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goldeneyedgirl · 2 years ago

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Ficmas22: Day 3: History Switch

Okay I thought I'd posted snippets of this but apparently not?

But just in case I made it extra long.

This one is based on the idea that Alice was 'recruited' from Mississippi in the late 1800s by Maria, and after running away to join WWI, Jasper ends up in an asylum in Texas, unable to cope with his PTSD. A few details had to be fudged (Jasper would have been born a little later than Alice to be able to go to WWI, and would have been changed in the early 20s, I believe; Alice's relationship with the Cullens is definitely altered.) It was just a fun experiment I'd love to finish because they are so different from their usual selves? I mean, Jasper's still simping for Alice hard, but is this even a Jalice fic if he isn't?

Lil bit of smut in this one. Nothing graphic but definitely implied. Until tomorrow, ducklings!

He sneaks away to join the army when he is sixteen and gets dragged into a war halfway across the world. He’s back less than a year later, wrecked and ruined. Broken.

He never heals, certainly not fast enough for his family. He might be the first born son, but there is still another boy, and they only needed one to carry on the Whitlock name.

They call it respite and help. That he’s too strong and difficult and violent to be reasoned with when he’s in one of his episodes. That they will heal him and fix him and send him back home, good as new.

It is none of those things, and it’s the last time he ever sees his family.

(For a while, he misses his sisters. Then he doesn’t remember that he has sisters to miss.)

—

Everyone knows of the Brandon girl. The one that’s not all right in the head.

The one that has an uncanny knack for guessing what’s going to happen. Like that Marlene Fisher’s baby would be stillborn, or the Jenkins boy had drowned long before the search party found him. The gossip is that that’s the only reason that her granddaddy saved Brandon Imports - he gambled on his granddaughter’s oddity and won.

She really is a strange creature, always laughing and dancing and running around town like she’s still a girl and not a woman grown. Her sister is always chasing after her, and everyone worries both Brandon girls will turn out the same.

Especially their father. No one notices the bruises on Mary-Alice anymore; they don’t change anything so why should they care.

They all think they know how the story will end - Mary-Alice will be a spinster, because no one is interested in her as a bride, trapped in her father’s house laughing at a joke no one else heard.

Instead, Mary-Alice disappears in the night, walking home from her father’s store. It’s a Friday night, and everyone says that it was the same as always - Mary-Alice might not be good for much, but she is trusted with the money box. The other shop assistant reports that she finished cleaning, donned her coat and hat and gloves, picked up the money box, and bid him good night. That everything was quite normal - the Brandon home was only a twenty minute walk through the park, very safe, and many young women walked unchaperoned through it.

But she never makes it home. They find her hat and one of her gloves - torn, with blood on it - and nothing more.

—

He wakes up suddenly, as if he was never asleep at all.

It’s as if this is the first second he has existed. It’s night, and he is alone in the stillness, covered in mud and dried blood.

He has nothing.

Just a chain knotted around his wrist with a bent pice of metal that says ‘Jasper W-‘ on it in worn-down letters.

It’s as good a name as any, honestly.

He’s more focused on the raw, burning feeling of his throat, and he would do anything to end it, to make it stop.

(That is his beginning. Alone, thirsty, and left in the mud. If he remembered anything from the war, he’d laugh at the parallels.)

—

There’s one thing that they all agree on - Nettie and Lucy, Peter and Charlotte, Alice, and the other few that last beyond their newborn year.

You have to be a little bit mad to survive the Southern Wars. You have to let go of everything and anything you know about yourself and simply be. That’s the only way you’re going to make it through to the other side.

Luckily, Alice’s has always been a little be mad. It suits her as well as anything does, and at least now when someone hits her, she can hit them back twice as hard.

He finds her in Philadelphia and he’s in awe of her. Five foot-nothing, in a powder blue ensemble, she’s beautiful. Shiny black hair falls to her collar bones, and her lips are painted shiny red. She’s slim and tiny and utterly covered in half-moon scars, and he’s like a moth to a flame.

(Even after decades together, he will still be obsessed with her hair. The way it tries desperately to curl when she leaves it alone; the way she twists it and braids it and ties it up a million different ways. The one curl by her left eye that seems to escape every single time. How soft it is, and how he’s the only one that she lets touch it, let’s only him stretch those hopeful little wannabe-curls out. But then, he could wax lyrical about every part of her, of her orange-red eyes that are so big and round that they make her seem more like a doll than a person right up until she gets her hands on some cosmetics and lines her eyes with kohl and glitter to look like a devilish dream. She’s so perfect, so unbearably beautiful to him.)

For her, it’s like coming home to someone she’s missed dearly, the person whose face she’s been looking for in the crowds. He’s perfect in all the ways she can count, and he smells exactly right and he’s just… beautiful, even in an ill-fitting coat and bare feet, looking slightly bewildered when she approaches him. (He’s hungry, starving; she knows that immediately. He flinches when she reaches for him, only relaxing when he registers the glove she’s wearing. She’s not sure if she wants to laugh or hug or start sobbing because she’s waited for him forever.)

She knows about the empty space where his human memories should rest, like dusty, forgotten books. Somehow she uses her memories to fill his spaces, to give him back some of his understanding of family and humanity without shaming his own lacking biography.

Apropos of nothing, she will tell him her story in little fragments, like pages torn from a book and tossed into the air.

“Mother was terribly unstable after my sister was born. She used to hit, used to scream and rage. Then I walked into the sitting room one day when I was twelve and she had hanged herself from the chandelier,” she had told him, as if she was commenting on the weather as they watch a woman hurry down the street with her children, her arm looped in his.

“Oh, we had an orchard behind our house! We had peaches, though. I used to make myself utterly ill on them when I was small - I’d climb the trees and sit in the branches with the fruit gathered in my skirt,” she bounces as she descends towards the neat rows of trees, tugging him along behind her, and there’s a memory made as she kisses him in the branches of apple trees.

She wears three necklaces, always has - a little gold cross she took off a body down south; a brass one with ‘Alice’ in script that he bought her years ago at a street fair; and a little amethyst flower with tiny tanzanite leaves.

That necklace is her legacy - one of ten her father designed to display in the shop window, to attract wealthy clients. He had claimed there was one for each of the women in his life - Diamond for her mother, sapphire for her grandmother, ruby for her stepmother, amethyst for Alice, and pink sapphire for Cynthia. Opal, topaz, aquamarine, pearl, and emerald rounded out the collection, for his sisters and cousins.

“He’d talk about them as if they were gifts to us, a token of his love for us,” Alice had sighed, as he examined it closely. “They weren’t. They were props, to make him seem like a loving man. To make us seem like high society, to lure in the rich.

“I spoilt it all when I stole Mother’s and through it into her grave when no one was looking. The collection was incomplete then, and no one wanted to buy the set from him with two missing. Went back when I was eighteen and stole mine right from the cabinet one night. I figured I deserved it since I would never need a dowry,” she had said carelessly, and he understands how hard she fought to keep that delicate necklace. That it is the tragedy of her human family, the victory of her own rebellion, and her private legacy in one tiny necklace.

It’s nearly a year after they meet that he shows her the chain with the tag that gave him his name. He feels ashamed when he confesses he doesn’t even know if Jasper is his name, it was just all he had.

Alice had kissed him hard, and held the chain so carefully. “It’s yours now, if you still want it. If we can ever find out your story, find your first name, then you can use whichever one you want.”

There’s something freeing in that, that Alice accepts him exactly as he is, borrowed name and all. He asks her to keep the chain safe for him. He expects her to zip it up in the little pouch she pins to the inside of her clothing, but instead she puts it around her neck.

“I’ve got you,” is all she says, tucking the disc down the front of her top.

When it comes to the south, Alice tells them all stories that say everything but nothing. Maria looms large in those tellings, a vicious and conniving warlord with no empathy and less compassion. She tells of her own abduction like it’s some kind of comedy of errors, her years as a soldier as a hard-knock life.

He knows better. He knows what her survival cost her, and what haunts her in the dark. He knows that Maria built her from her ashes, strung her together like her personal little marionette. He finds teeth marks on the inside of her legs and is horrified at the implications until Alice tells him the entirety of her and Maria, of at least a decade wrapped up in each other. Simultaneous parasites, Alice says as she twists her fingers in his hair.

“She didn’t make me a good or nice person, Jas. She made me into something monstrous, something vile and rotten. And I made her manipulative, vicious, cruel.” She shakes her head. “It wasn’t love or like or anything good. It was destructive.”

The idea of Alice and Maria together makes him pause, only because he hadn’t considered the two of them like that before. He spent his life haunting libraries, yes, but he had always been invested in world histories, in the biographies of great men. Salacious novels had never been to his tastes. The only people he spoke to were his victims. He’s socially stunted, so behind, that he finds himself faltering in the face of so many new things. Alice seems to know when he needs her guidance, an explanation. And she’s never seemed to falter telling him the uglier things she’s seen and done.

Perhaps there was subtext he missed in all her stories of Maria. It wouldn’t be the first time she’s had to stop and spell something out.

But the very idea of someone else seeing Alice like this, with her slip pushed up her thighs and her breast exposed as she reclines in the bed makes him feel snappish and possessive, makes him crawl up the bed and cage her body underneath his, his arms bracing him on either side of her head.

“You’re mine now,” he says in a low voice, and she leans up to snag a kiss, a desperate pleading kiss that he resists for a moment before he sinks against her, against violet-and-moonshine scented satin and moon-white limbs, against the flutter of her hair against his cheek.

“All yours,” she says breathlessly, and it’s girlish and giddy and so very genuine that he falls a little bit more in love with her (as if there is a bottom of the well that he feels for her).

Peter is a tall, skinny, and vaguely sly man who was changed at twenty-two-ish with a mop of blond-brown hair and a suave grin that makes Jasper not trust him.

He trusts him less when he sweeps Alice into a hug with, “Hello beautiful,” practically purred at her. And Alice just laughs and hugs him back.

Peter’s mate is a sugar-sweet looking girl named Charlotte with strawberry blonde curls and eyes just a little too far apart for her to considered conventionally beautiful. Around the same age as Peter when she was recruited, she smiles politely at Jasper and hugs Alice briefly.

He’s aggravated to discover Alice and Peter’s history from Peter’s never-ending innuendo; his emotions are joking and light, there is no attraction or lust or bitterness directed towards him or Alice. Some curiosity. And it’s reassuring that Peter isn’t looking for something from Alice, but the way he moves around her, talks to her… it makes Jasper irritated.

(They’ve only been together a few years, and he still finds himself a little awkward around her. Like when to take her hand, and when to steal a kiss, and when to start unzipping her clothes. Alice says it’s because he was alone for twenty years, with no maker to guide him and no memories to remind him. That he’s still finding his rhythm, and she doesn’t mind being the one to take his hand or pressing surprise kisses to his cheeks.

“It doesn’t help you’re so tall,” Alice says but with a flicker of delight in her emotions. She dances around the fact that she loves their size difference, that she adores feeling precious and protected for once in their life, with him at her side. That every part of being with him makes her feel less like the killer, monster, soldier that she spent so very long being.)

The thing is, he knows she’s not normal. She knows it too. And she has no excuse. Maybe it’s the visions. Maybe she really was nuts as a human and it came with her that night Maria found her in the park. Alice thinks it was years in a vampire army that curdled her brain - or finished the job, at least.

But he loves his half-feral, crazy wife. He loves that she laughs too loud and asks strange questions and has no sense of modesty or propriety. He loves that all the shadows and spaces on his body line up with her slender curves, that she moves over him with awe and lust in her eyes every single time; that the reverence in her gaze and her mood are better attributed to some greek god than his sharp, bony frame.

That for every comment whispered across a locker room or behind hands that he’s weak or sickly or somehow lacking, Alice is there with her eyes full of him and only him. That she’s not above a filthy kiss in a classroom to stake her claim and remind everyone - including him - that he is utterly desirable, the heart-throb and prince of her story. That their easy dismissal of him is the joke she’s always laughing at.

He doesn’t bother to try to explain to their family that he had nothing before he woke up in the middle of what he assumes was Texas, alone and unknowing. It was only old dog tags with ‘Jasper W-’, the surname worn away, knotted around his wrist to give him a name. Ragged clothing and old dog tags - he had nothing else. And then he found her and she grounded him, tethered him into a time and place at her side. That she had poured out everything he ever needed before she’d even kissed him for the first time.

She’d been upfront too, looking him in the eye at her grand height of five feet high, that she was a mess but maybe they could be a mess together. He’d initially assumed she meant the scars, but it had taken him only a few hours to realise that the scars were nothing.

(He loves the scars, loves pinning her to the mattress so she can’t squirm away, and reopening them, pressing his own venom into her tissue to make every single of them his; to make her his for forever and a day. She hisses and cries but she still begs with him not to stop, to at least fuck her as he tears her open. If he could, he’d carve open her chest and take her heart for his own; a bloody trophy she’d be all too willing to give.)

That Alice might be crazy, unpredictable and volatile, but in her heart of hearts, she’s soft and fragile and ephemeral; a girl who is half rabid and terrified of slowing down and desperate to be loved as she is. That only he sees the vulnerable part of her, when Esme gets frustrated with her riddles and double talk, when Rosalie gets angry at her constant innuendo, when Edward storms out at her twisted little thoughts, he stays at her side.

He watches her face fall when one of their classmates calls her crazy, insinuate things about her to the new girl; feels her lean against him, her emotions a cocktail of disappointment and shame and hurt; one that makes him drop a kiss to the top of her head, to take her hand. Every school in every place claims Alice struggles with impulse control, from calling out inappropriate things in class, to skipping school, to having sex with Jasper in empty classrooms. It’s not like the Cullens can explain all the pieces that make up Alice - the ostracised daughter, the vampire soldier, the powerful psychic, the repentant murderer… that she still struggles with the unspoken rules, with remembering she’s supposed to be human, acting like a human teenager.

But she does try - she has a whole section of her closet dedicated to high school clothing that she carefully curates from magazines and online. Her own tastes opt for couture, for vintage dresses and cocktail dresses. She mutters and complains as she is forced to pick out ‘school approved’ garments - today’s ensemble is a graphic t-shirt, a satiny red skirt that glides against her thighs in a way that should be illegal, and shimmery tights. Her hair hangs in loose waves to her collarbone, and she’s perfectly lovely. A normal human girl would burn to be as genuinely pretty as Alice is.

"You're biased," she sighs when he tells her that. "And stop saying that in front of Rose, you know it pisses her off."

The nomads are sauntering towards them with the arrogance of predators. They are dirty and blood-stained and look every bit threatening as a vampire should.

Alice is standing beside him, and he’s reassured that she’s wearing a long sleeved shirt under her baseball shirt; leggings, a mini-skirt and knee-high socks; it means the only scars that can be seen are Maria’s and his (he hates it, a little, that her Cullen choker covers up those scars like there is something shameful about her past, that she should regret her marks.)

He feels like a traitor, thinking that. But it wouldn’t be the first time that a nomad has come across the family, seen Alice’s scars and things have gone sour. He wants her beside him, safe, unthreatened by these nomads - she looks utterly innocent and harmless, with her hair twisted up into cute little buns.

He washes the females of their group in mundanity and it should be enough, it should make things easier. Except Alice reaches out and grabs his arm, her eyes flashing to their whites as she utters his name. It’s a bad vision, one that has her emotions punch him straight in the chest and scatter his intention - her horror and shock and rage.

The vision lasts seconds and Alice’s knees buckle for a second before she is rigid and furious.

It’s just enough time for Jasper’s influence to fade from the nomads, for them to take stock of the Cullen family.

And James’ face stretches into a delighted grin, his pleasure sickening as he moves closer.

“Major Jasper Whitlock! What an unexpected surprise!”

“Do I know you?”

Alice is full-on growling now, her body leaning forwards and he’s suddenly and intensely aware of how much she’s restraining herself, how angry she is.

“I never thought that you’d make it this far.” James is pacing back and forth right now. “And you brought a snack!”

“Get Bella out of here, Edward.” Alice’s voice is low and angry and he’s not sure if he should hold her back or get everyone else clear of whatever is about to happen. He’s seen Alice fight before, when they were travelling together and the nomads then weren’t nearly as high stakes as this moment.

But this man knew who he had been. Major Whitlock? That was more than he’d ever had before.

“Alice, please,” he murmurs but Alice is already slinking forward.

“Don’t, Jasper,” is all she says. And then she lunges.

—

The fight is not fast, but it is thorough. Laurent gets away missing a hand, and Victoria’s face is disfigured, but James is shredded and strewn around Alice, her shirt torn and her eyes black.

She’s practically trembling as James’ remains burn, and Jasper pushes aside the horror of the Cullens, of finally seeing what Alice is capable of when threatened.

It’s not fear that has Alice coiled up; the tension is primal - ready for the next attacker, ready to fight, still processing the threat to her mate and coven. The absolutely rage and terror has her limbs alight for the next strike, and he moves forward cautiously, telegraphing his movements as he gets closer. Her eyes track him as he gets closer before his scent catches her and her body visibly relaxes, a flash of a vision passing over her as she reaches out to pull him closer.

“I let the other two get away,” she mumbles into his shirt. “He was a goddamn monster.”

“You got them good, though,” he says, his hands gentle on her back.

Alice is quiet after the Cullens’ meeting; he finds her up to her nose in a bubble bath. But it’s not the usual bubble bath, where there is incense burning - the stuff that smells like forest flowers and moss - and Alice’s hair is tied up in a scarf with some pointless but indulgent green face mask on, music playing, and maybe a magazine held just above the bubbles.

No, her hair hangs wet and lank in the water and half stuck to her face. Her eyes are a dark gold, even after hunting. She just lies there, staring, and he leaves her be.

He doesn’t say anything, not even the she pads out of the bathroom in actual pyjama bottoms and an oversized t-shirt; not one of her lingerie sets that she takes so much pride in teasing him with. Her hair is still wet and she looks inhuman and sad.

He opens his arms to her, and she reaches for him, as they curl together on their bed. She buries her face in his neck, and then she tells him everything that she saw - that James was involved in his change, that James had known him back at some kind of hospital and had hunted him to his death.

That Jasper had once been Major Jasper Whitlock.

That there had been someone on Jasper’s side. Another vampire who had not lived to see through Jasper’s change.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry that I couldn’t let you find out more… he would have attacked; we would have gotten hurt.” Her lips graze his neck as she speaks and he hears what she’s saying but he doesn’t listen. He can’t. It’s so much more than he’s ever had before that it doesn’t seem real.

Major Jasper Whitlock. It feels like a joke. So many years he thought that his name was nothing more than borrowed boots, but it was his all along. That someone had cared enough to make sure he had that little token with him through the change. That awakening alone had never been the plan, just a tragedy.

Her fingers trace under his shirt, dipping around his ribs and he tightens his grip on her. It’s easier to focus on her right now, when he’s feeling so distant from everything with the new information rattling around in his brain.

He’s sorry she washed her hair; the little pigtail-buns were cute and made her eyes bigger. He could drown in those eyes, gold and ochre and lemon. Or scarlet, ruby, burgundy. Whatever colour she has, they swallow him whole every time.

If they got married now, he wouldn’t have to be Jasper Brandon, he realises suddenly. They don’t talk about marriage - Alice says it’s a Cullen thing, that they don’t need to be married. But he still thinks about it, and wonders if she rejects it because she still hates herself for some of the things she did in the south, because of how steadfastly she rejected it as a human.

She’d be Alice Whitlock now. That makes him feel odd; a little guilty that he’s somehow letting her down wanting her to take his name even when she’s mentioned a lot of times she hates it. Hates Brandon and the human life she lived.

There’s smoke and yelling and he cannot see or hear her anywhere on the field. There’s too many people to filter out emotional flavours and panic is beginning to rise in his chest.

Alice isn’t dead. Alice can’t be dead. There isn’t a world without Alice. He doesn’t exist without Alice. He doesn’t know how to be without her.

Panic is like stinging nettles and running out of air underwater. Every fragment of body scattered on the battlefield could be her.

It feels like someone has carved away half his chest.

Then Emmett is there, grabbing him by the shoulders - Emmett has a nasty bite mark and a long scratch down his arm, and one over his eye.

“Jasper, what is it?”

His knees are buckling and he can’t get the words out. The family knows he gets depressed, gets anxious. But they never see the panic attacks - he hasn’t had one in a good amount of time, and Alice is the one that takes care of him then, takes him somewhere quiet or says something outrageous so that everyone is too busy being annoyed or shocked to notice him. He needs her violet-and-liquor scent to ground him and she’s not here, she’s not fucking here.

It’s because she’s dead, he knows it. There are pyres scattered all over the battlefield, the smoke a gathering haze around their ankles.

“Alice,” he croaks and Emmett’s eyes widen in understanding, in terrible comprehension.

“She’s here, I saw her tangling with Caius,” Emmett says, looking around. That’s worse, somehow; he knows she’s lethal, a death wish in a cocktail dress, but Caius. The one who destroyed the werewolves, who is legendary for his fighting skills. Not his Alice, no.

Peter and Charlotte are heading over, and the tangle of panic and outside emotions round him feels like an ice shelf cracking, like something has to break inside him for it all to stop. Charlotte immediately goes to him; he doesn’t need a mirror to know he looks haunted and hollow, and Peter darts off.

He’ll find her body and bring it for me to burn. Then he can finish me off is the most lucid of his thoughts and the look of horror on Emmett’s face, of shock on Charlotte’s makes him realise he’s said it aloud.

Suddenly she’s limping from the back of the field, tossing Caius’ head onto the fire without ceremony. She’s a mess, with a crack spiralling from the corner of her mouth to her ear. Her eyes are black, and her shirt is torn open. He can’t see why she’s limping but she is, quite obviously. There is something utterly inhuman about her in that moment, like a righteous deity arriving to deal out bloody justice.

As his eyes meet hers, all the steel in her stance melts away and he realises with a shock that she had assumed the worst too. Assumed that he was gone. Assumed that the battle had cost her him.

She slams into him, or he into her, he’s not sure because they were both moving. She smells mostly like ashes and venom and smoke, but she’s a secure weight in his arms, holding so tight to him, as they fall to the grass clinging to the other.

I love you I love you I love you

I thought you were gone

I thought I’d lost you

I’m here

#alice cullen #jasper hale #twilight saga #twilight fic #jalice #my fic: history switch #angst #romantic #drama #ficmas #ficmas22 #twificmas22 #jasper being an awkward gremlin and alice being a feral cat that has adopted jasper

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faithfromanewperspective · 1 year ago

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I'm just sending this to you because we discuss neurodivergence of TSC characters a lot lol but the way that Matthew talks about Oscar Wilde just screams Not Neurotypical to me. It's too pervasive in his mind, too obsessive a fixation. He brings Wilde up in situations where he isn't "relevant" by neurotypical standards, such as when he calls Magnus "Oscar Wilde if he had magic powers" and when he randomly starts to quote him in various scenarios. I recognize this, because it is funny enough the way that I think about and talk about Matthew himself.

The only thing is that I can't pinpoint what I think the underlying neurodivergence here is. Because I have ADHD and relate to Matthew, I'm partial to labeling it an ADHD hyperfixation. But I don't really see any other ADHD traits in Matthew. Thoughts?

love this ask so much! this is going to be a wild(e) ride of an answer with some crackpot theories because that's where I'm at right now. so buckle up.

So the short of it is I think yes, Matthew does have ADHD, but it's hidden behind well, everything else. I'll start with why it's hard to see: because so much of how we talk about ADHD today relates to one of three situations: 1) the classroom, 2) the workplace, and 3) running a household/getting day-to-day chores done. Matthew goes to school for less than six months, he does not have a typical job (instead one that is arguably more ADHD-friendly) and he does not bear the responsibility of running a household, or anything really. Yes he helps out--but everything he does would be seen as extra and helpful and so if/when he's not feeling it, no one is going to care.

The second reason I'd say it's hard to see is because my educated guess is that he has the hyperactive/impulsive type and much of that ends up muted (not all of it) considering he isn't sober most of the time we know him. My guess is part of the reason it takes everyone so long to realise he's drinking so much is because he's actually more 'normal' when he's drunk. They think he just grew up. When in reality him actually growing up involves being himself a lot more and letting his neurodivergence shine through.

So why do I think he has ADHD? First, there's genetics. Henry definitely definitely has ADHD. He's so absentminded it's actually kind of impressive. And we see in VSaEH that his mother (?) Rachel Branwell is a lot like him. And then there's Charlotte, who I expect probably doesn't have ADHD. But she's strong-willed and stubborn and proud and angered at injustice and has that defiant compassion we see in Matthew. Charlotte doesn't exactly scream neurotypical but even though she's not obviously neurodivergent, you can see she carries some traits, I guess? I'm not sure exactly how genetics work with ADHD, I don't think anyone is, but I can see very clearly in my head how these two personalities combine genetically to create the Matthew we know and love. Also generally when one parent has ADHD you're likely to get at least one child with it.

Second, there's who he hangs out with. None of his friends are neurotypical--not the Thieves, not Anna, not Lucie (Cordelia joins the group a lot later once it's already formed so she doesn't count here). And we know neurodivergents flock together. Due to common traits, yes, but I think in Matthew's case it's also because he finds most 'normal' shadowhunters so excruciatingly boring. Caught up in silly shows of their power and athleticism with sharp weapons. Not really doing anything new, not expressing any part of themselves that feels anything, seeming especially to want to prove that they don't have that aspect of humanity, training and learning and showing off all the time instead of being human and having basic compassion that might actually drive them to better protect the humans they're mandated to (as it does for 13yo James).

I think the reason behind all this can be partially explained with ADHD. Because its biological basis is not creating dopamine (satisfaction chemical) at the thing most people find satisfying, we often need a lot higher levels of satisfaction and thrill than your everyday neurotypical to function long enough to get to the next task. This can result in needing a deeper drive that aligns with our core beliefs (and often a cause bigger than ourselves and someone telling us to do things) that just Because Everyone Does. Makes us creative. Makes most people's interpretation of the shadowhunter life Just Not Cut It. Downworlders are exciting. The way the other Merry Thieves (at least Christopher and James) think is exciting. Same goes with Henry and Will and oh, the stories he's heard about Magnus from both of them. Someone who cares deeply and openly and so creatively expresses himself through fashion? The very thought would mean Matthew can for a moment not feel 'wrong' and a little less alone. Just like Oscar Wilde. More on this later.

Finally (in terms of Scientific Evidence), ADHD is a factor behind addiction. Some estimates say 50% of adults with ADHD have a history of substance abuse of some kind. Theories as to why include the dopamine hit that most things do not give us and escape from the feeling that we're wrong, that we can't keep up, and other mental health conditions that are far more common than in the general population. Matthew's bipolar that we have both headcanoned fits in this category--and its rate of co-occurrence with ADHD, depending on how it is defined/differentiated from the other symptomatically is high, at least much higher than in the general population.

Matthew's bipolar, I think, doesn't have a typical/stereotypical presentation either. It's less episodic and more often consists of mixed states of various kinds--and against a backdrop of ADHD (this is totally a headcanon on society for me), that makes perfect sense. The restlessness and boredom at life itself becomes irritability that easily spirals into rage-induced rebellion and grandiose ideas of creating a life so set apart from what is unbearable. And the lack of stimulation, lack of excitement and also genuine connection that makes us feel something other than the awareness of not quite belonging--combined with the exhaustion of getting by in this world and self-deprecating thoughts that all of this is a breeding ground for--stacks up until it meets the criteria for depression. Sometimes both of these things happen, at least aspects of them, at the same time.

And Matthew, who's constantly seeking out novelty in learning to notice things about the world from a very young age, stimulating his brain with this new information, very quickly realises the world isn't a friendly place for him and takes the blame for that on himself. It makes perfect sense doesn't it? He sees Henry and Christopher as well, existing, a little less consciously aware of it than he is all of the time, and also figures out the way society treats them, as oddities. He quickly learns to charm people and be liked, but that drive to make a difference, to turn the world upside down for people like him, gets unfulfilled again and again. Maybe it's all for nothing. Maybe he is a waste of space. A failure. Why can't he just accept things how they are and let it go? But then how could he validate his own existence? And so the rage against the world and against himself drives him on and raises its head with energy that goes into doing something dramatic but mostly he just drowns out in various forms of escapism. It makes him rebellious and irritable but mostly just tires him out. He hit breaking point very young. But like the fact that our ADHD brains that don't make (enough) dopamine doing day-to-day things aren't automatically always depressed (we can and do find things that give us the dopamine we need), Matthew still has art and culture and fashion and the things that bring a feeling of sustainable pleasure and tell him that his existence is creative and original and revolutionary and a source of joy for so many like him: either outcasts or filled with personality that society doesn't want them to express. I think his obsession with Oscar Wilde is more than an ADHD fixation, though it is one: it's validation of his very existence, it's his permission to feel, it's his lifeline: of course he thinks of it all the time and simply has to let that out no matter the occasion.

I also did want to briefly touch on the fact that there is more neurodivergence than just autism and ADHD. Most personality disorders involve a fixation on something or someone at some points, which is something to do with 'splitting' and finding a source of needs that were chronically unmet. I admit I'm only starting to learn about this, but I believe that its intensity and the emotional regulation it provides can look similar to an autistic special interest or an ADHD hyperfixation.

And there's also the fact that, when talking about symptoms that aren't exclusively defined against classroom/workplace/homemaking norms, ADHD often involves emotional dysregulation and big feelings especially of rejection. And like it's not the only reason Matthew does exhibit this: but when looked at as a whole person rather than a set of diagnoses, it makes sense that this does describe him and the brain he did end up developing over the years of his childhood.

I say that because there have been headcanons of BPD Matthew and as PDs are generally trauma-based and we've headcanoned Matthew's PTSD as well--even if (and I'm not an expert who can claim that for sure!) he doesn't have that core fear of abandonment there are reasons, hopefully I've established a bit of why so much is so relatable to him. Even if Oscar Wilde isn't quite a FP relationship, being a celebrity/artist and all. It's still a source of emotional safety against the backdrop of a largely hostile world (one that Matthew, brave as he is, seeks to continue to embrace and bring joy to).

I also suspect that ADHD (present from birth and interacting with life circumstances) underlies a lot more further neurodivergences (such as PDs, also bipolar as I've discussed) than we think it does. That and PDA. But I could be biased when it comes to finding neurodivergences that I know I don't have relatable, just because I have both of these things.

#neurodivergence #matthew fairchild #adhd #bipolar #bipolar awareness #neurodivergent liberation #the shadowhunter chronicles #tsc deep dives #tsc #the last hours

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simptasia · 1 year ago

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I was actually going to send an ask about that cause i was talking with a friend recently, and we were talking about how much we love that Charlie was Made Mancunian instead of something like a Londoner as I know they were going for the Britpop/Oasis 'troubled British musician' aesthetic, but Mancunians are like some of the nicest people in the UK, its gotta be that tram. We were talking about How they never met, but if they did, how Charlotte and Charlie could have formed a really funny friendship due to that North/South Divide. Like people joke but as someone from the UK that north-south divide is nasty, like you tell someone from the North you're moving to London they look at you like you've gone insane/Bonkers if you will. I cannot overstate just how snarky that friendship would be. Especially since Charlotte is from Sussex, a manc like Charlie is going to be bullying her as soon as she walks through the door. Like the poorest part of Sussex still gets more money than the most deprived part of Manchester, which also leads me to believe due to how it is, both Naomi and Charlie's snark might have a lil venom in it due to it really is a battlefield between Northerns and Southerners. Desmond also like Desmond is half Peruvian which is probably why he isn't like this, but I'm surprised he doesn't just full ham sarcastic talking to other British characters again that north-south divide is nasty, and he's a Scotsman everyone south of him is a southerner even Charlie and Naomi who were probably like a three-hour car drive away. My final point is i really think it would have been funny as to an American audience and every non-British character (Except people like Daniel who spent time in the UK ) it must look like a really advanced form of hate like imagine seeing people with nonsense accents bully someone else who lives an hour away with a nonsense accent cause they get their drinking water from caves instead of vast lakes.

miles: whoa naomi and charlotte really hate each other huh

daniel, who knows better: they're good friends actually

miles: [confused in american] ???

alas lost was written by americans who had no idea of the nuances of british culture. like, the only reason charlie specifically has manc energy is because it comes from dom's own brick soaked soul

like without being told, i am sure than it was dom's idea for charlie to coo over baffonee pie, a beloved northern dessert

(that's banana and toffee pie, babes!)

i woulda loved to have known how they woulda written charlie interacting with my beloved science trio. sure it wouldn't have been my delightfully indulgent internal fanfics but I Want it

i think des never made any playful jabs about charlie being english because he's not the type of person to give a fuck. yes i know the rivalries run deep but des is 1. pretty non-judgemental, 2. he has more important things to care about and 3. english pussy got him acting unwise. uh basically class and money divide fucks over des' mind, not country/culture divide

the show was never equipped to handle this so this is just my imagination but it seems more like charlie would be the one who cares about things like where you're from. not in a nasty way, but he'd at least think about it. his relationship with that posh girl lucy would have, deep down, made him feel worthless. espech with charlie's fixation on Taking Care Of His Loved Ones

and charlie being a manc really does add a lot to his character in ways i doubt the writers even realised. the dream version of megan pace cooing to charlie that he's going to save them with his musical talent, like he grew up with this need to make himself better than how he started. the punk aspects of him also tie into him being a manc because the Fuck The System and I Wanna Escape attitudes are super fucking common amongst northerners. it's a running joke that northerners suffer and whine all the time. charlie is a very northern character, almost stereotypically so. this is partly cuz of dom and partly cuz they based him on aspects of the northern music scene

i'm not saying all northerners are whiny angry little punk bitches. but charlie is and him being a manc adds like, a layer to it? also also the intersection between lower class english views of masculinity + the idea that charlie is bi and trans is utterly fascinating to me

but i digress. i don't get to talk about charlie being from the north enough, partly because like, i know most lost fans are americans who would just be smiling and nodding dumbfounded as i meme'd

but i do like to be educational. long story short, guys? manchester is a highly industrial part of the north of england and is riddled with poverty and violence and basically everybody who lives there are like the most depressed people in england (dom himself has expressed that he's proud to be a mancurian but happy he escaped)

so, like, manchester is the detroit of england. i hope that helps

#lost is an american show so they can bring up nuances of american culture #like michael pointing out that where he's from black people and koreans don't get along #but at the risk of sounding condescending #a lot of americans don't know shit about UK history and dynamics #except maybe knowing that england and ireland no beuno #and thats not ur faults its a lack of education or a lack of watching british media (which is a shame)#also like i dunno everything either. i have no idea why the north and south of england hate each other #just that they do. im sure its about something stupid #maybe it was wars. maybe its a class thing. maybe its run of the mill ''You Talk Different Than Me So Fuck You''#i've mainly heard the jokes #like that all southerners are sadists and all northerners are masochists #anyways im rambling. thanks for the messages

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the-firebird69 · 9 months ago

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The Beatles - Lucy In The Sky With Diamonds (Official Video)

youtube

The song says it and it shows it and they're trying to clean it in the video they're trying to say that they're the ones with the tech called Lucy. We're going ahead I'm going to put warrants on people for their crimes they are committing tonight and attempted times and we're doing it now there's a whole pile of you stealing mugging murdering and we're not going to tolerate it. There's more news the water has dropped to 11 ft 9 in and it's continuously dropping and the excavation has concluded offshore of all 11 holes and no it holes eight holes and there are three already yeah that would be 11:00 and we're going to watch the try and lift them out this morning right now they're going to try for three of them and they're fixing three rigs and the water is flowing out it's approaching very low tide and it's going faster and faster is his plastic tons of muck out from all the way up River and down the gulf the harbor they have lost how about 2 ft from what was there across the whole thing another four feet in areas that have it and it's all out it's wonderful the edge of the water has dropped only about 20 feet out about 10 ft and the waves are beginning to erode at the shore this area here will probably not lose too much and she go out there's a dock and up here and a few houses right on the edge that those structures will probably be gone in a couple weeks we anticipated it might only come in three or four houses as it would not drop at those spots we also think that they're just going to leave them there and they'll take it away by the ocean it's going to happen all over the world there's other things going on it's pretty big here but the water has dropped sort of face the shelf from 0 to 5 miles 10 ft to 80 ft and 5 mi to 15 miles 80 ft to about 200 ft and all the way to 150 it's about 900 ft down and it's still falling and the wind is not blowing too short it's not going offshore but out there it's blowing around and dissipating a lot of it stays in the surface in the salt Air absorbs it and it settles into the ocean there's some poison in it the algae is immune and some fish are getting killed and eating by the fish and other items there's a whole bunch of crabs 200 miles offshore it's just to the South where it shuts out they're using a shelter so at 2 billion crabs that are 3 ft and there's some fisherman out there now pulling them all out and the big ones can't see it and they're going to sell tons of crab , other items in the news we have $4,500 people in Charlotte county for being arrested tonight and 4th sedition. This other things going on but these people need to leave there is an evacuation there's a lot of people fleeing Florida and as the group builds out there more get arrested. There's a few more people here that don't need to be here they are rude losers and of course Billy Hicks is one of them and he's a moron and a monster and it needs to be cut down right now I'm sending orders. We have a situation in this town right now and we need to address it I'm sending orders on that too she mentioned it earlier and I want all of them pulled in we're pulling a lot in we need more in.

-there's an evacuation and we are at 14% and pretty much right there we are anticipating another 4% will begin to evacuate now until mid-morning and it will be very big and they will leave pretty much all at once that will leave a lot of territory and this is the three groups will advance along with that this group hears becoming more and more harsh to our son and distant and we really need to stop them from doing that and we don't need this to here they're horrible they're making it worse we need them out this more happening

-the methods deployed by the pseudo empire causing a lot of hatred all around the world of those who are in it and they are very brutal. People are associated with these who are the other side you have to keep accusing our son of being involved because they're running for president we want them out, the people who are like that. They think they can win the election by threatening our son and we keep telling him it's the other way around and they don't believe it so I need to do something a little faster than we're doing and people see it it is a problem

-how about 5 million people on the west coast are going to evacuate in the beginning in 20 minutes that's a lot we're here to keep our son from being kidnapped and he's thankful and Hera is too

-there's more to it this I hope you understand there's a lot of people who will see this it will probably evacuate maybe another 2 to 3% or worse and is very fast.

The publish now

Thor Freya

Olympus

Zues Hera

#Youtube

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multistoty · 6 years ago

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@notstainedglass

“It’s been a while since I’ve seen you,” Emma started staring the man who was the last of their name. Decades past between them accompanied by so much deaths and pain, but also cherishing moments few could ever know. Jem was handsome though the sensibilities of his past made him blush and cluster at that declaration. Though it might have been mean, the girl enjoyed Lily Chen’s taunts every once in a while. Such a pale man becoming so feverishly red and eloquence becoming a flutter of odd constants and tongue. The only silent brother to loose who he once was. To gain his life back. Just another thing Jace did. One day, Emma carstairs would move up from second to the fighter. See his smirk and clary’s thumbs up. A blind man could see that Jem was in love. There were long looks at Tessa that were hard to miss much less ignore. Those bright orbs flickered with her beauty. Yet, they remained unlustful and careful. Like Jules eyeing her and the kids or an artist trying to memorize every little piece of the love of their life. Mabye that was a carstairs thing. Julian was her parabatia and romantic eyes were only on him. They were parabatia long acquainted with eachother and spelling words on bodies. The blackthorn boy kept their world afloat. He was a father and leader at such an age. Stubborn enough to not allow help or burdens. Like the other man, she caught glimpses of the time of his lips when he smiled and the movements of his hands. Loosing her parents had made the shadowhunter take moments. In fact, Julian often angrily teased that she through herself into the abyss with second thought. But they couldn’t be lost and she held the memorizes of the boy who played with her hair for centuries. Jem knew what being robbed of things you want was like. He took that leap just as quickly. “I guess you and Tessa couldn’t be pulled away,” Emma teased affectionately. She was never great with words when feelings came. “Wherever we stand ,Jem, we’re family now. I don’t know what you want from this but it seems odd to dance around the issue. Two orphans.”

#(tried not to spoil quoad but i need some carstairs fluffy angst)#and feel free to ignore or respond #i might send you a charlotte or will or lucy

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ginevralinton · 2 years ago

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Fic masterlist

Below, is a master list of my writing, including the central character and/or ship for each piece!

Thank you to everyone who takes a look, leaves comments or kudos, or just has a read ♥♥

I mainly write BBC Ghosts and Classic Lit fics!

BBC Ghosts

Who would have thought it (Julian-centric)

A second (minor) heart attack (Julian/Robin - part 1/3 - can be read separately)

Not quite like the books (Julian/Robin - part 2/3)

A piece of the universe (Julian/Robin - part 3/3)

Hard-earned privileges (Julian and everyone)

That wonderful smile of yours - now, where is it? (Kitty-centric)

A table for eleven (Alison-centric ft everyone)

Sending worries to the moonah (Robin-centric, ft Julian)

Get a job! (Julian-centric, ft Robin, Alison and Thomas)

Weaving (Mary-centric - written pre-S4)

Still the same girl (Fanny-centric)

Postcards (Pat-centric)

Sometimes good (Robin focused, ft everyone)

The ghost stories are true (but you don’t believe them) (everyone - pre-series)

Thinking back, I might have nailed the coffin shut with that (Julian ft Robin)

None of us is; or else we all are (Thomas-centric)

Nobody in the world by you cares for cleverness (Fanny-centric, pre-series)

Stuck to the gum that’s stuck on your shoe (Julian and Robin)

Gaze (The Captain-centric)

Striking a deal (Mike-centric, ft Julian)

we are unfashioned creatures, but half made up (Annie/Mary, Mary-centric, S4 spoilers)

Could be worse (Humphrey-centric)

Albatross (Robin-centric, S4E1 spoilers)

Stuck on an island and you found your way off it (Kitty-centric, ft Captain)

Soggy cereal and other regrets (Pat-centric)

Sky Glow (Robin-centric, ft Julian and Mary, S4 spoilers)

this astonishing delay, the everyday, takes place (Alison-centric)

This feeling (Julian centric, Robin/Julian, sort of)

Inheritance (A Rachel-centric fic, with a bit of Julian)

The Tiger (A Fanny-centric fic)

Losing (Julian/Robin)

you’re dead anyway, so who cares? (Julian/Robin - kind of a follow on from Losing)

House Share (a 30k Mike-centric fic)

Shared Chaos (Alison-centric)

after the rain (comes more rain) (Humphrey-centric, ft. Sophie - part of the ‘wedding portraits’ series)

ship to wreck (Julian-centric, ft. Margot and Robin - part of the ‘wedding portraits’ series)

you make no way and the sea is not in sight (Fanny-centric - part of the ‘wedding portraits’ series)

Uninvited Guests (Alison-centric - ft my OCs, basically, in which two strangers come to Button House)

Pick yourself up, dust off your knees (Pat-centric, part of the ‘wedding portraits’ series)

Big Boring (Julian-centric, a hint of Julian/Robin/chess husbands)

Red Sky in the Morning (Mary-centric, ft Annie - can be read as platonic or shippy - part of the ‘wedding portraits’ series)

home will always be a moment (Kitty-centric, part of the ‘wedding portrait’ series)

a workshop of filthy creation (Thomas-centric, ft Francis being awful)

Just Happens (Robin and Julian)

Behind the clouds (Robin and Julian - could be pre-chess-husbands)

The Story Might One Day Have Been Yours (Captain-centric, written pre-series-5, part of the ‘wedding portraits’ series)

Honeymoons and other wasps nests (Robin-centric, written post-series-5, part of the ‘wedding portraits’ series)

Maps to the End Point (a closer/alternative look at the finale, giving each of the ghosts a moment of realisation)

Keep it Fawcett!! (Robin/Julian, chess husband ramble)

************************************************************************

Villette by Charlotte Brontë

Don’t let them get you down, you’re the best thing I’ve seen (Ginevra Fanshawe centric, post-novel, slight AU, Ginevra/Lucy, multi chapter)

How could anything bad ever happen to you? (Ginevra-centric, hint of one-sided Ginevra/Lucy if you want it but vague, could be canon)

Watch me shimmer (Ginevra-centric, one-sided Gin/Lu, canon-compliant, just from Gin’s pov)

a hidden courtyard (Lucy-POV, ft Ginevra)

************************************************************************

Great Expectations by Charles Dickens

Warmth (Pip/Herbert - slight, canon-compliant)

Those that love us (Pip/Herbert, ft Joe and Biddy, canon ending divergence)

Rubies, Sapphires and Diamonds (Estella-centric)

I shall always need you, because I shall always love you (Herbert/Pip, canon ending divergent)

Absolutely necessary (Pip, Herbert and Clara)

************************************************************************

Grantchester ITV

The Happy Things (Leonard/Daniel, ft Mrs C)

Together (Leonard/Daniel)

************************************************************************

Of Mice and Men by John Steinbeck

The loneliest guys in the world (George and Slim)

If they drag you through the mud (George and Slim)

************************************************************************

Frankenstein by Mary Shelley

where the evening splits in half (Henry Clerval/Victor Frankenstein)

We shall do nothing and smile (Henry/Victor, ft Elizabeth) (very, very old, but you’re welcome to it)

***********************************************************************

Armadale by Wilkie Collins

Never have relish in thy faery power of unreflecting love? (Allan Armadale/Ozias Midwinter - niche, niche, niche)

Sweeter skies and longer days of sun (Allan/Ozias, again, a sort of canon divergent thing post novel)

#my writing #BBC Ghosts #Villette #Great Expectations #Frankenstein #Grantchester #Of Mice and Men #Armadale

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madame-wilsonn · 3 years ago

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His little family

Summary: you leave Henry with your children for the first time since he came back.

A/N: okay this is the first official story I post on this blog and well, I was going to send it to @retromafia on anon but accidentally erased it so yep. Reader isn’t really present here but I still hope you like it! 🤍✨ also if you want to be tagged in my stories, send me an ask or a dm!

Warnings: there might be some errors but English is not my first language.

You looked at your reflection in your mirror one last time before grabbing your purse and gloves. You had been invited by your neighbor, Lucy to drink tea at her house. For this occasion, Henry had kindly proposed to watch the children for you so you could enjoy some time with your friend.

It would be his first time staying with the kids alone since he came back. You had agreed to let him spend time with them for several reasons: the first one was obviously because it was important for him and for the children to be together, it would give them the opportunity to bond, the second one was because you knew how good it would be for him to feel a bit more at home and not so much as a stranger and finally, he had made a lot of progress in the last few months. He didn’t have nightmares every night, he wasn’t completely terrified of hurting you or the kids and somehow, he had begun enjoying life a bit more (your very lush and colorful garden was a standing proof of that)

Despite all that, despite how much you trusted him, you still worried. What if watching over three little children was too much at once? What if he felt overwhelmed? What if leaving him alone with them only brought him back months before and destroyed all the hard work he did?

But it was going to be alright, you would only be gone for a few hours and you’d be still close enough to come back if something happened.

Going downstairs, you found everyone waiting for you in the living room. You took James and Charlotte by their hands, crouching down in front of them.

“Mommy is going to see Aunt Lucy, alright? You’re going to stay with daddy this afternoon so promise me you’ll be nice and behave?”

“Promise, mommy” they both said at the same time.

You smiled proudly at them, giving them a kiss on the cheek each and you stood up. Henry was holding Alice in his arms, standing right behind James and Charlotte.

You caressed your baby’s soft head, kissing her as she stared at you curiously, then you turned to your husband.

“Are you sure you’ll be alright? Because I could take Alice with me at least and-“

“Yes, I’m sure.” He interrupted your rambling with a comforting smile “Go spend some time with your friend and we’ll be alright here. Right, kids?” He asked as he looked over your shoulder.

They both nodded eagerly and you smiled at Henry.

“Okay, then. I’ll be home very soon.”

You leaned in, kissing your husband’s cheek before walking towards the door. They all watched you leave before returning to their previous occupations.

Henry put Alice in her little playpen, offering her some of her toys while James and Charlotte played on the carpet together. Their father was back on the couch, grabbing his book.

After a seemingly long adventure with fairies, Charlotte decided it was time to put her favorite doll to sleep. She then got up, joining her father on the couch.

“What are you reading?”

Henry raised his eyes from his book to look at his daughter.

“It’s a book about exotic plants.”

She hummed, stayed silent for a few seconds before turning back towards him.

“Can I read with you?” She asked eagerly

Noticing the glimpse of curiosity shining in her eyes, Henry smiled in agreement and opened his arms enough for his Lottie to rest her head on his chest. He started where he had left off, stopping every once in a while to explain some words better or to answer a question.

Soon enough, James realized that more interesting things were happening on the couch, more worthy of his attention than his toy cars and he joined his dad and his sister.

But this time, Henry noticed someone was missing. He briefly pushed away his oldest ones to pick up Alice. He gently dropped her on his lap and took the book back as the baby put her tiny, chubby hands on his cheeks, mesmerized by her “dada”’s face.

As he begun his reading, Alice settled on his chest, her head right over his heart. Her siblings did the same thing, the both of them resting their heads in the crook of his neck.

However, Alice was asleep before he got to the next page and by the end of the chapter about exotic plants in India, the other two were softly snoring on his chest as well.

Henry realized quickly it was hard to keep reading in this position so he chose to close the book and gently let it fall on the carpet. He rested his head on the back of the couch and took a deep breath.

There was no feeling as good as the one he was experiencing at the moment. He had missed this, he had missed feeling his children’s pure and innocent love, seeing them learn and grow in the most beautiful way, holding them and protecting them from the cruelty of the world. He had missed all of this. And despite how hard it had been, he was grateful for these moments and he tried to cherish them as much as possible.

Henry didn’t move for a while, enjoying the precious moment. But the more time passed, the more his eyelids were heavy so he decided to stop resisting and rest his eyes...just for a few minutes.

When you came back from Lucy’s house, you were welcomed by an eerie silence. Your heart stopped beating in your chest, the house shouldn’t be so quiet, not with the kids insidd. What happened?

You rushed inside, reaching the living room still wearing your shoes but you let out a relieved sigh once you saw the adorable scene taking place under your eyes. Your little family, bundled up and fast asleep on the couch.

You quietly moved closer, grabbing a blanket and wrapping it around their bodies. You smiled fondly as you pushed away a rebellious strand of hair off of Henry’s forehead. He moved a bit but didn’t wake up. It was a good thing he could sleep. Despite not having as much nightmares, he still had very troubled nights.

You pushed yourself away, making sure Alice wouldn’t fall or hurt herself in any away before leaving the room.

Even if you had been worried, you were glad you let Henry stay with the children. Just as much as they craved for their father’s love, you knew he craved for theirs too. And even if it could take Henry years to heal, if he ever healed at all, he had his little family to guide him until the end of the tunnel.

#henry wilson #henry wilson x reader #henry wilson fluff #shivering soldier #dunkirk #anna’s fics

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newtonsheffield · 4 years ago

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Hi Molly!! I just wanted to tell you how much i’m loving Bridgerton and Son! It’s so good! Do you have any other headcanons about Edmund, in particular how he reacts to the birth of Miles and his sister! Thank you (and sorry for my English it’s not my first language)

Hi! Thank you so much, I’m so glad you’re enjoying this (not so little anymore) series. And your English is perfect, don’t worry about it!

I actually love this prompt so much thanks for sending it in!

When Kate had realised she was pregnant with Miles, Edmund had been nearly 18 months old. Anthony had researched (Kate had scoffed and rolled her eyes when he’d said the word) the best way to tell a child they were going to be a sibling. Kate honestly couldn’t even remember when she’d been told Edwina was coming along, and Anthony remembered a little too well, so she’d deferred to him. Anthony had sat Edmund down between him and Kate, given him a new truck and said Edmund, Mummy and I have a very important job for you do you think you can do it? Edmund’s little brow had furrowed in a way that made him look even more like Anthony and he’d nodded. In a Few months, you’re going to be a big brother because Mummy’s having A baby isn’t that exciting? Edmund’s eyes had shot up excitedly and he’d jumped around the room thrilled at the prospect that he’d get his own Uncle Greg as he put it. Kate had leaned in close to Anthony smiling as she watched their son toddle around and said Do you think he thinks it will actually be Greg? Anthony had made an unsure noise and said Eh we’re hazy on the details. They could admit it was possibly a mistake to tell Edmund first when he yelled out as soon as they entered Violet’s living room the next day MY MUMMY’S HAVING A BABY! To shocked silence.

When Kate had been pregnant with Charlotte he was nearly 4. Kate had sat the boys down at the kitchen counter, Anthony behind her and said Boys, Because you’re so good at being brothers Daddy and I have decided to have a new baby! Miles’ had frowned a little uncomprehending but Edmund had smiled widely again, and said Okay! But this time I want a little sister. I want an Auntie Hy! Anthony had muttered in Kate’s ear I want a girl too but god help us if it’s like Hyacinth. Sophie had come up to Kate in the kitchen a few days later while the rest of the family was gathered in the garden and said I just thought I’d let you know Edmund just sat on my lap and told me he’s getting a baby sister. Might want to knock that on the head if it’s not true. Kate sighed loudly and said God help me that child is just as much of a gossip as his father!

Edmund was 8 years old when Kate fell pregnant with Mary. Anthony and Kate had sat their children down and very gently explained that They were going to have another baby in the family. Edmund had frowned Is Aunt Lucy having a baby? Anthony had scoffed and muttered Well, probably. Kate had shot her husband a disapproving look. I don’t know Honey. Edmund’s scowl had deepened. Is it Auntie Edwina? Auntie Sophie? Auntie Eloise? Auntie Frankie? He said listing off female relatives. Anthony barked out a laugh realising his son had misunderstood, Kate again tutted at him. No! She cut Edmund off, Honey, I’m having a baby. Charlotte had squeaked excitedly, Miles had grinned and Edmund’s mouth had dropped open in surprise. But you’re so old! Anthony started laughing properly now. And no amount of Kate’s glaring had stopped him.

#bridgerton and sons au #kathony #anthony x kate #kate sheffield #anthony bridgerton #edmund bridgerton ii #miles bridgerton #charlotte bridgerton #I love little gossip Edmund tbh #molly's asks and aswers #molly's headcanons

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imherongraystairstrash · 3 years ago

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Find The Way Home (Part 2)

(Part 1)

~Later that night~

Thomas trudged into his house, letting the door click softly and locking it before hanging his boleadoras on the hook by the door—something he’d gotten so used to doing out of habit, it was practically a reflex—so that his parents knew whether he was home or not. He could feel his drowsiness deep in throat, threatening to become a yawn.

He hadn’t realized how tired he was, how little he’d slept these past weeks, until the adrenaline rush from the battle had suddenly come crashing down. Thomas walked past the drawing room and found his parents, laughing over something.

Both had taken off their gear and changed into something more comfortable. Sophie’s knees were bent over Gideon’s legs, their heads bent towards each other’s. Gideon seemed to have a photo album on his lap.

Shadowhunters didn’t take many pictures, because it wasn’t customary, so the book was rather small. Nevertheless, Thomas’ parents were flipping through slowly, stopping at every picture to point out the events of that year.

It would have seemed like an intimate moment, if Thomas didn’t know any better. His parents, no matter what, always wanted to spend time with their children. He knew his parents loved him and his sister so much that they would do anything to keep them safe. They always reminded him that they loved him, no matter what. He knew he could tell them he loved men, and that his parents would embrace that part of him, and tell him they loved him, but Thomas still had difficulties in telling them. There had been so many times that he had opened his mouth with full intentions of telling them, and then closing it again. His mouth couldn’t form the words, he couldn’t speak; it was as though his throat had become honey, and the words he wanted to say got stuck in it.

But now, he was too exhausted to even think about telling them anything. He was too exhausted to think. He leaned against the doorway and must have made a loud noise, because both Sophie and Gideon looked up.

Sophie smiled at him. “Your sister said she was off to bed, though I suspect she’s gone off to read or knit. I’m afraid she finds our company dull.”

“You’re not dull.” Thomas said, his words slurring together, unintentionally.

Sophie shook her head, shifting so that her feet rested on the floor. “You’re too kind. But, Thomas, darling, you look exhausted; you’re swaying on your feet. Come here before you fall.”

Normally, Thomas would have argued that he was fine, but tonight he was far too tired to do anything but trudge over to his parents and fall back onto the couch beside Sophie.

He rested his head on her shoulder. Sophie put an arm around him and kissed his head.

“He hasn’t slept well in a while, has he?” Gideon said.

“I’m afraid not.” Sophie said. “He might have to be carried off to bed.”

“I’m still awake, you know.” Thomas mumbled.

“Perhaps not for long,” Gideon said.

Thomas could feel Sophie snicker quietly. “We were just looking at the pictures we have of you and your sisters.”

“I remember that one.” Thomas said, pointing to one at the upper left hand corner. It was the three of them with their Lightwood cousins, Anna and Christopher. Barbara and Eugenia had twin toothy grins while Anna’s looked mischievous. Thomas and Kit were sitting on the ground in front of them, playing with the grass. Christopher had been moving, so he was a blur in the photograph. “Kit fell into the pond that day.”

Gideon burst out laughing. “How could I have forgotten about that?”

“And then Gabriel had to jump in after him because, naturally, Christopher couldn’t swim. And when he came back, dripping wet, Aunt took one look at him and said ‘it’s a bit late in summer to be going for a swim, is it not?’”

Sophie wiped her eyes from laughing too hard.

“Never a dull moment with your cousins.” Gideon said.

Thomas smiled and looked down at the photo album again.

“The day before this one, Eugenia was so angry that she threw Bab’s doll out the window and she cried for days.” Thomas felt his throat close a little bit at that one. The memory of his sister still made his throat close up.

“Those crazy girls.” Sophie said, rubbing circles into Thomas’ back. “Their shenanigans made me loose years of my life I will never get back.”

Suddenly, the telephone rang, which would have startled Thomas awake had he not been too tired for his body to react. Gideon got up. “I’ll get that.”

Thomas barely registered what Gideon said, now leaning heavily on Sophie’s shoulder. She slowly guided him to lay his head on her lap as she stroked his hair back.

“Was the mattress in The Sanctuary too small?” Sophie asked.

“It was fine.” Thomas said.

Sophie laughed. “You can tell me the truth. I won’t tell anybody.”

Thomas sighed and smiled sleepily. “It was a little bit too small.”

“A little bit too small by normal human standards or Tom standards?” Sophie said. Though his eyes were closed, he could hear the smile in her voice.

“My calves may have been on the floor.”

Sophie chuckled. “You’re too tall, darling.”

“I know.”

She bent down and kissed his cheek. Thomas liked his mother’s kisses. Her scar went from the tip of her mouth and stretched across her face. When she kept it at a neutral, her mouth was able to fully close, but when she pressed her lips forward to give a kiss, the corner pulled back slightly, which meant that Thomas could only really feel one side of her mouth. It was silly to describe, but it was distinct in a way that he could only associate it with his mother.

When he was younger, the boy his age would ask him what it was like to have a mother with such a hideous scar on her face. They always wanted to know if it ever scared him, which used to confuse Thomas. The scar was a part of his mother’s face; he never really thought much of it because it has always been there. He didn’t think it was hideous because he loved his mama and she won’t be his mother without her scar.

“Did you hit your head?” Sophie asked, feeling the small bump on his head, which was a little bit tender to the touch.

Thomas fought the urge to laugh. He had hit his head, but he didn’t want to tell his mother how. Even if she knew about Thomas and Alastair, he wouldn’t have wanted to tell her about about that, tell about. Things. Head. Alastair…

Thomas’ thoughts were turning into soup. He couldn’t concentrate on anything.

“Tom?”

“Hm,” he said softly.

He found it hard to remember where he was or what he had been doing as his eyes shut closed again, against his will.

“Sleep Thomas, darling.” Sophie said lightly. “I’ll make sure everything is alright.”

It’s like his body was waiting for permission to sleep because immediately after she said that, Thomas fell into a state of deep sleep.

He dreamt of nothing. Even his mind was too tired to conjure up a single thought. He just slept until he woke up again to hear his parent’s voices. His throat felt like honey, and he felt the urge to stretch his limbs, but he resisted it.

“Remind me again how we’ll kill the inquisitor?” Gideon was saying

“Slowly.” Sophie said calmly. Her calloused hands were still stroking Thomas’ hair and occasionally brushed his cheeks. They were so gentle he found it hard to believe that they were the same hands that fought off dozens of automatons at once. “And I’m sure we can get the rest of the family to join in as well.”

“There’s no doubt about that.” Gideon mumbled. “We can even get Henry to use his staff.”

“It’s been such a long time since I’d seen him fight. It brought me back to when I was younger. He and Charlotte would always patrol together.” Sophie said, sighing.

Thomas didn’t need to open his eyes to know she was resting her head on Gideon’s shoulder.

“Yes, I remember. Though I can’t say I heeded them much attention; I only remember scowling at my father. It’s strange how time goes by.”

Thomas never heard much about his Grandfather Benedict. Gideon didn’t like talking about his father, nor did Gabriel. Thomas was very familiar with the story of how they defeated him when he was a worm, but he knew little to nothing about Benedict when he was still human.

“Now that James is married, we have an extra family member.” Sophie said.

“We should get Alastair too, he fought well today. Like a part of the family.”

Thomas’ eyes flew open, which startled Sophie, causing her to jump in her seat.

“Goodness, Thomas. Did you have a nightmare?”

“No! I was just eager to wake up.”

Gideon and Sophie looked down at him with twin expressions of confusion and skepticism.

Thankfully, he was saved by the opening of the parlor. However, that relief was then masked with confusion when he was who came in.

“Aunt Cecily?” Thomas said, sitting up.

Gideon sat up, rigidly. “Is something wrong with Gabriel?”

“Oh, no. Heavens no.” Cecily said quickly.

Thomas swore he saw his father sigh in relief.

“I came here for something else.” Cecily looked a little bit breathless. “Lucie hasn’t stopped by here, by any chance, has she?”

“No,” Gideon said, standing up. “Why? What’s the matter, Cecy?”

“She’s gone.” Cecily said, pale.

Tagging (Sorry for the spam guys!): @tsccreatorsnet @atla-lok143 @rinadragomir @youngreckless @autumnangel20 @julemmaes @cupcakesandkittens @no-scones-allowed @fictionally-fantastic @stxr-thxif @writeforjordelia @itsdaughterofthemoon @jordeliasupremacy @cordelia-cardale @will-effing-herondale @axoloteca @heronstairs2014 @ilovemanicures @ti-bae-rius

If you want to be on my tag list, or if you changed your url recently and your not in the tag list anymore, let me know! Also, if you want to be removed, send me a dm! I won’t be offended in the slightest :) Oh, and if you asked to be on the tag list and you’re not on it, please tell me (I’m very absentminded lol).

#Thomas lightwood #sophie lightwood #gideon lightwood #eugenia lightwood #barbara lightwood #the last hours #tlh fanfic #tsc fanfiction #tsc fanfic #thomas lightwood fanfic

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inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 4 years ago

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Eccentricity [Chapter 14: Love Keeps The Monsters From Our Door] [Series Finale]

A/N: Thank you for your encouragement, enthusiasm, laughter, rants, screeches of anguish, and unapologetic thirsting for “sexy undead Italian man” Joseph Francis Mazzello. I hope you love this conclusion more than Baby Swan loves pineapple pizza. 💜

Series Summary: Potentially a better love story than Twilight?

Chapter Title Is A Lyric From: “Til I Die” by Parsonsfield. (The #1 song I associate with this fic!)

Chapter Warnings: Language.

Word Count: 7.7k.

Other Chapters (And All My Writing) Available: HERE

Taglist: @queen-turtle-boiii @bramblesforbreakfast @maggieroseevans @culturefiendtrashqueen @imnotvibingveryguccimrstark @escabell @im-an-adult-ish @queenlover05 @someforeigntragedy @imtheinvisiblequeen @seven-seas-of-ham-on-rhyee @deacyblues @tensecondvacation @brianssixpence @some-major-ishues @haileymorelikestupid @youngpastafanmug @simonedk @rhapsodyrecs

Mercy

We have to stay in the Vladivostok palace until her transformation is complete, and I hate it.

The floors are cold and sterile and every clang of noise ricochets off them like a bullet. The earth outside is stripped bare and hibernal. There is no green to interrupt the bleakness of the sky, the cruel absence of color: no spruces or hemlocks or bigleaf maples, no evergreen forests, no verdant fields, only a grey that bleeds from the sky in sheets of hail and driving rain. This land is a stranger. So many of the faces, too, are strangers, although they try. Honora sits with me—her large dark eyes, like mirrors of mine, polished and wet with aching pity—and braids my hair. Morana invites me to bake homemade bread with her. Austin tries to make me smile. Cato visits me as much as he can, because he feels responsible; or maybe he would do it anyway, maybe lessening suffering is as instinctual to him as bloodshed is to so many of our kind. And when Cato is with me, I do feel a little better, like my story might belong to somebody else, like it’s a name I can’t quite remember, like it’s a transitory moment of déjà vu I can catch glimpses of but never touch. And yet, still, I send him away.

I don’t want to be with Cato. It’s painful for him to be around me, I can see that. It’s painful for Rami, and for Ben, and for Joe, and for Lucy and Scarlett. It’s even painful for the Irish Wolfhounds that Cato found locked up for safekeeping in Larkin’s study; they skulk around the palace vigilantly but leave great swaths of uninterrupted space around me like open water. So I conjure up a mask of brave, hopeful acceptance and wear it everywhere I go.

Joe says very little, never leaves the girl he calls Baby Swan’s side, dabs her scorching skin with washcloths soaked in ice water and murmurs in sympathy when she screams through the unconsciousness, from beneath the ocean of fire we all know so well. He nods off sometimes, snatching minutes of sleep like fireflies in a jar, before jolting awake to make sure her heart is still beating. When Ben isn’t checking on them, he’s with Cato, helping to draw up plans for the future, reminiscing about the past with slick eyes and clinking midnight glasses of whiskey. Scarlett sprawls across the desk in what was once Larkin’s study and spends hours on the phone with Archer as she gazes up at the ceiling, telling him how to care for the farm animals and the garden, reassuring him that we’ll be home soon, whispering things to him that I try not to hear; and I know she wouldn’t want me to anyway. Lucy weeps delicate, ceaseless tears as she perches on the staircase landing and Rami entombs her in his arms, never having to ask what she needs from him. And I wander meaninglessly through the echoing, unfamiliar hallways like a moon without a planet.

I know what they all think about me, perhaps even Rami, for I keep it buried as deep as all skeletons should be: that I’m irrevocably kind, effortlessly forgiving. That I’m as incapable of bitterness as I am of aging. But they’re wrong. It’s a choice, and it always has been, ever since a late-November dusk in 1864 when madness eclipsed mercy. Every day I choose whether to surrender to the beckoning, malignant hatred that lurks in the back of my bedroom closet, in the dusty and ill-lit loft of the barn roped with cobwebs, in the twilight tree line of the western hemlocks crawling with shadows that whisper through fanged teeth. Every day I decide whether to become a monster. And it has never been harder to remember why I don’t.

My future is unimaginable. The nights are endless. I feel black, razored seeds of what I am horrified must be bitterness burrowing beneath my skin and taking root there. I am consumed by infected, fruitless questions that I can’t silence: Why Gwilym? Why Arthur? Why Eliza and Charlotte? Why is it always fire?

The first words that Gwilym ever spoke to me, as I unraveled from unconsciousness under a grove of sycamore trees with smoke still clinging to my unscarred skin, rattle around in my skull like windchimes beneath thunderous skies. His voice was colored with an accent I couldn’t place, and yet it sounded like home: You’re in a dark place right now. But you don’t have to stay there.

That might have been true once. That might have been true in the ruinous autumn of 1864. But now I can’t find my way out.

Seventy-three hours after our arrival in this barren corner of the world, Charlie Swan’s daughter wakes up as a vampire. Her heart is perfectly still, her skin faultless, her senses sharp, her mind as impenetrable as ever; at least, that’s what Lucy says when she finds me. And Lucy tugs at my hand, wearing her first smile in days, insisting that I have to come meet the newest member of our coven, to welcome her. I don’t know how to tell Lucy that I’m afraid I don’t have it in me to love this girl, that I don’t have it in me to love anyone but ghosts. And yet—compliantly, yieldingly, expecting nothing but disappointment in the monster I have become—I follow her.

The door is already open to the Swan girl’s room; chattering, beaming vampires flood in and out like the tides. I step inside. And I see the way that Joe looks at her, the way that Ben does; and all those seeds that I had feared might be bitterness blossom into nothing but open air.

It’s Not A Fucking Wedding (A.K.A. 13.5 Months Later)

The ocean is a universe. Its arms are not ever-expanding, spiraling galaxies of suns and planets and nebulae and black holes, this is true; its belly is not a vacuum of inhospitable oblivion, its bones are not invisible strings of gravity, its language is not a silence older than starlight, older than eternity. But the ocean is a universe nonetheless, its borders tucked neatly around the seven continents, slumbering there until the next hurricane or tsunami or ice age comes conquering; and inevitably equilibrium is restored—like defibrillator paddles to a heart, like naloxone to an addict’s blood—and our two worlds can coexist side by side once again.

The ocean’s arms are sighing waves, bubbling and brisk, grasping and retreating in the same breath. Its belly is swollen with life from immense blue whales down to swarming clouds of single-celled, sun-hungry phytoplankton. Its language is ancient whispers; not parched and blistering and brittle sounds like the desert’s but cool, serene, supple, engulfing. And I can hear them all, if I listen closely enough. I can hear the sentient whistling of orcas, the breaking of waves against rocks, the scrabbling of sand crabs beneath the earth, the gruff distant barks of sea lions, the rustling of evergreen pine needles in the breeze. And I understand now why it was always so easy for vampires to be introspective, to lapse into thoughtful, unhurried silences. I could imagine spending decades just sitting here with my knees tucked to my chest and my hair whipping in the brackish wind, watching the seasons roll by like a wheel.

Joe was coming back from the gravel parking lot. I turned to watch him: red U Chicago hoodie, messy dark auburn-ish hair, a pizza box clasped in his hands. The GrubHub delivery driver was returning to his car with the toothiest of grins.

“Buon appetito!” Joe announced, dramatically presenting me with the pizza box. It had become our post-finals tradition each semester: pizza at La Push beach, half-pepperoni, half-pineapple.

“Grazie, sexy undead Italian man. Your accent is getting so good!”

“I know, right?! I’m on a twelve-day Duolingo streak. I can’t let that little green owl dude down.”

“I’m impressed, I’ll admit it. I gotta brush up on my Welsh. Why’s the GrubHub driver so cheery?”

“I tipped him $500.”

I smiled, opening the box and lifting out a semi-warm slice of pineapple pizza. Elastic strands of mozzarella cheese stretched like rubber bands until they snapped. “Aww, really?”

Joe plopped down onto the cool, damp sand beside me. “No. I lied. We’re actually having a torrid love affair.”

I laughed, shaking my head. “How could you possibly have time for all that?” Between school, business ventures, family activities, and me, Joe was very rarely unoccupied. And he preferred it that way.

“I’m so glad you asked. I’m very speedy, if you recall. And that’s just one of the exclusive services I offer. I am a man of many talents. I make people’s wildest dreams come true. Who am I to deny the GrubHub delivery man the wonderland that is my spindly, annoying body?”

“You are the fastest,” I said, winking.

“Oh shut up! I mean, uh, uhhh, silenzio!” He pointed his slice of pepperoni pizza at me reproachfully. “That’s not what I meant. I’m not the fastest at everything.”

“Whatever you say, mob guy.”

He lunged for me, pinned me down in the crumbling sand, both of us laughing wildly as the crusts of our pizza slices bounded off and were snatched up by diving, screeching seagulls. He growled with mock savagery, braced his hips against mine, kissed his way from the corner of my jaw to my lips. That oh-so-familiar commanding, craving ache for him came roaring to the surface; and now there was no bittersweet edge to it, no inescapable backdrop of lambent numbers ticking down from five or ten or fifteen years to zero. Now there was only the calm, unurgent promise of forever.

“Joe—!”

“You have besmirched my honor, Baby Swan. I am left with no recourse but to refresh your clearly flawed memory and prove you wrong.”

“Public indecency? That’s illegal, sir.”

“Okay, you gotta stop stealing my catchphrases. It’s extremely difficult for me to come up with new ones. I’m almost a hundred years old, you know.”

“Alright, I guess you’re not bad in bed for a basically-centenarian.”

He smiled down at me, his dark eyes alight, the wind tearing through his hair, one palm resting on my forehead, uncharacteristically quiet.

“What?” I asked, worried.

“Nothing,” he said. “I’m just really glad we’re a thing.”

“You better be. You’re kind of stuck with me now. You’ve stolen my virtue, you’ve made me fall in love with your entire demented family, you’ve forced your torturous immortality upon me. I’m not going anywhere. Unless you ever stop funding my pineapple pizza addiction, of course.”

Joe chuckled as he climbed off me and took my hand in his, pulling me upright. “It’s absolutely ridiculous, by the way. Your insistence on being a sort-of vegetarian. It’s embarrassing. You’re the wimpiest vampire ever. You’re a disgrace to the coven.”

“I eat animals!” I objected.

“Yeah, when you have to.” And Joe was right: I steered clear of flesh outside of the two or three times a week when I hunted. For environmental sustainability reasons, I mostly consumed deer or rabbits; although the very occasional shark was my guilty pleasure. Joe gnawed on his second slice of pizza and peered out into the overcast, dusky horizon, wiping crumbs from his stubbled chin with the back of his hand. “We only have one more of these left,” he said at last, a little sadly. “One more finals season at Calawah University. One more celebratory dinner at La Push.”

“We’ll just have to get used to a new view. Pizza by the Chicago River, maybe.”

Joe looked over at me, thoughtful again, smiling. He had received his acceptance letter to the University of Chicago three weeks ago. I got mine eight days later. “It won’t be hard for you to leave Forks?”

“It will be. Once upon a time I didn’t think that was possible, but I will miss Forks. And not just because of Charlie and Archer and Jessica and Angela and all the Lees. But it was hard to leave Phoenix, and I’m sure one day it will be hard to leave Chicago. Just because change is hard doesn’t mean it’s not the right thing to do.”

Joe nodded introspectively. “Every new beginning comes from some other beginning’s end.”

“Don’t quote classic rock songs at me, mixtapes boy.”

“You love my mixtapes,” he teased, circling his left arm around my waist, pulling me in closer, touching his lips to my forehead. Mint and pine and starlight sank into my lungs like an anchor through the surf. “And that saying actually goes all the way back to Seneca, my dear.”

“Don’t tell me he’s still philosophizing in some cloudy corner of the world somewhere.”

“Not to my knowledge. Although that’s an intriguing thought. We need more famous vampires. Caligula would have made for very interesting conversation. Lincoln, Napoleon, Cleopatra, Shakespeare, Dante...I guess it’s possible that anyone is still around. Maybe we should turn Meat Loaf. You know, for the good of posterity.”

“Is it not enough that they’re already cursed with student debt and global warming?”

Joe cackled, took my face in his palms, kissed each of my cheeks one after the other, then nudged my nose with his. “You ready to go, Baby Swan? I suspect we’re expected to participate in some holiday festivities tonight.”

“I’m ready,” I agreed. We threw our leftover pizza to the seagulls, disposed of the grease-spotted cardboard box, and walked back to my 1999 Honda Accord with our pulseless hands intertwined.

The evergreen trees along Routh 110 fled by beneath a sky freckling with stars. Sharp winter air poured in through the open windows. And I could feel that it was cold, in the same way that I could feel the warmth on Forks’ rare sweltering days; but there was no discomfort that accompanied that knowledge. Pain only came when the sky was unincumbered by thick clouds churning in off the Pacific, and then it felt something like staring into the sun had as a human. Sunglasses helped, but the surest remedy was avoidance, was surrender. And what an inconsequential price to pay for forever.

“Wait,” I said, spying the mailbox that marked the start of the Lees’ driveway. “They still deliver mail on Christmas Eve, right?”

“Uh, I think so, why...?” And then he remembered. “Oh, yeah, let’s check!”

I pulled up beside the mailbox and Joe leaned out, returning to his seat with a mountain of Christmas cards and business correspondence and advertisements from Costco and Sephora. He sifted through them until he found a single white envelope from the University of Chicago Pritzker School of Medicine. It was addressed to a Mr. Benjamin August Hardy. Joe held it up to show me as we drove down the driveway, the Lee house coming into view and ornamented with a frankly excessive amount of multicolored string lights and inflatable reindeer.

“Oh my god!” I squealed, drumming the steering wheel.

“You want to be the one to give it to him?”

“Are you serious?! Yeah, can I?”

Joe passed the envelope to me as I parked my geriatric Honda, which Archer had pledged to keep alive as long as physically possible. In return, Ben let him and Scarlett borrow the Aston Martin Vantage no less than once a week. I dashed out of the car, up the steps of the front porch, and into the house that bubbled over with the sounds of metallic kitchen clashes and frenetic voices and Wham!’s Last Christmas.

“Ben?!” I shouted.

“Hi, honey!” Mercy called from the living room, where she and Lucy were putting the final touches on Scarlett’s gown. Scarlett was playing the part of semi-willing victim, wearing gold heels and an impatient smirk and her hair out of the way in a milkmaid braid; her train of vivid red lace billowed across the hardwood floor. From the couch, Archer and Rami were playing Mario Kart on the big-screen tv and nibbling their way through a tray of homemade gingerbread cookies.

“Oh wow,” I said, clutching the envelope to my chest, mesmerized. I kept waiting for Scarlett to start looking like a normal person to me, and it never happened. Tonight, in the glow of the flameless candles and kaleidoscopic Christmas lights and draped in lace the color of pomegranate seeds, she was Persephone: a goddess of resurrection, a face that death himself could not pass by unscathed. “You’ve outdone yourself, Lucy. Seriously.”

“One day I’m going to get you out of those thrift shop sweaters,” Lucy threatened me, placing a pin in the fabric at Scarlett’s waist.

“Yeah, okay. Let me know when that shows up in one of your visions.”

“Bitch,” Lucy flung back, snickering, knowing how improbable that was. I still appeared in her visions extremely infrequently, and then only when I happened to be standing next to whoever the premonition was actually about.

“Language, dear,” Mercy tutted, inspecting the hem of Scarlett’s gown.

Joe arrived beside me, his arms still full of mail. “ScarJo, I almost didn’t recognize you! Why do you have, like, no cleavage or fishnets or thigh slits?”

“Why do you have like no eyelashes?” Scarlett replied. “See, I can ask unnecessary and invasive questions too.”

Joe frowned, wounded. “What’s wrong with my eyelashes?”

“Lucy, darling, I think it’s just a tad uneven on this side,” Mercy said, showing her. “Maybe by half an inch...?”

“No, seriously, what’s wrong with my eyelashes?!”

Mercy replied distractedly: “Nothing, honey, you’re perfect just the way you are.”

“Mom!” Joe groaned.

“It really is gorgeous,” Mercy marveled as Lucy flitted around her to investigate the hem situation. “And so Christmasy. So perfect for the season. Scarlett, dear, you were right after all, and I’m so sorry for doubting you. I’d just never heard of a red wedding dress before.”

“Mom, it’s not a fucking wedding!” Scarlett exclaimed, for probably the thirtieth time since Thanksgiving. “It’s a nonbinding, informal celebration of an egalitarian romantic partnership. Will somebody please inform this woman that it’s not a wedding?!”

“Yes, yes, of course, whatever you want, sweetheart,” Mercy conceded dreamily.

Joe pointed to Archer. “Isn’t he supposed to not see the dress until the day of or something?”

“What a great question!” Archer replied, still deeply invested in Mario Kart. “You see, that would be the case if this was a wedding. However, I’ve been informed in no uncertain terms that it is most definitely not.”

Scarlett grinned triumphantly at Joe. “There you have it.”

She might snap petulantly, and she might complain, but Scarlett wouldn’t be doing this if she didn’t want to; we were all intimately familiar with the futility of trying to force Scarlett into anything. The not-wedding, as improbable as it seemed, had been her idea from the start. And she wasn’t doing it for herself. She wasn’t even doing it for Archer. Scarlett was doing it for her mother.

The first six months had been hell for Mercy. She didn’t resent me, as I had feared she might; Mercy made that clear, and Rami confirmed it. But she was gutted. She wouldn’t speak of Gwil, wouldn’t listen to us talk about him, locked every photograph of him away in dark drawers, wandered around with a remote, uncanny, unseeing smile until she walked straight into walls; and then she would blink inanely up at them, as if they had dropped out of the sky rather than been built by her own hands. She baked hundreds of cakes and almost never slept. She told us she was fine every time we asked, which was more or less constantly. But on the very rare occasions when she was left alone, Mercy would unfailingly end up in the field behind the Lee house, gazing out into the forest of western hemlock trees with tears snaking silently down her cheeks, the muted light of the cloud-covered setting sun flickering red and furious on her face like wildfire.

And then one afternoon, a package had arrived from Arviat, Canada, where Cato and the rest of the surviving Draghi had relocated shortly after the rebellion at Vladivostok. It was five feet tall and another three wide, and what we found after carefully peeling away all those layers of foam padding and packing tape was a portrait of Gwilym so skillfully painted that it could have been mistaken for a photograph. Mercy had stared at it for a long time—ignoring Lucy’s attempts to guide her away, deaf to any of our concerns—until she at last picked up the portrait herself and said, quite evenly: “I think we should hang it in the living room, don’t you?”

Things had been better since then—very, very gradually, and yet unmistakably—and Gwil’s portrait remained mounted above the living room couch like a watchman, his eyes sparkling and blue, his faint smile stoic and fond and omniscient. But even in the wake of Mercy’s continued improvement, none of us kids were about to risk another agonizingly despondent Christmas. So the solution was obvious. We would keep Mercy preoccupied with what thrilled her more than absolutely anything else: the pseudo-weddings of her children. Rami and Lucy had already secretly volunteered to go next year...and after that, who knew? And there was one other thing that was making Mercy’s burden a little lighter these days.

Charlie sauntered into the living room, wearing an apron covered in cartwheeling Santas and wiping white dust like snow—powdered sugar? flour? baking soda?—from his ungainly hands. He was palpably proud. “The sugar cookies are officially in the oven. And I managed to fit them all on one baking sheet, isn’t that great?! Cuts down on dishes!”

“Why, yes, I suppose it does!” Mercy said, alarm dawning in her eyes. Had my beloved father placed the globs of dough too close together? Would we end up with one hideous, giant monster-cookie? Only time would tell. Providentially, Archer and Joe could be counted on to eat just about anything.

Joe sniffed the air, his forehead crinkling. “What’s burning?”

“Nothing should be burning,” Mercy replied, almost defensive, forever protective of Charlie and all of his profound, incurably human imperfections. Sometimes I thought that she preferred him that way, that he was a link to a simpler world in the same way I had once been, that he was a puddle of memory she could drop into, that maybe he wasn’t so unlike her first husband Arthur. “Not yet, anyway. The cookies need at least ten to twelve minutes at 350.”

“Wait, 350?!” Charlie exclaimed, horrorstruck. “I thought you said 450!”

“Oh, this is tragic,” Scarlett said.

“I can fix it!” Mercy trilled buoyantly, breezing off to the kitchen as Charlie followed after her with a fountain of apologies. She shushed them away affectionately, patting his chest with her soft plump hands, chuckling about how luckily they had fire extinguishers stowed away in almost every closet just in case. And there were other reasons for that besides Charlie’s perilous baking attempts, but he didn’t know them. Now the record player was belting out Queen’s Thank God It’s Christmas.

Archer lost another round in Mario Kart and exhaled a great, mournful sigh. “Hey, Baby Swanpire, can you do something about this guy?” He nodded to Rami. “This is criminal. It’s nowhere near a fair fight. He knows every freaking time I’m about to toss a banana peel.”

Rami smirked guiltily up at me from the couch, not bothering to deny it.

“Do you mind?” I asked him.

“Not at all,” Rami replied. “I want to show this loser I can beat him even without the benefit of mega-cool extrasensory superpowers.”

“Rude!” Archer cried.

“So rude,” Scarlett agreed, smiling.

“Okay, here we go.” I sat down beside Rami, still holding Ben’s envelope in my right hand, and laid my left against Rami’s cheek. And I felt a fistful of numbness—like instant peace, like milk-white Novocain—pass from my skin into his, rolling into his skull, deadening whatever telepathic livewires had been ignited there in the August of 1916. The effect would last anywhere from thirty minutes to a few hours; and it worked on every vampire I’d met so far.

“Whoa, trippy,” Rami murmured. “It’s still weird, every single time.” He peered drowsily around the room. “It’s...so...quiet?! You guys really live like this? No one is constantly bombarding you with sexual fantasies or romantic pining or depressive inner monologues? How do you function?! Now I’m alone with my own thoughts, that’s actually worse!”

“Hurry up and beat him while he’s all freaked out and vulnerable,” Scarlett told Archer.

Archer laughed, picking up his Nintendo 64 controller, radiant with the promise of vengeance. “Yes ma’am.”

“Any good mail?” Lucy asked Joe.

“Yeah. Coupons and a ton of Christmas cards from random people. The vet sent us one with alpacas on it, so that’s cute. Oh, and here’s one from our favorite Canadians.”

Joe held up the card so we could all see. The picture on the front showed Cato and Honora sitting on a large velvet, forest green couch with a hulking Christmas tree illuminated in the background. The others were arranged around them: Austin, Max, Ksenia, Charity, Araminta, Akari, Morana, Phelan, Aruna, Adair, Zora, Sahel, and a few new faces I couldn’t name yet. They were all wearing matching turtleneck sweaters. And every single one of them was smiling.

Joe cleared his throat theatrically and read the text on the inside of the card:

“Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays!

(Oh, and Scarlett, congratulations on your not-marriage.)

- Cato Douglass Freeman”

“That bastard,” Scarlett muttered.

Rami offered me his controller. He had just slipped on a banana peel and rocketed off a cliff. “You want a turn?”

“No, thanks though. I have to talk to Ben. Is he around?”

Rami shrugged ruefully. “I would help, but my brain is temporarily broken.”

Scarlett rolled her eyes, taking a gingerbread cookie from the tray and biting into it as Lucy batted crumbs from the red lace dress, exasperated. “I think he’s out in the hot tub.”

“Cool. I shall return.”

Joe took my spot on the couch as I departed, shoveling cookies into his mouth, seizing Rami’s controller and kicking his feet up on the coffee table.

I opened the door to the back porch, and frigid December air rushed in like an uninvited guest. The field was coated with a thin layer of snow, the animals safe and warm in the barn, the garden slumbering. And in the spring and summer, when blossoms of a dozen different varieties came open beneath the drizzling grey skies, Mercy’s calla lilies didn’t bother my allergies at all. Nothing did anymore. Ben was indeed in the hot tub, puffing on his vape pen, wearing only a beanie hat and swim trunks.

“What flavor is that cartridge?” I asked as I approached. “Gummy bear?”

“Close. Strawberry doughnut.”

“Ohhhh, yum!” Ben passed me the vape pen, and I took a drag as I kicked off my boots and sat near him on the rim of the hot tub, slipping my bare feet beneath the steaming, roiling water. Then I handed his vape pen back. “So. Guess what I have for you.”

“Uh.” He glanced at the envelope. “Jury duty.”

“Better.”

“Someone I hate has jury duty.”

I flipped the envelope around so he could see the University of Chicago logo on the front.

“Oh god,” Ben moaned.

“Don’t you want to see what it says?”

“Not really,” he admitted, grimacing.

“Come on, Ben. Open it.”

“Nah.”

“Why not?!”

Ben sighed. “Look, if I open it and it’s bad news, it’s gonna make Christmas weird. Rami will know. They’ll all know. They’ll all feel bad for me and it’ll be pathetic and depressing and awkward. You can look if you want to, just don’t tell anyone else yet.”

“It’s not going to be bad news,” I said, tugging at the floppy top of his beanie hat. He swatted my hand away, but he was smiling grudgingly.

“You have positively no way of knowing that. Unless Lucy’s had a vision I’m unaware of.”

“She hasn’t. You know she never sees anything important.”

“She saw you coming,” Ben countered.

“She saw human-me and Joe in love and gobbling down pretzels at a Cubs game. So I’d say there were at least a few minor details missing.”

“There’s no way I got in,” Ben said, his green eyes slick and fearful and now fixed on the envelope. “We can’t all be geniuses like you.”

“That’s an unfair accusation. I’m far from genius. I’m just obsessed with the ocean.” I’d written my senior thesis on the feeding habits of Pacific angelsharks, and my advisor was still trying to figure out how I, an amateur scuba diver at best, had managed to get so many quality photographs with my underwater camera. The secret, of course, was superhuman agility and not needing to breathe.

“I fucking hate calculus. The MCAT wrecked me. I got a 517.”

“And their median score is a 519, so I’d say you still have a fighting chance. Plus you have like eight million volunteer hours.” Ben had spent the vast majority of the past year either in class or at the hospital. The psychiatrist-in-chief, Dr. Siegel, had been more than happy to take one of Gwil’s foster children under her wing. Every human in Forks except Archer believed that Dr. Gwilym Lee had drowned in a tragic boating accident while he and Mercy were on vacation in Southern California, and that his body had never been recovered. The town had held a wonderful remembrance ceremony and dedicated a free clinic at the hospital in his honor. “Now open it.”

“You do it,” Ben relented finally. “My hands are wet. Go ahead, open it up and tell me what it says. And then kindly euthanize me to end my immortal shame.”

“That wouldn’t work,” I pointed out, tearing open the envelope. I pulled out the tri-folded piece of paper inside, flattened it against my thighs, and read the typed black text.

“...Well?” Ben pressed, vaping frantically.

I looked up and smiled at him.

“No way,” he whispered.

“I hope you like pretzels and bear-themed baseball teams, grandpa.”

And for a second, I thought he might bolt up out of the hot tub, hooting victoriously, splashing water all over the back porch as he danced around bellowing that he’d gotten into one of the best medical schools in the world, that he would be following me and Joe to Chicago. But that wasn’t Ben. Instead, a slow smile rippled across his face: it was small, but perfectly genuine. Pure, even.

“Goddamn,” he said, watching me. Venom doesn’t just resurrect or ruin; it forms a bond that is simultaneously intangible and yet immense. It’s an evolutionary adaptation, a way to facilitate stability and the building of covens in an often violent and ruleless world. And now that he had turned me, Ben had family here in Forks in more ways than one.

“Gwil would be so proud of you, Ben.”

“I hope so. I really do.”

The back door of the house opened, and Joe stepped outside. He studied Ben for a moment, and that was all it took for him to know. “Benny!” he shouted, elated.

“I know, I know. Fortunately, I look amazing in red. Thanks, supermodel genes.”

“This is going to be so fun!” Joe said, sprinting over to wrap Ben—who was characteristically lukewarm on this whole physical displays of affection business—in a hug from just outside the hot tub. “We’re going to go furniture shopping, and eat deep-dish pizza, and find apartments right next to each other, and mail home Chicago-themed care packages, and get you hooked up with some gorgeous Italian woman...or whatever you like, I guess I shouldn’t assume. Women. Men. Gang members. Marine mammals. Jessicas. Whatever. There are options.”

Ben laughed as he playfully shoved Joe away. “Sounds like a plan, pagliaccio.”

“Oh my god, stop learning Italian without me! You realize you have to tell Mom now.”

“I will,” Ben agreed, with some trepidation. “I’ll wait until after Christmas.”

“It’ll be hard for her,” I said. “But she knows it’s what you want. She knows it’s what’s best for you. So she’ll get through it. I think it would be worse for her if you didn’t get in, if she had to see you unhappy.”

Ben nodded, exhaling strawberry-doughnut-flavored vapor, gazing up at the stars, Orion and Auriga and Lynx and Perseus reflected in his thoughtful jade eyes. “She’ll still have Rami and Lucy and Scarlett here with her. And Archer. And Charlie.”

“Especially Charlie,” Joe said, grinning.

Mercy would have to leave Forks eventually, of course. The Lees had already been here for nearly four years; they could stay another ten, perhaps fifteen at the absolute maximum. And there had been a time when ten or fifteen years seemed like quite a while to me, but now it felt like I could doze off one afternoon and wake up on the other side of it, like swimming a lap in the sun-drenched public pool back in Phoenix. We would find a new home somewhere after Joe and I finished our PhDs, after Ben finished medical school, maybe Vancouver or Buffalo or Amsterdam or Edinburgh or Dublin or Reykjavik. Wherever we went, I hoped it wouldn’t be far from the sea. But Mercy couldn’t bear to leave Forks yet. It was the last home she had shared with Gwil, the last house they would ever build together, and leaving it would make his loss all the more irrevocable. She would be ready to leave someday, but not today.

In the meantime, there would still be visits for breaks and holidays. Scarlett and Archer had the shop to keep them busy, a brand new eight-car garage that held a virtual monopoly on both the Forks and Quileute communities. Lucy had opened a bohemian-style clothing boutique downtown, which confounded most of the locals but attracted more adventurous customers from as far away as Seattle. Rami was interning for a local immigration lawyer and entertaining the possibility of applying to U Chicago’s law school in another few years. And Mercy had the farm; and she had Charlie. He had asked her for cooking lessons to try to help rouse her a few months after Gwil’s death, and it had grown from there. If it wasn’t romantic just yet, I believed it would be soon. And there were moments when I thought my father might have figured something out, when his eyes narrowed and lingered on me just a little too long, when his brow knitted into suspicious, searching lines, when the hairs rose on the back of his neck and some innate insight whispered that we weren’t like him and never could be again. But then he would chuckle, shake his head, and say: “You’ve gotten weird, my gorgeous, brilliant progeny. But Forks looks pretty good on you.”

“Can I talk to you upstairs?” Joe asked me suddenly; and did I see restless nerves flicker in his dark eyes? I thought I did.

“Sure,” I replied, climbing down from the hot tub. “Ben, are you coming inside? My dad is trying to bake Christmas cookies and failing miserably. It’s pretty hilarious. Not that you should be the one to critique other people’s kitchen-related accidents.”

“I do enjoy your company a lot more now that I don’t want to murder you and slurp you down like a Chick-fil-A milkshake,” Ben said. “Yeah, give me a few minutes and I’ll be there.” And as Joe and I headed into the house, I saw Ben pick up the acceptance letter that I’d left on the rim of the hot tub and read it for himself with incredulous eyes, grappling with the irrefutable fact that it was his name on the opening line, that he had somewhere along the way become the sort of man who dedicated his immortality to saving lives rather than ending them.

In the living room, Scarlett was back in her yoga pants and absolutely brutalizing Archer in Mario Kart. Rami and Lucy were entwined together on the loveseat, murmuring, giggling, feeding each other pieces of gingerbread cookies. In the kitchen, Charlie was leading Mercy in a clumsy waltz to Meat Loaf’s I’d Do Anything For Love, and each time he fumbled his steps or mortifyingly trod on her feet she would cry out in a peal of laughter brighter than the sun she had learned to live without. Joe spirited me up the staircase, into his bedroom—which, honestly, was more like our bedroom now, in the same way that my room in Charlie’s house had become Joe’s as well—and closed the door.

“You’re in luck,” he said. “Your dad totally ruined our song. Now I can’t hear it without thinking about some moustached guy in plaid trying to seduce my mom.”

“It’s the best Christmas gift I could ever ask for. Meat Loaf is vanquished. Oh, just so you’re aware, Renee and Paul are getting an Airbnb and coming up for New Years.”

“Cool. Do they still think I have a super embarrassing sunlight allergy and will break into hives and asphyxiate and that’s why we can’t visit them in Florida?”

“Yup.”

“Spectacular. Also, can you please tell me what’s wrong with my eyelashes?”

“They’re just a little sparse, amore. But I still like you.”

“Well, I am only moderately attractive, you know.” Then Joe steeled himself, taking a deep breath. Uh oh. He was definitely nervous. I still couldn’t believe I had the power to make him that way, but here we were. “So I get that we’re doing presents with the whole family tomorrow morning, and you do have some under the tree, so don’t worry about that. But there’s one I wanted to give to you alone. You know. With just us. Without an audience. Or whatever.”

“...Okay...?” A secret gift? A naughty gift? “I hope it’s a new vibrator.”

“Shut up,” Joe begged, laughing. “Here.” He reached into the drawer of his nightstand—our nightstand—and produced a small blue box topped with a turquoise bow. It wasn’t a ring, I was sure of that; I didn’t feel especially attached to the idea of marriage, and neither did Joe to my knowledge. How could rings or papers seal commitment when you already had eternity? I was right: the mysterious present was not a ring. When I removed the lid and emptied the box into my palm, what appeared there was a small plastic airplane.

“What is this?” I asked, amused but puzzled.

“Are you not college educated? It’s a plane.”

“Well, yeah, I can see that. But it’s also like two inches long.” I scrutinized the plane. “Are you magically transforming me into a tiny, tiny, little plastic person? Is that my gift? Because I actually got you something good.” And I really did: there was a collection of vintage Chicago Cubs photographs from the 1910s and 20s downstairs under the Christmas tree, packaged in Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer wrapping paper.

“We’re going on a trip,” Joe said, grinning. “The day after Christmas. It’s just a short trip, nothing huge, don’t get too excited, we’re not going to Mt. Everest or Antarctica or anything. I think you’ll still like it. But I don’t want you to know where we’re going until we’re there.”

“How will that work? Considering the tickets and signage and pilot announcements and obnoxiously noisy other passengers and all.”

“ScarJo’s going to fly us.”

“Really?!” We were taking the jet. We almost never used the jet. “What’s in it for Scarlett?”

“She found out that Archer’s never had In-N-Out Burger before and is very much looking forward to initiating him into the cult of deliciousness.”

“Oh nice. I could go for a vanilla milkshake myself, now that Ben mentioned them.”

“Obviously I’m gonna buy you all the milkshakes and animal-style fries you want. Bankrupt me, bitch. But we have to get one other thing taken care of first.”

“So it’s somewhere they have In-N-Out Burger...” I pondered aloud. California? Texas? Las Vegas? I felt a brief but unambiguous pang of homesickness for Phoenix. But there was nothing there for me anymore.

“Stop,” Joe pleaded. “I’m sorry. I’ve already said too much. Please forget that. Get a traumatic brain injury or oxygen deprivation or something.”

“I hate to disappoint you, but I’m rather indestructible at the moment.”

He smiled wistfully. “I wouldn’t want you to be any other way.”

There was laughter downstairs in the living room. I could detect the aroma of a fresh batch of sugar cookies baking in the kitchen, mingling with the cold night air and pine trees and peppermint candy canes. I loved Christmas. The entire world smelled like Joe. The U Chicago décor, classic rock posters, and Italian flag were now interspersed with National Geographic pages and photos of the two of us together. The Official Whatever You Want Pass hung in a small, square picture frame on the wall above Joe’s bed. Our bed.

“How real is it, Joe?” I asked quietly. I climbed onto my tiptoes, linking my hands around the back of his neck with the tiny plane still tucked between my fingers. “Seriously. The wishes thing.”

“The world may never know. Akari never met me as a human, so she wouldn’t be able to say. But if I had to place a bet...” He shrugged, grinning craftily. “Kinda real. Kinda not real. Just like vampires, I guess.”

“I am alarmingly glad that you’re real, mob guy,” I said, abruptly somber. “I never thought I’d meet someone who saw me as remarkable, who could make me see myself that way. And it’s miraculous. And it’s terrifying too, honestly. Being a thing with you. Falling for someone you could have for centuries and lose in a second.”

“It’s the scariest thing there is,” Joe concurred, taking my hand to lead me back downstairs.

Joseph

Scarlett looks like a goddess, and she knows it. But she’s not one of those magnanimous, fragile, harp-plucking, pastel-colored goddesses. She’s ferocity and wildness and crimson like blood, and that’s exactly why Archer loves her. And as they stand in front of the Christmas tree with their hands clasped together—ivory on bronze, snow on sun—with matching sprigs of holly in Scarlett’s hair and pinned to the jacket of Archer’s suit, reciting truths but no promises, I can’t help but watch the other faces in the room: Rami, Lucy, Ben, Charlie, Mom with her beaming smile and shining eyes, the woman I met sixteen months ago and now can’t fathom life without. And it occurs to me for the first time that love, in its cleanest form, isn’t something that changes people as much as it allows them to become who they truly are.

On the evening of December 26th, as soon as the sun dips beneath the western horizon, we board the jet in the Forks Airport hangar. It’s much easier for Scarlett to fly at night; otherwise she has to wear two or three pairs of sunglasses on top of each other, and even then it’s still painful, it still feels like blinding needles burrowing into the jelly of her retinas. That’s not a wrench in my plans or anything. It needs to be night where we’re going, too.

Vampire hyper-acuity notwithstanding, FAA regulations require Scarlett to have a copilot, so Archer joins her in the flight deck with his newly-minted license and spends most of the journey flipping through the latest issue of Motor Trend. As we begin our descent, he peeks back at us and teases: “It’ll be your turn eventually, guys. Scarlett and I did our time. Rami and Lucy can go next year. And after that...unless Ben happens to find someone worthy of a not-wedding...” He wiggles his black eyebrows.

“Bring it on,” I reply casually. “Fake wedding are my jam. It’ll be ocean themed. Or Roaring ‘20s themed. And we’ll all do the Cha-Cha Slide in the living room and shame Ben as a bonding activity.”

“Mercy can set up a mashed potatoes bar,” Baby Swan adds.

“Yeah. With pineapple.”

“No. Not on potatoes.”

“Yes on potatoes.”

“Over my dead body.”

“Too late,” I tell her, touching my lips to the knuckles of her cool, steady hand.

We touch down at a small noncommercial airport just outside the city, and Scarlett and Archer stay back to secure the plane as Baby Swan follows me outside. And she realizes where we are as soon as the wind hits her, as soon as her eyes soak up the sand and cacti and cloudless night sky like rain swallowed up by parched earth.

“Phoenix,” she whispers, smiling like a child.

“But wait, there’s more!” I announce in my best Billy Mays voice. I take the little glass bottle from my pocket, walk across the runway to the naked desert, crouch down when I find a suitable spot, and fill the bottle with dry, sandy earth that crumbles in my palms. Then I seal the bottle with a tiny cork and bring it back to give it to her.

“I know what it’s like to have to leave home,” I say. “You’ve had to say goodbye to Phoenix, and soon you’ll have to say goodbye to Forks, and next will be Chicago, on and on forever. You’ll always be leaving the places you learn to call home. Every five or ten or fifteen years, we start over again. Like a snake shedding its skin, like a hermit crab swapping shells. Like the water that travels from rain to seawater to mist and then back again. But now you can always have a little piece of home with you, and maybe that will make it easier.”

She takes the glass bottle and shakes her head in disbelief, in wonder. Because this is exactly what she wanted, what she needed, even if she didn’t know it yet. “Joe...how did you...?”

“What’d I tell ya? I’m a talented guy. Now you have to dance with me.”

She laughs. “Oh no. Hard pass. I don’t dance.”

“When we’re alone in my bedroom you do. So just pretend we’re alone now. In, like, a really really spacious, sandy bedroom. With probably some lizards.”

“Fine. But only because I’m willing to degrade myself for milkshakes.”

She slides the glass bottle of Arizona earth into her pocket and takes my hands. She’s still a pretty terrible dancer, honestly. She hasn’t lost that. And I love that about her. I love damn near everything about her. And it took me a long time to figure out what exactly her subtle yet peerless cocktail of fragrance is, because it wasn’t somewhere I’d ever been. The scent that drifts from her pores—the scent that now lives in my bedsheets like a shadow or a ghost—is sunlight and heat and clarity and resilience and wisdom older than the pyramids. Her scent is the desert.

Now she’s mischievous, her eyes gleaming with the reflections of the Milky Way and the full moon and the stars that are dead and yet eternal, just like us. “So what, you think you’re Vampire Boyfriend Of The Year material now or what? Some dirt and In-N-Out Burger? That’s the height of your game? Is this what I have to look forward to for the rest of my perpetual existence? I totally should have pursued that polyamorous triad with Scarlett and Archer when I had the chance—”

“Yeah,” I say, very softly, smiling, tilting up her chin to kiss her beneath the universe and all its eccentricities. “I love you too.”

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thirsthourdemon · 4 years ago

Text

Tea party headcanon

Includes: All obey me characters except solomon, and barbatos

Genre: Fluff

Tags: Fluff, Tea party theme, Pink Pastry and Pekoe Parlour! Au, general

A/N: This is a celebration cause I happen to like my new formatting. If anyone wants to be added to the taglist then just send in an ask please!

||Lucifer

-He’s actually the one that invites you and the brothers to the tea party.

-Makes sure everyone is at least properly dressed

-A mother of 7 children cause that includes you 😌

-Hates it here the moment levi said he’d wear something from some anime about a ‘demon’ butler, mammon saying that he did NOT steal the precious fine china set and beel having that look on his face that says “If I dont eat everything on the damn table, Im eating everyone else.”

-Either drink pure black coffee or chamomile

-if He drinks an ocean of chamomile but no amount of ‘calming’ tea can help save this poor stressed demon who just thought he could finally get a small break and have a lovely afternoon tea with diavolo.

-I wont be surprised if he’s even payed 200,000 grim worth of damage on the place due to his whole family

-Satan thought it was a good idea to exchange salt with sugar but he avoided this cause he...he looked into satan’s eyes while he drank his bitter black coffee with no sugar or cream.

||Mammon

-Gold laced bone china that costs about 500 grim a cup? Sold.

-He didn’t want to go but apparently he saw something that had caught his eye ❤️

-He was always invited to be the man servant at the witches’ tea parties so he kinda thought it was boring

-Did not realize how much he liked fruit teas until he came here

-Did not bother to even wear anything fancy as requested😤

-Probably tried stealing some stuff 😔

-He is on his 3rd cup of fruit tea and the orange chiffon cake but STILL denies that he liked being there.

-Chiffon cake is his thing but he will never admit that so instead he goes for regular old bread

-Defensive over paying the bill but he gives in a bit cause lucifer had to pay for the fucking stuff he stole 😤

-Was fucked with cause diavolo was actually paying and not them

||Leviathan

-Im sorry...sebastian michaelis who? I only know levi in a stuffy butler suit

-Speak like he’s talking to his masters but still trash talks mammon

-“I thumb my nose to you, unrefined scum.”

-For some reason...I cannot stress this enough...He loves...Lolita tea parties.

-Probably a Lizzie fan from Black buttler

-He strikes me as the type to drink matcha or a classic earl grey for the aesthetic but drinks bladderwack tea due to how common it is when he was at sea

-he drinks his tea in a typical lolita designed porcelain tea cup and is charmed by it so he takes 50 photos of the set for his live journalng blog.

||Satan

-A refined gentleman who wore appropriate clothing and brought a book

-He brought a little sacket or his own spice

-He usually drinks chamomile to calm down but occassionally drinks lattes but this time since it was a tea party he settled on...wait for it...

-Ethiopian spiced tea! More specifically Cardamom milk tea in the hottest temprature it can handle

-Him and asmo like their teas hot

-Satan makes me think that he goes for finger sandwiches instead of cakes or pastries.

-Has a book with him and actually his books have tea leaves in them as well because he likes the book smell with the Lapsang Souchung tea

-The ideal guest until he tried to play a prank on lucifer

||Asmodeus

-would you believe me if I told you he walked in there wearing slim dark slacks, creamy white silked dress shirt and a pastel plum ribbon tie that makes me drool?

-OF COURSE YOU WOULD IT’S ASMO 😤

-He looks gorgeous and he knows it! And every waiter/guest there is trying to get his number! 🥺

-I can see him originally drinking assam tea but he switches between that and a very specific order of butterfly pea flower tea with 1 cube of white sugar, 1 mint leaf within a minimalistic see-through tea set

-definetely a fan of berliner or a good chilled charlotte

-Indulges in conversations with simeon, solomon, barbatos and luke like the classy boys they are

-Drinking their tea like that, gossipping like mid 19th century wives in england

-probably laughs at the more energetic people

-Has the other guests at the parlour just senting him in something sweet only for their hearts to be crushed as asmo hands the sweet gifts to his sweet beloved younger brother

||Beelzebub

-You know why he’s here

-Asmo’s personal pastry trash can

-Hungry baby is eating a whole cake by himself ❤️

-Living the dream on his 4th cake btw

-Likes Cannoli sicillianis and Chou à la crème A.K.A profiterole or french cream puffs! He likes custard inside it

-He’s not very picky on his food but he does refuse to drink matcha tea without milk

-The type to be drinking something like dandelion root tea or peppermint tea

-This is the reason he can eat food faster. Please stop him. Please.

-Surprisingly even though he doesnt like matche he keeps green tea so he can gives some to belphie to help keep him awake.

-He tries to wear something nice so...Hahahaha Enjoy beel in a thick dark blue sweater

-He cant contain his cute little hair 🥺

-Uses a tea cup the same size as a mug and a dinner plate instead of a dessert plate

-Gets destracted by the pretty flowers and thinks of lilith ✨

||Belphegor

-Im sorry...Private booth with a couch please?

-He likes nuts cause they make up for his lack of serotonin and plus sleepy

-His tea is either chamomile to calm him or something like green tea to wake him up

-Only drinks green tea that beel gives cause beel knows exactly what to wake belphie up with

-He’s old fashioned he likes his tea in a some porcelain or clay though a preference is not a requirment

-Sleepy boy like private booths and resting himself on beel who’s just munching away but when he’s awake he does join the mid 19th century wives group

-Talks shit about most of the brother, except beel cause beel though a demon is still angelic.

-Has a great time there cause he’s reminded of when him and his twins were playing tea parties

-Does not dress for the occassion cause who gives a fuck

-Has told stories or at least recalled the times that lilith has made them pretend there was tea in the cup while they tried to point out that there was in fact none

||Simeon

-Polite boy that helps set up some of the servers and praises them

-ASSAM TEA YOU CANT CONVINCE ME ON THIS. He loves the taste honestly and he thinks he likes it so much more when there’s milk with it. Likes 1 cube of sugar on it and likes it bit more on the hotter side.

-Another one who enjoys sandwiches more than pastries though please dont tell luke.

-Likes the tea party so much that he wants to host one with luke so they can invite micheal and the other angels.

-Wears something nice but still a bit more appropriate.

-Probably the next host for the tea party

-does not shit talk or gossip bad stuff be he likes to join the conversations

-Adores watching luke pick flowers at the indoor garden

||Luke

-He is such a grateful person that he also brings his own sugar cookies ❤️

-He likes scones!!!! he likes em with lots of cream and blueberries

-The type to drink some sweet tea however he swears by candyleaf as the ultimate drink for him. If there’s no candy leaf though he can always go for fruit teas and something that kicks like orange blossom sponge cakes 🥺

-Dont look at me like he wouldnt play with the flowers and explore the indoor gardens while simeon calls him and he’s already back with sweet butterflies crowding him like the most adorable angel ever

-Joins the adult table cause...h-he’s...he’s old enough 🥺👉👈 (It’s really cause simeon needs to take care of him)

-He might not like devildom but he can say that the ambiance in that place wasnt absolutely breathtaking

-Wants to recreate the sweets here as well

||Diavolo

-The host of the party and is currently tending to everyone in conversation

-He thinks he should do these more often due to how successful they are in bringing everyone together

-Brought barbatos cause only barbatos can make his special tea since the ingridients are rare to fine

-His tea? Bolivia black✨his tastes are complex yes I know

-goes on board with orange food and dark chocolate. He is so exquisite, bro. An orange-scented short bread with finely tempered dark chocolate is the best thing he pairs with that black tea.

-Has a grand time trying to give luci some of his sweet shortbread but ultimately the other demon refuses 😔

-Just fucking say yes, luci. Stop being a pussy already

Taglist: @yamaguchi-stan (Special thanks to her for my knowledge in this stuff),

#Obey me lucifer x reader #obey me mammon x reader #obey me leviathan x reader #obey me beelzebub x reader #obey me belphegor x reader #obey me asmodeus x reader #obey me satan x reader #obey me: shall we date?#obey me brothers #obey me shall we date #obey me beelzebub #obey me x reader

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zoominag · 4 years ago

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Intro Post

I hope you're enjoying the ZoomInAG series!

I've realized that on the individual outfit posts Tumblr mobile does the zooming in for you, so it'll be blurry to look at. It shows up tiny and unblurred on browser though.

Here are some links that might be helpful:

Zoom In AG tag (just the art posts).

Rules of the game for how the series works.

Send me your doll or OC to draw link goes to a post with more info, which in turn has a link to a Google form with space for you to describe your idea or upload pictures or collages.

MistakesThere are definitely mistakes, and I'm open to corrections, especially if I got your culture wrong. Here's how to let me know.

Asks: I'm happy to post clips or zooms of anything I've posted before! Let me know if you would like to see:

A specific outfit and year ("Show me Addy's meet dress in 1875")

A specific run of an outfit ("Show me all of Addy's meet dress variations")

A specific year ("Show me everyone's meet dresses in 1875")

A decade or series of years ("Show me everything from the 1870s")

Any individual figure at 8x zoom ("Show me Addy in 1875 at 8x")

Links to specific posts below the cut.

The big posts:

(* to indicate ones that haven't aired yet; after they air I'll add links. Check later to see these!)

Canon main girls (Imgur link), no OCs or Best Friends Canon and my original characters, no Best Friends * Canon main girls and canon Best Friends (in other words, all the historical dolls that have been released)Canon main girls and Best Friends for each (per @americangirlstar's Best Friends series) Canon and original characters and Best Friends * Historical OCs by AG Tumblr users! If you'd like me to include your historical OC(s), please fill out this Google form, which will guide you through sending me your character's collection, with space for reference pics, collages, or just descriptions of what you'd like to see. More info and guidelines at this post. *Reboot this will address a variety of issues in Caroline, Courtney, Molly, and potentially others. *Canon characters and their siblings *Canon characters, OCs, and siblings

Individual meet outfit posts:

(* to indicate ones that haven't aired yet; after they air I'll add links. Check later to see these!)

Kaya'aton'my, 1765 Felicity Merriman, 1775 Caroline Abbot , 1812 Josefina Montoya, 1825 Cecile Rey, 1853 Marie-Grace Gardner, 1853 Kirsten Larson, 1855 Addy Walker, 1865 Samantha Parkington, 1904 Rebecca Rubin, 1915 * Claudie Wells, 1922 Kit Kitteredge, 1932 Nanea Mitchell, 1941 Molly McIntire, 1943 Maryellen Larkin, 1954 Melody Ellison, 1964 Julie Albright, 1974 Courtney Moore, 1986

Speaking Rain, 1765 Elizabeth Cole, 1775 Lydia Livingston, 1812 Clara Montoya, 1825 Singing Bird, 1855 Sarah Moore, 1865 Nellie O'Malley, 1904 Ana Rubin, 1915 * Nina, 1922 Ruthie Smithens, 1932 Lily Suda, 1941 Emily Bennett, 1943 Davy Fenstermacher, 1954 Val Porter, 1964 Ivy Ling, 1974 Tina d'Amico, 1986

My OCs: Mazal Cardozo, 1684 * Carlotte Finch, 1724 Rachel Gabay, 1790 Hannah Kane, 1834 He-Mei Hsieh, 1875 * Gertrude Levy, 1884 Diya (Possibly changing name to Nasreen), 1890 * Harriet Shapiro, 1894 Bernice Wright, 1925 Shazmeen Malik, 2001

My OCs' Best Friends: Agnes Jonker, 1684 * Jane Finch, 1724 Abigail Schorr, 1790 Delia Freedman, 1834 Florence Coburn, 1875 * Mabel Kaplan, 1884 Medha (Possibly changing name to Mahtab), 1890 * Matilda Greene, 1894 Lawrence Ross, 1925 Liora Blickman, 2001

Other people's OCs: Susanna Hanchett, 1664, by @desertdollranch Héloise Cormier, 1765, by @autistickirstenlarson Violette Metoyer, 1833, by @getintothesun * Aoife Callaghan, 1846, by @autistickirstenlarson * Charlotte Devereux, 1853, by @gardner-n-pardner * Lucy Morgan, 1874, by @queer-nanea-mitchell * Alice McDougal, 1914, by @mapleleagirls * Francie Whitman, 1917, by @futuristicsaladparadise * Francesca Vitale, 1920, by @autistickirstenlarson * Dinah Hope Bellini, 1924, by @lorsdollventures * Lilyann Bonney, 1939, by @kirstenlarsons * Honoka Oishi, 1949, by @autistickirstenlarson * Adrienne Davis, 1957, by @addywalkerstan * Karine Bedrosian, 1971, by @autistickirstenlarson * Remy Blake, 1997, by @americangirloftoday * Brielle Walters, 2012, by @kylejsugarman * Sophie Dwyer, 2003, by @kaileeandag * Lexie Sarah Gilbert, 2016, by @adventuresindolls * Summer Louise Williams, 2016, by @adventuresindolls

Progress by decade:

17th Century 1700-1739 1740-1769 1770-1799 1800-1849 1850-1899 * 1900-1949 * 1950-1999 * 2000-202?

Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoy Zoom In AG!

#American Girl

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mistymazzello · 5 years ago

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Cruel Summer | part vii

high school!joe mazzello x reader

summary- they used to be best friends, but now that y/n has a boyfriend (that everyone hates), joe and y/n can’t seem to come to terms with their feelings, but it’s no secret to anyone how they truly feel.

warnings-cussing, angst

a/n-dm me or send something to my inbox to be added to the taglist!!

word count- 2.8

taglist-taglist- @seven-seas-of-ham-on-rhye @briarrose26 @mrsmazzello @im-an-adult-ish @iamthebeth @cobaincreates @almightygwil @timmvrphy @free-pool-trash @inlovewithaxlrose @findingillyria

based on cruel summer by taylor swift

You had all been at Rami’s for a few hours, and it was getting late, but it didn’t bother any of you. Well, it didn’t bother any of you except Gwilym. He had left half an hour ago, rambling about having a functional sleep schedule, leaving the rest of you sitting on the floor of Rami’s room. You sat with your head on Joe’s shoulder, making Joe’s heart soar at the fact that you were finally his and everyone knew it.

It was when Joe began to tell Rami about what had happened between the two of you that made Ben stand up, giving a quick excuse as to why he had to leave.

“Aw, Ben, come on, it’s only like, midnight.” Joe pleaded.

He looked at you. “Yeah I know. I’m just gonna go.”

He said a few short goodbyes and walked out, leaving the room filled with confused silence.

After hearing the sound of the front door opening then closing, Joe turned to the three of you.“Why’s he being so weird?” The question was enough to make your heart start racing. They had noticed?

“Oh my God, I thought I was crazy! I noticed that too!” Lucy exclaimed.

“Yeah, it’s like he’s mad or something.” Joe added.

“I think he’s just in a bad mood.” You said, trying to make an excuse for Ben so you could change the subject as quickly as possible.

“I don’t know, he’s never like this.” Lucy said.

“He seemed like he was mad at me.” Joe stated.

Rami let out a small laugh, causing you all to look at him.

“What?” Lucy giggled, nudging Rami’s arm with her elbow.

“Nothing.” He dismissed.

“Do you know something…?” Joe said.

Rami looked up at you and your eyes went wide, silently begging him to not reveal whatever information he might know, especially in front of Joe.

“What?” Lucy asked again, but this time she wasn’t laughing.

“Y/N, I think you should talk to him.” Rami said simply.

Your heart rate increased tenfold, and you looked at him and shook your head. You had figured that Rami knew something, if not everything. “I tried already.”

“What’d he say?” Lucy pressed.

You shrugged.

“Well what’d you talk to him about?” Joe asked.

You didn’t want to lie to Joe, but you also didn’t want to expose Ben to everyone. You lifted your head off of his shoulder and turned to him. “He was just being really weird about the two of us.”

“Why?” He asked. You shrugged and he shook his head. He instinctively wrapped his arms around you and pulled you into his chest. He felt a little threatened by Ben and how close the two of you were, and he wasn’t about to lose his girl to him.

A year ago

“Ashley Thompson was the prettiest girl there, end of story.” Gwilym laughed. The boys were all packed into Gwilym’s bedroom after prom night, all of them tired but staying up anyway to talk about one of their favorite topics; girls.

“No way, oh my god. Charlotte Mayfield had everyone beat.” Rami said.

Ben was quiet, he hadn’t really been paying attention to what they were talking about, his mind on only one girl.

Joe’s mind was on the exact same girl.

“Ben, settle an argument for us. Which girl looked the best tonight?” Gwilym asked.

Ben looked up from his phone and raised his eyebrows. “I thought Y/N looked beautiful.”

Joe’s heart nearly fell to his stomach. He doubted Ben had ever thought of you the way that he did, but he wanted to make it known that he liked her anyway. “Yeah, I agree.”

“What?” Rami said, his eyebrows furrowed. “She’s our friend though.”

Joe shrugged. “Doesn’t change the fact that she’s beautiful.”

The boys agreed and let it go, but Ben looked over to Joe. “You like Y/N?” he questioned, hoping the answer was no.

Joe laughed nervously. “She’s my best friend.”

“Okay and? That doesn’t mean anything.”

Joe looked at his feet and thought for a moment. If he told them, you would inevitably find out. “No, I don’t like her.”

Ben nearly sighed in relief. He hadn’t pinpointed the exact moment he began liking you, but he knew it happened, and once it did, there was no turning back.

Joe felt the exact same way.

Present day

You felt extremely embarrassed, for Ben and for Joe, and even for yourself. You had a feeling Joe wasn’t going to let this go, but you really didn’t want to tell him all of Ben's feelings that Ben hadn’t even confirmed to you. As you drove Joe to his house at the end of the night, he still hadn’t forgotten about what was said. In fact, he had been obsessing over it.

He held your hand as you drove, trying to work up the courage to ask you about it, but still not wanting to seem jealous or possessive. He knew you had enough of that in your past.

“Hey um,” he finally spoke up, “What was that whole Ben thing about?”

“Oh, nothing.” You said, shifting in your seat as you pulled onto you and Joe’s street. “He had kind of figured it out before we told him, and he just seemed weird about it. A little mad, maybe.”

He nodded. “Mad about what?” he asked timidly. He could feel his cheeks getting red as the seconds passed. He has always been intimidated by Ben, by the relationship you and him had. Sure, you and Joe were dating, but the relationship you had with Ben was different. More intellectual.

You sighed. “I don’t know.”

Joe didn’t want to push the subject any further and risk making you mad or uncomfortable. One of the worst things Carter did was accuse you of dating Ben, and he didn’t want to become toxic with the same ideals of your ex boyfriend. He didn’t want to acknowledge the fact that all of this pointed towards the possibility of Ben having feelings for you. In fact, he remembered a year or so ago, when Ben had said you were the most beautiful girl at your school. He had brushed that off until now. Now it was relevant, now your relationship was at risk.

The car came to a stop as you pulled into his driveway and silence settled between the two of you. You wanted so badly to confide in Joe, to tell him everything you had experienced with Ben and to have him comfort you. But you didn’t want to hurt Joe’s feelings or make him worry about Ben, or, worst of all, make him mad at Ben.

He leaned over and kissed you sweetly, giving you a small, almost pained smile as he pulled away. You hadn’t given a great excuse to what you had talked to Ben about, and you knew that Joe had to have been a little bit suspicious.

Joe stepped out into the warm summer air and leaned down back into the car before shutting the door. “I love you.”

“I love you too, Joey.” You said softly. He shut the car door and you watched him as he walked up the porch. As he reached his front door, he turned around and gave you a small wave, then stepped inside.

As you pulled out of his driveway, you had already made your mind up as to where you were going. You had to talk to Ben, you had to try and get even a little bit of closure so you could stop worrying about this over-dramatic situation.

Joe watched your car through his front window and he saw you drive straight past your house, making his heart wrench. He closed his eyes and almost winced. Your car disappeared into the distance and he set his forehead against the window and sighed. He knew where you were going and he couldn’t even get mad.

You almost wanted to speed towards Ben’s house, your desperation for closure or at least a little more knowledge was becoming worse by the second. You pulled in his driveway and pulled your phone out, your hands shaking as you clicked on his contact.

Y/N- Come outside. I need to talk to you.

Ben- Can this wait

Y/N- Ben I’m serious. Please come and talk to me.

A minute passed and there was no reply. You typed and retyped another message to send to him, but then you saw his porch light turn on. You sighed in relief and climbed out of your car, warm air flowing around your body. The front door opened slowly and Ben came out, only wearing boxers and a white T-shirt.

The wind picked up as he walked over to you, looking down and scratching the back of his neck as he approached.

“Ben,” You started shakily. “I want you to tell me the truth, okay?”

He looked up and met your eyes. He looked scared, yet he nodded.

“What’s wrong?” You practically begged.

Wind blew his hair around and he put his hands over his face and let out a small laugh.

“I mean, everyone knows, Ben. It’s only a matter of time before I find out.”

He looked up and shrugged, a sarcastic laugh coming from his lips as he moved his hands to grip his hair. His eyes were glazed over with tears, the moon from the clear summer sky reflecting off of them.

“I love you.” He paused and your heart dropped. You had known, but somehow hearing him say it made everything worse. “Is that what you wanted to hear?”

“Ben…” You started.

“And I could deal with it when you were with Carter. I knew you were never gonna see me that way, and I was able to live with that. But with Joe everything is so much worse, Y/N. You don’t understand. I loved you before Joe did. I was here all along. But you chose him over me and I’m not surprised, I’m not even mad. It just hurts, okay? It hurts… really, really fucking bad.” Hot tears were running down his face at this point and he had to stop himself from slapping his hand over his mouth at what he had just revealed.

You stood there awestruck at the sudden outpour of Ben’s feelings. “Ben,” you began, trying to put together what the right thing to say was in your mind. “You have to understand that I can’t be with you. That’s just not gonna happen.”

“You think I don’t know that?” He shouted. “I have spent the last six months coming to terms with that, Y/N.”

Silence settled in the air as the two of you stood there. Ben thought that maybe if he had told you just a week earlier things would have been different. You thought the same thing.

“I’m sorry Ben.” You choked, trying not to cry in pity for him, “I love someone else.”

He nodded. “I know.” He said softly.

“Please don’t tell Joe about this.” You pleaded.

“I won’t.”

You had nothing else to say, so you looked down then opened your car door.

Ben, desperately trying to make things better, grabbed your arm. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault.”

He stood there for a second, holding your arm as you looked at him. A small part of you wanted to kiss him, and a huge part of him wanted to kiss you. He knew it was wrong, he did, but the hot summer air must have done something to him. He leaned in just a few inches, his hand not leaving your bicep.

He was giving you a choice. He only moved in halfway.

You looked at his lips then back at his soft blue eyes. For a second, you were tempted.

But then you thought about Joe. The way he made you feel. How he kissed you. The way he would always instinctively grab the back of your neck. The way he would put his face in the crook of your neck when you hugged. The way he looked when Ben was brought up. How hurt he would be if you did this.

You looked down and Ben let go of your arm. You couldn’t make yourself look back up at him as you climbed in your car and shut the door. He backed away from your car and put his hands on his head as you pulled away from his house.

Both of you had the same thought in your mind; did that just happen?

A few days later and the feelings of Sunday night’s ordeal had settled. More than anything, you felt bad for Ben. Ben on the other hand felt embarrassed. He hadn’t seen you or talked to you since that night and he wished that you could both just forget about it.

Taken that you felt bad for Ben, you probably should have figured that he, or anyone else for that matter, was going to be at your house in a few minutes before you and Joe started fooling around.

If you would have thought this through more, you would have come to that realization. But you didn’t.

You were straddling Joe’s lap on your bed, you didn’t hear the footsteps coming from the hallway. Joe’s hand was up your shirt and you were just beginning to reach down for the hem of his pants as the door to your room swung open. You both jumped, Joe’s hand immediately pulled out from under your shirt. You rolled off of him as quickly as possible and turned to the door as Joe sat up. Gwilym and Ben stood there, shocked.

“Oh, my god,” Gwilym burst laughing. “I am so sorry.”

You nervously laughed and glanced at Joe, who’s eyes were wide, a smile playing on his lips.

“I didn’t think you guys were gonna be here so early.” You breathed.

“Sweetheart, we’re 6 minutes late.” He said, still laughing.

“Oh.” You laughed a little. You finally looked at Ben, his face red and his fists clenched.

“Is this how it’s gonna be from now on?” He snapped. All laughter in the room came to an abrupt stop. “Because if it is, I’m already so fucking over it.” He said, his voice raising.

“Dude, calm down, it’s not that big of a deal, we weren’t even really doing anything.” Joe defended.

Ben shook his head. “This is fucking stupid. You really didn’t think that someone was gonna walk in? It’s 8 fucking 30!” He shouted.

“Ben, calm down.” You spoke softly, trying to diffuse the situation.

“No, Y/N, fuck off.”

“Woah!” Joe shouted, standing from the bed. “Just because you like my fucking girlfriend doesn’t give you the right to be mad at us for something like this!”

Everyone went silent and your jaw nearly dropped. Gwilym opened his mouth to say something, but Ben cut him off.

“Y/N, did you tell him?” He asked. He looked at you, hurt prevalent in his eyes.

Joe turned around to you and furrowed his eyebrows. “Tell me what?”

You looked back at Ben and he immediately realized what he had done. You had never told Joe, he had just made an assumption.

“Tell me what, Y/N?” He asked again.

“It’s not a big deal, I promise.” you pleaded.

“Don’t fuckng tell me that that’s true.” He laughed sarcastically.

You looked at him with pleading eyes.

“Ben, what the fuck.” He said, spinning on his heel to look Ben in the eyes. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

“Nothing even happened, Joe. I told her and that’s it.” Ben admitted.

“You’re kidding.” He said. “Y/N, please tell me he’s kidding.”

“Joe, I thought that it was obvious that you already knew.” You said softly.

“Yeah, I kind of figured, but I didn’t think it was this fucking serious.” He said, turning back around to look at you. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

You shook your head. “I didn’t want you to freak out on Ben.”

“Oh so you're looking after him now.”

“That’s not what I said.”

He shook his head then scoffed. He turned back to Ben like he was going to say something, but he didn’t. He walked out of the room, pushing past Ben to get out of your doorway.

You put your hand over your mouth as you listened to him walk down the steps.

“Y/N, I’m so sorry.” Ben began.

“Fuck off.” You said, standing up to walk out the door in an attempt to follow Joe out of your house.

Ben and Gwilym stood there and looked at each other. Gwilym didn’t feel like he had the right to say anything, but it would be awkward if he didn’t.

“Well,” He began, “at least he knows now.”

#joe mazzello #joe mazzello imagine #joe mazzello x reader #borhap boys x reader #borhap boys imagine #joe mazzello fanfic #joe mazzello headcanon #fan fiction #borhap cast #cruel summer #joe mazzello x you #joe mazzello x y/n #joe mazzello one shot #angst

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roc-thoughtblog · 4 years ago

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Sense and Sensibility Readthrough Part 23

Chapter 26, Pages 137-143

Previously, Mrs. Jennings invites the Dashwood sisters to come stay with her in London over January. Elinor would rather not, but Mama Dashwood would rather they do. Marianne is very excited.

Readthrough below.

Chapter 26

Setting: Mrs. Jennings' carriage en-route to London. Elinor is melancholic, observing Marianne's comparative romantic prosperity with some envy. Marianne is, I assume, vibrating in her seat from sheer excited anticipation at the possibility of finding Willoughby in London.

For better or for worse, Elinor is waiting for the soon arriving moment when her suspicions of Willoughby are confirmed or rested. She thinks it will come very soon, in London. I was satisfied giving Willoughby every benefit of the doubt before, but Lucy has shaken my faith in the single-facedness of the cast. He's probably done something, but I'm not relationship-savvy enough to have any idea what it would be. Secretly married for 10 years probably.

Three days journey to London, Marianne as withdrawn against Mrs. Jennings as anticipated, Elinor compensating for her as expected, and Mrs. Jennings just being really friendly mostly. Well, the lady seems to have no real issues getting along with Mr. Palmer so I assume she's unflappable.

At arriving at Mrs. Jennings' residence the girls are set up in Charlotte's old room. Or do they really mean apartment when they say Charlotte's old apartment? Oh! So they really do mean an apartment. A set of private rooms in a large house. I guess that's exactly what a modern apartment block is, huh, a really really tall house that is just a block of sets of private rooms.

... H-how large is this place? The house is only described as "handsome" but if one daughter has her own set of private rooms in it, it's hard for me to consider it a "house" anymore. Small manor?

Anyway Elinor immediately starts drafting a letter to send Mama. Marianne roughly follows the example, but by evasively drafting some kind of short secret note to be immediately and speedily delivered to somebody with a W in the name, who is not specified but whom Elinor is very certain to be Willoughby.

If it was any other character I might assume this to be a misdirection of some kind whereby Marianne is actually secretly making arrangements with an unknown W man, except that because this is Marianne so I can't take the threat of her subtle machinations seriously. :'D

... Elinor's worried because Marianne is on edge. I guess the note was some kind of summons. She's getting anxious from a lack of news, and from a lack of Willoughby bursting in from the street, windswept and rainsoaked and breathless, sweeping her off her feet because nothing could forestall his coming. She's watching carriages and jumping at door knocks. And then their door knocks!

"Oh, Elinor, it is Willoughby, indeed it is!" and seemed almost ready to throw herself into his arms, when Colonel Brandon appeared.

:D :D

Sorry Marianne, I'm just happy to see Brandon back in the story after 16 chapters! But also this is the second time you've been Willoughby-baited, you poor girl... hopefully he'll show up soon. Even if you are acting unattached for the sake of inheritance, to not visit a friend who is in town is a bit cold. =/

It was too great a shock to be borne with calmness, and she immediately left the room.

Oh, Marianne... :(

Also ouch though Brandon. To show up to greet some friends and have the immediate reaction be that you were the wrong friend. That's gotta smart. :'D

Mmm the story is still noting here, or at least that Elinor is observing, that Brandon is "so partial" to Marianne. As much as I like Brandon it's difficult for me to be comfortable with the idea; if the story were written from Brandon's perspective it'd be from the perspective of someone 35 harbouring a crush on a teenager. Late teenager sure, but still a teenager. Obviously expectations and standards would have been different, but still, from my perspective it's hard to imagine any internal thought process that pursues this sort of romantic interest as particularly justifiable.

Well, I suppose Brandon hasn't really acted on any such interest. I guess I'll leave it a little out of sight, out of mind for now.

Anyway, Brandon and Elinor exchange awkward civilities. Both kind of a bit out of it, both a little too worried about Marianne in different ways. Argh, Elinor was so close to asking Brandon what was going on with rumors of his daughter but stops herself out of propriety! Always getting in the way of narrative communication, propriety. Seriously, the amount of stories that could have avoided being pointlessly drawn out if friends actually talked to each other... anyway. Luckily, Mrs. Jennings shows up to break the ice!

Haha, she casually comments on Brandon's apparent rivalled intentions with Willoughby. That is definitely in poor taste, but I'm entertained to read it. You know what, I'm just going to headcanon for now that Brandon is around 25 just so I can be less bothered by the whole idea, otherwise I'm going to keep thinking about it every time it comes up. I still personally think that's an awkward age gap but it's a heck of a lot better than 35.

So Brandon heard about their arriving from the Palmers and- no, wait, Brandon bails before we can get any more out of him. It's okay, I've already waited like 16 chapters, I can wait longer. Marianne re-emerged from hiding and I guess it just awkwarded him the heck outta there.

The next day brings the Palmers to visit. Charlotte Palmer is comically envious that the Dashwoods turned down her invitation to winter in London, but accepted her mother's. Charlotte and her mother take the girls shopping, but Marianne is on high alert and can't calm down. Also spaced out. She's really anxious to see a Willoughby but none are manifesting.

Poor Marianne, the anticipation and disappointment is eating her alive. Elinor makes a note that if this continues too much longer she's really going to, well, "interfering". Or rather, she's going to write a letter to her mother making the case that interference has become necessary. Which is probably better?

And that's it here. Also feels a bit of a transitory/setup chapter; if I were to name it, it would probably be "Marianne's Disappointment" as that seems to be the principle element. But I suspect in the given case that Brandon could have been anybody and still had the same effect on Marianne, and that Brandon himself contributed nothing in his brief appearance to any of the intrigue surrounding himself, that Brandon's only specific purpose as a significant portion of this chapter is to remind everyone he exists and is in London. So, very much setup still.

#1100 words #time seemed to have flown by and i seem to have written a lot #Jane Austen #Sense and Sensibility #readthrough #novels

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fortunatelylori · 5 years ago

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Next to being married, a girl likes to be crossed in love now and then

Thoughts on Sanditon finale

It is a truth universally acknowledged that you should never blog in anger. Last night’s Sanditon episode left the entire fandom in a state of uproar. Cancelations have been issued. Curses have been cast and tears have been shed … those were mostly mine, to be fair.

For once I decided not to start furiously typing just as the episode ended but wait out the inevitable momentary fury and return to the episode tonight for a second viewing. I have to thank @and-holly-goes-lightly and @kitten1618x for putting up with my temper tantrums late last night on private chat so all of you nice people wouldn’t have to endure my more volcanic outbursts. Being far more reasonable people than I, they pointed out the grayness in a sea of black and white and made me reconsider the episode.

In addition I would advise anyone to do a second viewing of the episode if you haven’t done so yet. Reason being that your first viewing of something that you are so deeply invested in will always be heated. I could hardly pay attention last night to the scenes I was watching because I was so desperate to get to the ending. On top of that, the reality of what you see on screen will fight with the theory you’ve already made in your head and more often than not you end up disliking canon not because it’s bad but because it’s not what you thought you were going to see.

That being said, after a thorough rewatch, I have to declare this episode as one of the finest finales to a season I’ve seen. I say finale to the season, not the series because as a series finale it would be more than a little disappointing. But if there is one silver lining to take from this episode is that we are getting a season 2. I just can’t see how we wouldn’t.

Now, nothing in life, has any business being perfect and this episode wasn’t either. So I will quickly list what I felt were the major flaws so we can proceed to the good stuff of which there is plenty.

Not sparkers of joy

The pacing and structure

It was somewhat rushed. Scenes jumped from one to the other without much preparation (particularly in the first half) and several things were not addressed. People have pointed to the fact that they did not include a Charlotte/Georgiana good-bye scene which I agree was a mistake. In addition, we were presented with a Georgiana and Arthur that were the best of friends even though in episode 7, Georgiana couldn’t stand him. That’s not to say they couldn’t reach this point but I expected to see that journey, not skip it.

Georgiana, on the whole, was odd. Aside from her rebuke of Sidney and conversation with Charlotte which were keeping in line with what she did in episode 7, the rest of her time on screen was perplexing. She was lively, dancing with everyone, huge smile on her face … this being the girl that refused to leave her bedroom a few days before. Again, not saying she couldn’t get to this stage but where did I see how she did that?!?

The whole Sidney/Eliza situation was resolved off screen which … why?!? First we weren’t given the scene of him sending her packing in ep 7 and now we have no idea how he turned that around to the extent that he got himself engaged to her and with the money to save Sanditon, all in a week.

I mean ok, I get that he’s got but ... OK, OK! He’s THAT hot!

There were other examples of shoddy storytelling but those stick out in my mind the most.

The sudden tone shift

The reason why I reacted so badly to the episode to start with was because for 7 hours I was led to believe this was a fluffy, cozy regency romance in the vein of Northanger Abbey or Emma. Sure, things happen to cause momentary sadness but it all gets resolved in the best way by the end of the episode.

Instead the Sanditon finale marked the tone shift from the fluffy to the angst. We are now firmly in Persuasion/Sense&Sensibility territory. It’s still Austen as I will explain below in more detail but I would have appreciated some warning that this is where we were heading.

The specifics of the cliffhanger

Now this is obviously personal preferences but I do have some issues with the manner in which they chose to separate Sidney and Charlotte. Having Sidney propose to Eliza in order to get the money to save Tom from prison does resolve several issues in a very expedient way: it forces the two young lovers apart; it creates angst and anticipation for the next season; it also allows for Charlotte and Sidney to both be victims of the separation and still desperately in love with each other and wanting to get married.

However, the cost is that Sidney is now in the position of doing to Charlotte exactly what Willoughby did to Marianne in Sense and Sensibility. Sidney is obviously not Willoughby and his motives are selfless. But his actions are a play by play of Willoughby’s betrayal: he pursues Charlotte, kisses her on the cliffs (substitute that for Willoughby taking a lock of Marianne’s hair), means to propose to her and then disappears, only to return engaged when a lack of money force him to choose between love and a fortune.

He even makes a “I don’t love her” confession, similar to Willoughby’s scene with Eleanor. Of course, Sidney tells Charlotte that not to victimize himself like Willoughby but rather because he can’t bare the thought that Charlotte might think he’s done this because he doesn’t love her. But you can see how this kind of narrative choice can really negatively impact Sidney’s character.

It’s sad that they chose this cliffhanger, particularly since they didn’t need to. I firmly believe that had they ended on a more hopefully note for Charlotte and Sidney we would have tuned in anyway for season 2. I wish they had had more confidence in their story and in their viewers.

But enough of the negative!

Sparks joy

Theme

I have to say that thematically, they hit this finale out of the park. The most important piece of dialogue in this whole episode occurs between Esther and Lady Denham:

Lady Denham: It is infinitely better to be loved than to love. Especially in a marriage.

Esther: You’re speaking from your own experience or someone else’s?

Lady Denham: My own. Not with my husband, of course. It was long before that. A man called Rowley. Some people said he was the handsomest man in all of Somerset. But to me he was the handsomest in the world. And he knew it!

Esther: What happened?

Lady Denham: He kept me dangling for a while. Trembling. Waiting for a look, for a smile, for a tender word … like one of his dogs. And then he up and married a girl from Gloucestershire, with 50.000. He had debts, of course. Couldn’t have afforded to marry me. Should have been obvious to me at the time but … you know what girls are.

May I just say that Anne Ried’s performance in this scene is a treasure trove of skill and emotion? You can just feel the longing and the sadness this story can still elicit from this seemingly cold matriarch. Lady Denham, like all our characters, is more than she seems. She starts off as a Lady Catherine de Bourgh clone and develops into one of the wisest, mot rational people in the show.

She gives Esther excellent advice and is compassionate when she realizes what Edward has been doing to her.

She also gives us our theme for the finale of Sanditon and perhaps of the whole show. Because her speech doesn’t just apply to Esther and her relationship to Edward. It applies to Georgiana’s heartbreak over Otis and Charlotte’s impeding heartbreak at the hands of Sidney. In even more general terms, it speaks to the heartbreak most Austen heroines experience at some point during her novels:

Next to being married, a girl likes to be crossed in love a little now and then. It is something to think of, and gives her a sort of distinction among her companions - Pride and Prejudice

Her whole speech reminded me of what my mother told me the first time I broke up with someone I loved. She said: “No girl can pass through life without having her heart broken”.

The show telegraphs this home by having the Sidney/Charlotte cliff walk follow immediately after this scene.

We are so distracted by the innocent beauty of Sidney and Charlotte being in love and so mesmerized by their first kiss:

That we fail to take Lady Denham’s warning seriously. And, just like Charlotte, we end up paying the price for it

The Austenverse

Lady Denham also clues us in to where exactly we are within the Austenverse. Many people have claimed that episode 8 marked the moment this stopped being an Austen story because Austen novels always have happy endings:

My characters shall have, after a little trouble, all that they desire.

Did you think we were just going to skip the “little trouble”part? Sweet summer children! We’re at the moment where Elizabeth finds out Lydia has run off with Wickham and thinks she’s lost Darcy for good. We’re at the moment where Knightly reprimands Emma for treating Miss Bates poorly and leaves for London. We’re at the moment where Anne is forced to join her father in Bath and believes Fredrick will soon marry Louisa Musgrove.

And finally, and most pertinently since this is what Sanditon is trying to emulate, we’re at the moment where Edward’s engagement to Lucy Steele is made public and he and Eleanor say their final good-byes (supposedly).

Austen heroines are never spared heartache. But it is a depiction of heartache that is not gratuitous. It allows the characters to grow, to understand the true depth of their feelings and eventually to value the good fortune they have when it all turns out for the best in the end.

And no novel drives that point home more than Sense and Sensibility and Austen’s Eleanor character, the suffer in silence heroine who pretends she is fine, all the meanwhile dying on the inside. Kind of like this:

Honestly it shouldn’t surprise me that we’ve ended the season on this somber note. Sanditon visually owes a great deal to Davies’ Sense and Sensibility 2008 adaptation. That mini-series had a somewhat different feel to usual Austen productions, particularly in comparison to the 1995 Ang Lee film. It was darker, grittier and had a bit of a western feel to it than Sanditon reproduces to great effect, I think.

So it’s quite understandable, in retrospect, that Charlotte’s character arc would see her start off as a Marianne type character (open, romantic and impulsive) and slowly turn her into Eleanor by the end of the season.

In order to make that transition complete, a lot was asked of Rose Williams and she manages to convey the transformation in one breathtaking shot:

I am deeply, deeply impressed with her acting in this episode, and particularly in this scene. You can literally feel her heart breaking and see the mask that will dominate in the church scene fall into place.

Which brings us to Sidney …

I’ve said it a million times and I can’t help but say it again: Theo James OWNS this character. I don’t know if he simply hasn’t gotten the proper material in his career until now or if there’s something special about Sidney that resonates with him but his acting is so spot on that even when Sidney breaks Charlotte’s heart, behaving like Willoughby as I’ve said, you can’t hate him.

Not when he is the same man who gets chocked up as he tries to propose to Charlotte:

Not when he’s the man who tells her this:

Sidney: I have never wanted to put myself in someone else’s power before. I never wanted to care for anyone but myself.

And not when, with just one look, Theo James is able to convey Sidney’s despair and pain. How can you hate him when he’s clearly breaking himself into tiny pieces over giving Charlotte up?

And how the hell can you hate him when you can hate … this clown instead?

Oh, sorry I meant …

Words cannot describe how much I loathe Tom Parker. Well actually, my new fictional mum comes close to enunciating our common and general distaste:

Lady Denham: I will see you in the debtors prison! I will see you in the poor house! Where are your promises now? Dust and ashes! You might as well have lost my money at the gaming tables! You despicable man!

If only Lady D would have been allowed to go forth with her threat and hand Tom over to the debt collectors. How much happier everyone would be right now!

Unfortunately the Parkers are far too nice for their own good. They all jump in head first, trying to save this sorry excuse for a man. Arthur even offers up his entire inheritance. Tom refuses … Not because he thinks it’s not right for his youngest brother to risk his entire life’s comfort for his unworthy clown’s ass but because … IT’S NOT ENOUGH MONEY!

Tom Parker has amassed 80.000 pounds worth of debts. Luckily Google allows me to illustrate to you exactly what 80.000 pounds meant in 1820s era England:

80.000 pounds could have paid the wages of an immortal skilled worker in perpetuity!!!! And this MORON decided not to ensure it … Apparently, Kris Marshall has said that Tom is the Regency’s version of Steve Jobs … I assume Steve Jobs too let his younger brother prostitute himself for his benefit, after already taking a 3000 pounds “loan” from him and thinking up ways of spending his baby brother’s inheritance on top of that … Oh, wait! Steve Jobs was a visionary who died a billionaire. Take several sits, Kris!

What really irritates me is that everyone is very quick to absolve Tom of any blame, jump to his defense and in due course Tom, himself, decides he should not be so hard on himself, which is why he is ecstatic when Sidney returns to Sanditon, with the news of his engagement. This is what comes out of Tom Parker’s mouth:

Tom Parker: This is excellent news! Oh, Charlotte, glorious news! Sanditon is saved!

So he knows full well that Sidney has asked Mrs. Campion to marry him in order to save him and he is perfectly willing to let him go through with ruining his life. The saddest part is that the rest of the Parker family goes along with this lunacy.

That includes Mary who already knows that Sidney and Charlotte are in love. Kind and sensible as she might be, Mary decides to turn a blind eye to Sidney’s sacrifice and Charlotte’s pain in order to have her husband safe. And it shouldn’t come as a surprise since she’s the one that told Sidney this back in episode 1:

Sidney: And tomorrow is the famous ball, is it not?

Mary: Tom has been in such a state about it! You will do all you can to help him, won’t you?

I thought I’d mention this since everyone seems to be under the impression that Sidney sacrificing himself for Tom now is a sign of the growth of character Charlotte inspired in him. But it actually isn’t.

Both Tom and Mary make it very clear early on that they relay on Sidney’s help. He’s sort of the third member of their marriage (they do have a painting of him in their entryway) who is there to ensure Tom’s ass is saved from the fire of his own making. And both Tom and Mary are complacent in this.

Sidney choosing to marry Mrs. Campion over Charlotte isn’t a new development in his dedication to his family. It is the end result of years of emotional blackmail and dependency Tom has dished out, and Mary has, most likely unconsciously, supported.

And all of that spells disaster for Sidney who is left closing the door to the coach that will take the love of his life away from him:

I know we are all commiserating with Charlotte over what happened. But I think we should spare Sidney a thought as well. He is ruining his life, his integrity and his happiness for someone who will most likely waste his sacrifice in a matter of months. Add to that Eliza’s behavior at the wedding and it’s pretty safe to say Sidney will pay for the money he will give Tom in every which way possible.

The only glimmer of light in all this unbearable darkness is that Lord Babington (he still doesn’t have a first name … :( ) and Esther are now married. Their wedding is actually very much a visual representation of Austen type country weddings, down to everyone smiling and throwing petals at them:

However even in their case, there are still clouds on the horizon since Esther was pretty clear about not being in love with her husband. She took Lady D’s advice that “ being loved is better than loving: and season 2 will show us if that is enough for her or indeed her husband.

Unfortunately, our two protagonists weren’t as lucky as Lord and Lady Babington. The road ahead for them is hard and filled with angst. There’s bound to be a lot of darkness before the dawn. However, do not despair and listen to the only voice that matters:

Lady Denham: Well, Miss Heywood? You’re still proclaiming your independence? Or is it that none of our young men have taken your fancy? I’ll wager we’ll see you walk down the aisle very soon. What do you say, Mr. Parker?

My fictional mummy is never wrong!

#sanditon #sanditon 2019 #sanditon finale #sidlotte #sidney x charlotte #charlotte x sidney #sidney parker #charlotte heywood #my meta

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