, a man that did not strike, a man that gave you the best in life, a man that adored you. All you had was hope. 

A great groan comes from the pushing of the heavy doors. King Edward’s men appear either side of the growing gap, heaving with all their might to open the doors. The inside is dark, much darker than the outside of the castle, only the flickering flames of tall candles are enough to lighten the walkway. The carriage is opened for you, yet you await your turn. Of course, your father barges past you and steps on the once pristine fabric of your dress. A muddied footprint stains it now, and reflects the notion that your father will always be one step higher, one step in front, and he can easily kick you back down again. With a shaky breath your hands raise up, adjust the tiara that sits heavy upon your head, and you force yourself to take the hand of the footman awaiting outside of the carriage. 

Drizzling rain falls onto the sapphires of your crown, the very same shade as your father’s surcoat. He talks as though he is the most important man amongst them, his words directed to a very uninterested looking Viceroy. He’s tall, unusually tanned for the people of Hawkins and the constant coverage of clouds. He’s also rugged, knightly looking, with mid length  hazel tassels of hair falling at the back of his neck. The King’s second in command bears scars upon his forehead and upon his cheek, and yet the most noticeable thing about him was how simply bored he looked to be listening to your father. And then, he catches sight of you. 

Timid little you whose dress is stained at the bottom from the mud on the ground. Timid little you that looks up at the magnificent castle with saucers for eyes. Timid little you who bares her neck and chest, all dressed up to appease her future husband. Timid little you, who is absolutely perfect for his King. 

“Princess.” The man calls, voice smooth as he side steps around your father, who does not seem best pleased to be interrupted. You, on the other hand, seem startled to even be addressed. You stand a little straighter, as though all the lady-like lessons that our maid had taught you growing up all came rushing back to the forefront of your mind at once. The Viceroy walks towards you with ease, his outfit a deep murky brown, adorned with the glimmering of shining golden buckles. They each hold the crest of King Edward’s court. He bends at the waist at the same time that you curtsy in greeting, bowing your head and begging that the tiara does not fall off. The chestnut haired man stands tall once more, one arm over his chest, the other proper behind his back. “My name is Steven, your majesty. Sir Steven, and I wish to make your stay here as pleasant as possible. It shall be my name you call if you ever face any difficulty. The king wishes you to have an exquisite time.” 

Sir Steven’s smile is enough to have you enchanted. It distracts you from the meaning behind his words: stay, time. As though none of this is permanent. He smiles at the mere sight of you, pretty in pink and so juxtaposing from the environment around you. The only other signs of colour come from the members of your court, your father, your ladies stepping out from the carriage behind your own. So much alike many of the brides that have come before you. Steven outstretches a white gloved hand towards you, beckoning you to walk alongside him. As you walk, you cannot help your full of life eyes to cast one more glance down the slopes if the mountainous hill that the castle sits upon, and down onto the villages below. You almost feel that if you squint hard enough, you can see where life meets death at the horizon. 

The halls of Munson Castle are dim and dark. The only sounds available in the dinginess are those of your ladies’ shoes upon the wooden floor behind you and the flickering of flames from the torches mounted to the walls. It seemed as though every magnificent window was guarded closed by large drapes of fabric curtains. No sunlight entered the halls, and the flames were just about strong enough to illuminate the paintings upon the walls. Great murals of battles from hundreds of years ago, some even considered myths, aligned the walls. Victors and losers alike, some of your ancestors were pictured in the paintings. Hundreds of years on, you wonder if your marriage to Edward would disappoint them, for he too was an ancestor of many people in the paintings. Thousands of years ago, your two kingdoms had been at war. No more, not with a marriage that came long ago, yet another wife that had died the night of their wedding. 

The thought propels you into memories of Barbara. This place was going to be her home, her beginning, her kingdom to rule as queen. Your heart rate spikes at the thought of how she would react, to your stealing of her husband. Would she get angry? Would she warn you of what had happened to her? She may even haunt these halls, dead in her pristine white wedding dress. For the Kingdoms of the Old, this was an extremely uncommon practice that only King Edward insisted upon. Usually brides-to-be were coated head to toe in gold, silver, bright colours of riches enough to show off the status of the family. King Edward only ever dressed his brides in plain white dresses, the only sign of riches coming from the measly tiara he would have them wear. A flimsy, silver thing with absolutely no jewels whatsoever. At least, that's what the servant’s gossip had said. None of your family had attended Barbara’s wedding, far too at a loss with the death of your mother. Your father had shipped her away without as much as a goodbye. At the very least, you still had his presence. There was always something to be thankful for. 

Your hand still laid delicately upon Sir Steven’s palm as he walked you through the halls. 

“King Edward wishes to convey his deepest apologies for not being able to meet his bride-to-be, princess.” Spoke Steven, motioning for guards to open up another set of large and heavy doors. This one led directly into the throneroom, large enough to host magnificent balls and could just about fit the whole population of Hawkins inside. “You see, His Majesty deals with the court in the daytime, he spends his hours locked up inside of the Place of Arms. He holds his meetings there, you see, and that is your King’s only rule.” Steven suddenly drops your hand, his face deadly serious. You're sure that the expression on your face reflects the swirling inside of your stomach. “King Edward is a kind King and an even kinder husband. He only forbids you from ever entering the Place of Arms during the day.” Slowly, you nod in acceptance of Steven’s words, of your future husband’s wishes. Is that who he is to be? A man you never see in the day, a man who only ever wishes to bed you at night, who does not care for what you preoccupy your time with? “It is imperative that you understand, princess. There is no entrance to the Place of Arms. Never within daylight hours. What goes on behind those doors are for the King’s knowledge only.” 

It’s nothing more than a whisper, your voice. A gentle, “I understand.” And a subservient bow of your head. Just as you had been taught, you are appeasing your husband before having even met him. 

But it is this very moment that Steven takes notice of the state of your bottom lip. His voice gently beckons you upward, encouraging you to look him in the eyes. He does not meet yours, however, chocolate irises far too entranced at the dried blood. “How did this come to be?”

The gentleness surprises you, and in a fleeting heartbeat, a moment of misjudgement, your eyes betray you. They fly towards your father’s figure, watching as he scrutinises the two thrones upon the raised flooring of the great hall. Though they are far more magnificent than those of your home, the ones that your brothers will surely kill each other to sit upon, he stares at them as though they are nothing but a spec of dust, floating through the air. 

Steven notices immediately. “I will have word sent to the King.”

“No.” You instantly reply, eyes growing wide at the brashness of your tone. You sputter, “Forgive me. I-I just mean that it is nothing worth consulting his majesty over.” Your eyes tell a thousand stories, rhymes and riddles of all the times you have had to cover up injuries before. “Please.”

“He will find out, princess. Either through me, or the gossip of the servants.” Steven is sincere in his words, only looking you in the eye. “Let me soften the blow. He won't be best pleased, your grace.” 

Something aches within you. Had he taken a keen interest in Barbara like this? Does he pretend to care for all of his wives before they are cursed with untimely deaths? You wish not to know, face pale and hands shaking. 

“Would you be kind enough to take my daughter to her quarters, Sir Simon? She ought to ready herself for the ball tonight.” Your father approaches with his loud voice and his even louder footsteps. You are quite sure that if it were practical enough, he would have shoes of gold. “A perfect bride takes hours to perfect her beauty for her husband.” slowly, he takes a stand of your hair and curls it around his finger. An act which would seem harmless for some, yet you know its true meaning; a warning. Do not disappoint him. 

In your mind, the idea of your father’s obnoxiousness makes Steven more likely to tell the King that he had been the one to strike you. Perhaps that is what possesses you to speak so harshly. “His name is Sir Steven, father. You will do well to remember it.” 

Regret will surely come soon enough. But for now, you allow Sir Steven to escort you out of the ballroom, and all the way to the east wing, to your new quarters. 

Everything is ready for your arrival. The room is simply divine, despite its darkness. The sun is soon to set, so you believe. Everything is magnificent, the four poster bed, the mirror tall enough to be a giant, a great vanity and even soft, plush chairs for your relaxation. You gaze at it with fearsome admiration, a look that your ladies lining the walls have never seen before. Steven watches you with a growing sadness from the doorway. For you hold the same look in your eye that your sister had before you. And he knows that you too should await the same fate. But for now, he lets your girlhood run wild, and allows you to bask in all things prenuptial. 

“I will be back to escort you to the ball, your majesty.” He turns to the girls that watch you adoringly. “Ladies, this could be the most important eve of her life.” He turns back to you with a smile. “Make her feel like the fairest of all.”

And he disappears, closing the door with an unknown swiftness. It takes a mere moment before the act of your ladies drops, and they too fawn over all that is around you. You each squeal and laugh, completely enamoured by the riches and the newness of it all. Ladies Nancy, Robin and Erica gush over the luck you are presented with, and they tell you that you are destined to be the one true love of King Edward, that this marriage will be different to all those before. They speak whilst undressing you and leading you through a little side door into a spacious room, one with a sparkling golden bathtub at its centre. 

For the hours that follow, you are simply girls. The best of friends, readying one for a night of parties and celebration. New beginnings lay ahead of you, and yet they look at you the same way that they always have. With love, the same way that you used to look at Barbara. They tell you the quickly acquired gossip as they scrub underneath your nails and rake their fingers through your hair. 

“The King’s maid said that he is of fine beauty.” Nancy giggles, lightly fingering at one of the crimson rose petals that float on the surface of the water. Her sapphire coloured sleeves are rolled up as she leans over the tub, head resting against her arm. “And he is most kind, treats his people with only the best.”

“Am I the only one who saw the villagers as we rode in?” You murmured, watching robin as she fiddled with your fingernails. “They seemed so… lifeless. They bore no excitement to have a new queen. Everything here, it’s so different.” The words fall slowly and riddled with anxiety, and your ladies share a knowing look. “I wonder if she felt the same, coming here. If she were as scared as I.” 

“There can be no man worse to wed than your father, princess.” Erica speaks from behind you, gathering water to push away the soap in your hair. “The king, though his lovelife has been misfortunate, appears to be a good man. He has restored peace, it has been years since the last war broke out. The maids say that he is compelling.” You sigh quietly. “You cannot allow yourself to live in fear of what you do not know. The future is exciting. You ought to breathe, and forget about everything. Tonight, you are nought but a princess, a fiancé, about to meet her husband-to-be.” You can hear the way that she smiles through her words. “And we promise to make you look so saccharine that you take his breath away.”

They do. They always do. You almost can’t believe yourself as you look upon the mirror. The dress that had been brought up to your room was a deep blue, the blue of your court. Its neckline delved into your chest and dropped into ruffles of timeless lace that led straight to your waist, cinched by the strength of three girls and a corset. It fell all the way to your toes, where you had grown a few inches from the heeled shoes presented to you. As before, a mighty tiara sits pretty upon your hairline, glimmering in the candlelight. The ladies had pushed half of your hair up and styled the rest to cascade down your delicate shoulders. Nancy had insisted upon your collarbone being visible, insinuating that the show of skin would have your betrothed hardly able to control himself.

You weren't so sure that you liked the sound of that. 

“He will not be able to breathe when he gazes upon you.” Robin gushes, lightly adjusting the pearl necklace upon your neck, right over your pulse point. “He will wish to move the engagement from a week long to no more than a day.”

You roll your eyes. 

“It is true!” Nancy murmurs from behind you, her dainty hands laying delicate little forget-me-nots, the flower of your kingdom, into the flowing locks of your hair. Thank heavens that they had thought to preserve and bring the flowers, for the land of hawkins was half dead, You haven't seen much more than overgrown shrubbery on the way here.  “We have truly outdone ourselves, though it helps to have such an exquisite canvas.” 

“You ladies are really working hard to ensure I have you in my favour.” You laugh, adjusting the tiara in the mirror. Your ladies had also changed into their ball gowns, though nowhere near as regal and outlandish as your own. “Once I am wed I assure you that finding you the most perfect Lords will be at the top of my list of priorities.” 

If I live past the wedding night, you think, but do not speak. There is no purpose in killing their uplifted spirits. 

“Tonight is about you. Do not fret upon us.” Erica grins, shooing away Nancy and Robin, helping you down from the pedestal in front of the mirror in your larger-than-life room. Her hands are warm against your skin, despite the ever growing chill of the castle. You grip onto her for life, holding on to something so valuable, something of home. Erica turns you slightly, giving one last adjustment as Nancy and Robin both come to stand by her sides. They each hold a matching grin, watching you with a lifelong earnestness. “Our princess.”

“Your future Queen.” Comes another tone, much deeper than possible of the three girls that stood in the room with you. You each turn to the now somewhat familiar man, Sir Steven, as he lingers upon the doorway. He still bears the dull brown colour, though now his uniform is much more exquisite. His tunic is stark blue, matching the colours of your Kingdom. He also wears brown and red on his overcoats, the colours of his kingdom. It is a peaceful statement, the joining of two kingdoms. 

You wonder if he wore that to Barbara’s engagement ball. 

Steven looks at you with his big brown eyes, taking in the sight before him. Even you have to admit, you feel like a glowing star. “You look divine.” He murmurs, lifting his arm and outstretching it towards you. Your dainty hand falls into the crook of his elbow effortlessly. “The king shall admire your vision for years to come.” 

And it suddenly hits you. Tonight is about you, this is all for you. You and your future husband, who you will meet in mere moments. He is mere rooms away as Steven escorts you towards the throne room, and you suddenly realise that these could be your last living moments. If the rumours about King Edward are true, this could truly be your last eve alive. You could fall dead at the very sight of him. Perhaps he is a terribly old man who wants nothing more than for you to bed him and give him heirs. A pretty plaything. A pawn to another man’s game. 

You shudder a breath, one that has your chest pushing harshly into the unforgiving corset. There’s a burst of light in the depths of the dark hallways. It comes from the cracks in the ajar door of the trone room. There is a faint tune of music, great orchestral music alike. Your footsteps sound faintly as you grow closer, no match for the chatter and music and dancing. Steven can feel the sudden sharpness of your nails through his overcoat, and murmurs lowly. “Relax. You will be perfect.” 

You wish you could. 

But the nerves do not die as you stand with Steven in front of the great double doors. Your heart pounds wildly as the herald by the door announces your name in a great bellowing shout. You tense as the double doors begin to widen, and the light becomes ten times more eminent. Steven drops his arm, and your weak arm falls limp at your side. The dancing and chattering has stopped, and the music has become mellow, gentle to welcome you into the room of your new kingdom. The first thing you can see is the bright glowing lights, candles everywhere, and suddenly the room is anew. There is no darkness, no shadows creeping down your spine. The room is alive. As are the faces that stare back at you, so many Lords and Ladies, perhaps even royalty of different kingdoms. It is easy to spot who is of Hawkins, their red emblems pinned neatly to the breasts of both tunics and dresses. They part like waves of the sea, and the aura inside the room bides you in without thought. Some greater nature pulls you in, tugs you by force, and has your feet moving one step after the other into the middle of the room. 

You stop in the middle of the ballroom, beneath a magnificent golden chandelier. The gold flickers and shimmers with the flames around it, like stars overhead. You hope that all good fates and gods are watching you now, and will bless your soul. For right now, you feel like a fox against a pack of archers. Every person in the room stares at you, at only you, and yet they do not whisper a word. You turn, spinning on the spot, trying to identify someone, anyone. To find some familiarity amongst strangers. It does not come, the sense of relief that you so desperately sought. Instead, as you stop turning, a group of people in front of you begin to move, parting once more from one another. And then, the music begins to pick up, something deep and meaningful, a tune of the kingdom. Your eyes do not part with the scene in front of you, and still no pair of eyes stray from your figure. Scared. Alone. Until you see.

Black polished shoes graze against the wooden floor. They dazzle in the light, leading to an obsidian pair of breeches, belt loops adorned with hanging golden chains. A flowing material flutters behind the figure lightly, connected to his shoulders, hung by a golden chain to his frilled tunic. The sleeves of his shirt are long, yet his arms are defined enough to be conveyed. The figure that your eyes rake up is tall, taller than any man you have ever known. Your heartbeat impossibly quickens as your eyes meet raven curls, twisting up towards the most handsome face you possibly had ever seen. Sharp jaw and cheeks, dark features enhanced by his pale skin. King Edward looks celestial in all of his grace. He stops a foot or two in front of you lightly trembling form, and he’s so tall. Not lanky, built enough to convey his strength and he fills out his clothes. But that is not what captures your attention most, no, your future husband’s eyes are something of a fairytale. He stares at you softly, despite the sharpness of his eyes. They're brown, yet so much deeper and darker than Sir Steven’s. You swear that something swirls within the depths of those irises, and you are sure not to be mistaken when there is a flicker of gold and blood red, at the closest points to his pupils. 

The King is magnificent. 

Suddenly you feel as though you might fall to the wife’s curse, for his looks and beauty are far  too fine to be of this world. 

He could be an angel, or he could be the devil. His motivations seem unclear, for if he were just marrying for the nations, he would never stare at you the way that he does in that moment. King Edward looks at you as though you are the rarest jewel in the land, something to be cherished for millenia to come. He looks at you how the most adoring, caring husband would to his dearly beloved wife. It burns your chest. What is all this for? Is he merely just a shining actor, ready to do what he will to get you into bed?

But the King does not speak, he only moves. His eyes remain the same as he slowly circles around you, soft, gentle, yet observant. He is vetting you, ensuring that you would be the perfect wife, the perfect woman. You can remember the way that the maids in the castle back home had gripped at your hips and told you how a king would adore them, what they could do, what they could create. They saw you as a baby making machine. It’s not the same now, for you can feel the icy cold tingle left in the wake of King Edward’s stare. He observes your hair, fingertips grazing the ends lightly before he plucks one of the clusters of forget-me-nots out, and pockets it next to his neck tie. Blood red and sapphire blue. His eyes continue around you and his hand falls back to your hair, slowly pushing it away from your shoulder and neck as he comes back towards your line of vision. He seems to take in the sight of your pearl necklace, and Nancy was right, for you swear that his eyes darken at the sight. You flush at the realisation; The King wants you. He finds you more than pleasing, and you seem to have passed his evaluations. Relief floods you – the poorly hidden cut upon your bottom lip had not deterred him.

You feel tiny under his gaze. You can barely breathe, and you feel as though your heart is trying to escape from your chest. It would be impossible to match him, to be acquainted with his wealth, his power. You would surely forever be known as the princess who did not deserve such a man. 

And yet, King Edward falls down to one knee. He lowers himself, far lower than you. At first, you believe him to be bowing. But the reality is far different. The King produces a golden ring, a deep, dark ruby red jewel encrusted with a halo of darling diamonds. It sits proudly between his own ringed fingers, presented to you, and is probably worth more than anything you have ever owned. Across the room, you can practically hear your father encouraging you to take the ring, to take the King as your husband. 

“Princess,” his voice is so unlike anything you have ever heard before. So rich and smooth, yet intoxicating and deep He speaks as a King, with power and authority. His voice can be heard over the orchestral music, he is so respected. So adored. “I present you with this ring as a symbol of our unity. Of two kingdoms. Take this ring, and I will give you anything you could ever ask for, anything your heart could ever desire. Swear yourself to me, as my wife, as my Queen, and you shall have eternal glory.”

You raise a trembling hand towards him. Words cannot convey the sudden compelling that you have, the need to take his hand, to fulfil what he has promised for you. You feel air-light as you speak almost breathlessly, “I swear myself to you, King Edward.” 

The pressure of your corset seems to have faded. You can breathe freely as soon as the ring slips onto your finger. His hand is cold as he reaches for your finger, chilled as the winter’s snow. You jolt, though do your best to contain it as your skin makes contact with his own. You’ve surely never felt something so cold before, and yet never felt so warm. Heat and bliss dance around you as the ring slips over your knuckle, and falls perfectly into place against your skin. 

You admire the jewel for a moment, take in the fact that it now resides there, upon your very own finger. You take in the fact that King Edward had not seen you and rejected you in a moment, instead fallen to his knee and presented you with a glistening ring. Your heart soars, and your eyes travel to meet his. Those around you have began to dance once more, shouting their cheers for their king. You are certain that you heard Robin’s squeal in there somewhere. He watches you intently, as though a creature so beautiful had never existed before. He seems mystified, perhaps even as much so as you are. The King looks at you as though there is a halo upon the crown of your head, and God had delivered you here on a silver platter himself. 

Edward raises your entwined hands, presses his cool lips against your knuckles, and drags you further under his spell. You spin and spin, until you realise that it isn’t only in your head, and the two of you are dancing, hand in hand, his other at the curve of your waist. You can feel the way that his thumb glides over the fabric of your dress, the subtle admiring of such fine clothing. King Edward is a force that hits you like a storm.

“You are a rarity.” He murmurs to you, eyes flickering golden. His lips entrance you as they move, something so compelling yet familiar to you. Did those lips ever meet Barbara’s? How many of his past wives has he held this way, presented such fine jewellery to? King Edward has ruled for a glorious lifetime. You are not his first wife, and you will surely not be his last. It is as though he can detect a disturbance within your aura, the King moves to pull you closer. Your breath hitches as you feel the solid wall of his chest, the brushing of his thigh against your dress. “A fine jewel, something men like I could only ever dream of.” The forget-me-not in his necktie sways with the movement of his dancing. His voice lulls you, but his hands have you more alive than ever before. “The stars are shining down upon me tonight. Being King has brought me many fortunes, but you, my heart, are the most supreme of them all.”

You can almost hear your maids back home, telling you what to say, how to bat your eyes, how to smile. Yet it almost comes on unconsciously as you speak to your newly betrothed. “I wish nothing more than to prove myself to you, my King. I will serve you well as your Queen. Forever, I am indebted to you.” 

There is an incessant presence between the two of you, something that shifts in the air and pushes the blood through your veins. Though you have never felt it before in your life, you know what it is – arousal. Something you only learned of after one of Barbara’s ladies was caught in the stable with a young knight, and Robin spent the eve explaining the ways that people come together to procreate. You wonder how soon after the marriage King Edward will want to consummate. It is a clear thought in his own mind, for he looks at you as though you are the most divine meal, served on a silver platter. 

“I am the luckiest man in the whole kingdom.” He murmurs, eyes flickering from your neck to your eyes. “Sir Steven often overexaggerates, but he did not lie when it comes to your gentle beauty and charm. You are the finest bride-to-be.”

And, suddenly, something stirs within you. His words push you head first out of the trance he had gently swayed you into, and now you remember the absurdity of it all. The fact that Barbara was here, in your place, and now dead. The burn of arousal turns to a burn of fire, churning deep within you. You blaze. 

“Finer than my own sister?” You do not allow yourself to physically sneer, not in front of all these people, but your tone is enough for the King. He watches as you lean yourself away from him. “Or even the wife before? Will you say the same to one of my nieces, when they turn of age?”

But Edward does not falter. He does not grow angry, he does not shout, he does not strike. His eyes remain that same calm and cool. Golden, brown. His gentleness is suffocating. “I understand how–”

“The girl forgets herself.” A drunken tone interrupts. One you are all too familiar with, one that you avoid with great caution. Your dance with King Edward falls apart as you both turn to the stumbling figure of your father, who just happened to be passing as you spoke out of tone. A goblet is gripped tightly between his fingers. He drinks enough for half of the ballroom. Your father sneers openly at you, raising the goblet. “Nothing a simple drubbing won’t fix. She will take it, your highness, she will grow to understand her place.” Your father grumbles, swigging his mead. “Just as her mother did.”

The king straightens beside you. 

You can feel his energy change at the mention of harming you, the idea that he should be the one to set you right with a physical hand. The King towers over both you and your father, and in the short time that you have known him, you are determined in your knowledge that he has far more power and authority than your father. 

“I hope you make jest,” the raven haired man speaks your father’s name lowly. Said man lowers his chalice, waveringly glancing between you and Edward. “The princess knows her place…” King Edward steps forwards, his dominance unmistakeable. Your father gulps. “She is the future Queen of the most powerful kingdom in this corner of the globe. She is my bride-to-be. I had hoped that my loyal servants had lied about the cut upon her saccharine lips. Perhaps, you forgot your own place? I would loathe to have to prosecute you ‘pon means to harm the future Queen.”

Your heart soars. Your lip stings dully. Your eyes are glassy and the shape of hearts, because nobody has ever, ever stood up for you like that. It is clear to you now - Edward is a fierce lover, and a loyal man. He works to protect you, protect his kingdom. You ache for the harsh words that you had previously spoken, how you had intended to harm his feelings. Here he is, protecting you from the torture of your own flesh and blood. Forget the rumours, the curses. In front of you is a human man protecting his newfound love. Perhaps you are different to all of his past queens, for you are sure that he cannot fall this quickly each time, cannot care so. 

Your heart begins to beat for the King of Hawkins. 

Your father breaks the stare between them first. He is no match for the pale, tall and built figure in front of him. Not to mention the sword-clad guards lined up against each wall of the ballroom. Sir Steven has drawn closer at the scene, his fingers grazing the metal of the hilt of his sword. His eyes are dangerous and dark, watching intently as your father begins to stumble backwards, his aged brows pulled together. 

Edward watches him go with a blank stare, yet still so intimidating. Most of the crowd around you are still dancing their hearts out, feet uncontrollably moving. As though they are destined to never stop, not unless their King tells them to. Perhaps it is not you that is a pawn, but them. 

A cold, gentle hand falls at your elbow, gripping lightly. Your eyes reach those of King Edward’s, but they are suddenly unfamiliar. There is no gold, no hint of red. They are almost obsidian black, the same tone as his curly hair. You can feel the invisible string pulling your brows together as you take in the sight, dainty hand moving up towards his face. The warmth of your skin caresses his cheek, thumb ghosting across the skin under his eye. 

“Your eyes…” you murmur, wracking your brain for a logical answer. “They have changed.” 

“They have not been the same since I set my sights on you, princess.” The King’s free hand meets yours, sandwiching you between his cool skin. “They will never be the same again.” 

You believe him wholeheartedly. You can see the meaning of his words within his eyes, and your heart bleeds for him. In fact, you are sure that you have already passed over your heart to him, pushed your hand inside your chest and dug around until you reached the beating organ, your vessel of life, and handed it over to him. 

The feeling lingers, once more underneath the spell of King Edward, throughout the eve. You are enamoured by him as he walks you through the throne room, introducing you to the strange people of Hawkins. Some of them look at you as though you are a piece of meat, and you are sure that you can feel the King’s grip on your waist tighten. They all seem to have a similar aura about them, like they share a hidden secret. They stare intensely, but you assume it is because you are an outsider. Still, King Edward puts you at ease. He speaks so freely, so smoothly. He shows you your future throne, shows you the deep, red ruby set at the crescent of the golden chair. It matches your ring entirely, and the King does not comment when you speak on their likeness. What else could you expect? It is the colour of his court, after all. You are still enamoured when he sneaks you away from the courtroom, when he steals you from the knowing stares of your ladies, who happily let him take you away. They steal your chalice of wine and usher you with shooing hands, winking wildly. 

You grin like a child, unable to contain your excitement,  in a way that you haven’t in so many years. Not since the last festival of light, back in your home kingdom, with your mother, when she had sang to you, span you in dance, braided your hair. You had not known a giddiness quite like this in such a long lifetime. You cannot help the way that you giggle as you run hand in hand through the flame lit halls. Your hair sways behind you, flowers surely falling from their neat positions. The clipping sound of your heels fills the hall, and King Edward’s somehow fall silently. You suppose in hindsight that it is due to his meticulous battle training, his tactics. 

The King takes you out to a courtyard, one that is filled with some of the first signs of life that you have seen since arriving in Hawkins. Flowers bloom in the midnight moon, something exotic and unseen of your land. Some are bright red, others variants of orange and yellow. They hold so much life, so natural and yet completely supernatural at the same time. He speaks their names slowly, guiding you through them with a gentle hand against your spine. You have never heard of the plants before, never been so in awe of the world’s beauty. 

King Edward watches you. His eyes take in the way that you kneel to be closer to the horticulture, the gentleness of your fingers as you test the leaves. He grows to quickly adore the soft nature of your voice, the inquiries of your genuine questions. He answers them with the same love in his eyes that you hold in yours, and suddenly you feel as though you could be his wife blind. Help him rule his kingdom without as such as a hiccup. 

“You will make the most beautiful Queen.” He speaks to you towards the end of the night, when the two of you have tucked yourselves away in a corner of the ballroom that Sir Steven made you return to. King Edward looks down at you as he speaks, large hands holding a chalice which he tips towards your lips. Obediently you open your mouth to him, the red wine burning upon your tongue as it slips past your healing lips. “So adoring, so fine. I wish for my people to serve you as they do me. I will arrange for you to visit the townsfolk with Sir Steven tomorrow, to see how they live.” You try not to think of their solemn faces, the death in their eyes. “You will grow to love them as your own, Princess.” 

“Anything you wish, My King.” The words come after a swallow of the alcohol, the King’s eyes following a falling drop of crimson as it cascades down your chin. His eyes flicker once more, a new sort of hunger hidden behind them. “Will you do me the pleasure of accompanying myself and Sir Steven?” 

His gaze shifts again, and something swirls in his chest — you can almost see it happening. 

“My duties lay elsewhere in the daytime, Princess. I did ask Steven to assure you of this,” 

“He did.” You’re quick to interject. “It was merely wishful thinking, my King. I apologise.” 

“You never have to be sorry.” He murmurs, dark eyes injecting a cooling sensation into your very veins. King Edward has put a spell on you, a spell that would surely soon have him chasing after you.

A spell that will have you running from the daylight. 

[imagines--galore]

edward elric with a s/o that is autistic and selectively mute .. ^^

Pairing: Edward Elric x Reader Rating || Genres || Warnings: K. Romance. A/N: Alright so I do hope I did this right! I'm really nervous about writing a character with autism and selective mutism but I do hope that I did an alright job and I don't offend anyone! Also the moment in the end happens after the whole major fight and everything, so Alphonse has his body back, and Ed his arm.

Communication was something you had struggled with for as long as you could remember. Even as a child, when you had shown up at the Rockbell house, you had struggled to get even two words out. But the people that lived there, the Rockbells, only assumed that you were lost. And with the state you had arrived in, one could only deduce that you were an orphan. Perhaps because of the war? Whatever it was, Pinako Rockbell had decided to gather you in her arms and carry you home. You were such a tiny thing. Yurih and Sarah Rockbell had tried their best to deduce your age, but it had been difficult even for them, given your lack information on yourself. Finally, they had decided it was not important. What was important, however, was that you were safe, and with caring people.

Winry had been a little apprehensive of you at first, but her mother had advised her to be kind. And so she had taken you under her wing. She would take you by the hand and the two of you would spend hours exploring. And while you stayed silent, Winry would chatter enough for the both of you.

She even took you to meet her two friend, Edward and Alphonse. And though you had hid behind your new friend, finding the two new boys a little scary, you had slowly come out of your shell.

Over the years, you did show signs of speaking. But those moments were rare and far in-between. And every time you did speak, there was always an emotional outburst from someone.

Like the first time when you had called Winry by her name, and called her your sister. You had then proceeded to acknowledge her parents as your parents, and Pinako as your granny. Oh the tears that had been shed, and though you didn't really understand why they would react so, you did smile widely and accepted their embraces and sweet kisses.

Your next interaction was hilarious. You had been playing with the Elric brothers, alongside your sister when you spied Edward trying to take a heavy tool from Pinako's work bench. He had needed to jump up high to try and get the desired piece of equipment. Edward turned to look at you, and your eyes met. Raising a hand and pointing at the golden haired boy you spoke one word.

Short.

Needless to say, Edward had keeled over at the sorrow of having that word being the first you said to him. Alphonse had laughed and laughed until he had to lie on the floor, while Winry had giggled and hugged you in congratulations. You honestly didn't understand Edmund's reaction. You had only stated the truth.

Moments like these always sought to bring you closer to your loved ones. And though you didn't speak for a good year or so after your parents death, you did come back from it.

And that too happened when you saw the pain and suffering that Edward and Alphonse felt after they tried to get their mother back. You didn't know what had happened, wasn't really able to understand it. All you did know was the Alphonse was hiding in the armor, and Edward was hurt.

Hurt bad.

You had sat beside him during his recovery, and had helped however you could. From getting him food, water or new sheets, your tasks were minimal, yet it brought you some satisfaction. That you were able to make him comfortable.

You had been very sad to see him and Alphonse leave, but Edward promised he would be back, and you knew he would never break a promise. And you had made a promise to him, that you would try and talk a little bit more. At least with the people you were familiar with. He had smiled and patted you on the head. You were both the same height at that point of your age, and you had smiled brightly at him in return.

Over the years you had discovered that if there was one thing you were good at when it came to communication it was through flowers.

Every flower held a different meaning. A secret message. From an early age you had filled books upon books of research and notes that detailed every last piece of information that could be found on flowers, both local and rare.

Whenever Edward and Alphonse would return from one of their trips, they would bring you new books about flowers and you would devour them in days.

It was here that you started to speak. You had a certain confidence in your knowledge of flowers. From the very tips of their roots to the softness of their petals. Winry and Pinako would listen to you speak for as much as you were able. It was slow progress, but it was something. And though you were mostly still a very quiet person, you were able to communicate a little more.

It was during that time, when Edward and Alphonse returned for one of Edward's leg repairs, that you decided to show them your new-found skill. Flower crowns.

While Winry worked on Edward's leg, you managed to drag both brothers out into the open ground around the Rockbell house. Alphonse was more then happy to indulge in your new activity, wanting to spend more time with you. Edward was simply content on lazing around and laying on the ground with his arms behind his head.

You spoke to Alphonse at length about every flower the two of you were adding to your flower crowns. You had picked a bunch of flowers for the occasion, to make a crown for everyone.

Winry, and Granny and Den, and Alphonse and Edward,

You had stopped talking sometime ago, but Alphonse had continued speaking, telling you about all the adventures he and his brothers had had, all the people they had met.

Your gaze flickered over to where Edward lay a few paces away. You glanced down at the flower garland in your hands before glancing back at the boy. Alphonse seemed to have understood your little dilemma. He gave you an encouraging nudge and a nod. You rose to your feet, slowly walking towards him, leaving Alphonse to place Den's flower crown on his head.

You stood over Edward, prompting the boy to open one eye and gaze up at you.

"What is it Y/n?" He asked, grumbling softly at having his semi-nap disturbed. Silently you held out the crown you had made for him. Edward sighed, sitting up and holding a hand out to take it. You smiled happily as you lay the delicate garland in his hands. Edward gave a small smile before asking.

"What do these mean?" He gently ran a finger along the white petals of the flowers.

You took a deep breath before explaining. "They're called daisies. And they're used to represent many things when given to someone else. Some of them are, purity, joy, new beginnings, and innocent love." At the last part Edward seemed to freeze up, his gaze turning to meet yours as you smiled down at him. The wind picked up a little as his mind raced. He was more then aware then when it came to you, things were taken in the literal sense. And he may be stupid at times, even he admitted it, but he had known you long enough to understand you completely.

Though you would never come outright and say it, you conveyed your feelings through your actions or with flowers. And right now, he couldn't help but allow a small smile to pull at his lips.

With a blush creeping along his cheeks, Edward slowly stood up. Standing in front of you, he raised the crown to his head and allowed it to nestle against his golden hair. Your eyes widened in absolute delight as you clapped your hands and let out a small joyful laugh. And Edward Elric fell all the more in love with your sweet nature.

Though he had already been halfway there over the years, this moment simply confirmed it.

[stephensmithuk]

The Priory School

Published in 1904, this is the final story we're covering from Return.

It is also our first story set in the reign of Edward VII, who was a rather different monarch to his mother to put it mildly.

So, the Duke of Holdernesse's biography. Brace yourself, because this is going to need a few points to cover:

There have been a total of 40 dukedoms created in the English peerage; some of them have been recreated over the centuries after dying out due to lack of a male heir (they are nearly always male only) or the holder ends up becoming King, in which case the dukedom "merges in the Crown" and is free for further use. For example, Prince Philip was made Duke of Edinburgh as a wedding present when he married the future Elizabeth II. When he died, Prince Charles inherited the dukedom but didn't use it as he was already Prince of Wales. King Charles III then gave the Duchy to his brother Edward as a 59th birthday present, but made it life only. I will mention Edward again later.

Not counting the Duke of Cornwall, the title being explicitly linked to the oldest son of the monarch i.e. Prince William, the oldest active dukedom is Norfolk, currently with its 18th holder, Edward Fitzalan-Howard. He also holds the hereditary title of Earl Marshal, in that capacity organising both the funeral of Elizabeth II and the coronation of Charles III, something made a good deal harder when he got a six-month driving ban for driving through a red light while on his mobile. His lawyer managed to get a good part of the hearing done in private because the mitigation stuff involved discussing sensitive coronation details.

KG stands for "Knight of the Garter". Below the Victoria and George Crosses, the latter of course not yet a thing, this is the most prestigious honour you can get in the honours system. It typically goes to royals domestic and foreign, top officials including Prime Ministers and those who have done major works for the monarch personally. However, notable other cases include Sir Edmund Hilary i.e. the Everest chap. At the time, the Government made appointments, but to stop the honour being used for patronage, since 1946, the sole appointer has been the head of the order i.e. the monarch.

I could go on about the Garter, but we'll be here all day.

PC stands for Privy Counsellor, a formal group of senior advisors to the monarch, that includes top politicans. They still have a function, including intelligence sharing and can use the title "Right Honourable" even if they aren't. Some have in fact been kicked out recently for criminal convictions.

If you have multiple titles, your oldest legitimate son is allowed to use one of the junior ones as a courtesy title. Hence Lord Saltire. Pivoting back to Prince Edward, his oldest son James, aged 15, uses the title Earl of Wessex, his father's wedding present and will inherit that from his father. As a monarch's grandson, he will have the right to call himself a prince when he turns 18.

This said, it is perfectly possible for a kid to become a Duke in his own right. The other Prince Edward became Duke of Kent in 1942 aged just six when his father died in a plane crash.

Lord Lieutenants are official deputies of the monarch in the various 'ceremonial counties' (as British local government is now rather complex). They used to have a role leading the local militias and still play a role in selecting low-level judicial officials, but their main job is giving out medals and opening stuff. They also have deputies below them, who are the people you write to if you want a royal to open something.

Hallamshire was a historical area in what is now South Yorkshire, no longer a county by this point, that covers an area roughly the same as the modern-day City of Sheffield.

Preparatory schools or "prep schools" are fee-paying schools designed to prepare children for the Common Entrance Examination to get into one of the public schools like Eton or Fettes. They are frequently, but not always, boarding schools.

Yes, 13 May 1901 was a Monday.

An Eton jacket is a short (waist-length) jacket with three buttons. Outside the military, where it forms part of mess dress, it's now far more associated with service staff.

Heidegger shares his name with a German philosopher, Martin Heidegger, who had yet to come to prominence at the time. A Nazi supporter, he has the interesting distinction of being the only then-living philospher mentioned in the "Bruces' Philosophers Song" by Monty Python.

An "ordnance map" refers to the Ordnance Survey maps. Originating in 1745, when maps of Scotland were created to assist in putting the Jacobite clans then in rebellion against the government, these have been the standard maps for ramblers, the military etc. for generations and can be used to trace changes in places over time. The ones from before 1970 are now public domain and available online.

The bicycle track deductions have been debated to death by Holmesian scholars over years; Klinger covers their analysis in some depth. Doyle himself admitted he wasn't quite right.

It was a legal requirement for the details of the landlord of a pub to have their details prominently displayed at the entrance. By tradition, that was and still is above the door. However, since 2003, you legally just need the premises licence on display.

The Capital and Counties Bank had 473 branches across the UK until its 1918 acquistion by Lloyds Bank, still the largest retail bank in the UK.

Britain had "felony murder" like the US until 1957. Since Wilder is involved in the kidnapping, he would be just as liable as Hayes for the murder of Heidegger and could face the death penalty with him.

This became a matter of huge controversy in the 1953 case of Derek Bentley, also known as the "Let him have it" case. Bentley allegedly delivered those words to his accomplice in a burglary, Christopher Craig, a 16-year-old who then shot dead a police officer. Bentley himself had mental development problems with a IQ recorded of 77. Both were found guilty of murder and Craig spent ten years at "Her Majesty's Pleasure" as a juvenille offender. A recommendation for mercy in the case of Bentley was ignored by the judge and when the appeal failed, the Home Secretary David Maxwell Fyfe (who had also overseen a major increase in the persecution of gay men) declined to commute the sentence, despite 200 MPs calling for it. Bentley was hanged, but the continuing outcry was a key factor in the 1964 abolition of capital punishment in England and Wales. Bentley would get a posthumous royal pardon in 1993 and the Court of Appeal quashed his murder conviction in 1998 on the grounds of the flawed trial.

[hedgionary]

So I had one person tell me to write it, even for my own enjoyment. Why not write it here? I took a dive into the Narnia hole, all while being unable to leave the hole known as Fullmetal Alchemist. My head decided to combine them creating an AU. Instead of in WW1 Germany, Edward and Hohenheim end up in pre-WW2 London. Lots happens, Ed ends up getting sent to the house of one professor Diggory Kirke, someone who'd previously talked to Hohenheim about the theories of parallel universes. Not two months go by, Diggory sits Edward down and tells him there's going to be a bunch of children living with them. Edward is Not Happy, but what can he do? He's now tasked with Making Friends and Being Nice. Apparently, Kirke doesn't realise how much of a difference the four years between Edward and Peter make, let alone the seven between Ed and Lucy. All of this not taking into account how Ed was shaped by his experiences.

Still, he can't help but find Lucy's story of the wardrobe endearing after she returns the first time. A bit sad, but adorable. When there was a storm one evening, he sat down with her and told her a story from his home. Susan rolled her eyes in the other bed, but to Lucy, the story of alchemists who could make thinsg seemingly out of nothing, spark flames and so much more! He didn't mention the darker side of alchemy. He was a telling a bedtime story, not discussing possibilities with proffessor Kirke. It was still raining the next morning, and Edward got roped into playing with the Pevensies. He's with them when they land in Narnia, yet he can't believe it. He's torn between the "Not again" energy and the "what if i'm somehow closer to home" energy.

People thinking Edward is a star, or at least the son of one, due to him not being referred to as a Son of Adam or even Daughter of Eve. He's the blood of Adam, but not his son. Edward rediscovering his alchemy after he is attacked by wolves and instinctively claps his hands.

He gets a dwarven equivalent of automail. The job was already halfway done, but the dwarves excell at working thier forge nonetheless.

Edward never returning to England with the Pevensies, not ageing, receding into legend and then resurfacing during the events of Prince Caspian. Same age as when the siblings first saw him. Just more… Tired. He just wants to talk to Aslan.

And talk he deos. What he hears does not, however, help him, for he learns that even through the Country of Aslan he will not go home. (There's no Gate through Aslan's land to Amestris)

(That's the part I feel like burning myself at stake for, because why shouldn't God be able to do something, catholic guilt am i right?)

Aslan tells Edward to live on. To find peace and a home in Narnia. Edward cannot. He has tried. He misses his family too much, Narnia is too similar yet too different from Amestris. It hurts even more than England did, somehow.

He receeds quietly to the court of King Caspian. When the young king decides to go searching for the barons aboard the Dwan Treader, Edward fights tooth and nail against coming along. But his knowledge on all things Narnian (and not only) proves too be too valuable.

One day, he finds his way home. Rumours circulate that he truly was a Star, or at least close enough for Ramandu to be able to help him home in a way known only to the Stars. Others say he found peace on one of the islands they passed. Yet others say he died. Only a select few know the truth, and those are the ones who promised Edward they wouldn't tell.

Edward is home. But to everyone else, he's a different person. For everyone else, it's been four years. For Edward? A thousand. And Edward has learned so much.

He's got Mustang's Edmund's cold calculations in politics, handling anything in a delicate, yet clear manner. He does not lie. He's as straightforward as he ever was, but he's able to dress it in pretty words now. He's got more of an edge to him.

He's learnt authority from Peter. He's dangerous when he has a sword, no longer relying only on a knife, a polearm or transmuted arm. His movements are clear, elegant even. Not brash and jagged like the Fullmetal Alchemist's had always been. Fullmetal used his weapons as weapons - brutal, yet effective. Edward has a captivating elegance to his movements, leading a spar like a dance.

He's learnt to use a bow of all things. His automail is unlike anything anyone had ever seen. Edward knows it's Dwarven work and wears it proudly. He even uses his charm sometimes, but he's not a fan of it. Susuan insisted he learn though, and who was he to disobey a High Queen? Yes, it's still the Fullmetal Alchemist. But it's not the one the people of Amestris know anymore. He does not tell them any of the tales of Cair Paravel, or the diplomatic diplomatic journeys to Calormen that later come in handy when they talk to the people of Xing. (He's also fairly proficient with the weapons of the country. And doesn't that raise a few eyebrows?) Even Lucy's kindness rubbed off on him. He treats everyone he meets as a person who deserves kindness until blatantly proven otherwise. The fact Dante was gone when he retuned helped.

The first time someone calls him a dwarf, he smiles as if that were a compliment. He does not look for fights, but that does not mean he won't finish them. That temper of his never quite left. When he finally sees Al again, he's struck by the age difference. But then he smiles and takes his brother as he is. It is, after all, not the first time he's ever encountered someone he knew for years returned to a younger age. This does not mean it's not hard for him; it's just a little easier than it would've been otherwise. He knows neither of them are going to leave now, they've got each other's backs forever. He grows barely a centimetre and is ecstatic. This means he's truly home, ageing alongside his friends again. He wants to see the ocean, to show Al the ocean. This bewilders everyone, because he'd never cared for it. He's taken to drawing (he'd had no artistic skills before). For a while, he's convinced the world is flat like a table.

[queenmarytudor]

Mary I's Fight For The Throne

18th July - Mary is furious

Deep in preparations to fight, Mary orders a complete book of all the ordnance in camp made 1, as well as more tools from the surrounding area to build trenches against a cavalry charge. 2

Mary sends a letter to Richard Cavendish, who she had put in charge of the 6 ships at Harwich. Whilst transporting artillery back men have spotted another ship there, and she commands him to stop the crayer, the Mary Gallant, that is full of salmon “whereof one last and 3 barrels is the Queen’s proper goods, the residue belonging to a merchant of London.” 3 She orders Cavendish to take only the correct amount “so that the poor man have no aggrievance.” 4

Around this time, Thomas Poley who has arrived at The Greyhound, asks Master Hurlock what letters and writing Grice had in his chest.  All the writings are taken back to Framlingham. 5

George Howard arrives from the Earl of Warwick's camp, and likely informs them of Sawston Hall being burnt. According to legend, Mary is alleged to have said upon hearing the news "Let it blaze; I will build Huddlestone a better." 6 True or not, Huddlestone did later receive a grant of stone from Cambridge castle to rebuild his house, one which still bears the date 1557. 7

It is perhaps this attack on her supporters that prompts Mary to release a proclamation calling for the Duke of Northumberland to be arrested:

By the Queen. Know ye all good people that the most excellent princess Mary, elder daughter of King Henry VIII and sister to King Edward VI, your late sovereign Lord, is now by the grace of God Queen of England, France and Ireland, defender of the faith and very true owner of the crown and government of the realm of England and Ireland and all things thereto justly belonging, and to her and no other ye owe to be her true Liege men.’ [...] nobly and strongly furnished of an army royal under Lord Henry, Earl of Sussex, her Lieutenant General, accompanied with the earl of Bath, the Lord Wentworth and a multitude of other noble gentlemen […] her most false traitor, John, duke of Northumberland and his complices who, upon most false and most shameful grounds, minding to make his own son king by marriage of a new found lady’s title, or rather to be king himself, hath most traitorously by long continued treason sought, and seeketh, the destruction of her royal person, the nobility and common weal of this realm.  Wherefore, good people, as ye mindeth the surety of her said person, the honour and surety of your country, being good Englishmen, prepare yourselves in all haste with all your power to repair unto her said armies yet being in Suffolk, making your prayers to God for her success … upon the said causes she utterly defyeth the said duke for her most errant traitor to God and to this realm. Anyone taking him, if a noble and peer of the realm, to have one thousand pounds of land in fee; if a knight, five hundred pounds in lands, with honour and advancement to nobility; if a gentleman under the degree of knight, five hundred marks of land in fee and the degree of a knight; if a yeoman, 100 pounds of land in fee and the degree of a squire. 8

Meanwhile...

Northumberland marches from Cambridge to Bury Saint Edmunds. 9 While doing so, he finds out the Earl of Oxford has defected to Mary. 10

Jane writes to Sir John Lowe and Sir Anthony Kingston: "Trusty and well beloved, we greet you well, because we doubt not, but by this our most lawful possession of the crown with the free consent of the nobility of our realm and other the states of the same, is both plainly known and accepted of you, as our most loving subjects. Therefore we do not reiterate the same. But now most earnestly will require, and by authority hereof warrant you to assemble, muster and levy all the power that you can possible make, either of your servants, tenants, officers, or friends, as well horsemen as footmen, repairing to our right trusty and right well beloved cousins, the Earls of Arundel and Pembroke, their tenants, servants, and officers, and with the same to repair with all possible speed towards Buckinghamshire, for the repressing and subduing of certain tumults and rebellions moved there against us and our crown by certain seditious men. For the repressing whereof, we have given orders to divers others our good subjects and gentlemen of such degree as you are, to repair in like manner to the same parts. So as we nothing doubt, but upon the access of such our loving subjects as be appointed for that purpose to the place where those seditious people yet remain, the same shall either lack hearts to abide in their malicious purpose, or else receive such punishment and execution as they deserve, seeking the destruction of their native country and the subversion of all men in their degrees, by rebellion of the base multitude, whose rage being stirred, as of late years hath been seen, must needs be the confusion of the whole common weal. Wherefore our special trust is in your courage, wisdom and fidelities in this matter, to advance yourselves both with power and speed to this enterprise, in such sort as by our nobility and council shall  be also prescribed unto you. And for the sustentation of your charge in this behalf, our said council, by our commandment, do forthwith give order to your satisfaction, as by our letters also shall appear unto you. And beside that, we do assure you of our special consideration of this your service to us, our crown, and especially to the preservation of this our ream and commonwealth. Given under our signet at our Tower of London, the XVIII of July in the first year of our reign." 11

Robert Dudley declares Jane queen in King's Lynn. 12

The Imperial ambassadors hear from the man they sent to follow Northumberland that he has "about 1,000 horse, 3,000 foot, 12 pieces of artillery, such as cannons and double-cannons and thirty cart-loads of ammunition" 13 but Mary "appears to be stronger than the Duke, and every day we hear people muttering against him and preparing to declare for her." 14

Sources:

1. Acts of the Privy Council Vol. 4

2. Acts of the Privy Council Vol. 4

3. Acts of the Privy Council Vol. 4

4. Acts of the Privy Council Vol. 4

5. The Navy of Edward VI and Mary I

6. Lives of the queens of England, from the Norman conquest, Vol. 3 Agnes Strickland

7. A History of the County of Cambridge and the Isle of Ely: Vol 6, British History Online

8. Mary Tudor, The First Queen, Linda Porter

9. Jane Grey, Tudor Mystery, Eric Ives

10. Vita Mariae Angliae Reginae of Robert Wingfield

11. Ecclesiastical Memorials

12. Vita Mariae Angliae Reginae of Robert Wingfield

13. Spanish State Papers, 19th July 1553

14. Spanish State Papers, 19th July 1553

[persephones-journey]

Seven Kings Must Die Thoughts…

Wait, Finan narrating was an option this whole time?! … Unfair

Irish king?…. It’s too much to hope that he’s related to Finan isn’t it?

Edward died off screen… damn didn’t even get the main character death lol

Oh no, Uhtred swore an oath…. (Cue ominous music)

OSBERT!!!!

Wait… he and Uhtred getting along?… Finan, you’re revising the story aren’t you?…

Athelstan grew into his faith?… no, where’s my little bastard boy?

Athelstan, your boy toy is cute but not worth it… and I’ve only just met him lol

Uhtred… that hand thing, yeah I find that very sexy…

The three of them seize Aegelesburg?…. Some things never change

Finan is finally getting the sleep he was deprived of in season 3 lol

So… two brothers fighting… not the two I thought but I’ll take it…

ATHELSTAN?! WTF?! …. Uhtred, that is your influence…

Wait… Uhtred lost his sword to some punks?… I don’t like it…

15 minutes in and we are 2 kings down…

Lord what now?… I’m calling him Lord Boy Toy.

Am I mourning the loss of the bastard boy in season 4 and 5? Yes.

Nice to see that Athelstan inherited Alfred and Edward’s tendency to put his dick in the wrong place…

Uhtred, sword of Uhtred… Finan, my love, I miss you already 😭

Osbert and Edmund being friends?… but… I wanted Osbert and Athelstan to be friends…

I should not be laughing at Athelstan and Lord Boy Toy praying away their sin of lovemaking but… I am lol

Ingrith dropping truth… the women Uhtred love die…

Also… where is Sihtric’s family? And doesn’t Finan have kids?…

Pyrlig?! Please live…

Athelstan is destroying stones that stood for generations?! Nah, I can’t get behind that…

‘Hump who you wish’ aww Uhtred said gay rights

Lord Boy Toy, I am going to enjoy watching Uhtred kill you…

Uhtred an enemy of God?… I mean, he was baptized 3 times and it never took so… perhaps lol

Osbert, baby boy no…

Athelstan, ho, don’t do it… don’t… fuck….

Lord Boy Toy… you thought you were smarter than Uhtred? (Laughing hysterically) there is finally someone prettier than Uhtred with the same amount of braincells lol

Wait.. they are only counting the Dane/Other kings not the Wessex ones?! That means that technically 9 kings die!… damn

Seriously?!… Although Finan tied up… sorry, my mind in the gutter

I’m sorry… we spent 5 seasons watching Uhtred try and get his castle back and now… well, damn, this sucks

Uhtred exiled?!… I hate it here…

The chicken jacket!!!

They want Uhtred to kill Athelstan?!… how does Uhtred always find himself in these situations…

LORD BOY TOY!!!!! I KNEW IT!

Uhtred choking out Alfred’s grandson… unsurprising really

Athelstan hitting Uhtred… okay, yeah, I too wanted to punch Uhtred as well

Nice to see that Uhtred and his pretty boys can still travel through space and time lol

No no no no no no… not Ingrith… please… not Finan’s wife….

WHY IS IT ALWAYS FINAN?!

…. I hate it here….

Osbert looking out for Edmund… like father, like son protecting the heir to the throne…

What is it about Uhtred that widowed wives of kings seek him out and befriend him… it’s gotta be the blue eyes…

Athelstan: Leave Uhtred, save yourself. Uhtred: 😳

Shocking how Uhtred completely disregards Athelstan’s wishes… Alfred is laughing in heaven with Edward…

Fought in many battles?!… like every single one of them lol

Oh no… the last shield wall… why am I getting emotional about it?!

Uhtred said areslings… (sobbing)

A sound mind?… Uhtred has never had that…

Osbert for the win?!

Lord Boy Toy needs to die

Wait… Is Uhtred actually gravely injured?!… I don’t… that has never happened before… I am tearing up…

Again, I need Finan/Mark to narrate everything ever from now on…

I knew Lord Boy Toy was going to die… he was too pretty

Of course Uhtred even dies in a dramatic fashion lol

Uhtred got Athelstan to swear an oath to him… I’m crying again

THE LAST 'DESTINY IS ALL'

Brida… Earl Ragnar… Clapa…

I’m not okay

Modern day Bebbanburg…

So… I’m going to need a day to recover from that… but yeah…

It’s over.

I want it back already.

[natequarter]

⭐️ if you’re still up for it, for the En Français poem/story fallout ❤️ - thelastplantagenet

Ask game: Offer a director's commentary on a particular story.

What was he called, again? Edward? Edmund? No, wrong guy. That was fifty years ago. This one had a weird name. An old one.

i like to make sneaky references to other fics that are probably only of interest to two other people. this was one of them, filtered through robin's don't-care attitude and terrible memory for anything modern people do

That was it, Humphrey. A strange young man, always shifty-looking, never quite stopping enough to be seen. Even when he painted, his hands were never still for long.

one of my favourite parts of robin is that, even at his wisest, he ultimately never really gives a fuck. he's pretty apathetic about humphrey before he actually gets to know him; humphrey's just another guy passing through. but even from a distance robin can tell the guy has issues

His name meant something, in the oldest of English. Bestower of peace.

Or had it been something about bears?

i've found various different translations of humphrey's name. most seem to agree the frith element refers to peace, but the first part of his name is translated as, variably, strength, bear cub (hence something about bears), and to bestow. the latter is my personal favourite, so here we get humphrey as bringer of peace. well, he tried...

Humphrey Monsieur Bone pénétra dans la chambre avec précaution.

on the one hand, sophie's struggling to decide what level of formality she should use to refer to humphrey with in her pwp fanfic. on the other hand, 'penetrate' is inherently funny as an english speaker. never let it be said that i am mature

“Seriously?” he muttered, to no reaction. Thank God none of the other ghosts were here. This probably wasn’t something they’d complain about seeing, but that didn’t mean they needed to.

canonically we see that robin is alone at this point but consider this: my version of william is better and robin being surrounded by irritating medieval ghosts is much funnier. humphrey should consider himself lucky his immediate relatives aren't also haunting him

Il enleva la robe de nuit avec ses mains fortes…

i just thought it would be very funny for sophie to romantically refer to humphrey as having strong, firm hands, whilst flatly refusing to talk to him at all

For another thing, it was much more interesting than the depressing French literature she was usually reading. The impermanence of life? No thanks. A fictionalised account of her doing her husband? Much better.

sophie canonically does read poetry about the impermanence of life, so a) HAHA I WAS RIGHT, b) robin finds this boring as shit and naturally has his priorities. his priorities being sophie and doing it, not necessarily in that order

What was that about his dick?

this was really just for comedy value. gets me every time.

Probably all ridiculous and romantic, and using words that were almost certainly made up, like Wriothesley. There was no way that was a real name.

Rrho shook his head. People these days made no sense.

obligatory Making Fun of Thomas Wriothesley moment. also, robin not understanding the weird customs of modern people is eternal

Had Humphrey had legs, he almost certainly would’ve jumped up in surprise. As it was, from somewhere across the house, Robin heard Kitty yelp as his body did exactly that.

i really like the idea of humphrey's body reacting at the same time as his head, except because of the disconnect, it looks completely ridiculous

“You forgot?” Humphrey said. “Just forgot, for four hundred years?”

humphrey has a lot of unprocessed pain, and it really comes through here. he's not really that surprised that he's been let down once again, he just... wishes it would stop happening

“Yeah, and whenever I tried to bring up your wife after you died, you’d start crying.”

“And whenever I tried to bring up my wife, you threw me out a bloody window!”

humphrey has a lot of bottled-up anger. robin still doesn't care. they're friends by circumstance; naturally, they don't get along at all. but when you're stuck together for hundreds of years and he's your oldest friend still around, well, you stop having a choice

“Don’t cry,” Robin said. “I don’t like seeing you cry.”

Humphrey softened. “That makes me feel a bit better.”

“Why? It’s annoying when you start crying. You take forever to stop.”

why must robin always be mr. wise guy? i want more of robin being an apathetic emotionally insensitive jerk who is perfectly emotionally intelligent but has seen so much over the last ten thousand years that sometimes he just can't be bothered to care. he understands that humphrey is tired of being used for his body by people who don't like him, he even sympathises. but he also finds emotions tedious and annoying. you know how it is

“Er, actually,” Humphrey said, “I was unhappy because people seem to only want me for my body.”

“‘Kay. We find your body, and I give you a hug.”

“That’s more like it.”

“And then we do it.”

this fic is a balance of comedy and tragedy. it's kinda meant to match the tone of ghosts, though maybe a little bit nastier, as it is robin's and not alison's perspective on events. humphrey is dwelling in his own misery. robin wants to do it. these two things can even go together

“It’s not like with Fanny. She doesn’t like you.”

“I’m well aware of that, thanks.”

i think this is funny. nothing deep to say here. fanny just sucks

“Ow! Hold me properly, not by the hair! You’ll damage it!”

humphrey is very defensive of his hair

Best to make haste. He had a lot to show Humphrey.

they are so going to do it in detail post-fic. robin really likes eating bum ;)

[darkbluekies]

These are what I think your OC’s look like in my head!

I imagine Silas to look like this, dark, brooding almost if that makes sense?

And Kry is one of your posher looking men so he does have to keep a nice appearance since he works in a hospital. (He’s scary looking even when reading a book ngl)

I feel like Edmund would have a more of an oval kind of face with freckles? For some reason he reminds me of an older Edmund from Narnia lol

And bbygirl Hedwig! <3

Jerry! I imagine her with tattoos and piercings, almost a sleeve on one arm. I think she would look good with either short or long hair.

wait wasn't that picture you used for edmund used for silas by another? interesting

i really liked jerry and kry, those feel so close to what i see them as, just kry in blue overalls and white coat hehe

fun thing now that you mention edmund from narnia, edmund's original name was supposed to be edward, i even had it written in the profiles etc but i already have a character named Edward for my (hopefully) debut novel, so I decided to change it to edmund (close enough to edward, i thought) so that I wouldn't have 2 characters with the same name, as to not conflict their personalities and so forth. But then i remembered the narnia boy and thought that they resembled each other a bit which made me like the name even more :)

[bethanydelleman]

So I do think the lady who wrote this stupid book has a point about modern media excusing terrible behaviour with tragic backstories, because I read a lot of justifications of Darcy that are centred in Darcy having TRAUMA. Poor boy didn't mean to be rude at the Meryton assembly, he's a poor little orphan who just had sister troubles.

Except that blaming this trend/trope on Austen is insane, because Darcy does not excuse his behaviour in this way AT ALL. He does blame his education somewhat, but if anything his excuse is that his parents loved him so darn much that he became a brat. That's not trauma, that's Trust Fund Baby Syndrome.

In fact, the one person who attempts a trauma explanation of Darcy is... Wickham! He claims that Darcy Sr. loved him more than Darcy Jr., causing Fitzwilliam to be jealous of Wickham. Which would be kind of understandable, if it were true, but Darcy doesn't really seem to care about this and clearly loved his father, so if anything Wickham was a minor annoyance in his life pre-Ramsgate.

The narrator says clearly that Darcy has always been like this, it isn't a trauma reaction, "He was at the same time haughty, reserved, and fastidious; and his manners, though well bred, were not inviting... Bingley was sure of being liked wherever he appeared; Darcy was continually giving offence." And Darcy confirms this, he's been rude "from eight to eight-and-twenty" The only time he brings up the whole Georgiana thing is to tell Elizabeth about it, he never blames that event for his behaviour.

If anything, Jane Austen was a proponent of "explain but not excuse". Lucy Steele is mercenary because she is barely clinging to her status in the gentry, but she's still portrayed as a villain because the way she goes about trying to secure Edward (and later Robert) is fundamentally wrong. Mary Crawford has a back story full of trauma, she's an orphan twice over, her uncle sounds like a misogynist creep, and yet Austen doesn't accept it as an excuse, Mary must become better to be worthy of Edmund. Willoughby is an orphan, he's in debt, he's made bad choices, but he needs to do better and because he doesn't, he's not worthy of Marianne.

My Point: Don't blame Austen for the trauma excuses all bad behaviour trope, because she didn't start it and she frequently subverted it!

[quidfree]

hello, i was the one sending the brothers ask, i thought i should send another one to say sorry because i should have worded it more carefully and been more specific to avoid confusion. What i meant to ask was: the most interesting thing you found in brother relationships in general? and because i found the amount of literary works on this subject is quite few compared to other types of familial relationships, i wanted to know that in your opinion, should there be more works focusing on brother relationships? i just want to clarify what i meant when i sent those questions, you don't have to answer this time. Sorry for making you confused

no need to apologise, i was being a bit flippant in my first response. but i appreciate your explanation.

i think my original point kind of still remains, in that while i can guess what sort of thing you’re thinking of, irl there is such an incredibly vast range of depictions of brotherhood in media that it would be impossible to distill it into something digestible. there’s no simple formula to it.

i also don’t think there’s a lack of brother relationships in literary works- i feel like it’s a pretty dominant category in (western) classics. think romulus and remus, castor and pollux, jacob and esau, abel and cain, and then less in the realm of myth you have your brothers karamazov, death of a salesman, les faux monnayeurs, or those sort of typical the outsiders type boyish gangs of brothers. for me your typical western type would be peter and edmund in narnia. but think of all the edgy brothers of tumblr: the lynch boys, the minyard twins, even the succession trio… and lest we forget the big guns that ive never watched but still know brother drama from: your supernatural boys / sasuke and itachi / alphonse and edward…

not that i’m complaining, mind, i love a sibling relationship in media- that’s why haunting of hill house is one of my longstanding favourite tv shows. though sisters need the brotherly screentime too, beyond your greek tragedies and pride and prejudice or little women. give me sasuke itachi dramatics but girls. shouto touya sisters. and so forth.

what sets brothers aside.. as much as i do think gender is a construct, society definitely places a great deal of value on maintaining that construct, so i think there is some merit in saying brothers have a distinct relationship to that of sisters, more of fostered competition and upholding a certain masculinity, especially in literature. the whole father and son thing refracted, if you will. but that’s a post for another day. point is there def is something to that vibe- edmund is peter’s second, kendall hugs roman until his stitches rip, etc.

i know you said you were an only child, and with that in mind i will say here’s my two cents for you as someone who has a brother: although no two families are the same, i think the fundamental similarity with most sibling relationships is the inherent oddness of knowing that they are the person most like you in the whole world (who else shares so much of your upbringing and your formative experiences) whilst still somehow being so radically definitively not-you. nurture and nature. there’s that dramatic weight and that profound pettiness to having siblings- when people say they’d take a bullet for their sibling but they’d choke them out before they let them play as P1 they’re being totally serious. for my part i feel very privileged to have a brother, despite how deeply annoying the experience has been at various points of my life.