#i'm like a victorian man seeing a shoulder and fainting

[kushanna]

what i usually think is that if you look at an anime character in a pretty standard anime style and your first thought is "wow, they're so hot" what this means is the universe had mercy on us in making them be originally depicted in anime cause if it had been any other style closer to reality or, dare i say, a live action, we could not have been taken responsible for the proportionally stronger feelings and sensations they would inspire in us. anyway, as i was saying, ushiromiya eva–

[seaweedstarshine]

*Poll inspired by typical ambiguity in the new audio story Victory of the Doctor, which on an unrelated note is amazing!

Evidence for each argument beneath the cut!

Open marriage

The Doctor's wedding to Marilyn Monroe occurs in A Christmas Carol, when he storms off to a chapel with lipstick marks on his face. “I’ll just go and get married then, shall I? See how you like that. Marilyn? Get your coat!”

While he wasn't yet with River then, he maintains this relationship afterwards, apparently with River involved. In the mini-episode Good Night, the Doctor enters the TARDIS with a euphonium, calling over his shoulder, “River! I’ll see you later! Tell Marilyn she’s too late, she’ll have to use the biplane. Take care!”

Another piece of evidence comes from The Wedding of River Song, when they're passive-aggressively flirting.

“Hallucinogenic lipstick. Works wonders on President Kennedy. And Cleopatra was a real pushover.” “I always thought so.” “She mentioned you.” “What did she say?” “Put down that gun.” “Did you?” “Eventually.” “Oh, they're flirting. Do I have to watch this?” (from Kovarian)

I've never understood the innuendo (please tell me what I'm missing), but Kovarian does, and as we know from The Husbands of River Song, the Doctor and River are both married to Cleopatra, so… it's definitely something.

There's also that diary page in The Eternity Clock game that suggests the Doctor, River, and Jim the Fish got blackout drunk at karaoke night and started “some sort of religion of love” which went on to last for centuries.

Serial cheaters

“How can you be engaged, in a manner of speaking?” The Doctor is jealous in Flesh and Stone before he's even kissed her, which doesn't set him up as a person who'd be interested in an open marriage.

“No, wait. That's your husband? That's who you're married to? Not anybody else?” In The Husbands of River Song, the Doctor is clearly not expecting the other husbands. Culminating in the same episode…

“So, King Hydroflax?” “Oh, how many times? I married the diamond!” “So you say.” “Elizabeth the First!” “Ramone!” “Marilyn Monroe!” “Stephen Fry!” “Cleopatra!” “Same thing!”

It appears he is well aware of her other spouses (and that she's aware of his); so perhaps his surprise was more that didn't expect her to be so flagrant about them. It makes him insecure (“I posed as his nurse. Took me a week.” “To fall in love?” “It's the easiest lie you can tell a man. They'll automatically believe any story they're the hero of.”) enough to start an argument about it.

River also expresses her jealousy as an obvious fact, as seen in The Day of the Doctor Novelization (written by Moffat who (along with Alex!!) knows the character best):

“Ow!” “Madame de Pompadour?” “Jealous?” “Of course I’m jealous. Keep your hands off her.”

In The Name of the Doctor, we learn that the Doctor, who has had a number of... sexually-charged moments with Clara (including, but not limited to, Victorian Clara), has avoided telling her that River is his wife. Vastra is uncomfortable with having to introduce them, having “gone a darker shade of green.”

“The Doctor might have mentioned me?” “Oh, yeah. Oh yeah, of course he has. Professor Song! Sorry, it's just I never realized you were a woman.” (from Clara)

Actually both

This could mean many things (i.e. open marriage with boundaries which are violated), but potentially, all the same evidence from prior arguments! With a shade of “Our lives are back to front.”

In the mini-episodes First Night/Last Night, when River, having burst into the TARDIS and pretended to faint, mistakes her past self for another woman the Doctor's hiding from her, she openly expresses jealousy.

“Doctor. Have you brought someone else here? Does anyone agree to wear that dress? Where is she!” “River, think it through!” “This happened the last time we were here. You brought someone else!” “No I didn’t!” “Yes you did, I heard you talking to her!”

However, when a third and significantly older version of River makes the same mistake, she no longer expresses jealousy, but rather curiosity, which could at least signal a shift in how she sees their marriage.

Maybe there was a conversation that happened. Maybe it slipped the Doctor's mind when he forgot Clara.

Actually neither

This could also mean multiple things, but one of those things is this. The Doctor is a widower from the start. Likewise, River is well aware of Doctor's death on Trenzalore, “of course River would know, she's always known,” having been raised to prevent those events, and having refused to be bound by that destiny.

How can fidelity be defined the same way for time travelers? Everyone's spouses are dead somewhen. River understands the paradox of her husband's existence better than anyone. To quote The Day of the Doctor Novelization yet again…

‘Because you live in a time machine. All of history is still happening outside those doors. On a good night that means everyone you ever met is still alive and you can’t wait to see them again. On a bad night, it means everyone’s dead, and you want to charge around the universe, pretending you can do something about that.’ She looked up at me. ‘I know which version of you I prefer.’ 

And there she was, so alive again. I remembered her, twisted, burnt and dead, in the depths of The Library. ‘What if there are people who died because of me?’ I asked. ‘What if there are people I should have saved?’

‘People die. All people, everywhere. We grieve and we move on. That is how we respect the dead. That is how we forgive ourselves in their presence and their absence.’

Please feel free to add anything I missed!

[yuriko-mukami]

footsteps could be heard rushing around the expensive gothic styled hall inside the school, can a school be this pretty? It looks like a castle if you ask Liz, her pale gaze transferred from door to door as the students slowly turned their heads when she passed next to them, certainly, the daughter of the marquis has its charm inherited from the name she carries in her shoulders.

the Myoi clan has that look. The look that can seduce a man or a woman with just one look, and she’s also wearing a miniskirt, not to mention that the mentality in this victorian shithole is lower than grass.

but she continues, she is looking for someone, the Mukamis were they? The half bloods that were adopted by the king of all vampires, Liz’s head was on the clouds tho, as her gaze wondered around, she bumped into someone.

her chest met the petite back of a girl, Liz fell to the ground as her eyes closed.

“shit, i’m sorry” Liz said with that tired voice of hers, looking up.

"Oh my gosh!"

Yuriko took a fast step back, gazing down as heat covered her face all over. "I'm so sorry! I was on your way, wasn't I?"

Bowing hastily, Yuriko tried to get a glance at the girl who had run into her. She couldn't recall seeing the girl before at school but that was no wonder. The hallways were full of new people all the time. Maybe this girl was one of the transfer students.

"Umh... Did... did you hurt yourself?" Yuriko crouched down, reaching her hand toward the girl. "Here, let me help you up."

Still a bit unsure, Yuriko tried to smile. "Are you new here? Perhaps a student? I'm sorry we met like this but... I hope you're alright? I'm Tsukino Yuriko, a third-year student. Nice to meet you."

I hope she isn't going to faint or anything... I should help her to the infirmary. The school's nurse could take care of her then. Yuriko's thoughts were whirling as she pondered what the best course of action was. Ruki wouldn't be too happy with her if she would be away for a long time but there was no way she could leave now.

"So... umh... Can I help you?"

[nenestansunsthings]

Scar and pearl hangin out? Or Joe and Cleo. Dealers choice. :)

dealer picked scar and pearl!!! thank you so much for your vote, lonely-eldritch-monster :))

____

The sun is setting lower and lower, painting the sky slowly in shades of yellow and orange. Scar sighs, slumping further back into his wheelchair. It's been a long day of rearranging, building, searching for stuff in his giant shulker monster. It'd have taken longer if not for...

"Man, thanks for helping me out, Pearl. I thought I'd be clearing out boxes forever."

"You would have," Pearl laughs. "You're lucky I was in the area, Scar! Now, how much are you gonna owe me for this..."

"No!!! No, you volunteered for this yourself!!!" In a dramatic show of desperation, Scar wails, swooning like a fainting Victorian maiden. "I can't believe you! Tricking a poor, innocent park owner like this!"

"Poor is right, Scar! Hand over your diamonds!"

"Noooooooooo!!"

She snorts, her shoulders shaking with laughter. "Ah, I'm just messin' with ya. Don't worry, Scar, your diamonds are safe. For now. I'm just happy you tried cleaning it all up."

"Well, I wouldn't want to disappoint our one and only cleaning lady, would I?" He shoots her a brilliant smile. "... Hey, if I call you next time and you give me a discount, can I set something up so you can clean up my stuff and my sorting system won't have to?"

"Scar!"

"I'm scared of breaking it, Pearl! It's so complicated and redstone-y! I'm not made for redstone, Pearl!!"

"A stack of diamonds per cleaning."

"... Wow, would you look at my amazing, wonderful, going-to-be-used-every-time redstone sorting system!"

"See? I knew you'd understand." She snickers. "Your redstone can't be that bad, Scar. Don't just let that sorting system sit around gathering dust!"

"Fine, fiiiine." He sighs. "Maybe if the most organized person on the server tells it not to break, it won't."

"I could do that for you," she jokes. "Cast some alien magic on it so it never breaks. Then you'll be able to put those poor unorganized shulker boxes in it no problem."

"Your aliens have magic?!"

"... Hmm. I haven't decided that yet." She shrugs. "Could also just be really advanced tech. What's that quote again? Uh… sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic?"

"Industriabubble?" Scar blinks. "That's, uh…"

"God, I don't even remember if that's the right word." Pearl shakes her head. "If tech is advanced enough, it's essentially the same as magic, basically."

Scar's eyes light up. "Wait. So if I made, like, a super advanced futuristic sci-fi world, I could basically say it's a magic world and mix both concepts? Oh, that's a wonderful idea, Pearl! I should do that next season!"

"Hey, don't go stealing ideas from me!"

"Me? Steal ideas?" He gasps. "Why, I would never! I'm a capitalist, Pearl! Would a capitalist ever steal ideas?"

"Ohhhh, I guess not." She snickers. "You're right. You're just borrowing them."

"Exactly!"

Music swells around them as the nighttime announcement plays. Scar winces- he really should sleep. Or someone should. His streets are not Scar-safe.

"Don't worry, I got it." Pearl taps the moon-shaped crest of light before her that summons her inventory, pulling out a grey bed with a flourish. "Wouldn't want our work to be destroyed by any creepers. Or your park, for that matter…"

She blinks. "Oh! While we're here, Scar- would you show me around? Your park just keeps getting bigger and bigger! Was that a castle wall I saw, flying in?"

"New and freshly terraformed!" Scar perks up, already spinning to face the beginnings of his castle. "Come with me! It is looking amazing. I can't wait to show you everything!"

"Scar, wait-"

Scar takes off excitedly, the rockets and wings strapped to his wheelchair leaving a wispy trail of smoke. Behind him, Pearl swears, taking out some rockets of her own.

"Scar! Scar, it's still nighttime! Scar-!"

[hasufin]

Okay, so. Here's something I'm thinking about semi-seriously. My apologies.

Why couldn't Harker take out Dracula with a shovel? It's not the best choice of weapons, but it's also far from the worst. Facing an opponent who is unable to move, I am 100% confident I could use a shovel to kill them.

So I can think of four reasons Harker couldn't do it:

Paradigm fail. Harker is a Victorian lawyer, and in his mind you use weapons to kill someone. A shovel is not a weapon, so he didn't think to try to seriously use it as one. This is belied by him thinking to hit Drac in the face, but he only tried one hit anyway. Which I think ties into...

Harker was weak. He was, in fact, a Victorian gentleman. He is shown to be rather frail of constitution - prone to fainting and delirium, and not physically strong at all. He did not have the physical strength to utilize any particular weapon, and he lacked the temperament to keep trying. Especially given that this might have been a more awkward weapon than a modern reader would imagine, as it was very likely the...

Wrong type of shovel Right, so some odd history about shovels. Now, for one, in some mythos, vampires are only weak to wooden weapons - e.g. a stake through the heart. Ironically, this would have meant an American shovel of a hundred or so years prior would have been an exceptionally good weapon against a vampire, as during British rule Americans typically used shovels with carved wooden heads (the production and import of metal tools was restricted). Amusingly, the traditional American means of killing a vampire is to cut out and burn the heart. Go figure. However, I believe wooden shovels are a uniquely American innovation for a specific and uncommon problem. (And Dracula is later killed by a metal knife, so that's not his thing anyway). I don't think he'd encounter such a wooden shovel in Eastern Europe. But the existence of wooden-headed shovels illustrates why the shovel might not have worked. See, you might be asking "How could you use a shovel with a wooden head? Wouldn't it break?" But that's not how they tended to use shovels then (nor, professionally, how they use them now). Today we have shovels with tempered, sharpened steel heads which break into and scoop the dirt. Such was not the case historically. Instead, what they would do is use a pick or drill to break up the dirt and stone, and then a shovel to scoop it up. Between the necessary picks, sledgehammers, drills, and shovels, there were probably more tools than workers, so it's perfectly reasonable they would leave behind something like a shovel, but not necessarily the more valuable pick, which would also be easier to sling over a shoulder and carry off. Nonetheless, the shovel they'd leave behind is not quite what we might think of. It would be of a milder (i.e., cheaper) steel, with a lager, thinner, and lighter head meant for scooping loose material, and would have had a shorter handle. Truly an awkward weapon, and one which even a stronger man would find difficult to use in such circumstances; I think our London Lawyer can be absolved of a failure in vanquishing the villain, limited as he was to such a tool.

What this comes to is, I think we need to rethink our image of the scene. He is not hitting the antagonist with a modern spade, but something much more scoop-like.

And so, our image should be more of a *clang*, not unlike cymbals or a gong, accompanied by Harker bouncing backwards as the shovel vibrates in his hands.

Sound designing a vampire being hit in the face with a shovel is... challenging. Who would've guessed.

[mightshad0w]

POV:

Victorian era.

You are married to Lord Erwin Smith, Earl of Lancashire.

A marriage that was extremely expected by your family, which was of the nobility but unfortunately penniless.

But you do not especially carry in your heart.

During an evening with very close friends, during the social season, you take advantage of all this world to escape from its grip.

However...

Levi:

You had taken advantage that your husband is a dance with one of your cousins, this last one had not refused because finding her a little more docile than you. In fact, Erwin is a true viper's tongue and does not hesitate to make fun of you openly.

The Gallery of the Paintings seemed quite silent, while usually some young aristocrats comment happily on the brushstroke of your genius husband.

"It is not fitting for a lady like you to be alone, especially in the company of a man who is neither your husband nor your brother, let alone your father.

The voice comes from behind you, a man neither young nor old. His hair is so straight and black that it looks like the wings of a raven. Even his black suit with gold embroidery reinforced his peculiarity.

"Levi Ackerman, Earl Delay's brand manager. I am partly responsible for the fact that black tea has conquered all of our beautiful England."

You didn't drink tea, or your husband for that matter. Erwin is far too attached to his morning coffee, which he used to take in silence while reading his newspaper.

"Do you like my husband's paintings? He takes a lot of time to make them but the work is worth it, especially the details" you say, not wanting to look like an uneducated person with the tea.

"They are certainly beautiful but far too artificial, landscapes without clouds, flowering gardens without weeds,... Isn't it too beautiful to be real?"

- His hand slipped over yours to then take your shoulder, you had the impression of being on the arm of an ice statue. And with the little light there was, you were still looking for the shadow of a smile.

"Let's go inside quietly, it wouldn't be right to find us both here, especially since you've only been married a short time."

Hansi:

Fireworks was one of your husband's great passions, which he described as a subtle mix between leisure and science.

Yet he had ordered you to stay inside. He had caught some of the servants and valets stealing some food from the buffets when his back was turned.

Here you are again, abandoned to your fate, watching over thieving servants.

"What is our host doing alone, while her husband is feasting quietly."

Hansi Zoe, old friend of Erwin Smith. His youth seemed to be eternal, and it was his style of dress that reinforced this youth. He often wore a deep red frock coat with a collar richly embroidered with golden flowers, which he adorned with an ecru scarf.

His gaze was on the servant who was behind you, caught in flagrante delicto. In just a few seconds, Hansi had changed his personality. You didn't even notice the riding crop he wore on one side of his waist.

No wonder, Hansi is the manager of a workhouse. He expected a certain rigor and righteousness from the household staff, being also the one who had advised Erwin in the choice of these servants.

It was unbearable to see, the blood was dripping down the poor servant's shirt, writhing with each blow of the whip. You were left with only one solution suitable for a woman of your rank: fainting

You didn't even have time to touch the ground before you were already in Hansi's arms. The servant had been quietly evacuated, while others cleaned the floor.

It was just him and you, those big eyes sublimated by a pair of glasses resting on your deceptively weakened body.

"I'm going to warn Erwin right now, I'd hate for him to think I'm courting you or even much worse."

Mike:

One last dance, there was only one spot left in your notebook and two people were arguing over who would give it to you. Mike Zacharias, a wealthy bourgeois who made his fortune in silk and Nile Dok, a distant member of English royalty.

Mike isn't much of a dancer, from what he claims. Yet, each of these large limbs moves with a certain grace.

His face is impassive, he observes each person who could be around him. It must be said that it is not invisible, either by its size or by its status. He is a great bourgeois, in the middle of the high English nobility.

However, women come and go towards him, he has a great sense of aesthetics and takes care to discuss with each of these future customers.

But there, there is only him and you. Those big silk-gloved hands slip around your hips as he hums along to the music.

"Are you enjoying your new life with Lord Erwin? I've heard nothing but praise for him and your marriage," he asked, while casting a tender glance at you.

He is so far from reality, Erwin is cruel and deceitful. For him, the world is a vast chess board. And your role was still far too blurred, but you were not the queen or at least not yet.

"Yes, very much so! We are planning to go to France for our honeymoon. He always has good ideas to please us!" you replied, knowing it was all a lie.

The «us» implied your pregnancy. Just married, he had knocked you up. One more anxiety to manage, while you live under the same roof as him and especially far from your parents.

"Would you tell me if Erwin were to change? You know, men are so unpredictable. Will you promise me?" he asked in a whisper, before leaving to freshen up.

[sor-vette]

three, an all-out fight club!! (index/description)

☜ two, down!!

☞ four, circus!!

***

Taehyung exits the chat with a sigh, looking at the near blinding brightness of his phone. There's a picture of you from the stakeout trip near Thorwaldblick. In it your eyes are droopy and there's a blissed-out, incredibly drunk smile on your face. The picture itself is slightly blurry and low quality. He had to take it in secret, too afraid that even in your borderline unconscious state you'd be able to fling something at his head.

He should change it. Yes, he should. So he keeps telling himself and then he doesn't. He had always detested Suga for hovering like a lovesick ghost. Hiding around hallways when that rare time came and you visited HQ, mutely repeating words of apology and then stand in silence, wringing his hands. One could get anxious just by looking at him.

Taehyung wasn't like that. Of course, he wasn't.

He wasn't hiding in hallways, he was hiding in his car, crouched three times over so you don't notice him in the window.

"What the fuck am I doing?" He whispered to himself, discreetly trying to wipe off the fog of his breath from the glass. He didn't care about you. He didn't. You were a judgemental, ornery woman who cared about no one but a select few. You had tossed him aside like trash. Why should he care about you after that?

"As if you were innocent," says a little voice in his left ear. It sounds eerily similar to your voice. He let it slip away without much attention.

The doors to his car are ripped open and for a moment his heart lodges itself in his throat. Taehyung looks back when the intruder dares to snuggle himself comfortably in his leather chair.

"You don't care, huh?" says a broad-shouldered man with round glasses perched on top of his nose. Taehyung has a feeling he has tried hard to forget this man. And successfully.

"Who are you?" he tries to growl though it comes out more like an indignant whine of a capricious Victorian socialite.

"Oh, I'm Jin. I know you know who I am."

"God?"

"That's right." The intruder, Jin, smirks and Taehyung's eyes almost roll to the back of his head. Before he manages to get at least one offensive remark in, the doors to his car open again. This guy is so muscular, he seems to have trouble squeezing his large frame inside. Underneath the dark bucket hat and meddling long hair, Taehyung sees two pairs of wide, doe eyes, inspecting him curiously.

"So this is him?" he asks Jin. Evidently, they were not out of the loop in making introductions.

"Yes, I am him." Taehyung snarls, having had enough of strangers just invite themselves into his car, right when he was supposed to be covert.

"What the fuck are you doing here?"

"I'm J-"

"I said what the fuck you doing here not who the fuck you are."

"Ease on the profanities. You're too pretty for that." Jin shushes, his eyes focusing through the rainy front window and Taehyung resists the urge to smack him face-first into the panel.

"You're so cute!" comes your slurred voice, loud enough to quiet all three of them. Sitting completely still, like prey avoiding a predator, they peer into the shabby neon lightning. You've wrapped yourself like a snake around Irina's neck, trying to somehow climb onto her frame. Now that was a sight. There's one they now know as Erik who is trying his hardest to separate two tangled figures.

"Always was a happy drunk," Jin murmurs and JK gives a faint hum of agreement. The cleaner crew disband loudly, shouting congratulations and sweet nothing at each other's retreating backs.

All three of them monitor Erik's desperate struggle to maul you into the vehicle. You've taken an interest in shouting undefined insults upon the night sky while desperately clinging onto the roof of the car.

Albeit not certain, Taehyung has this inkling that the jab of "that egomaniac can shove his fucking camera up his tight asshole" was meant for him. He grinds his teeth clutching the wheel of his car. Forget all of this.

"Woah, woah, what are you doing? We're going to lose them!" Jin hisses, his words pouring out like running water.

"And why do you care?" Taehyung retorts, scowling at the two men.

He fixates on the man in the backseat. His eyes shining with worry as he observes Erik's car disappear out of the parking lot. Face scrunched up in inner turmoil. It almost seems like it is causing him physical pain.

"I won't interfere again. Just this once," he mumbles into the sleeve of his sweater. Even in the dark and hair shielding his face, Taehyung can see the unease in that doe-like expression of his. This kid couldn't lie to save his life. In a peripheral vision, he could make out Jin's disbelieving grimace.

Taehyung sighed again, letting the pressure in his shoulders ease up. Erik's car was already long gone.

"Great," Jin huffs. "Now what do we do?"

"Stalking is not the right way," Taehyung murmurs, melting even further into the seat. A wave of exhaustion washes over him with no explanation.

"You were here first," he hears Jin dryly remark but decides to let it go.

"As much as I hate the idea, I think... we should meet up with others. Discuss what to do about," Taehyung gives a vague gesture, "all of this."

"Oh, great."

***

Erik barely manages to stuff your swaying figure largely intact into the bed. You give off the last hazy whine, again something about a yoongles and then fall asleep.

In the relative quiet of the room, where the only accompanying noise is the faint ticking of the kitchen watch. Your district is quiet, almost lifeless. Erik sloppily piles two blankets atop of you, wandering off into the rest of your apartment. There's a lot of little everything. He doesn't yet know all the history behind the tens of hundreds of little knick-knacks littered across various surfaces though he can recognize his own paper crane, sitting on the bookshelf. Behind the crane, there's a book. "No One Belongs Here More Than You" by Miranda July. Interested he reached over, gingerly pulled it from the row, immediately grimacing at the front page.

"I look at you and I dream - Joon." The words glared back at him, almost mocking in their elegant, rich handwriting. Erik snaps it shut before looking back at you in worry. You don't even stir from the noise. He stands in the stillness of the night before quietly slipping away.

(a/n)

A clarification if needed. Yoongi and Taehyung work together, so does Jin and Jimin. Everyone knows Hoseok and Namjoon and Taehyung was actually the only one who didn't know Jungkook. They all sort of have this standoffish attitude against each other and also a lot of baggage with the reader. All of this will be unpacked in later chapters, one by one.