#regarding 'putting elizabeth back together'

[spring-lxcked]

back on my william brainrot but one day i've gotta write a headcanon about him leaving a message for michael regarding elizabeth. like. there's so much to be said

[estaticheart]

ᥫ᭡. MAYBE ROMANCE IS A PLACE

Summary: Rafe is still angry at Sarah and you are his loving girlfriend.

Warnings: Swearing, angst, fluff.

A/n: This is my first fic in a long time lol, so It will probably be a bit rusty. Please feel free to leave comments and feedback!

Winter had arrived. As the air got crispier and the winter hibernation loomed upon the Outer Banks, the chaos and trivialness of the Outer Banks began to simmer away.

As Rafe's girlfriend, you were rather thankful that Rafe would be distracted from his ongoing conflict with his sister's friends and now-husband. You did not undervalue the few months you would have Rafe to yourself, him already planning a city break to New York over Christmas. Yet the bliss you had become accustomed to by November soon disappeared.

As a student at Elizabeth City State University, winter took a toll on every aspect of your life. Studying in the final year of your college degree meant your work was piling up more and more by the day.

Sitting in Rafe's estate home you had spent the last 4 hours hunched over the desk in his office while he was off on 'business'- as he described. You were far too occupied to even consider for a moment what he was up to, even this morning you had begun studying before he had even woken up. So when he stormed into the office, his face raw red as he clutched his phone in his hand before he flung it on the sofa to your left along with his jacket, you were startled, to say the least.

After a few moments of stunned silence, you placed your pen on the desk before looking up at your boyfriend. Despite being together for several months now and finding ways to navigate his often erratic moods, sometimes you still felt as if you were on eggshells on how to approach him in moments like this. Rafe appreciated your often brutal honesty but also your sensitivity to his moods- without words spoken on it you both knew his unstable behaviours and outbursts weren't purely learned behaviours.

"What happened, Rafe?" He was still pacing the room, the way he was when he entered the room when you asked him the question. Yet without stopping, he huffed out a reply. "Fucking Sarah and her fucking games. I swear to fuck-" He began his more than common rant about his sister and presumably her friends if you hadn't interrupted. Sarah had grown a soft spot in your heart, you saw a lot of you in her. A young girl who had gone against what everyone in her life wanted for her in the name of love, as you did with Rafe. So when he began to ramble on about her you already knew she was unlikely to be in the wrong, especially when it came to her brother.

"Okay, let's calm down. Sit down for a second and breathe, you're practically burning up." You stood up, walking over to him unfortunately realising that your work would have to be put off for at least half an hour when he was in such a mood. "I don't want to fucking sit down, I can't believe she has done this shit again." Walking away from you back over towards the door before pacing back towards you.

"And what exactly has she done?" You questioned your boyfriend, glancing towards your phone that was bound to soon be bombarded with texts from Sarah regarding this exact problem. Sighing you look back over to him to see him staring at you, rage burning in his eyes. You obviously knew this anger was for Sarah but you weren't in the mood to get into an argument with a temperamental Rafe.

"I was minding my business trying to get some shit done with the estate over in Charleston when I saw- her with her stupid pogue friends. It's like she's rubbing it in my face y/n, does she even fucking care that her friends got our dad killed? I mean they probably fucking did it." Your face scrunched up in confusion, Rafe was upset that Sarah was hanging around her friends? Not to point out the obvious but that was a pretty commonplace that Sarah would be in, maybe not years ago when she had first hung out with the pogues- but now definitely. "Not to be Sherlock here Rafe, but just to check. You are angry that Sarah is hanging around with the same people she has been hanging around for 2 years now?"

His face dropped as if you had asked if the sky was blue. "Yes." An uncomfortable silence settled over the office. You were apprehensive about how to approach him now, sometimes you could sympathise with the oldest Cameron child who had a lot of unresolved trauma thanks to his late father Ward but this wasn't one of those times. You and Rafe had had this conversation years ago when you were only friends, and since you started dating- numerous times after. "Rafe, seriously? You need to stop worrying about this honestly. It has been years now."

He huffed in response, his features hardening and stare glazing over. Were you actually serious? His father had died only a few months ago now and he had been given the burden of not only figuring out everything that would happen with the family estates scattered across the East Coast but also working through Ward's will, a large portion of it which had been left to Sarah who couldn't care less clearly. He couldn't fathom why his loving girlfriend couldn't see what he could- a scheming sister who abandoned her family in favour of pogues. Huffing out a breath, he avoided your gaze knowing if he looked at you you would see the anger rising once more in his face. "That's the problem, you don't get it at all. Why would you get how much of a slap in the face this fucking is? All you do all day is sit here doing fuck all, whilst I'm out there making a future for us and deal with all the shit that comes with it."

Mouth wide open, you stare at your boyfriend as if he'd slapped you in the face- even though it damn well felt like he had. "Are you serious? Doing fuck all Rafe I sit here every day working my ass off for a degree so I don't spend the rest of my life living off your money. Something you complained Rose did to your fath-"

"Don't bring him into this, y/n." He interrupted, completely overruling your thoughts on his words- like he often did when overwhelmed by his emotions. "Rafe, I'm not bringing him into anything. All I'm saying is that I'm sitting here fucking studying to get a job- so god forbid I don't drop at your call to talk shit about Sarah." The room lingered in silence. Both of you refusing to concede to the other- why would you? You were well in your right to call him out on his bullshit.

"Look I don't expect you to get it. It's more than you'd ever understand- too complex" He muttered, walking off towards the door, undoubtedly planning to call up Barry for drugs until his anger faded. "Too complex? Please, Rafe, you don't understand how much work I do. I think the petty fights you and your sister have, that could be figured out if you just fucking sat down and spoke about it, are too complex for me."

Stunned at your words, he paused in his stride towards the door. Petty fights? What was petty about his sister being a raging bitch? "Whatever, I don't have time for this y/n. You're being completely ignorant of my issues."

"No, I'm not. I'm telling you that talking down to me will get you nowhere. I've stood by your side for years, even when we were just friends. Defended you to everyone who called you crazy because I knew, and I still know, that deep down you are just conflicted. I love you, and I will defend you to anyone outside this house. But when it's you and I, I will tell you when you're overreacting and need to think twice about what you are going to do. And that's exactly what you need to do now Rafe. I know you're grieving still and yes, seeing Sarah with the Pogues after all that happened may hurt you. But she is grieving in her own way too. And if that is with John B and his friends then so be it. Don't burn the bridge you have any more than you already have, in the face of something that has been in your knowledge for years."

He knew you were right. You were the one person he trusted. Not Topper. Not Kelce. Especially not Rose. You had been with him through everything, and when he looked back you often gave him advice that didn't always swing in your favour- but always his. He knew he wasn't the easiest person to be in love with, so the fact you stood by his side for all those years was a testament to your honesty and faithfulness. "I'm sorry."

And although his words were short and concise, you knew below the surface level they meant a whole lot more. He struggled with showing any emotion that wasn't frustration. But his harmful words aimed at you doing 'fuck all', wasn't going to fly by under your radar.

"And what in particular are you sorry for?" You asked, leaning your back against his desk. If he wasn't in such a rage when he walked in he would have realised how tired you looked. Your hair was still undone from when you had woken up this morning, drowned in his sweatpants and hoodie he had given you years ago when you were drunk out of your mind at a High School party. Tired- but beautiful. Walking over to you, suddenly sheepish at his uncalled-for anger towards you, he slipped his hands around your waist, slightly pressing his fingers into the delicate dip in your back. "I know you do so much work for us baby, I'm sorry for undermining everything you have done for me. You're working so hard every day, and I'm so proud of you." He admitted, looking lovingly into your eyes. His eyes full of pure love for a girl he had chased all his life.

And although there was so much more to come for you both as you faced the future of your relationship but also the future of the island. You knew that right now, this was enough for you. Standing with the man you love as he moved his hand up and down your back, content.

"Down talk my degree again and you're on the couch for a week."

[leohtttbriar]

the sequence of “deadlock” to “thaw” to “tuvix” to “resolutions” is so interesting. a sequence of traumatizing events about: what it means to be intimate with no one but yourself, intimate with fear as a simulated person until you both fade from simulated reality but remain in the material one, and intimate with a merged half such that it's not two halves but one whole--and then with an equal with whom, by position and consequence, no intimacy can be allowed to exist. which i guess is just a different kind of intimacy?

it's like a cycle in which janeway learns she is alone in a fundamental way, making decisions and hard calculations with no other cooks fixing the broth, and while there could be a new and equivalent love, there actually can't. no matter the small acknowledgment, she walks back onto the ship to the start of the cycle, again. sacrifice, fear, choice, sacrifice, fear, choice, sacrifice--

in a meta way, there's an interesting read regarding how mulgrew didn't want janeway and chakotay to get together, and how she was right for it: the first female-captain character of this enormous franchise couldn't be the first to also have an explicit romance with her second-in-command. to be in a specific singular position requires constructing some scaffolding that might not otherwise be needed. in this is the implication that, while other captains would be as lonely as janeway, they might not be quite as actually alone. and it's like how strachey describes queen elizabeth i, forever unmarried, but in the most cunning of ways--prevaricating on committing to the personal, leaning into the tension but never breaking it, pledging only in the quiet so it can't ever be interpreted as contractual, all to retain a hold on centered power. a power which, in many ways in the story, is the ethic driving the crew back across the galaxy and acting as infrastructure for the culture of their unbelievably distant home, through sheer will. it's a kind of compromise of personhood to the position that seems particular to janeway, because of her gender and the fact that she's the highest-ranking officer of a distant culture's diplomatic and governing organization for 70,000 light years.

she has to be aware she's more representative than real at this point. like, it's almost an idea somewhat suggested by her brief duplication and her brief simulation. (and like of course she split tuvix back up--she only thinks now with two bodies instead of one, kathryn and captain, and it's inconceivable these separate persons might genuinely fuse.) the solitude of janeway makes either her insane or, as strachey put it, "a sane woman in a universe of violent maniacs."

[quill-pen]

I have to wonder how Bess would act in regard to actually meeting Orin for the first time, and how that would go.

She’s only heard of his through second hand stories from Connie or TeTe. She also sees articles and news stories about him - this handsome, Dutch-American man with obsidian hair (now graying slightly at the temples), aquiline nose, and uncannily blue eyes. He’s very tall and sleekly dressed with perfect posture with graceful poise. Even his voice is deep and resonate in interviews, and he’s very well-spoken and charismatic. He has every interviewer beaming ear-to-ear after their interview with his wit and humor.

When he arrives in London, man is in full-acting mode with his charms with her.

“Elizabeth Sullivan. My, I’m charmed to finally make your acquaintance. I have heard much about you from my wife. It’s such a joy to find some pleasant company in this abyss of a city, and I believe we can do good by each other.”

AKA, ‘I’ve got a blank check with your name on it for details. Where is she?’

Ooh, the potential was amazing here! So, we did the thing again! I hope it's what you were expecting from all the previews I sent.😉

Spilled Soup

Warnings: mentions of past abuse, mention of addiction, abuse of women, violence, language, blood, looming dread, Orin Spiegler (he's a trigger all on his own), Bess' puns, sickeningly sweet, cute, and sappy couples, one of whom just needs to KISS ALREADY YOU BLOODY DAMN FOOLS

Rated T

~⚔️🌹⚜️🌹⚜️🌹⚜️🌹⚜️🌹⚜️⚔️~

"Well, that's the last of Eddie's potholders sold. Can't believe how they flew out of the stall! Like hotcakes!"

Bess snorted as she reorganized the produce again. "More like hotpads," she remarked, shooting a cheeky smirk her bestie's way.

Connie looked up from their money box with a slightly puzzled expression. For a few moments, her eyebrows were lightly knitted together as she worked through Bess' statement, but then her face lit up with realization. "Oh!" With a beaming grin, she threw back her head in a snorting laugh. "I get it!"

"Sounds like we missed out on something quite amusing," a familiar voice that was smooth and buttery declared.

Both American women looked up from their work to be greeted with the lovely sight of two handsome gentlemen headed towards their market stall. Standing at least a head taller than every other person in the farmer's market, billionaire twins, Ebenezer and Ebenezar Scrooge already made a sight in the little square. Their tailored suits and manicured good looks only added to the entrancing sight.

Bess had heard Connie mention the choice brand for the Twins was "Brioni". That didn't really mean all that much to Bess besides the fact the men wore the suits well and looked breathtakingly sharp. Particularly her dear Wolf, Ebenezar. As it was, with the way the afternoon sun was shining on her favorite twin's silvery locks, making them glint like warm steel slowly melting from his crown towards his shoulders, Bess had to lean against the veggie stand to keep from feeling as though her knees would buckle at the sight.

Great job, Bess, the snarky little voice inside her head cut through her thrall. You just had to pick today to look like a bum. Couldn't even put on a little makeup or pick a shirt that actually fits. At least she'd knotted up her oversized t-shirt around her middle; so it was apparent she had a waist. And the way the overly large neck hole fell down over her shoulder did have a flirty little vibe to it. She hoped. It helped that it had slipped down over her less scarred shoulder. She hoped her Wolf would notice, but it was impossible to tell behind the stylish sunglasses he wore. He was smiling though; that was always a good thing. He was probably smiling at both her and Connie, but Bess liked to think his smile was specifically for her.

Connie beamed towards the men and moved out of the stall's working station. "You did!" she chirped as she sauntered towards Ebenezer. Happily, she slipped a delicate hand into the large, extended one of her beau and let him pull her in for a sweet kiss of greeting. She splayed her free hand over his heart as she leaned into it, slightly popping a heeled foot skyward as she did so.

Bess couldn't help but smile at the couple. The pair had been officially involved for several months now, and it was beyond apparent that they were simply falling ever deeper and deeper into love every day. Bess' heart swelled with joy for Connie. The woman was loving kindness incarnate who deserved a wonderful man who loved her just as much as she loved him. And Ebenezer Samuel Scrooge (or "Adonis" as Bess enjoyed calling him) continued to prove himself as such a man.

Bess flitted her eyes from the lovers back to her handsome Wolf and couldn't help but snort in amusement. Even with his glasses, it was obvious that he was also looking at the pair, as he was grimacing in a cartoonishly disgusted way. As a sibling herself, Bess felt it; she would react the same way if she witnessed any of her siblings snogging (and it would be even more traumatizing for her, as she was the eldest by quite a margin and had helped raise her brothers and sisters from babies).

Her stifled giggle apparently caught the attention of the tall, broad-shouldered billionaire as his head turned just a bit more in her direction and he smiled, perhaps a little sheepishly. Bess' stomach did ecstatic somersaults over that soft little curl of his mouth. She hoped the flush she felt in her face could be played off as working in the summer balminess. And now you look like a damn strawberry--great.

Adonis and Connie parted lips, and the ginger slipped under the lanky man's arm into his side. His arm wrapped easily around her, his hand coming to rest naturally in the curve of her waist, just above her hip. They fit so wonderfully together. "Bess made a rather clever little pun," Connie explained her laughter moments before.

A dramatic groan left Wolf and Bess turned her gaze back upon him, mischief sparkling in her midnight-colored eyes. "And just what are you groaning for, Mister?" she drawled, perching her fists sassily upon her hips. "You didn't even hear it."

Wolf smirked right back at her, matching her playful energy. "I don't need to have heard a pun to know it was rubbish," he remarked. "They're all rubbish by default."

"Hmph. Your attitude is rubbish."

"Well, as a Yank, you would know, wouldn't you?"

"And what's that supposed to mean?"

"Well, a certain tea party from long ago comes to mind."

"Oh, puh-lease!"

"And ever since then, you lot have been quite determined to be characterized as snappish and uncouth."

Bess let out a squawk of mock-offense before curling up her fists and moving into a ready position. "Okay, you smarmy Redcoat," she snarled playfully. "Come on--get your dukes up. I'll knock the couth right outta you."

Wolf folded his hands behind his back and stood tall as he took a long step toward the fiesty woman. He chortled teasingly, "And here I thought you were going to say something about rubbishing my face in my words."

Bess shot straight up with a maniacal grin and pointed sharply at the man. "Ah-ha! A pun! I'll convert you yet, Ebenezar Charles Scrooge!"

The Englishman chuckled as he braced an arm against the support pole Bess stood beside and leaned into it. He bowed over Bess' smaller size a bit as he smirked roguishly down into her pretty, freckled face. "I very much doubt it," he chuckled. He removed his shades to expose the playful twinkle in his slate-blue eyes. "But I'll enjoy watching your attempts." The man had the audacity to wink.

It was all Bess could do to not melt into a puddle. The wink, his proximity, his crooked smile, the way a rebellious lock of hair curled down his brow from his slicked-back, lengthening mane, the adorable little creases that formed at the corner of his eyes and around his mouth and nose; it was all almost too overpowering for her pathetically smitten heart. If only she could reach up and take his gorgeous face between her palms and kiss him stupid. But that was completely out of the question, so the young woman silently hoped he would smile at her like that forever instead.

"Far stranger things have happened," Adonis responded to his brother's prior statement. There was a bit of significance in the tone of his voice.

"Well, are you lovely ladies finished for the day?" Adonis quickly moved on, turning his attention to the woman held in the crook of his arm. He smiled dotingly at her, his icy blue eyes sparkling and warm. "I was thinking it might be nice to sweep you off for lunch," he murmured to her.

Connie beamed back just as besottedly. "Oh, that sounds lovely," she agreed. "But I'm afraid we're not quite finished. The market still has another couple hours."

"But it's pretty much over," Bess added. "Business is usually a snail's pace the last hour or so. We might get a little surge near the end, but mostly anybody who was gonna come to the market has been here already. Why don't you go on to lunch, Con? I'll close down the stall."

"Oh, Bess, that's so sweet of you, but I don't want to leave you to finish up alone. That's not fair. And do you remember the last market day? We had a tidal wave of customers in the last 30 minutes that cleared us out. Even with all of us here, we almost couldn't keep up."

"Don't be ridiculous! That was one bizarre market day out of all the ones we've sold at. If it happens again, I'll handle it."

"What about change?" Bess notoriously struggled with counting back change. And with most numbers in general, honestly.

"... I'll just tell people we're taking tips."

"Which is no more than you lovely ladies deserve," Wolf chimed in earnestly, "providing such exemplary produce and unique, quality merchandise at such affordable prices."

Bess smiled at him. Maybe it was silly but hearing such compliments about her produce come from the handsome businessman filled her with a wonderfully ticklish pride. "Precisely. Thank you."

Connie snorted and rolled her cornflower blue eyes in amusement. "Be that as it may," she agreed half-jokingly (Bess really did deserve some extra gratitude for all the diligent time, work, and love she poured into her garden, as far as the redhead was concerned), "I think it's better two people close the stall. Just in case things do get crazy again."

"I'll stay and help her."

The declaration was something of a surprise, and all eyes that turned to Ebenezar displayed it. However, the man didn't even seem to register anyone else's gaze except that of the curly-haired woman. He smiled down at her as she stared up at him in amazement.

"I... Y-You will?" Bess practically croaked. Her throat suddenly felt dry and her tongue clung to the roof of her mouth like it was glued there. Heat flushed throughout her body at the thought of being left alone with her handsome and charismatic muse of a crush. Excitement and existential dread curled around and danced in her stomach.

What if something finally actually happened between them, while they were closing the stall? Maybe they'd reach for something at the same moment and touch hands and there would be that electric spark that was always mentioned in love stories. Then they would meet eyes and realize feelings that had been there all along and the rest would be history. Maybe they'd be working in the back of the stall and keep bumping into each other and surrender to hidden passions with a kiss. Maybe Wolf would declare that he'd had feelings for her all along, that the look she sometimes thought she caught in his eyes was real, and he would ask if she'd be interested in a relationship.

Or maybe, Wolf would see just exactly how stupid she was on the cashbox and when it came to math, and he would just write her off as a complete moron and Bess would never hear from him again: "It's been a pleasure knowing you, Ms. Sullivan, but I'm afraid being around someone so imbecilic could only hamper my own intelligence. In my line of work I can't afford to risk such a thing. Good luck to you and, please, don't seek me out again."

As all scenarios swarmed her mind, Bess wasn't sure whether she felt more like walking on air or crawling into a hole; her stomach decided for her and settled on mildly ill.

"You don't mind staying?" Connie asked, something that was a hint of a smirk curling her painted lips as her gaze flickered between the two.

"Not at all," Ebenezar assured them. "With Bess working the customers and merchandise and me on the moneybox, we'll have everything in order." Almost without thinking, the Englishman reached out and wrapped an arm around Bess' shoulders, tucking her into his side. "Shipshape and Bristol fashion, yes?" He grinned between the two Yanks, eyes lingering on the woman at his side as she continued to stare up at him in awe, the freckles on her face popping through her adorable blush. The grin at play on his lips softened rather significantly as he gazed at Bess. A slight pinkish hue spread across his own cheeks, the cheerful spark in his eyes mellowing into an affectionate warmth. "I'm sure we'll make... quite the team," he murmured so softly he could only have been speaking her.

Somehow, his touch and those words soothed Bess turbulent emotions and quieted her mind. A gentle smile curled her mouth as her eyes softened. Instinctively, she leaned into the man's side, bringing an arm up around his back to anchor herself to him. "I'm sure we will," she agreed quietly. Once again, she felt the overwhelming urge to surge in and kiss him. And, perhaps it was wishful thinking, but she thought she caught a glint of longing flash through the man's eyes as well, perhaps a slight flicker of his gaze from her eyes to her mouth and back again.

A loud throat-clear broke the daze the pair was caught up in and drew their attentions to the couple, both of whom were smirking and sharing knowing looks. But before Wolf and Bess had a chance to inquire about it, Adonis and Connie were taking their leave.

"We'll leave you two to it, then," Ebenezer stated as he led Connie away, his arm still wrapped comfortably around her waist. "We're off."

Connie followed, practically floating on air within his embrace. "Good luck!" she chirped with a small wave. Then she added with a rather suggestive wink, "And have fun!"

Bess and Ebenezar watched after them in some bafflement.

"What was that about?" the Englishman muttered.

The American shook her head as she raised a confused eyebrow. "Search me."

~⚔️🌹⚜️🌹⚜️🌹⚜️🌹⚜️🌹⚜️⚔️~

"Well, it certainly seems as though you did well today, Pet," Michael Pippersnipe commented, his Irish brogue chipper and optimistic as always. The wiry little Irishman formally served as the girls' landlord, but he was truly much more of a friend and surrogate grandfather in many ways, a fact which was currently showcased in how he was helping Bess and Ebenezar pack up the market stall.

"It was a good day," Bess agreed as she carefully packed away the few jars of homemade, canned soups and stews left. Her gaze flitted towards Ebenezar. True to his word, the man had spent the last couple hours by her side, bantering and joking with her as he helped with last-minute sales and yet another final frenzy of late customers right before the market closed down for the day. Now, whistling as he worked, the banker picked up the box of upcycled and thrifted treasures he'd just finished packing and carried it away to pack into the bed of the classic, pine-green farm truck of Pippersnipe's. Catching Bess' gaze as he walked off, her smirked and winked at her.

The woman's speckled cheeks heated with a blush, her plump lips arching into a smitten little smile. Her Wolf was even more of a sight now than his had been at his arrival, blazer and waistcoat discarded, tie loosened, shirt partially unbuttoned with the sleeves rolled back, and suspenders hanging loose from his waist. Bess bit her bottom lip. She could still clearly see each moment he'd disrobed (for lack of a better word) fresh and vivid in her mind; how his shoulders moved, the flex of his muscles, the nimbleness of his fingers as he'd expertly rolled those sleeves back. Couple that all with the grin that hadn't left his face all afternoon, the clear, hearty laugh of his that she'd heard so often for the last two hours, and the way he had interacted with the customers in such a kind and genuine manner, somehow, Bess was now even more infatuated with Ebenezar Scrooge than she'd ever been. And that was a feat.

Yes, Bess thought to herself as she turned her focus back to packing boxes. Butterflies tickled through her insides. It's been a very good day.

"You got that, Pip?" Bess asked, her attention suddenly snapping to Pippersnipe with worry as the little man hefted up a box of leftover produce. While he was quite healthy and spritely for his age, Bess and her friends were always careful to make sure their darling of a landlord didn't try to strain himself. After all, he was a good man that had worked hard to be able to attain his current status and privileges in life, and he deserved to take it easy in his late years. However, much to their (often) terror, the man simply seemed to refuse to slow down.

Pippersnipe just beamed a grin as he walked off. "Needn't worry you lovely head about me, Pet," he assured her without a hint of strain in his voice. "I've got it."

Bess nodded, her nerves for her friend tempering some. Then she focused on her work again; she was going to need some more packing material to fill in all the empty space so the jars didn't clatter around. Luckily, they always brought plenty of extra old newspapers and cloth bits to the market days, just in case of such a need. The young woman slipped into the little tent at the back of the stall that served as their storage area (and, occasionally, a safe place for parents to attend to the needs of their little ones).

Bess was gathering up all the material she thought she might need into another crate when a voice reached her:

"Hello? Anyone here?" It was a man's voice, but that was all Bess really registered in her currently distracted mind.

"I'll be right with you!" Bess called back automatically. "Just a minute!"

By the time Bess had her crate full of newspapers and cloth scraps, a shadow had come over the entrance of the tent and there was a sharp tinkle of shattering glass. Ruined lobster bisque splattered over the cobblestone and Bess' blue, floral-patterned rain boots. Bess gasped and jumped with a start.

"Oh!" the voice from earlier exclaimed, coming from right behind Bess in the tent. "I do so apologize for that. I'm afraid it wasn't wiped down properly; it slipped from my hand." Something in his voice sounded insincere, almost mocking in tone. And now that it was much closer and Bess wasn't distracted by something else, it sounded much more familiar.

A chill settled over Bess as a vehement bitterness ensnared her insides, hardening every last nook and crevice of her being to stone. No. It couldn't be! The woman slowly turned to face the figure behind her and, most unfortunately, found that it could be. And, in fact, was.

A towering, broad-shouldered man filled Bess’ view, his eyes fog-bright even against his otherwise ghostly pallor. A crown of offensively jet-black hair, streaked with a few grays, shimmered like an oiled cap in the London sun. In some ways, very slight ways, there was a resemblance of the Scrooge Twins within him. Unfortunately, aesthetics were only as deep as the similarities went.

Bess went rigid as a statue. How?

“Do you have a moment to chat?” the man asked. Then, he laughed softly at his own jest. “Well, silly me--of course you do.”

Bess barely held back a grimace. Compared to the easy grace that someone like Ebenezar spoke with, every syllable of this man’s cadence was just slightly unsettling. It reminded Bess of trying to play an out-of-tune piano. The whisper of normality was there, but each sound was... off. There was a forced levity to his greeting, like an inexperienced adult trying to make small talk with a frightened child. Or someone they saw as a child, more accurately. The man even stooped over slightly to speak with her, his gaze licking up and down her frame.

Bess fought back a disgusted shiver.

After examining the cuff of his Kiton suit sleeve to make sure that it was unsullied from the accident before, the man flashed her an uncannily white smile. “Are you all by yourself here?” he asked, as if he couldn’t already see she was. He glanced around the booth, humming idly while doing so. “What quaint little offerings and… trinkets. Hm.” He nudged a wicker basket with his toe like it was roadkill in the way of his car. With a shake of the head, he refocused on the woman before him, giving her another look of appraisal.

“…You have an American accent,” he stated. “I heard before--when you told me to wait. Haha. It’s so nice to hear a familiar voice here.”

Bess said nothing, simply continued to stare him down, refusing to tear her eyes from him.

He partially circled her, slinking like a panther as he moved. “What’s your name?” For such a simple question, it sounded so sinister.

Perhaps that was what broke Bess' stupor. "I think you probably know exactly who I am," she finally answered, her voice even and controlled. "Orin Spiegler."

The man paused in his stride, and for a moment Bess thought she caught a glimpse of annoyance cast a pall over his conventionally handsome face. Perhaps it was just in her imagination because barely a blink later, Orin was smiling at her. It was probably supposed to be an amiable smile, but all it did was give Bess the creeps. "You know who I am," he stated.

Bess hoped the tinge of worry she heard in his voice wasn't just wishful thinking. She wanted him nervous of her; afraid he couldn't pull the wool over her eyes and charm his way around her. She wanted him scared. Scared in the same ways he'd made Connie feel for nearly twenty years and then some. "I'm very well aware," she assured him, giving him and up and down with her eyes to be sure he understood the emphasis.

There was a near imperceptible twist of the businessman's mouth. "Ah. I see there's little need for pretense then." His smile straightened out again and he tilted his head just so as he met Bess' gaze directly as if in challenge. "Elizabeth Sullivan."

It sickened the woman to the pit of her stomach to hear her name fall from the lips of this snake of a man. But she stood her ground.

If Orin was waiting for her to have some sort of physical reaction to her name and was disappointed that she hadn't given him any, he hid it well and moved on quickly. "My, I’m charmed to finally make your acquaintance, Elizabeth. I have heard much about you from my wife. It’s such a joy to find some pleasant company in this abyss of a city, and I believe we can do good by each other." He extended a hand, evidently expecting Bess to take it.

"I sincerely doubt that," Bess countered, not even flickering a glance toward the appendage.

"You seem quite certain about that."

"Because I am."

Orin stood silently for a beat, blinking at her as if trying to understand. Or, perhaps, to decipher something. Finally, his thin lips curled into a wiseass smirk and his eyes glinted. "Ah-ha," he chuckled wryly. "Ah, I see. Smart girl, you. Money up front it is." He pulled his hand back, reached into a pocket of his blazer, and whipped out a richly bound checkbook. Pulling out a pen, he clicked it and flipped the checkbook open before scribbling with a bit of a flourish on the muted green paper of the check before ripping it from the binding. "Ah. There we are."

Holding the check between a middle and forefinger, he extended it towards the young woman. "One thousand dollars," he announced. "I'm not sure what the exchange rate of that is here, but it's all yours if you might just help me locate my wife."

Immediate indignation burned through Bess' veins, making her blood hiss a bit in her ears. She was unable to stop her lip twisting into a disgusted sneer and physically recoiled from the offered check. A wry laugh escaped her. "Connie was right: The nerve on you really is something else."

Orin raised a much too perfectly manicured eyebrow. "Pardon me?"

Bess narrowed her eyes at him. "You honestly believe you can pay me off to get to Connie?" she challenged. "After everything I've heard about you and what you did to her? Surely you must know that if you know enough about me to come to my market stall looking for Connie, I know even more about you, considering I've been living with her."

In the back of her mind, Bess knew she was potentially backing herself into a hazardous corner. Orin Spiegler wasn't some typical creep who tried to make time with her at the lounge bar; he was a perilous man with a volatile temperament who didn't hesitate to lock women outside in freezing cold weather in just their night things or throw them down flights of stairs to break their legs. But he was also a pathetic, spineless, slimy son of a bitch--lower than scum. And Bess had been raring to rip into his worthless hide since the moment Connie had recounted how he'd slapped her hard enough to give her a nosebleed on their wedding night.

As far as Bess was concerned, Orin didn't deserve to be feared; he deserved to be beaten into the ground and dragged through the mud. He deserved to have every bit of his rotten existence ripped asunder and utterly ruined. She was more than willing to do the dirtiest work.

That was probably why the way anger flashed in Orin's eyes and his face distorted into a fearsome glower didn't cause her to so much as flinch. However, her hands tightened into fists, and her muscles were already preparing to swing it if she had to. If he wanted to get physical, she would gladly oblige him.

"All right," Orin replied after a moment, taking a deep breath to calm himself though his expression didn't appear any more even-keel. "Fine." He drew the check back and ripped it in about a dozen different ways before dropping the pieces and dusting them from his hands.

Bess' gaze flickered to the soft green pieces, watching them float gently to the cobbles like confetti. That was her mistake.

Quick as lightning, Orin seized a nearby crate by the handle and swung it as hard as he could, catching the distracted young woman in the shoulder and side.

"ACK!" Bess stumbled sideways to trip over several boxes and fall to a heap on the ground. Dazed and trying to get her wind back, she didn't even have enough time to think to react before he was on her, grabbing her by the ponytail and wrenching her up again. All Bess could do was scream in pain and alarm.

"Shut up!" Orin growled viciously. He dragged her around and partially-threw, partially-shoved the young woman out of the tent into the front of the market stall, where she crashed heavily into the table holding the box of soup jars. Both she and it went toppling over, the box spilling its contents to the ground to shatter upon the cobblestones. He stalked after her. "You smart-mouthed little bitch!" he seethed. "You're going to tell me what I want to know, even if I have to beat it out of you!" His hands and fingers flexed as he tried to decide whether to continue the assault open-handed or closed fist. He cast a furtive glance around the courtyard to find that they appeared to be quite alone, so it probably wouldn't matter what he did.

He never got the chance to decide.

Orin's slow, ominous advance and indecision gave Bess enough time to gather herself and get some bearings back. When she did, she was mad--a snorting bull, seeing-red sort of mad. Oh, this jackass was going to learn a thing or two!

Lurching to her feet, the American woman charged headlong into the oncoming man with an enraged yell. She drove all of her considerable weight and size into him, knocking the breath from him, trapping him between strong arms and broad shoulders as she football-tackled him like a linebacker. She caught him at a perfect angle to lift him off his feet and drive him back. Her stepfather would have been fit to burst with pride over how beautifully she carried it out.

"Hhhhaaahhhhh-RAUGH!" Bess drove Orin down into the ground against the hard stones. And then she was on top of him, straddling and pinning him beneath her as she began to draw back her fists and start laying into his face and chest with all her might. Her bare knuckles throbbed from the onslaught and the cobbles painfully dug into and scuffed her knees, but Bess didn't let up for a second. She was much too angry; intent on giving this brute a well-earned taste of his own medicine.

"C'mon!" she screeched, her American accent slipping into a posh, English one as it was prone to do when she was impassioned with rage. "Fight back! Hit me! Hit me, Orin! I dare you! C'mon, I know you like to hit girls! I know you like to beat your wife! C'mon, Spiegler! Hit back! Or can't you handle a woman who actually fights back?! You gutless, ball-less wonder!"

That seemed to stir fury into Orin's soul (or whatever he had in place of one). With a savage roar, the man desperately shot a hand upward, blindly reaching, grabbing for anything he could snag hold of. By some miracle he found purchase on Bess' throat; without a second thought, he squeezed tight as he could, long fingers coiling around to the back of her neck. Then he shoved her to the side with all his might, throwing his weight up and over as they went to end up atop his opponent.

"You... crazy slut!" he puffed, chest and shoulders heaving. "Goddamn you're a hellcat! Gah! Stay still!" The man continued to grapple with the woman as she thrashed and fought beneath him. He tightened his grip on her throat, trying to choke her out, but it wasn't the easiest thing to do one-handed, and his other hand was currently having a fight of its own trying to pin both her hands to the ground. He could not risk those getting free again.

Bess only struggled harder. She glared daggers up at him, her airway too constricted to allow speech but not enough to black her out yet. So long as she was conscious, she would make this a war for the loathsome rat.

Her defiance unsettled Orin. Even pinned beneath him, one of his hands strangling her, she refused to back down, refused to surrender, refused to submit. She's not afraid of me, he realized, and the thought made his blood freeze. Dread settled deep in his gut like an anvil. This wasn't how it was supposed to go!

Desperate to put an end to this... unnatural feminine rebellion, Orin squeezed her neck all the tighter and bashed her head and shoulders into the stones beneath them. "You worthless cow--do as I say!"

Bess winced and let out a croaking groan as she was slammed into the ground. But if her resolute defiance wavered, it was only because of pain; that mutinous flame in her dark eyes blazed obstinately bright. "Fuck... you," she managed to crackle out.

That was when Orin was broadsided, sharply slammed into at the side with such force he could have sworn his ribcage dented in. "Ugh-oof!" The blow was more than enough to knock him away from Bess and send him rolling across the cobblestones.

"Get the hell away from her, you bloody bastard!" a snarling, rather feral voice boomed with fury.

Bess' lungs finally expanded to capacity with a full, unfettered breath; she coughed from the sudden, forceful change. "Wolf!" she rasped in great relief, eyes turned upward to the tall, imposing figure standing over her.

Like a gallant knight of yore, forming a protective wall between her and the savage beast that was her attacker, Ebenezar Scrooge had come to her rescue yet again. His slate-blue gaze, bright and blazing with lividness, bore down on the dark-haired man still trying to collect himself. But even as he kept his eyes on Orin, he turned his attention to his friend. "Are you all right, Bess?" he asked obvious concern for her beneath his otherwise caustic tone. He unfurled a fist and reached a hand down and back toward her.

Bess didn't think twice about sitting up and reaching to take and grip onto the offered appendage. She held his hand close with both of her own, pressing her cheek to the back of it. He probably meant for her to pull herself up with it, but all she wanted at the moment was to hold onto him and feel the security of his presence. "I'm okay," she croaked, absently nuzzling against his knuckles. It was mostly true; she wasn't unscathed but definitely sounded far worse than she actually felt. though she knew there would be some gnarly-looking bruising around her neck later. And perhaps a decent-sized knot on the back of her head too.

Her Wolf squeezed one of her hands into the comforting warmth of his own and Bess watched a bit of the tension seep out of his stance. Still, he kept his eyes on her assailant, ever alert. "What happened, Brightness?"

"It's Orin," Bess informed him breathlessly.

At first the name and significance of it didn't quite register for the billionaire: He'd met a few Orins in his time. But those Orins wouldn't mean anything to Bess. And he certainly wouldn't have found any of them pinning her to the ground next to her farmer's market stall and trying to strangle her.

Then it finally clicked. Ebenezar clutched Bess hand even tighter and stepped closer to and even more in front of her. His glower at the dark-haired man deepened. "Spiegler," he snarled. It wasn't a question.

Having gotten some of her breath back, Bess started to clamber to her feet. Her legs still shook and she clung to her handsome knight for support, leaning heavily into the back of his shoulder as she hugged his arm and continued holding his hand. "H-He's looking for Connie," she wheezed.

Her Wolf just growled, his ribcage rumbling under her touch.

The pair watched as Orin writhed around on the cobbles. When the suited man finally started to rise, Ebenezar pushed Bess to further safety behind him. He was not about to let this bastard lay another hand on the woman he loved!

"You have a nerve, Mr. Spiegler," Scrooge remarked. His usually mellifluous voice rumbled savagely with ominous thunder.

If Orin was surprised that billionaire banker and philanthropist Ebenezar Charles Scrooge was also aware of who he was, he didn't display it. Instead, he tried flashing a rather bloody ingratiating smile at the elder businessman. As if that would get him places. "Ah, you must be one of the Mr. Scrooges," he chuckled before coughing and groaning painfully at the effort. He took a moment to spit some blood from his lips. "Ugh... pardon me. D-Do I have the pleasure of meeting Mr. Ebenezar Scrooge or Mr. Ebenezer Scrooge?"

"The former, and also the Scrooge that's about to put your arse under the plane you arrived on."

Bess snorted as she scowled at Orin over Ebenezar's shoulder. "Why not put him under the dirt? Give me a shovel--he sorry carcass might still be worth decent compost."

There was no mistaking the anger that flashed in Orin's eyes at Bess' comment; the man truly did not handle derision from a woman well at all. However, he tried to hide his true emotions by making another wry chuckle. "I-I can see I've upset you, Mr. Scrooge. Or might I call you "Ebenezar"?"

"You call me anything or say another word at all, and you'll never speak again, you smarmy kissarse," Ebenezar replied. It was both a statement and a threat.

At that comment, a brief shadow of anxiousness came over Orin's swelling, bloodied face. Apparently, his usually potent and influential silver-tongue failing him was something he was used to even less than a woman standing her ground. "I'm afraid we've got off on the wrong foot, Mr. Scrooge," the man implored, a hint of pathetic desperation in his voice. "I can't say as I blame you for your anger, considering how you found the lovely lady and I, but let me assure you, Ms. Sullivan and I--we simply had a misunderstanding. Or rather, she misunderstood me--you know how women are. Hahaha-AHHCK!"

Orin fell to the ground again, partially crumpling in pain and partially being sent there with a resounding thwack! of a hard, wooden cane upon his skull. The dark-haired man clutched at the side of his head, cursing and sucking air sharply through his teeth.

Pippersnipe, wee little man though he was, was standing as tall and square as he could draw himself up to be. The effect was actually rather noteworthy, especially since he also held his cane like a master swordsman, one hand primly folded behind his back. His usually warm and inviting face was set like granite, with hard, ominous lines etched deep in his visage as he glowered at the younger man rolling upon the ground.

"I'm not sure I do know women, as it happens," the Irishman replied, a very dangerous lilt in his smooth brogue. "At least, not as you do. But what I do know, is we don't take very kindly to the disrespect of our ladies around here." With that statement, Pippersnipe drew his cane back and made an expert twist of the handle which unlocked and smoothly released a glinting rapier blade from the shaft. "If I was you, I'd watch my tongue, boy." He threateningly directed the blade in Orin's direction. "Or risk losing it."

Orin stared at Pippersnipe in silence for a moment. Whether he was still reeling from the whap the little man had delivered him, or he was struck dumb with terror at the sight of a real sword blade in his face, no one could tell. But, finally, after a minute or two, the American man seemed to pull himself together a bit. He managed a sneer and a chortle, though both looked and sounded quite nervous. "S-So," he attempted to chuckle condescendingly, "England still settles disagreements with swordplay, hey? How utterly barbaric."

"You're one to speak of barbarism from what I hear," Pippersnipe countered, voice even and soft but somehow bitingly cold and intimidating at the same moment.

"Then you've heard wrong," Orin hissed.

"Have I seen wrong, too?" Bess challenged, unable to keep the rising fury from her voice. For this man to have the nerve to act like he hadn't done all the things he'd done when almost every day she saw the scars left on Connie's body. When she had to help monitor Connie's medication intake to make sure she didn't slip back into the habits of addiction. When she'd had to hold her best friend through the painful tears and panic attacks brought on by chronic pain, withdrawal episodes, unexpected triggers, night terrors!

Orin turned an icy glare on her. "Whatever you think you've seen, you're mistaken," he bit back. "But you women always are."

"That's it!" Seeing red again, Bess flew around Ebenezar and threw herself on top of the dark-haired man again. She managed to get a couple more solid hits into him before she was pulled off and away by strong but gentle arms and hands.

"Bess, enough!" Ebenezar grunted as he hauled her a safe distance away.

Bess struggled in his grip to get back to Orin. "You bastard! You come anywhere near Connie, I'll rip your throat out! You try to touch her, I'll cave in your skull!"

Orin jeered at her. "You think I'm afraid of you, girl?" he chuckled with a bloody sneer.

Bess simply responded with an enraged vocalization that was half-roar, half-growl and violently lunged against Ebenezar's grip. He managed to hold her, but that didn't stop Bess from experiencing the ecstasy of watching Orin's infuriating smirk quickly be replaced with barely hidden terror as he flinched away. Excellent! Now he knew how Connie felt for all those years!

"Control your bitch, Scrooge!" Orin spat, scuttling backwards on the cobbles from her. He probably tried to sound authoritative and angry, but all he managed to sound like was a dog that was all bark and no bite.

"Call her that again, and I'll tear your throat out myself!" Ebenezar warned him, slate-blue eyes driving daggers at the American man.

"You don't seem to be making a very impressive stand, young man," Pippersnipe remarked, voice still calm and collected despite the brawling chaos around him. His rapier blade was lowered to his side now but still poised to be swiftly brought into play at any moment.

Orin let out an affronted, biting laugh as he struggled to finally rise to his feet. "You Brits!" he huffed. "Letting your females walk all over you! Having leprechauns brandish swords in the square! Threatening bodily harm on a poor man visiting your pathetic dump of an island to just try and find his beloved wife!"

Bess screamed in indignation. "Don't you dare call her "beloved"! Not after everything you put her through! Not after you almost killed her! You don't get to call her that!" She lunged again and managed to break away from Ebenezar's grip for a split second before he snatched her back up again.

Orin flinched away, terror he could no longer conceal leaping onto his face. It seemed he did have enough sense to fear the wrath of a fury.

"I don't know how much longer the poor man can hold her," Pippersnipe remarked in almost a mocking tone. "And I have no intentions of trying to hold her off you myself. I'd leave while I had the chance if I were you, son."

Orin's gaze flew to Pippersnipe, and from Pippersnipe to the enraged pair. His eyes flitted between them, taking in each furious visage as they both heaved with hardly restrained wrath. It was clear to see how much it irked him that his plans had gone so wildly different than he'd probably thought. But it was even more clear just how desperately he just wanted to get out of this unexpected scenario alive now.

The man's dark eyes lingered on Bess alone for a long moment. They held gazes, as if trying to peer into each other's souls to find their other's weakness. There was something processing in Orin's eyes behind the overwhelming terror, but it was impossible to decipher before he finally managed to replace his mask of reticent collectedness.

"Very well," he said, voice once again that overly rehearsed, oily, dignified tone he'd introduced himself with. "I can see that we've reached something of an impasse today. I can tell when I'm not wanted, and I'm not one for sticking around where I'm not. I'll go. But don't think this will be the last you all hear from me, because it won't be."

"If you have any self-preservation at all, it had better be," Ebenezar rumbled.

Orin met his scowl with a rather haughty look. "I'm afraid I'm not a man who will be threatened or dictated to, Mr. Scrooge," he stated. "Try to stick me back on a plane and get me out of the country all you want, it won't work. I'm not going anywhere until I have my wife firmly beside me again."

"Over my dead body!" Bess snapped venomously.

Orin's gaze flew back to her, and Bess swore she saw a bit of vengeful fire roar through it. "You know, she's not worth it," he said.

"Says the jackass who probably hired p.i.s to spy on her life here and flew hundreds of miles to try and track her down at a farmer's market to get her back instead of just cutting his losses," Bess retorted.

"You're just an unwanted little girl. You don't understand these things."

"Go jump, you worthless sad-sack!"

"I would take that as my leave," Pippersnipe cut in. The icy gleam in his eyes was now deadly. He drew up his blade and fingered the point as if testing the sharpness.

"Wouldn't want to overstay your welcome any more than you have," Ebenezar agreed.

Orin looked around at each of them again, gazing at them all with some level of disbelief. Again, his eyes lingered longest on Bess and the young woman could have sworn she saw something like a silent vow lock into place inside his slimy skull. Admittedly it unsettled her, made her gut feel uneasy, but she refused to hold an ounce of fear concerning this scumbag.

"Well," the dark-haired man finally said. "I'll be taking my leave then." He couldn't seem to help the slight smirk that caught up a corner of his mouth as he met Bess' gaze again. "Give Constance my regards."

Bess glowered savagely at him, letting out a snort like an angry fighting bull.

Orin chuckled, daring to shoot an infuriating wink at her. Then he finally turned and limped away.

When he'd finally disappeared from sight behind a line of hedges, the tension in the area eased off; the group let go a collective breath of relief. Relief for the time being anyway. Things had just gotten more than a bit complicated with the arrival of the infamous American businessman.

Without warning, Bess found herself manually spun around and facing a rather concerned-looking Ebenezar.

"Bess, are you all right?" the tall man hastily inquired. "How badly did he hurt you? Is anything painful?" As he interrogated her, his slate-blue eyes were racing over her, examining her, taking note of every bump, bruise, and scratch. When his gaze lowered to her neck, it stayed there locked onto the finger-shaped bruising that was already beginning to form around the soft column of her throat. Anger and agony both shone in his eyes, and he lifted a hand to run his own fingers ever-so tenderly along the discolored marks.

Bess felt both touched and guilty; touched that he was so worried for her wellbeing, guilty that she was, in fact, worrying him. Unable to help herself, she reached up and cupped one of his sculpted cheeks in her palm. "I'm all right," she assured him. She didn't sound like it; her voice sounded rather crackly and soft, probably from both the attempted strangulation and the barking she'd done at Orin.

Obviously, her Wolf wasn't all that convinced. "Don't lie to me, Elizabeth." Oh, her given name--he was worried. "Please. If you need to go to a hospital-"

She silenced him with another hand gently covering his lips. "Wolf. I don't. Trust me, I'm okay. I sound a lot more rough than I feel, honest. I am a little sore, probably gonna have to ice and wrap my knuckles, and I'm gonna have a bump on the back of my head, but I'm okay." Without realizing, she let her hand fall from his lips to rest flat over his heart as if trying to physically soothe his worries with her touch.

One of his massive hands automatically drifted to cover hers upon his chest, pressing it closer. "You're certain? It's just... when I saw you on the ground... the way he was holding you down..." he trailed off with a pained sigh, guilt taking hold of his handsome face and lodging itself in every crease.

"I'm so sorry, Brightness," he murmured, bringing his hand from her throat up to smooth some curly fringe back from her face before holding her jaw. "I should have been beside you. I should have hurried back from the truck sooner. If I had-"

Bess quickly cut him off, taking his face between both of her scuffed and bloody hands, her expression firm but not unkind: "Ebenezar, no. You're not doing that: You're not putting any blame on yourself--I won't allow it. The only person at fault for all this just skulked off with his tail between his legs. Orin and Orin only gets all the blame here, okay?"

Wolf didn't look quite convinced. "I still should have come back sooner," he insisted. "He never would have tried to harm you if I'd been here when he arrived."

The woman gave him a small smile. Her hands slipping from his face, she pulled him into a hug, easily shifting closer until she was flush against him when his arms instinctively embraced her in turn. "Hey," she cooed, voice as soft as though she was trying to soothe a hurt, frightened animal. "I'm okay, Wolfy. All right? I promise. I'll let you take me to a clinic to get checked over if it makes you feel better, but I swear I'm okay. I've had way worse than this, remember."

Ebenezar's eyes drifted from hers to her left shoulder now poking out through her shirt's askew neck hole. Without thinking, he let a hand drift up and gently ghost over the textured, slightly shiny, mottled scar of her long-since healed scald burn. Yes. Bess had been through much worse before. But that was why it bothered him so to see her hurt, however minimally, now; she should never have had to endure abuse from another ever again. Especially not when he was here for her now.

Still, her indomitable spirit about it all and her refusal to be sucked under by it was inspiring.

Sighing heavily, the man affectionately smoothed his hand over the young woman's head, trying to tame the untidy curls that had broken free from her loosened ponytail. "Built like a warrior goddess," he remarked with a tiny, wry smile, "and strong as one too."

Bess blushed, her gaze falling sheepishly from his. "I don't know about that," she muttered, gently biting her lip as she smiled, peeking back up at him from beneath her lashes.

A twinge of tenderness struck her as his hand passed over the goose egg forming on the back of her skull; Bess slightly winced, hissing through her teeth. A whisper of "ow" slipped by her lips before she could stop it.

Concern shadowed Ebenezar's face again and he gently prodded at the tender spot, examining the swelling. "Oh, my dear," he sighed sympathetically. Cupping her nape, he gently drew her head forward a bit, bowing his own into her hair to press a soft kiss close to the injury. "My brave Yankee girl."

Bess pressed her face into his chest, smiling against the softness of his shirt. Sore and aware of the looming threat to her soul-sister as she was, it was impossible to not feel safe and secure in her lovely Wolf's hold.

The sound of tinkling glass caused the pair to look towards the overturned table to see Pippersnipe gently nudging at bits of broken jars in puddles of wasted soups and stews with the end of his reunified cane. There was little emotion in the elderly Irishman's face, but his jaw was clenched, the muscles of it steadily working. It was a tick Bess and her friends had come to learn meant the little fellow was contemplating serious business. Fitting, considering who had just dropped into town.

"Pip?" Bess' voice was quiet, tinged with trepidation.

Her landlord and friend looked her way, held her gaze a moment, then looked to the gentleman embracing her. "I'd take her to be seen to, Mr. Scrooge," he stated, voice even and calm. "I'll finish the clean up here then take things back to the cottage."

Ebenezar nodded. "Of course."

"Oh, you don't have to clean up," Bess protested. "I'm fine. I don't need to see-"

"Elizabeth," the banker cut her off, voice firm but not unkind. He gave the Yank a stern look when she turned to him again. "You said you'd let me take you to be examined, so you're going to be examined. I'll hear no more about it. Understand?" He lifted a single, bushy brow, as if challenging her to say anything against him.

Usually Bess would have been annoyed at being told what to do, but with an order like that coming from her Wolf, all she discovered was that she felt warm inside and all over. Warm, protected, and cared for. She couldn't find it in herself to argue with the only other man in existence apart from her step-father to make her feel in such a way so wholly, so, with the tiniest smile, she nodded. Her heart cartwheeled in her chest when Ebenezar's severe, no-nonsense expression softened. Seriously, how could a man be so damn pretty without trying?

"Good girl," Pippersnipe said. Then he shooed them with his cane. "Off with you now. Don't worry here--I have it handled. I'll see you at the cottage later."

Snagging up his suit jacket from the hook on one of the stall's support posts, Wolf wrapped a protective arm around the young woman and gently led her off. "Come on, Brightness. Let's go have you seen to."

Bess much too easily notched herself into his side, slipping an arm around his waist. "You're the boss, Mr. Scrooge," she teased with wink.

The tall man rumbled a chuckle. "Well, it seems your cheek is still intact."

"Well, that's one less thing they'll have to cheek out."

"Ugh."

"Oh, come on, even you have to admit that was a clever one."

"I don't have to admit anything."

"Maybe while we're at the clinic we should see if there's anything they can do to loosen up that humor of yours a bit too."

"I beg your pardon? My sense of humor is excellent."

"And so are my puns."

"Debatable."

Pippersnipe watched after the playfully bickering pair before turning back to again assess the damage around the market stall. His gaze lingered on a dark puddle of Gal's acclaimed Melas Zomos, the ruined black broth slowly oozing over the stones, releasing its thick, unctuous, bloody scent into the air. The pit that has settled in his stomach upon first catching sight of Orin Spiegler only grew. Things weren't just about to become more complicated in London: They were also about to become much more dangerous.

~⚔️🌹⚜️🌹⚜️🌹⚜️🌹⚜️🌹⚜️⚔️~

🎶Dun-dun-DUUUUHHHHHNNNNNNN!!!🎶

[isagrimorie]

Really great Kathryn Hahn interview!

Some great quotes:

If I look at the book of my life, [Agatha]'s like on the spine — I'm hoping in the middle.

[snip]

It’s remarkable, really, how Hahn carries herself completely differently, seeming to have the mannerisms woven into her DNA. Hahn credits the comics with helping her develop this. “Traditionally, she's shown much older with this fabulous gray hair up, this Edwardian look with the corset, and there's hardly any skin showing. That's my favorite Agatha,” Hahn gushes. “There are definitely Agathas in which she’s in the bustier with just a strip of gray, which is fantastic, but I love the Agatha that's very 'from another era.'”

[snip]

Hahn also shouts out her movement coach, whom Elizabeth Olsen originally hooked her up with back on WandaVision to help differentiate their magical hand movements (“her is chaos magic; mine was learned — it was important for us to develop our own vocabulary”)

I LOVE, love how Kathryn Hahn put emphasis on Agatha being more of a 'Wizard' (DND 5e) flavored Witch. Agatha loves Magick (with a K) and the craft of it. She treats Magick like a scientist/academic.

It makes me go back to what Agatha was accused of, in the first place. Learning Magick Above Her Station.

It's very informative because it tells me that her mother and coven forbade her from learning anything above the fundamentals of Magick.

And, she's never filled up that gaping hole her original coven left her.

On a more personal note, however, the purple coat we see in Agatha All Along holds a special place in her heart. “That coat was made with so much love by so many hands, and you could feel it when you put it on — how many hands were on it, how much power was in this garment. There were hand-drawn runes on the silk on the inside — protection ruins. It really did feel like a sacred garment.” Viewers will often see Agatha dramatically flipping the coat like a cape as she turns, which is no accident. “That was definitely for Daniel and for those amazing seamstresses that worked on it,” Hahn admits. “I was like, ‘I gotta give him a twirl because this is too good.’”

Shout out to our beloved purple coat! I hope Agatha gets to retrieve it! Also, I would love to see the inside of her coat! It sounds lovely!

Kathryn Hahn: “There's big, big feelings and big stakes already in there. I understood her bravado and her masking and her layers on top of it — her shell that's centuries old. Who can get in there, and who can't, and why? It's kind of like the spell at the beginning of the show. It feels like she's underneath her own protection spell.”

I love how Hahn put it-- Agatha is under her own protection spell!

While Hahn and Plaza didn’t hang out much, they sent each other poems and songs relating to their characters to prepare. When I press for details, Hahn pulls up the top of her shirt to cover her mouth. “There’s a lot… maybe we'll have to come out with some of those songs and some of that playlist. There definitely was one between us and the producer that we kept adding to as the show went on. Maybe one day we'll have to.” She tugs on her collar, fanning herself. “I'm getting sweaty thinking about it because I don't want to spill anything, but there are some really fab songs.”

She might not be able to reveal much about that just yet, but she does share a funny anecdote about talking to Plaza regarding a film that's not on their character mood boards. “I remember once, I was like, ‘Have you seen Fire of Love, that documentary about the two volcanologists?’ I remember she said she was looking at it and trying to find clues, and I was like, “Oh, no — I just thought it was a good movie,” she says with a laugh.

I love that in between making their character histories together, they have this funny anecdote.

 Considering Agatha is 350 years old, I’m curious as to what Hahn thinks she listens to. She ponders this thoughtfully. “I think she loves a really long Wagner,” she finally decides. “A long opera. And then, I think that she also loves a pop song. I think she would love a rave. I think she would be really fun to dance with — she would definitely be dancing by herself, though. And I think that she loves a chant. She loves old little ditties that mean something to maybe some old guys, but she's kind of taken them over and made them her own. And I think she loves anything that's practical — any sort of wailing in the woods with a fire going. I think she would love Eurovision. I think Eurovision, she would be in the front row.”

Of course, Agatha's a fan of Opera and Eurovision. Love that for her!

She’s excited for eagle-eyed fans to try and spot it — along with all of the details that will become meaningful after the entire show is out. “Agnes' house was so witchy, and there are so many Easter eggs in there. I can't wait for people to see that again after watching the whole show. There are so many little things that pay off later.”

What this tells me, is we should comb through Agatha's house and see the clues that might pop up!

[eve-to-adam]

hello! first of all, i am in love with all your art, like, seriously, especially the recent ones 'cause young EoY is sooooooo indescribably lovely!!!🤧🤍 but i also got curious if you have any headcannons or ideas in general about her sisters and the relationship between them, maybe particularly with the oldest ones, like Mary and Cecily? just curiosity really, 'cause i think a lot about it 🤭

Hello!

Thanks for the compliments! I am delighted to know that my ideas arouse your interest! <33333

Indeed, it can be said that I have some headcanons with the York sisters, especially the first three - Elizabeth, Mary and Cecily. I will speak more on her behalf, because we know the most information about her, but Elizabeth and the York royals formed a very united family, especially that of Edward IV. I'm not necessarily saying that it's something out of the ordinary in the Middle Ages - although it may have seemed so - but the moment when I learned about Edward's affection for his daughters was the same when all the scenarios about them came to life.

This is especially because I am the type of person who likes to look more towards the domestic side of medieval life, not necessarily politics. Of course, at first it seemed natural to me to start this journey by illustrating Elizabeth - she being the most popular of the York sisters -, and at the same time trying to figure out what kind of personality I could attribute to her. All the information we know about her put her somewhat in the light of a saint or at least that of a "perfect child", so I wanted through all this artistic search of mine to discover what would be the correct approach regarding her childhood - the challenges she could create for her parents; fits of anger through which she could express her dissatisfaction; the moments when she proves a little more difficult to discipline. I want to explore the defiant Elizabeth, the impulsive Elizabeth, the Elizabeth who prefers to resort to deception or an innocent lie instead of taking responsibility, the one who uses her position as a princess to get what she wants. In short, my goal is to get past this historical covering of perfectionism and discover the child in Elizabeth, not necessarily the Queen of England. The same aspects are valid for her other two younger sisters.

Back to the headcanons: I've always imagined Elizabeth being closest to Mary, just as Edward IV was closest to Edmund as a child - as two confidants, secretly sneaking sweets into the bedchamber they share together , playing and reading stories even though they should be sleeping, lending each other some accessories, poking each other with sarcastic lines while embroidering, etc. I have the impression that Cecily would receive special treatment, being the third and the youngest among them, ending up causing some jealous reactions from the two older sisters. Elizabeth is the eldest, but she can be very impulsive at times. I imagine Mary to be much quieter and more obedient and Cecily would be the one who probably causes most of the disasters, lol. That is unless we are talking about the scenario in which all three appear, the "daddy's princesses" group, in which case they most likely got together to make Edward's life an ordeal, haha. Because I like nothing more than putting Edward in difficult or stressful positions because of his princesses. I love doing this. A lot.

Here we have an existential crisis roughly outlined in 30 minutes, lol.

[angeldreamsoffanfic]

Elizabeth Marie Munson née Hart was buried on the 2nd Sunday of May back in 1977, back when Eddie had only been eleven. It had been hard, not that death was ever an… easy thing mind you.

She’d been buried in Hawkins, as stated in the will that’d she’d put together (no matter if it had been written on hospital napkins or not it was followed just the same). Eddie’s custody had been a bit more complicated, as Al Munson had put up a bit of a fight in regards to Elizabeth’s wishes. She was adamant that Eddie go to Wayne, while Al didn’t care about what happened to him… as long as it went against what Elizabeth had wanted.

But no matter, because Eddie knew that Elizabeth loved him as much (if not more somehow) than Wayne did. And Eddie loved Wayne, honestly and wholeheartedly he did. But there was something missing from his life, and that was his mama.

Which, Eddie knows distantly, is what makes the day today as difficult to swallow as it does.

Because not only is it the day of his mama’s death but it’s also Mother’s Day.

And he can’t exactly fault anyone in his life for not being able to understand how he feels today. He really can’t bring himself to, even as he sits right in front of his mama’s gravestone- knees to his chest like he’s a little kid again. The rest of his odd found family has their parents, and so they just… they don’t fully understand what Eddie’s going through.

Not really anyway.

He knows they mean well, really he does. But no matter, because it’s hard and he already has a lot on his mind as it stands.

Eddie pauses and draws in a shaking breath, eyes wet and glossy with yet to shed tears, as he keeps his chin on his knees even as he hears a car door slam shut. It’s followed by several other ones, and Eddie doesn’t look behind him as he hears slowly measured footsteps behind him. He doesn’t turn, but he does speak.

“You don’t have to be here, Harrington.”

“Not Harrington, son.” It’s Hopper’s voice that makes Eddie finally turn, and he’s greeted to the sight of the older man- holding a bouquet of pink tulips wrapped in cellophane. Hopper’s in one of his nice shirts, one of the ones that Eddie knows that Joyce forced him in.

“What are you doing here?” Eddie manages to croak out, and the corner of Hopper’s lip twitches slightly- before he gestures with his head back to the parking lot.

“If you think you’re alone today, kiddo, you really got another thing coming.”

Eddie turns his head slightly to look past Hopper, and he can’t help the choked gasp that manages to make its way out of his throat. The entire group is there, all the way from The Party down to even the Corroded Coffin boys. Everyone in their crisp Sunday best (or as close to it anyway) with bright bouquets of pink tulips held between their hands.

Eddie turns again to look at Hopper, and can’t get out any words as he watches as Hopper is joined by Steve Harrington. Eddie has never quite been able to figure out Steve (no matter how much he tries), but he never…

“Hey ma’am,” Steve isn’t even looking at Eddie though, instead focused quite intently on the area behind Eddie… and oh.

Oh.

“I’ve had the pleasure of being one of your son’s friends this past year,” Steve carefully speaks as he moves closer until he’s next to Eddie, before he sits down- not minding getting dirt and grass on his pants. “And we all missed this last year but we figured… well we couldn’t let him come down here and mourn you alone.”

“Stevie-” Eddie tries, and Steve says nothing as he reaches a blind hand out- before he entwines his fingers with Eddie’s. Eddie sniffles again, even as Steve presses the tulips as close to the grave as he can.

“Your son matters to so many people, Ms. Hart, I mean that genuinely and honestly.” Steve keeps going, as if Eddie had said nothing. Eddie tries to keep the tears at bay, holding onto Steve’s hand as if it’s a lifeline. “And I didn’t know how to really show that… but I figured this might help a bit.”

Eddie is confused for just a split second, before he hears Jim Hopper clear his throat- before he then speaks.

“Ma’am, I know that your son has made a safety net for my daughter in the times where I couldn’t. I know that she loves him, truly, and for that I’m a bit more than grateful towards you.” Hopper then clears his throat, before he carefully steps around them- and sets his bouquet of tulips right next to the ones that Steve had put down.

Hopper curls a hand around Steve’s shoulder and bends to whisper something into his ear, and Eddie focuses on blinking back his tears as the man turns and walks away.

It’s silent for a minute, before it continues again.

“Hi Ms. Hart, Eddie’s told me a load about you and he was my first friend here in Hawkins and I just want to let you know we… we haven’t forgot about you.” Gareth’s voice is next, and Eddie lets out another sniffle as he sets a bouquet down. He doesn’t leave though, and instead sits right next to Eddie- taking the hand that Steve isn’t holding.

“Hi ma’am, Eddie hasn’t told me much about you… but I think you’d like the man he turned out to be, and from one mom to another? I’m keeping an eye on him for you.” Joyce. Another bouquet.

“He’s like really cool and taught us so much about this game we play, Dungeons and Dragons and I’m not sure if you knew what that was but it’s like this role playing-” Dustin. Another bouquet.

“He’s like my brother-” Jeff. Another bouquet.

“He’s like my son-” Wayne. Another bouquet. And a firm hand on a shoulder that never leaves.

“You’re someone he talks about whenever I need him to and that means a lot-” Max. Another set of flowers. A kiss against the top of Eddie’s head.

“He’s a good kid and you had to have been like an amazing mom for him to turn out the way he did because let me tell you-” Robin. Another bouquet.

“My dad says I’m allowed to choose my family and I chose Eddie, and from what he’s told me… you were a good mama.” Eleven sniffles softly as she presses her flowers into the ever-growing pile at the base of the gravestone. Eddie reaches out a touches the back of her leg- and it’s enough for the girl to launch herself into Eddie’s arms.

They stay like that. No one questions it.

“From his stories you sound really interesting and I think my mom and-” Mike. Another bouquet.

“Hello ma’am-” Lucas. Another bouquet.

“He’s kind of a nerd but-” Erica. Another bouquet.

“He’s a really good friend, Ms. Hart. Like there’s not a lot of them out in the world, and Eddie’s a good one.” Freak. Another bouquet.

“You and Wayne raised him right and I hope that wherever you are-” Nancy. Another bouquet.

“From what he’s-” Jonathan. Another bouquet.

“Ms. Dudette he’s so-” Argyle. Another bouquet.

“He’s one of my brothers. And that’s all there is to it, and I’m so sad we couldn’t meet and I couldn’t tell you this in person-” Will. Another bouquet.

In the end, Elizabeth Marie Munson née Hart has nineteen bouquets of pink tulips surrounding her grave. In the end, she and her son are completely and wholly surrounded by people that may not have known her— but they love her just the same.

Eddie Munson smiles, and clears his throat as he begins to speak, pulling the attention of his family to him.

“So the reasons why mama liked pink tulips is-”

The sun slowly begins to set as the ragtag group settles in to listen to Eddie’s story, all scrunched in as close as they can.

And for once in his life?

Eddie Munson hates the 2nd Sunday of May just a little bit less.

-

sacrifice to the readmore gods. mother’s day is really hard for me sometimes, so enjoy this word vomit of a ficlet i produced in about an hour. <3

[horeformilfs]

Grieving

Elizabeth Olsen x Fem!Reader

TW: Loss, Grieving Process, Eating Disorder Behaviors, Fainting, Exhaustion, SH

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

You and Lizzie had been dating for a while when you got the news that changed your world. You had been working through a script when you got a call from an unknown number, showing Lizzie she shrugged not knowing whose phone number it was. Picking up the phone and putting it on speaker phone.

"Hello, is this Y/N Y/L/N?"

"Yes this is, can I ask who's calling?"

"My name is Ryan Jackson and I am calling from the New York City Police Department. "I'm calling in regards to your brother Michael."

"Is he alright?"

"I'm sorry to inform you, he passed away about an hour ago."

Your heart shattered and time stopped after you heard those words. He died, your older brother, your protector, your best friend, died. Your body becomes numb as you drop to the floor, letting out an agonizing scream.

Lizzie who was watching the conversation rushed towards you, holding you in her arms as you cried. Your heart is beating rapidly and breathing unsteady. Sobs wracked through your body as Lizzie held you, eyes watering as she saw you break down. "Shh darling, it's all going to be okay," she said, trying to calm you down. "

N-No you don't understand, he was everything to me, he protected me when I was younger, we did so many things together, and now he's dead," you say, voice unsteady from your tears. "I know love, but you're going to get through this, you are so strong, and now you need to be strong for him as well".

You continued to sit in Lizzie's lap while she rubbed your back, whispering assurances in your ear. You felt numb, like the world around you wasn't real. You couldn't process what was going on, there was nothing that you could do to help yourself.

You learned that the funeral was going to be in a week, knowing that your father was going to have a hard time planning this funeral. It had only been six months since your mother died, and he hadn't even had time to grieve over her death, before your brother, his son, was taken from him too.

He confided in you later that day after you heard the news. You had never really been close with your parents. As soon as you turned 17 you moved out, finished high school a year early, and applied to NYU.

You got in and packed up your things, with the help of your brother, who was the only person from your family that you talked to. It was you two against the world. You studied acting and ended up getting the role of Gamora, and met Lizzie on set during the filming of Avengers Infinity War.

Your father had called you to talk about the funeral arrangements, he wanted you to be responsible for planning the funeral for your brother. You couldn't say no to him, but Lizzie was not thrilled that your father put this huge weight on your shoulders. She knew you, she knew that you would become hyper-focused on the funeral and not let yourself process the trauma you just went through.

"Darling, are you sure that you want to take this on? I know that you want to be there for your father, but I also want you to be able to grieve," she said as you worked on your computer, reserving the burial location. "Yeah Liz I'm fine, I promise," you said, assuring her that you were okay.

She looked at you skeptically knowing when you were lying but choosing to push it. You continued to work on the funeral reservations, making sure you had a place for the service, a coffin picked out, and wrote the speech that you would deliver. During the week, you had become so consumed with the planning you probably slept a total of five hours combined, and skipped almost all of your meals, all while trying to reassure Lizzie that you were okay.

She didn't believe you, each night you would go to bed together but once she thought you were asleep she would get up and go to work on the funeral plans. She could see you slowly falling apart in front of her, and she felt helpless. The bags under your eyes became darker, your skin pale, and your ribs protruded.

The day of the funeral approached and you and Lizzie were in your room getting dressed. You were wearing a knee-length black dress, black stockings, black heels, and a beige trench coat over it.

Lizzie was wearing a black dress with a cardigan over it, black stockings, black leather boots, and a black coat as well. You both made your way to the car, Lizzie insisted on driving, and you accepted. The ride to the funeral home was quiet, Lizzie's hand intertwined with yours.

Once at the funeral home you go into the room where the service will be held, giving yourself time to have one last look at your brother. You found out how he died, driving drunk and hitting a street lamp.

Lizzie let you have time with your brother, she knew how much you loved him and how close you were with him. She was sad that she never got to meet him. You guys were planning on meeting him for dinner in a few weeks.

"I know he's so proud of you darling," she says, joining you in the service room. Tears start to well up in your eyes, but you didn't want them to fall. You tried your best to conceal the fact that you were close to crying, but your girlfriend knew you better than that. "Love if you need to cry, that's okay, you are going through a traumatic and upsetting experience, it's healthy to feel these emotions," she said rubbing your back.

"I'm fine, we should go out to the main lobby. There are probably people here already," you say trying your best to give Lizzie a convincing smile.

The funeral comes and goes, and your father never actually showed up, which made you want to cry. You had done everything he asked, you had done something that you had never thought you would have to do.

Lizzie was extremely furious with your father, putting you through hell when she knew that going through the grieving would be hard even without planning the funeral, but because he had you plan it, it took away from the time you could have to start the grieving process.

You and Lizzie make it to the burial site, just the two of you and the casket carrying your brother's body. You had some time to say your final goodbyes. As they started lowering your brother's casket into the ground, all of the feelings that you buried deep inside you rose to the surface, causing you to collapse into Lizzie's arms.

When you came to you were in your shared bed, Lizzie holding you in her arms, gently stroking your hair. "What happened," you ask quietly. "You collapsed from exhaustion, you pushed yourself too hard.I know that it was important for you to do this, but you weren't taking care of yourself, and it finally caught up with you," Lizzie responds, worry in her voice.

"Darling, you can't just push these feelings down, grieving is a normal response to a loss, no matter how close they are to you. You lost your brother, someone who you relied on, and now he's gone. And you need to be able to grieve," she says as she pulls you to her chest. "I know, I'm just scared," you respond. "I know love, but it will be good for you, and I'll be here the whole time".

Denial

The following weeks were hard for you to say the least. You tried your best to be present in your daily life, but Lizzie could tell that you were having an incredibly hard time.

You had become numb, you didn't want to believe that he was gone, it was like he was here one day and then gone the next. You tried your best to be present in your relationship but didn't feel like you were being a good girlfriend to Lizzie.

Thoughts spiraled as the days went on, "He's not gone, he's going to call, right?" you ask Lizzie as you sit on the couch. She could tell that you knew that it wasn't true but you didn't want to believe that he was gone. He was everything to you.

Anger

The anger came next, you were mad, mad at the world, mad at the fact that he was dead. "If he hadn't been drinking, this wouldn't have happened," you say as you pace around your room, looking at a photo of you and your brother. Lizzie was downstairs working on her computer.

Your anger was building up, and it scared you. Your breathing grew faster as your pacing sped up, you didn't know what to do, you felt like you were spinning out of control. The built-up anger finally became too much, throwing the photo against the wall, shattering the glass frame, you fell to the floor letting out a blood-curdling scream.

When Lizzie heard the scream, she ran upstairs and straight to your shared room. Seeing you on the floor shattered her heart, she never wanted this for you. She ran straight to you and wrapped you in a tight hug, once you felt arms around you. Startled, you started thrashing around, fighting the person behind you.

"Shh darling, it's just me," Lizzie says, trying to calm you down. "No, let me go," you say, trying to release her grip. "Love, I need you to calm down, I know you're angry, and I know that it hurts, but I need you to calm down". Your breathing starts to even out as you start to cry. "Why did this have to happen to me?" you ask, tears falling down your face. "I don't know love, the world works in mysterious ways sometimes," Lizzie says as she picks you up, bringing you to the bed. "Promise me you won't leave me," you say, clinging to her as she places your head on her chest. "I promise my love".

Bargaining

Three months had passed since your brother's death, you had felt angry about him leaving, but knew that it wasn't his fault. Lizzie was working with you to try to help you work through your anger due to his death. You felt like your emotions were too intense and you needed to be able to feel like you were in control again.

"What if I had gone with him, this wouldn't have happened if I had just gone with him," you say to yourself. You hadn't seen Lizzie in the doorway but she had heard you. "Y/N you can keep blaming yourself, it wasn't anything you could have done," she says as she finishes making lunch for the two of you.

Depression

The next three weeks felt slow, you spent most of your time in your room, not eating, talking, or taking care of yourself. Lizzie started going back to work, filming a new TV show since filming for Avengers was on hold. She would usually get home around 9 p.m. and you would be asleep already. You started up old habits, not knowing how to cope. You always wore baggy clothes and long sleeves.

The restricting came first, you would wait till Lizzie left for work to "eat" and if she insisted on having breakfast with you, you would skip the rest of the means for the day. You started cutting again after being clean for five years, you knew that if your brother knew he would have been upset with you, but he wasn't here with you anymore. You knew that Lizzie would find out at some point, but now you were keeping as best a secret as you could.

Lizzie knew that something was up once you started dropping weight quickly, she wasn't sure how to address it with you, knowing that you have been having a rough time with the loss of your brother but knew that this was dangerous and couldn't afford to lose you.

You were so special to her, you were everything to her and she wanted to protect you at all costs, even if you were upset with her about it. She found out that you were harming yourself when she found a bloody razor blade sitting on the ledge in the bathroom. She could tell something was wrong when you started wearing sweatshirts and sweatpants every day.

She knew that she would have the conversation today, deciding to leave the set early, to get home to you as soon as possible. When she got home she entered the house dropping her stuff on the kitchen counter before walking up the stairs to your bedroom.

"Y/N darling, where are you?" she asks looking in your bedroom, seeing that you were not there, she moved to the ensuite bathroom. Knocking on the door waiting on a response, getting none. Seeing that the light was on, she got a sinking feeling in her stomach.

"Y/N darling are you okay, the light is on, I know that you're in there," she said. With no response, she tried the door to no avail because it was locked. "Darling, I need you to open the door, or I'll kick it down," she said. With still no response she backed up and kicked the door in, finding you on the floor of the bathroom barely conscious. "Y/N can you hear me?" she asked, panic rising in her voice. "Lizzie, I'm sorry". "It's alright darling, I just need to know what happened," she said trying to comfort you. "No, you'll be mad". Lizzie knew that you were scared that she would be mad at what you did, but that was the last thing that was on her mind, she was only concerned with helping you.

"Darling, I'm not mad at you at all, but I need to know what happened so I can help you. "I cut my leg and I tried to stand, but it hurt so much, I passed out," you said. "Okay, I need to see your leg okay," she says, helping you sit up on the bathroom floor. "It's not just my leg," you say looking down at the floor, not wanting to meet her eyes.

"Alright, we will take care of everything, let's just take this one step at a time. You nod in agreement, taking off your sweatpants and sweatshirt as Lizzie starts a bath for you. She helped you up from the floor, not paying excessive attention to the cuts on your arms and legs, only focusing on making sure you are comfortable and safe.

You didn't look up from the bubbles in the bathtub scared to meet Lizzie's gaze. She said nothing, getting ready to leave the bathroom to get you new clothes when you stopped her, "pleases stay, I don't want to be alone right now, it's scary," continuing to look at anything but her. "Okay love, can you tell me what's scary?" she asks to take a seat on the floor next to the bathtub.

"The thoughts, I can't seem to make them go away, I just want them to go away," you say as you lay your head on Lizzie's shoulder, quietly starting to cry. "I know darling, it's so hard, but you are so brave, I know that telling you this may not help you but that's what I'm here to do. I will be here for you, whenever you need me, because I love you," she says, kissing the top of your head. "Now let's get you washed up, we can cuddle and talk after." You nod your head as you stare blankly at the wall.

Lizzie was gentle with your arms and legs, considering they were covered in new and old cuts. Some are scared over, some only a couple days old. After finishing up with the bath she grabbed fresh clothes for you from your closet and helped you into them, making sure to be extra careful.

You sat on the bathroom counter as she took the first aid kit from the cabinet under the sink, taking out gauze medical tape and antibiotic ointment.

Working quickly and carefully she disinfected the cuts for a final time before applying the ointment and wrapping your arms, doing the same steps with your legs. Once finished she put everything back, and washed her hands before picking you up and carrying you back to your room. Whimpering in pain as your legs wrapped around her torso, your face in the crook of her neck.

She sat you down on the bed making sure to grab your favorite blanket before getting into comfy clothes herself, grabbing an extra sweatshirt for you, before climbing into bed.

Acceptance

Lizzie helped work with you for the next few weeks, helping you find a therapist to help you process your grief and help you through any bumps in the road. You had some ups and downs but were overall doing well, you worked with a therapist to help you process your grief, you also had Lizzie by your side the whole time, being supportive as ever.

You were getting to the place in the grieving process that you were starting to accept reality for how it was. You knew that your brother was gone, and while you would still have some days that were harder than others, you knew that he was watching over you.

"Darling, I'm so proud of you, you have been so brave through this whole journey, I know that it was hard, and you felt like you would never be the same, but you are doing so well, and I couldn't be more proud of you," Lizzie says as you lay between her legs watching a movie. You just blush and look down at your hands, fidgeting with the rings on her fingers. Shifting so that you were face to face with her, lifting your chin, so that you were looking at her.

"I know that you have a hard time taking compliments, but believe me when I tell you, I am beyond proud of you. You have gone through so much, faced so many challenges, but you're here and working through your grief in a healthier way. I hope that you can learn to love yourself the way that I love you, unconditionally and forever. You are my everything, and I hope I can be yours." She says the last part a whisper, but you still heard her. You smiled as you saw small tears form in your girlfriend's eyes. "You're already my everything." You say pulling her in for a kiss. 

[jackoshadows]

“It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife.” - Pride and Prejudice "Only half a hundred times," Dany teased. "You gave up too easily, my lord. For I must marry, all agree." "A khaleesi must have a khal," said Irri, as she filled the queen's cup once again. "This is known." - Daenerys, ADWD.

I have been listening to Austen on my way to work everyday. Finished P&P and have taken up Mansfield Park. It's, IMO, singularly boring and not as entertaining as the rest of Austen's work. It's incredibly slow, there's pages and pages of events that does not push the plot forward - like the play the Bertrams and Crawfords put on - and Fanny is the least interesting of Austen's female leads.

There have been discussions on how, in terms of Austen heroines, Arya Stark comes closest to Elizabeth Bennet with regards to her questioning of the patriarchal ideals of femininity, her wit and vivacity, as detailed here and here.

However, I did notice some similarities between the characters/dynamics of Mansfield Park, the Starks of ASoIaF and one my asoiaf ships Jonrya!

First, there is 10 year old Fanny feeling the outcast and lonely at Mansfield Park until Edmund steps in and befriends her.

Afraid of everybody, ashamed of herself, and longing for the home she had left, she knew not how to look up, and could scarcely speak to be heard, or without crying. Her feelings were very acute, and too little understood to be properly attended to. Nobody meant to be unkind, but nobody put themselves out of their way to secure her comfort. - Fanny, MP

Reminds me of Arya in King's Landing feeling lonely and missing her home, brothers and especially Jon Snow.

That was when Arya missed her brothers most. She wanted to tease Bran and play with baby Rickon and have Robb smile at her. She wanted Jon to muss up her hair and call her “little sister” and finish her sentences with her. But all of them were gone. She had no one left but Sansa, and Sansa wouldn’t even talk to her unless Father made her. - Arya, AgoT

She went back to the window, Needle in hand, and looked down into the courtyard below. If only she could climb like Bran, she thought; she would go out the window and down the tower, run away from this horrible place, away from Sansa and Septa Mordane and Prince Joffrey, from all of them. Steal some food from the kitchens, take Needle and her good boots and a warm cloak. She could find Nymeria in the wild woods below the Trident, and together they’d return to Winterfell, or run to Jon on the Wall. She found herself wishing that Jon was here with her now. Then maybe she wouldn’t feel so alone. - Arya, AGoT

We have Fanny sad and feeling like no one really understands or cares for her and then being comforted by Edmund.

A week had passed in this way, and no suspicion of it conveyed by her quiet passive manner, when she was found one morning by her cousin Edmund, the youngest of the sons, sitting crying on the attic stairs. “My dear little cousin,” said he, with all the gentleness of an excellent nature, “what can be the matter?” And sitting down by her, he was at great pains to overcome her shame in being so surprised, and persuade her to speak openly.

This mirrors Arya's relationship with Jon, where we know he is whom she goes to for solace and companionship - not her father, mother or other siblings. It's Jon Snow. Like getting bullied over her appearance leading to her thinking she was a bastard and getting comforted by Jon Snow.

"A shade more fun than needlework," Arya gave back at him. Jon grinned, reached over, and messed up her hair. Arya flushed. They had always been close. Jon had their father's face, as she did. They were the only ones. Robb and Sansa and Bran and even little Rickon all took after the Tullys, with easy smiles and fire in their hair. When Arya had been little, she had been afraid that meant that she was a bastard too. It had been Jon she had gone to in her fear, and Jon who had reassured her. - Arya, AGoT

Edmund and Fanny becoming very close and Edmund helping Fanny get pen and paper to write home and selling his own horse to get a new horse for Fanny so that she can go riding - which she loves to do!

For a long while no answer could be obtained beyond a “no, no—not at all—no, thank you”; but he still persevered; and no sooner had he begun to revert to her own home, than her increased sobs explained to him where the grievance lay. He tried to console her. “If that be all your difficulty, I will furnish you with paper and every other material, and you may write your letter whenever you choose. Would it make you happy to write to William?” - MP

Though Edmund was much more displeased with his aunt than with his mother, as evincing least regard for her niece, he could not help paying more attention to what she said; and at length determined on a method of proceeding which would obviate the risk of his father’s thinking he had done too much, and at the same time procure for Fanny the immediate means of exercise, which he could not bear she should be without. He had three horses of his own, but not one that would carry a woman. Two of them were hunters; the third, a useful road-horse: this third he resolved to exchange for one that his cousin might ride; he knew where such a one was to be met with; and having once made up his mind, the whole business was soon completed. The new mare proved a treasure; with a very little trouble she became exactly calculated for the purpose, and Fanny was then put in almost full possession of her. - MP

Jon secretly gets a sword, light and thin, made especially to fit Arya's hands and gifts it to her because she wants to learn how to use a sword.

“I have something for you to take with you, and it has to be packed very carefully.”  Her face lit up. “A present?”  “You could call it that. Close the door.” Wary but excited, Arya checked the hall. "Nymeria, here. Guard." She left the wolf out there to warn of intruders and closed the door. By then Jon had pulled off the rags he'd wrapped it in. He held it out to her. Arya's eyes went wide. Dark eyes, like his. "A sword," she said in a small, hushed breath. "I can be fast," Arya said. "You'll have to work at it every day." He put the sword in her hands, showed her how to hold it, and stepped back. "How does it feel? Do you like the balance?" "I think so," Arya said. Arya ran to him for a last hug. "Put down the sword first," Jon warned her, laughing. She set it aside almost shyly and showered him with kisses. - Jon, AGoT

Then there are the other supporting characters.

There's Tom Bertram who's like Robb, the eldest son and heir who treats Fanny like a little sister.

Edmund was uniformly kind himself; and she had nothing worse to endure on the part of Tom than that sort of merriment which a young man of seventeen will always think fair with a child of ten. He was just entering into life, full of spirits, and with all the liberal dispositions of an eldest son, who feels born only for expense and enjoyment. His kindness to his little cousin was consistent with his situation and rights: he made her some very pretty presents, and laughed at her. - MP

There's a Mrs. Norris who is very similarly to Septa Mordane in her treatment of Fanny Vs the Bertram daughters, always putting down Fanny to uplift the other girls - similar to how the Septa drags Arya down to uplift Sansa. This has a detrimental effect on the Bertram girls just like it does for Sansa - encouraging them to be mean to Fanny in the same way Sansa/Jeyne mock Arya.

The Bertram sisters mock Fanny for not being good at music or drawing and is told by their aunt Norris that this indeed makes Fanny stupid.

“Yes, I know there is, till I am seventeen. But I must tell you another thing of Fanny, so odd and so stupid. Do you know, she says she does not want to learn either music or drawing.” “To be sure, my dear, that is very stupid indeed, and shows a great want of genius and emulation. But, all things considered, I do not know whether it is not as well that it should be so, for, though you know (owing to me) your papa and mama are so good as to bring her up with you, it is not at all necessary that she should be as accomplished as you are;—on the contrary, it is much more desirable that there should be a difference.”

And as Austen succinctly and rightly puts it, this sort of encouragement and mentorship from their aunt Norris leads to a lack of humility and generosity in the sisters.

Such were the counsels by which Mrs. Norris assisted to form her nieces’ minds; and it is not very wonderful that, with all their promising talents and early information, they should be entirely deficient in the less common acquirements of self-knowledge, generosity and humility. - MP

We see this in AGoT Sansa - the lack of self-awareness, of humility and generosity in the way she treats Arya, Jon, the small folk, Mycah and even Jeyne Poole. Septa Mordane's thoughts and opinions have had a negative effect on ALL her pupils. It's encouraged Arya's low self-esteem and Sansa's vanity and classism.

And while Septa Mordane, Sansa and Catelyn always put Sansa on a higher pedestal than Arya in terms of perfection, intelligence and beauty, it's Jon Snow who considers Arya to be clever and pretty.

"What could you want to see?" Sansa said, annoyed. She had been thrilled by the invitation, and her stupid sister was going to ruin everything, just as she'd feared. "It's all just fields and farms and holdfasts." "Hodor!" Sansa yelled. "You ought to marry Hodor, you're just like him, stupid and hairy and ugly!" She wrenched away from her sister's hand, stormed into her bedchamber, and barred the door behind her. - Sansa, AGoT

But what if Arya was not there to be saved? What if Lady Melisandre's flames had told it true? Could his sister truly have escaped such captors? How would she do that? Arya was always quick and clever, but in the end she's just a little girl, and Roose Bolton is not the sort who would be careless with a prize of such great worth. - Jon, ADwD

"Good." She had never cared if she was pretty, even when she was stupid Arya Stark. Only her father had ever called her that. Him, and Jon Snow, sometimes. Her mother used to say she could be pretty if she would just wash and brush her hair and take more care with her dress, the way her sister did. To her sister and sister's friends and all the rest, she had just been Arya Horseface. - Arya, ADwD

And despite aunt Norris and the Bertram girls finding Fanny to be deficient and stupid, Edmund thinks of her as clever and capable.

“To be sure, my dear, that is very stupid indeed, and shows a great want of genius and emulation. - Aunt Norris, MP

Kept back as she was by everybody else, his single support could not bring her forward; but his attentions were otherwise of the highest importance in assisting the improvement of her mind, and extending its pleasures. He knew her to be clever, to have a quick apprehension as well as good sense, and a fondness for reading, which, properly directed, must be an education in itself. - Edmund, MP

Fanny has a lot of love for Edmund, a mixture of gratitude and affection.

In return for such services she loved him better than anybody in the world except William: her heart was divided between the two. She regarded her cousin as an example of everything good and great, as possessing worth which no one but herself could ever appreciate, and as entitled to such gratitude from her as no feelings could be strong enough to pay. Her sentiments towards him were compounded of all that was respectful, grateful, confiding, and tender. - MP

Edmund and Fanny consider themselves brother and sister, love each other that way and there is a strong emotion there between them.

"By eight in the morning Edmund was in the house. The girls heard his entrance from above, and Fanny went down. The idea of immediately seeing him, with the knowledge of what he must be suffering, brought back all her own first feelings. He so near her, and in misery. She was ready to sink as she entered the parlour. He was alone, and met her instantly; and she found herself pressed to his heart with only these words, just articulate, 'My Fanny, my only sister; my only comfort now!' She could say nothing; nor for some minutes could he say more." - MP

“What do you know of my heart, priestess? What do you know of my sister? Bring her home, Mance., and now I am about to save four thousand of your free folk. You owe me this one little girl. - Jon, ADwD

Despite growing up together, Edmund and Fanny do part as Edmund goes to college and Fanny stays at home. They write to each other and keep in touch, which Jon and Arya cannot do. And while going through their harrowing journeys (Arya) and climbing the ladder to Lord Commander (Jon) they miss each other dearly and want to see each other again.

There are of course differences. I find Jon's love and admiration/respect for Arya to be greater than Edmund's for Fanny. Jon thinks Arya is perfect as is while Edmund sees himself as helping Fanny grow as a person. All the girls Jon admires or falls in love with mirror Arya in terms of personality, looks and physicality (Ygritte, Alys, Val). Jon straight up compares Ygritte and Alys to Arya. In contrast Edmund falls for Mary Crawford who is the opposite of Fanny and where Fanny and Mary are compared with each other in the book. Jon is searching for an Arya in every girl he meets, right from ACoK, while Edmund only acknowledges that Fanny is the person for him at the very end. And then there's the difference in Arya and Fanny, where Arya has more in common with an Elizabeth Bennet than with Fanny herself. And Jon is no Edmund.

So yeah. I remember reading somewhere that GRRM has read Jane Austen. So these similarities are fun even if they were not intended or are wholly unrelated.

[elsalouisa]

The 20th of May was my last day in the New Palace, and on the 21st Ernst August arrived. In his last letter he had told me what arrangements he had made to keep our honeymoon location secret from prying eyes. It was planned that we should go first to the hunting lodge at Werbellinsee, then to the Hubertihaus, my father-in-law’s hunting lodge near Gmunden. He made me promise not to tell anyone at all and even in Gmunden itself our plans were kept strictly secret.

The first wedding guests to arrive were the King and Queen of England, and my parents went to the Lehrter Station in Berlin to greet them. George V had put on his Prussian General’s uniform for the occasion and, with an escort of Dragoon Guards and Cuirassiers, the Royal couple drove through Berlin. More than half a century was to pass before an English Head of State was to come to Germany again, when Queen Elizabeth II, George V’s grand-daughter, came in 1965.

Early on the following day my great-aunt Luise, Prince Max of Baden and his wife arrived, then a little later my parents-in-law and my sister-in-law, Olga. The First Guards Regiment of Foot formed the guard of honour, while the Cuirassiers again provided the escort as we travelled to the castle in three carriages. My father sat with the Duke, who wore his Austrian uniform, in the first carriage; my mother with the Duchess Thyra in the next, while Princess Olga, my fiancé and I sat together in the third.

At midday the Czar of Russia arrived and the colourful welcoming ceremonies began all over again. Wearing the uniform of the Alexander Grenadier Guards Regiment and the tall Frederick the Great cap on his head, Nicholas II’s truly imposing appearance drove the waiting Berliners into a frenzy of excitement and wonder... For me, the wedding celebrations began with the reception of deputations who had come bringing gifts. My father’s present to me was a diadem and a pearl necklace, while my mother gave me a diamond tiara. King George and Queen Mary gave me a prodigious gold goblet anda diamond brooch; Ernst August a complete jewellery outfit. The English Queen Mother, Alexandra, gave me an emerald brooch. From the Czar I received an aquamarine and diamond necklace; the Italian King and Queen sent me antique silver vessels and Queen Wilhelmina of Holland an antique pendulum clock. There were presents galore, from the Kings of Denmark and Sweden down to the various cities in Germany, and from Brunswick I received a diadem which had once belonged to the French Empress Josephine. The number of gifts was so great they required several furniture vans to carry them.

The real celebrations began on the evening of the day before the wedding, with a gala opera when the Royal Court Opera put on Richard Wagner’s Lohengrin. The Opera House, when I arrived, was bedecked with my favourite flowers, pink carnations, and as we took our places in the Royal Box with our parents, all those present rose from their seats, and Ernst August and I bowed right, left and centre. As one, the entire audience bowed back. Next day, 24 May, was my wedding day. Early in the afternoon my mother helped me on with my bridal crown and veil. Then we repaired to the Chinese Room, and we found that a unit of soldiers had formed lines throughout the castle and taken up sentry posts everywhere. There was a bodyguard from the rst Guards Regiment, the Castle Guard in their historic Frederick the Great uniforms, the Garde du Corps in ceremonial dress, and the gendarmerie. At 4 p.m. members of the staff of the Royal Privy Purse came by, carrying the bridal crown of the Princess of Prussia. Then the Mistress of the Empress’s Household, Therese, Countess von Brockdorff, picked up the crown and ceremoniously handed it to my mother who carefully placed it on my head. We then proceeded to the chamber deemed the ‘Elector’s Room’ where my father received us, and Count Eulenberg, the Minister for the Royal House, completed the formalities regarding the marriage pact and the official registration of the marriage. As Ernst August and I signed the register, we heard a loud buzzing overhead above the castle. We all rushed to the windows and there above us was the airship Hansa, all gaily decorated with colourful pennants. Suddenly, a large bouquet of flowers came floating down from the airship. It was their way of congratulating us.

After the civil ceremony, the bridal procession, led by the Corps of Pages, wound its way through the Picture Gallery and the White Hall to the castle chapel. Behind the pages walked two Heralds with the Brandenburg and Prussian Coat of Arms, then the Chief Marshal, Prince zu Fiirstenberg with his big Marshal’s staff, and finally Ernst August and me. Behind us were the Kaiser in the uniform of the 1st Guards Regiment, with the Duchess of Cumberland in a lilaccoloured gown, then the Generals and the Admirals, and then the Kaiserin in a light green robe escorted by the Duke of Cumberland in his Austrian uniform. Then the Czar of Russia, in his Hussar uniform, escorted the Queen of England. The King of England, in his Cuirassier uniform, escorted the Crown Princess. Then they were followed by a whole host of Princes, including my brothers, and Princesses, Dukes and Duchesses. It was 5 p.m. by the time we reached the chapel to be greeted by the sound of music from the organ.

Bright sunlight filtered through the chapel cupola as Ernst August and I stepped up to the altar which my mother and Crown Princess Cecilie, my sister-in-law, had decorated with roses, carnations and wreaths. Pastor Dryander then delivered his sermon, earnest and worthy words which warned me about the seriousness of life.

After that came the actual marriage ceremony. Ernst August’s ‘yes’ rang out so loudly and clearly that I had to follow suit and when we joined hands in front of the altar he clasped mine very firmly, insisting that his thumbs were on top of mine. You see, there’s an old folk-tale which says that if the husband does not have his thumbs above those of his bride at the wedding ceremony then he will have no say during his marriage. Pastor Dryander looked slightly shocked at this little demonstration, but Ernst August and I just smiled at each other. Mary, the Queen of England, however, was so overcome by the whole ceremony that she broke into a flood of tears. Later, they used to say that she had sobbed because she had at that moment foreseen the forthcoming disaster of war the following year breaking over us. That is really out of the question. Queen Mary was very attached to the Guelph family and it was understandable that the ceremony should affect her.

As soon as the vows and rings had been exchanged, the battery of the rst Guards Field Artillery Regiment fired a 36-gun salute, the chapel bells rang out in loud peals, and the wedding party made its way to the White Hall again, where we stood under the canopy of the Throne and received congratulations from the guests filing past, as the orchestra played the “Wedding March’ from Midsummer Ni ght’s Dream. My husband and I had my father standing to our ri ght together with my mother-in-law, Queen Mary and the Czar, and on our left my mother, my father-in-law, Crown Princess Cecilie and King George V.

The ceremonial banquet began at 7 p.m. and was attended by one thousand one hundred guests. The remarkable thing about it was that the food was dished up by Lieutenant-General Baron von Siisskind, the Inspector of the Militia, at one end of the table and by LieutenantGeneral von Falk, the Inspector of the War Academy, at the other. They served the food then passed the plates to the lackeys, who handed them to the Court officials, and so on to each guest. As soon as the dinner was over, the White Hall became the setting for the traditional torch-dance, a sort of polonaise which, in earlier times, was danced with senior Court officials carrying big, heavy candles ahead of the procession of dancers. For these elderly gentlemen then it was certainly no easy task, but in my time these duties were taken over by the pages, who were physically better equipped. My father gave the Chief Marshal orders for the torch-dance to begin. Prince zu Fiirstenberg came up to my husband and me, bowed, and invited us to lead the dance. The band of the Guards Cuirassiers struck up a polonaise, the Chief Marshal placed himself at the head of the procession of dancers and, with twelve pages lined up two by two behind him, signalled for Ernst August and me to lead off the dance.

The spectacle of my dancing with the King of England and the Czar of Russia absolutely fascinated everybody present. It wasn’t something that happened every day, of course, but there were the rulers of the two mightiest nations on Earth, with the daughter of the German Kaiser between them, all dancing together. At the end of the dance the Czar turned to me and said: ‘My wish is that you will be as happy as I am.’ I have never forgotten those words: they were the last I was ever to hear from Czar Nicholas. The torch-dance was over. I left the room on my father’s arm, while my husband escorted my mother. The Prussian Princess’s Crown was taken away from me and given back for safe keeping to the officials of the Privy Purse. Then my mother lifted off my bridal wreath. The hour of parting had struck. We changed our clothes and went to the station accompanied by my father and four of my brothers". 

The Kaiser's daughter: Memoirs of H. R. H. Viktoria Luise, Duchess of Brunswick and Lüneburg, Princess of Prussia

[thecarnivorousmuffinmeta]

Wait, now I'm curious about Elizabeth and Hermione. How are they different people?

Reference to this post.

The short answer, read the book.

The slightly longer but still short answer in ways that I as the nitpicky author say "it's totally significant". (A note, also, this is Hermione of the fic versus Hermione of canon who is herself a different beast).

Elizabeth's much more competitive than Hermione of the fic. Hermione of the fic is competitive, she wants to be the best, but she doesn't have the same unholy drive that Elizabeth has where she will crush all opponents in her path. Lily seems to be better than her? ALL COMPETITION MUST DIE! Where Hermione, somewhat, relents on bothering to ask Lily how she does what she does beyond nit picky "you're doing it wrong" lectures, Elizabeth never lets go and it's less of a "you're doing it wrong" and more resentment that Lily doesn't play by the rules Elizabeth knows so well and is amazing at.

We also see this come into play briefly at the party. Elizabeth immediately goes to greet Lily and then beelines off to remind people who hate her that she's here and is better than them in every possible way. She's extremely assertive in a way that Hermione of the fic just isn't quite (Hermione of the fic appreciated being appreciated, and being the smartest, but even she isn't rubbing her essays in Draco's face saying, "Look what grade I got. Look, Draco, look at my deeeeeeeeliiiiiiicioooooooous perfect score. Look at it, yes, cry, Draco, cry".

It's also there in the relationship to Theyn as well as Lily in regards to Theyn. Elizabeth makes it very clear that Lily's second fiddle to Elizabeth when it comes to Theyn. Lily's... neat and all (but mostly an idiot in Elizabeth's eyes) but Elizabeth's the one who has been friends with Theyn longer, is a real mage, and was invited on this quest thing. Elizabeth's also very possessive in general of her friendship with Theyn as well as her firm position as being more talented than him (though she's respectful of him being royalty). Lily, on the other hand, due to being more talented/a threat is um not "Your Highness". Hermione of the fic, while she doesn't get Lily and she's frustrated by her, doesn't do this same power move with her other acquaintances.

Elizabeth's also... I don't know if more stubborn but more something. She genuinely would have read those tomes down there in the pit until she died had Lily not insisted, multiple times, that they can get out. (And even then Lily kind of had to just do it because Elizabeth wasn't buying it). Hermione of the fic is stubborn but a little less strong-willed/not that ridiculous in "death or surrender? I CHOOSE DEATH!"

She's also very concerned about image, which is part of the competitiveness. Elizabeth goes out of her way to look perfect, be perfect, and make sure that everyone knows it. There's not a hair out of place, her clothes are pressed, and she is every student body president who has ever lived on steroids who is also Valedictorian. Hermione, while she prided herself on being the smartest, prided herself on not being the most put together/well made-up girl and hyper focused on being an intellectual. Elizabeth is the intellectual and everything else too, she wins at everything, you worm.

There's also things about Elizabeth's background that are very different from Hermione's that informed some of the above differences. Elizabeth, for various reasons, doesn't have a home to go back to and did not have a good home life when she was on Earth. She also doesn't see the academy as the end all be all but her path to the top of the military/society, where Hermione had no real goals beyond going to Hogwarts at a young age and doing well in her classes.

She's also not quite as authority respecting as Hermione. She has a great appreciation for them/listens to them but it's not quite Hermione's need to please teachers as it is the need to be proven right in every moment of every day.

She plays a similar role to Hermione of the original fic but there were a number of things about her that changed in the transition both to suit the story better and make her her own character.

[phoenixkaptain]

Have you ever noticed that while we have a bunch of evidence that William explicitly told Elizabeth not to go near the Circus Baby animatronic, and the implication of the lines is that he said this multiple times and was very insistent on it, and the Fredbear plush (no matter who you think is speaking through it) told the Crying Child not to go near the animatronics in general, the lines here also suggest that it has given this advice multiple times, we don’t actually have any evidence that Michael was ever told not to go near any of the animatronics?

In fact, in regard to Michael, the only evidence we do have is Michael being explicitly told to go mess around with animatronics. “It was right where you said it would be.” “I put her back together, just like you asked me to.” These both tell us that 1. Unlike the other children, Michael was not only encouraged to go hang out with animatronics but was also encouraged to go mess around with animatronics and 2. Michael’s tone of speaking could imply that this is the first time he’s been told to go mess around with animatronics.

Now, I’m not saying that William, from the very start, took a baby Michael and just handed him over to Fredbear without worrying about it, but I do think William tried to get Michael invested in some aspect of the business. I believe this because Michael’s the oldest son. And while Utah doesn’t have heir apparent to the family title, it did, back in the seventies and eighties, have a common idea that young men should follow in their fathers’ footsteps. Or, at the very least, the oldest son should bond with his father through a shared knowledge of the father’s job.

This was exceptionally common everywhere, but especially in Utah, where the people have always been (as we will diplomatically call it) traditional.

(But, of course, the Aftons probably are not originally from Utah. That doesn’t actually have much of a sway in form of argument in this particular case, because Mormons have a long history of outcasting people they considered “other.” If you smoked, if you drank to excessively, if you didn’t go to church, if you did go to church but not the “correct” way (I have no fucking clue what the correct way is, I only know that I, personally, did not do it correctly as a four-year-old, I know, baffles the mind), you were other and therefore, nobody would speak to you. And, more importantly to my case, nobody would go to your business.

William, being the one who spoke to more people (if we trust the books) had to at least play at being charmingly British enough that his neighbours wouldn’t think he’s a bad person. In fact, they would probably accept that he doesn’t want to go to church if he just used being from another country to get out of it (but they would probably suggest it everytime he spoke to them anyway) but William would have to fit in in other ways so he didn’t come across as too other. Enter Michael.

His relationship with Michael, if it mimicked the common relationship of father-and-son at the time, would be enough to charm people into believing he’s a family man and going to his diner anyway. Having three children was already going to boost people’s opinions of him, but if, on top of that, his oldest son “helped” with animatronics or paperwork or even if he just occasionally wiped tables, that would add more to the public image of the business being a family operation, just this one included two families.)

Admittedly, we don’t know much about how Michael acts. But, since it’s a similar case to Ethan Winters from the Resident Evil series (1. Both first person. 2. Both keeping the face out of view from the viewer, even going as far as obscuring mirrors or leaving mirrors out entirely. 3. Both of them get taken over by an outside entity (Ennard and Mold, respectively). 4. Both seem to do incredibly stupid things (“I think I’ll go see my wife in this ominous house I was given the address to multiple years after her disappearane and assumed death. I want my dearest darlingest baby girl back so I am going to fight hell monsters with whatever weapons aren’t nailed down and if I have to fight a god, then I guess I have to fight a god. I inexplicably know how to put together a functioning flamethrower.” “Well, Dad told me to go down in his weird undergroudn bunker that he keeps behind the house where my sister who has been missing for some amount of time is apparently hanging out, so I guess I’ll head down there on the nightly.” “I will not make any noise of complaint or annoyance or fear or even pain as I am inconvenienced and hurt and even murdered.” “I inexplicably consider being used as a flesh suit by the possessed wires of multiple animatronics a win because I’m pretty sure my sister was in there somewhere, so great news, Old Man, I’ve succeeded in the task.”) 5. I like comparing media that technically is very different but is similar in key ways and that’s what I’m currently doing. Shh, go with it, my child, go with it) I’m going to assume that Michael’s face does the same thing Ethan’s does. As in, if you wait long enough, even in situations where Ethan should reasonably be terrified, he just looks sort of like he’s wondering if he left the oven on. I like to think that’s how Michael’s face looks. Like: “Oh no, Ballora could catch me at any moment and kill me! …I wonder if that bird I saw last week is having any luck finding worms? It’s been a bit of a dry year.”

Michael certainly seems determined, but he only seems determined if we assume that he’s in more than one game. Like, if we think Michael isn’t the guy running the pizzeria in Pizzeria Simulator, then Michael said “I’m going to come find you” to his father and didn’t do anything? If we assume he isn’t the nightguard of the first game, if we assume he isn’t the second nightguard in the second game, if we assume he is only the protagonist of Sister Location, then Michael is the funniest character of all time. Because he literally said “Father, I am going to come find you” and then went back inside and enjoyed a quiet life? Maybe he did look around but didn’t go to any of the obvious places, the restaurants his father worked and killed at? Maybe he knew exactly where William was and just said “Ah, fock it, I’m going back to my tele-novella, tell me when you’re dead, Father.” It also makes William screaming for Michael a lot funnier because oh my God, William, do you think he’ll just teleport there?

(Sorry, that was a tangent. I saw someone complain about the night guards all being the same person or related to the events of the game in some way and it kind of annoyed me. “Why must they be the same person?” you ask? Because that’s just basic storytelling. The characters have to be related to the plot in some way, or the storytelling is nonexistent. And besides, from a narrative perspective, it makes a more satisfying story if Michael is the night guard of at least one location, because it means that Michael isn’t the stupidest man alive. He’s looking for his father. If I was in Michael Afton’s shoes, looking for my father who I knew was a tad obsessive about robots, I would go to the robot restaurant. It makes sense. (I’m sorry, I went on a tangent within my apology for going on a tangent. I will get back to the actual point now.))

We know that William told Elizabeth not to go near animatronics (or at least not to go near one animatronic). We know that someone told the Crying Child not to go near any animatronics. But we don’t have any evidence that Michael was ever told any of the animatronics were dangerous. In fact, evidence suggests that he was not only told to hang around animatronics, but he’s basically used to them. He finds his brother’s fear of animatronics amusing, which, to me, suggests that he finds the animatronics to be the opposite of scary. It suggests that he’s around them enough (because apparently Crying Child and Michael just hung out at the robot restaurant nearly every day of their lives, for some reason) that he’s either ignored any warnings that they’re dangerous or he was never told they could be dangerous in the first place.

Why does any of this matter?

Because I am sick and tired of people complaining about Michael killing his brother. They say it makes him an asshole big brother, I’ve seen some suggest it makes him just like his father, and I respectfully disagree. Michael is certainly not winning any Brother of the Year awards, don’t get me wrong, but I don’t find his relationship with his brother to be unrealistically cruel.

Michael doesn’t hurt his brother. He only scares him. That’s his entire goal. He’s a dick, yes, but he doesn’t seem to actively pursue harmjng his little brother.

Michael was never told the animatronics were dangerous. Michael was never told to stay away from them, and even if he was, it wasn’t terribly convincing. (“Son, the robot performers are super duper dangerous and you should never ever not once go near any of them. Now, here’s a dollar, go play near the robot performers.”)

Michael, if anything, is trying to get his brother to see that he’s overreacting. He’s trying to prove that they aren’t dangerous. He’s trying to show his brother that the animatronics won’t hurt him. He’s making fun of his brother, yes, but the fact that he gets him so close to the stage and goes so far as to put his head in Fredbear’s mouth tells me that he was basically doing something similar to shoving a worm in someone’s face. He was trying to scare him, yes, but then his brother would, we assume, see that nothing happened and would be shaken, but ultimately admit that Michael was right, the animatronics aren’t dangerous.

This, obviously, isn’t what happens. But I’m pretty sure Michael didn’t purposefully kill his brother and I’m even more sure that he wasn’t even trying to hurt him.

I have three older brothers. And, it was a similar situation in that the four of us were left to watch each other a lot while our parents were at work. And while I know my brothers are not the mold for all brothers, I also know that there’s a reason people talk about the “Cain Instinct.” Boys roughhouse. And, while not actively encouraged in Utah, it’s certainly not discouraged either.

Michael was being a dick, yes. But, the behaviour is similar to a child who doesn’t think that guns are dangerous, whether because they’re not told or because they’re left unsupervised with access to guns. This sort of incident is not without precedent. And while it was certainly stupid, Michael didn’t do anything that a dumb big brother wouldn’t do.

[whencallstheheart]

In regards to the question of “Was it the the plan all along for Elizabeth to end up with Nathan even after picking Lucas in season 8? My personal opinion is no.

Based on how the love triangle played out over seasons 7 and 8 I think that Nathan was the choice they were building up to in season 8, hence why most of the major storylines involve him and Elizabeth and then at some point they decided to switch to Lucas probably fairly late into filming. Either that or it was always written as Lucas the whole time and season 8 is just poorly written, who knows?

That being said after Elizabeth chooses Lucas I don’t think they were planning on having her switch at any point. My reasons for this are: The way she rejects Nathan in season 8 doesn’t really leave much room open for her ever being with him and seemingly was used to kind of retroactively negate all the moments she has with Nathan in 6-8 and kind of pass them off as just being kind of about Jack. Clearly season 11 is gonna remedy this but at the time it was pretty much the nail in the coffin for a Nathan/Elizabeth relationship.

In season 9 Mei comes to town as an obvious love interest for Nathan and is on the season 9 poster, Elizabeth and Lucas get engaged and spend the entirety of season 9 bonding Lucas and Little Jack together. I mean what was the point of like half of what happens in season 9 if they knew they were gonna flip back to Nathan?

As for season 10, I really don’t know why they decided to switch, it seemed like the backlash of the whole thing had mostly died down. I will say however that it seems that seasons 10 and now 11 have kind of validated a lot of the criticisms of the Lucas and Elizabeth relationship that fans have had, which does kind of make it seem like they knew that maybe it wasn’t the strongest storyline to begin with. I don’t think the writers always know where a story is gonna end up on this show which is why we get some of these whiplash storylines when they have to pivot based on what the show runner or the network or whoever wants. I’m not complaining about where we are now but it’s been a wild ride to say the least lol.

Yeah, I agree about season 9 with Mei. That felt very intentional. Putting them on the poster was huge. I think they were firm with their choice of picking Lucas which by all accounts was very last minute even during filming the episode. They decided on it and went with it. I don't think they intended to switch to Nathan after making that season 8 finale choice either. At least not going into the choice. It was supposed to be final. That was now the path forward under John's guidance as showrunner. I kind of think what the writers felt wasn't necessarily factored into the choice because the show was writing towards Nathan and like you said and I've said... they're putting all our criticisms in the show now (which is so funny to me I love it so much). They've always had the deeper, more meaningful connection which couldn't have been a mistake, you know? They could've written Lucas better but they didn't. Why not? Maybe because it wasn't necessary until that choice was made and then the writers had to try to make it make sense.

But I think after 9 they had to have some idea that they wanted something different because they brought in Lindsay. I believe John said he already had mapped out 10 so he wasn't expecting to be let go. I'm so thankful we have Lindsay now but the whole thing is really messy. I feel like we could talk about this forever. There's so many different angles to look at it from. I'm just happy that we are where we're at now with the show. Even if they replace Lindsay, at least we'll have this foundation for Nathan and Elizabeth moving forward.

[missellaneousworks]

Heartbreak - A Sunny Day Jack Drabble

Pairings: Sunny Day Jack x Ella (OC)

Context: Interaction is mostly platonic, but with some pining on Jack's part. This takes place a little while after Ella finds the VHS tape and Jack, but before Ella falls for Jack.

Something is Wrong With Sunny Day Jack is a +18 ONLY series. MINORS DNI.

______________________________

"I love you. Most ardently. Please do me the honor of accepting my hand."

Jack blinked in surprise at Mr. Darcy's words as he uttered them to Elizabeth Benett on the screen. "Huh," he made a noise as if processing his confession with as much confusion as Elizabeth. "The confession scene is happening much earlier than I thought it would..."

"Shhhh," Ella put her finger towards her lips but tilted her head towards him with a knowing look. "Just wait."

Jack brought his attention back to the screen and watched the rest of the scene unfold, as Darcy seemed utterly confounded by Elizabeth's rejection and rebuttal of his treatment towards her and her family. Sure enough, the conversation began to deteriorate between the two when Elizabeth threw one final insult toward the proud Mr. Darcy.

"And those are the words of a gentleman. From the first moment I met you, your arrogance and conceit, your selfish disdain for the feelings of others made me realize that you were the last man in the world I could ever be prevailed upon to marry."

Jack couldn't help but wince a little bit. Elizabeth certainly had a right to feel angry, it sounded like Darcy had a hand in breaking up the relationship between her sister and his best friend, among other transgressions. Anyone would be mad about that. Yet, seeing how Darcy looked at Elizabeth, so close together, a part of him couldn't help but feel a little sorry for him.

Jack was about to try his luck again by asking Ella another question, now that the scene was coming to an end, but... she seemed lost in thought. She was chewing on the inside of her cheek and her gaze seemed so distantly sad. He was about to open his mouth to ask what was wrong when she beat her to it, "Hey, Jack?"

"Yes, Sunshine?" Jack answered back cheerfully, almost a little too quickly.

"I've... got a personal question to ask you," she spoke so carefully, as if hesitant on the next words out of her mouth.

"Sure, go ahead! You'll find me and open book, Sunspot," he puffed out his chest, as if proud of that statement.

Ella laughed nervously in return. "Okay, but I totally understand if you don't want to answer." She fidgeted with her hands, averting her case from Jack as she spoke. "Before you--before we met, have you ever gotten your heart broken?"

Out of all questions, Jack had to admit he wasn't expecting that. He regarded Ella for a long moment, her shy gaze finally peeking up from behind her fallen hair. He gave her a gentle smile in return. While Jack didn't quite know where her question came from, he hoped a small bit of the honesty he could offer would help in some way.

"You know what?" He finally replied, causing Ella to lift her head with anticipation. "Truth be told, yeah, I have."

"R-really?" Ella sifted her body on the couch, tucking her knees beneath her to inch closer. Her genuinely surprised reaction was actually quite adorable.

Jack chuckled and nodded. "Oh yeah! But we all have at some point. So, you're not alone when it comes to experiencing it."

Ella shifted back again, trying to mask her nervousness, and utterly failing at it. "Ah ha ha ha! Wha-- wh-who said I've ever gotten my heart broken? Naaaaah, not me!"

Jack's smile worked into a crooked half-grin, seeing through Ella's attempt to lie. "Ella, I hope you know there's no shame in heartbreaks. It's just a part of life, and it's very common." Ella was back on the couch fully, still avoiding looking at Jack. Not wanting her to feel embarrassed, he shifted his torso to face her to seem more open. "But, I know you're a very strong person who has been through a lot in your life. And the good news is that heartbreaks don't last forever! It might not seem like it at first, but it will get better in the end."

Ella sighed, but her lips quirked up in a dry half-smile. Like she was just trying for his sake, though she wasn't fully convinced. "But how do you get past your heartbreak? Only thing people keep telling me is 'time will heal all wounds.' I'm... tired of waiting. Really tired."

Jack understood that sentiment more than Ella could ever know. He could feel the sadness slowly emitting from her heart. The blue-haired man occasionally sensed glimpses of this sadness and other times, painful loneliness. More concerning was the creeping despair that would snake up to Ella's heart when she was alone for too long. Whenever that happened, he did his best to prevent Ella from falling into that hole of anguish, but now he had a name for the emotion she was feeling: heartbreak.

The realization was also met with another question Jack had in the back of his mind: Who did this to you?

But as much as he wanted to get that answer from her quivering lips, as much as he would very much like to find whoever could hurt such a kind, creative, and passionate woman who wouldn't hurt a fly... it wasn't what Ella needed right now. Now more than anything, Ella needed a friend to share her troubles with. And who was Sunny Day Jack but the bestest friend anyone could ask for?

Jack took a breath to coordinate his words, "Well, heartbreak is also a time of self-reflection. You can reflect on why had your heartbreak and you have to work on it, little by little." It was Jack's turn to turn his gaze downwards. He did not enjoy thinking about the past--that wasn't him anymore--but if the tiniest fraction of empathizing with Ella's pain could help her heal and get him just a little closer to her, it would be worth it. "When I had my heart broken, it was hard to overcome. But I also realized I hadn't been the best person that I could have been. I think it's important to learn from your past so you can make yourself happy, and avoid any future heartbreak."

Ella patiently listened to Jack's explanation. The expression of concern on her face didn't escape him when he talked about himself, but then her expression shifted to more thoughtful. "Mistakes, huh?" She mused out loud. "I guess... thinking about it now, one of my mistakes was not being more open about stuff that bothered me. I kind of kept my bad feelings from-- um, my previous partner, and I guess that built resentment between us."

Jack caught onto Ella stopping herself from saying the name of whoever hurt her so badly. But he kept himself in check, his reassuring smile remained ever-present. "I'm happy that it's given you something to learn from for your future relationships. Just remember not to keep things to yourself for too long, otherwise, you'll be frustrated that your problems aren't resolved. Communication is key, after all! And I'm sure your partner will be so happy you're sharing your worries with them and will make it easier to understand you."

Ella nodded, allowing Jack's advice to sink in, but her expression still seemed worrisome still. "But what if... what if I do tell them how I'm feeling, and they don't... listen? Maybe they have something more important going on?"

Jack frowned at that. "Well, if you're opening up to your partner and they don't want to listen, then they're not the right one for you." Jack was resolute in his response as if it was the most basic answer in the universe. "Your feelings are valid and a good partner will want to listen to you and help you. If they can't respect your thoughts and feelings, then the relationship isn't healthy."

Ella's round brown eyes looked into Jack's dark ones for a long moment. Something seemed to have clicked in that intriguing mind of hers. She made a small noise of confirmation before she readjusted herself and faced the TV again. "I guess... that' sone way to look at it. Honestly, there were times I thought I was making a big deal out of nothing."

"Oh, Sunshine," Jack's voice was soft and gentle as he carefully brought his large hand up and patted Ella on the head. "I might not know exactly what happened, but I highly doubt you were making a big deal out of nothing. If it was enough to worry you, then it's enough to be able to talk about it if you needed to."

Ella froze for a moment at the sudden contact of Jack's hand. But it wasn't unwelcome. Far from it. It was... comforting. Nice even. Very nice. Gradually, Ella's shoulders relaxed, she even found herself slightly leaning into Jack's hand. "I think I have some stuff to rethink about later, but... Thanks, Jack. That... that helped a bit."

Secretly, Jack was pleased Ella was getting more comfortable around him, but he was even more glad that he seemed to help ease her sadness if only a little bit. "Of course, Ella! I'm happy I was able to help! And for what it's worth," he removed his head from her head and placed it on her shoulder to get her full attention. "I think you deserve a partner who will listen to you and make you happy. You're a very unique and kind woman who deserves nothing less. Maybe even more." It was the truth, too. In time, he wanted to be that someone for Ella. But... he needed to wait a bit longer.

The compliment made Ella's cheeks turn pink, a small but touched smile pulled at her lips. Her eyes flashed to the TV and squinted at the screen. "Oh crap!" Her exclamation caused Jack to pull his hand away. "We missed a good chunk of the movie! Hang on, I'm gonna rewind it a bit..." She reached for the controller and went back a couple of scenes.

"Ah ha ha! I'm surprised you broke your own rule of no talking during movies," the clown chuckled, wagging his finger.

Ella rolled her eyes at that. "It's only when it's a movie being watched for the first time by one or more parties. Speaking of which," she leered at Jack teasingly, "Shall we resume?"

Jack nodded as Ella hit the play button and the movie started where they last remembered. There was another long moment the two didn't speak, but once again, Ella broke the silence. "Jack?"

"Yes, Sunshine?"

"Um, what you said earlier about yourself, about 'not being the best person you could be.' For what it's worth... I think you're pretty great." With that sentence, Ella leaned into Jack's side.

Warmth radiated through Jack's being as Ella was the closest she had been since the two had met. With slow, calculated movements he stretched his arm drape along the back of the couch so that Ella could comfortably rest her head against it, an action she cautiously, yet contently leaned into.

In that little moment of happiness, he could sense something else small and light bubble up from Ella's heart. A warm, soft feeling. It was just starting to bud. It was... so small yet so precious to Jack at that moment.

His eyes looked at her with soft tenderness. "That... means a lot coming from you. Thank you, Sunshine."

As they enjoyed each other's company, he hoped this movie had a happy ending after all. Because he was going to make sure there would be one for the two of them.

[imsorryimlate]

I arrived at Geneva. My father and Ernest yet lived; but the former sunk under the tidings that I bore. I see him now, excellent and venerable old man! his eyes wandered in vacancy, for they had lost their charm and their delight—his niece, his more than daughter, whom he doated on with all that affection which a man feels, who, in the decline of life, having few affections, clings more earnestly to those that remain. Cursed, cursed be the fiend that brought misery on his grey hairs, and doomed him to waste in wretchedness! He could not live under the horrors that were accumulated around him; an apoplectic fit was brought on, and in a few days he died in my arms.

(vol. III, chapter 6)

“his more than daughter, whom he doated on with all that affection which a man feels”

no one will ever convince me that the relationship between alphonse and elizabeth isn’t weird as hell… like yes, “more than a daughter” is fairly evident in the way she became a companion to him, which could be platonic and somewhat innocent. but at the same time, i feel like it’s not.

also, part of me wants to say like “oh poor elizabeth, she didn’t have an easy time becoming a substitute wife for her uncle-father” but some other part wants to interrogate it further, to question elizabeth’s passivity. i’m not saying that she was some sort of seducer, definitely not, but i wonder if she took shelter in the close companionship with alphonse. as @yallemagne pointed out, the way elizabeth and alphonse question victor is very similar, and the post offers some interesting different explanations. but what if it’s just an alignment, that they have spent so much time together that they are mirroring each other?

(which is interesting, considering how elizabeth is already said to resemble caroline. she’s both of them, the perfect daughter. i have yet to finish and publish it, but i started writing meta around the idea of victor and elizabeth as rivals for their parents’ love, and this is something i’ll put a pin in to come back to later)

elizabeth’s letter to victor regarding if he had someone else holds so much anxiety. and while she very clearly expresses a wish to marry victor, i cannot help but speculate if, on some subconscious level, she was hoping that he would have someone else because she wanted to stay in her companionship with alphonse. not because she was particularly enamoured with her ageing uncle-father, but because it was familiar and safe. everything else has changed; william, justine and clerval are dead, and victor is increasingly sick and unstable. everything is falling apart around her, so why wouldn’t she want to stick with the one stable person in her life?

either way, it was already shaping up to be a strange sort of three-person marriage. alphonse primarily focuses on how victor and elizabeth’s union would make him happy, and when they decide to marry he immediately starts talking about how they will make babies that will be companions for them (read: him), and he’s the one planning the wedding and the wedding night, and buying them a house close enough to visit every day. even for me, as a person who is extremely close with my family, it comes across as a lot, and needy. he clearly has serious separation anxiety, which is understandable, but it manifests itself inappropriately.

also, the way alphonse is centring himself is very reminiscent of victor. it would seem that egocentrism is a frankenstein family trait, at least for the men.

[nulliustram-webfiction]

Over the last two weeks, I've put up four pilots. Now, you get to vote on which idea continues to be refined into a free web series. Below the poll, you will be given the title card/cover for every one of these five options, along with a link to the free public pilot, a brief 'elevator pitch', and what I enjoy the most about each series. Donate to my ko-fi or my patreon, and you will have access to all sixteen extra chapters.

Creature Watching

Its pilot (Rest Stop) is on tumblr.

Churyl is the perfect city. If you don't look to deep into it. People from all around the world come to see what lies under the surface. And they never come back alive... Lots of uncanny valley stuff. Not outright scary all of the time, but just plain. Weird. Deals more with supernatural and folklore elements.

EndWalkers

EndWalkers already has one volume out on RoyalRoad, with more than 100k words, which you can read here.

An action-packed story of a group of people jumping from apocalyptic dimension to apocalyptic dimension, playing out a video game in real life. With the first volume drawing to a close, the daily update schedule will be slowed down to a weekly one if it does not win this poll. There is a shapeshifting gay AND trans Muslim catboy (mecore) and Book 2 is in a world torn apart by a war between ravens and octopi, its great.

Key Mates

Chapter One is on tumblr.

Anne and Flynn are discovered to be psychics. Except instead of any actual fun superpowers, they have the power to pick out a key that the other is thinking about or in contact in. People romanticize it constantly, but its useless in every way. Except for a heist. NOT a dig at romantic soulmate tropes, though they are referenced. I'm simply having fun with the implications of having a force that ties you together. How you would navigate relationships with other people and yourself too.

Tumble Dried Pirates

Pilot is now live on tumblr

Xara is from the modern era, and a passionate advocate for freedom of information and archiving of content. You know... Piracy. When a dryer machine at her local laundromat spits out Elizabeth Carnegie, a pirate from the Golden Age of cut-throat violence and smuggling, she isn't prepared for her. Or the team of time-travel police who have now put a target on her back. Yes. They are lesbians. With a time traveling dryer machine. Also, classism!!

Surviving Nulls

Pilot is live on tumblr!!

Nulls are monsters that feed off the magic of humans, sucking away until nothing is left. And Priscilla Farooq, widely regarded to have no talent for art, magic, or sport, finds herself in the unique situation to be the only one to stop it. Even if she thinks she's a little bit of nothing herself... This was written specifically to be an aspec fantasy. Priscilla is aplaroace. She simply doesn't feel any kind of love. And that's okay, even if it takes her time to come to terms with it. There are more aspec characters, too, showcasing the entire spectrum, and just queer people in general. Main character's atheist, but lots of Muslim relatives, and some Jewish side characters, some pagan, it's a mixed bag. This is also the only other series that will be posted on RoyalRoad, with more than daily chapter updates.

That's all! Consider donating if you're interested in reading more. ko-fi | patreon