#this is a contrary theory to the ‘it’s still or never was a trial’ theory

[novelconcepts]

So doooo we think the whole coven will die one by one, leaving the “coven of two” (Agatha and Rio, probably, since I am not sure Rio can die) to then bring them back at the end of the Road? Full circle moment for Agatha, choosing the “coven true” over her need for power?

[immajustvibehere]

Amidst a Crashing World (3/5)

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x fem!Reader

Summary: Arthur returns to your cabin after you presumed him dead. The time between your last meetings have lead Arthur to a realisation.

tags for this series: fluff, little bit of angst, no-tb-Arthur, literally your love redemption, maybe smut (but probably not), slow burn (but I mean how slow can a story really burn in five chapters?)

masterlist

Chapter 1, Chapter 2

6000 words

Sooner than expected, you heard of Arthur. Unfortunately, not because he sent you a note or stopped by again. As you rode into Annesburg three days after wishing him luck for the big score he had planned, the paper boys yelled through the town: "Saint Denis robbers still on the run! What happened to the gang of Dutch van der Linde? Find out in today's edition!"

Normally, you weren't too big on reading the newspaper, but this time…you hadn't never snatched it so quickly out of the boy's hand, leaving him to boast with the change you gave him. Hosea, dead. Lenny, dead. No account of any other names. You weren't sure who "a further gang member was arrested and awaits trial" meant. It only took a couple of days until everybody seemed to talk about it. Your main source of income being doing women's hair, you got a fair bit of gossip about the news.

Everything you heard from the ladies, took with a grain of salt. Either way, nobody ever mentioned Arthur by name. Your anxiety reached its peak when a rather well-off woman, not typically your demographic, had visited family in Saint Denis and brought an unsettling theory with her. Apparently, the most important members of the gang, including the leader, could have fled on a boat and drowned in the storm that was raging over the ocean the same night.

The "they have fled the country"-rumours were the most popular. Drowned in the ocean or not, the version varied based on who told you their theory. With every day you didn't hear the contrary and had no word from Arthur, you believed that you'd never see him again.

That was until one morning. You were working in your garden, busy with fixing the fence that had long stood neglected, when you saw a rider approach. Whether it was the hat or the horse you recognized first, you weren’t sure. But unmistakenly, the man on the horse that lazily trotted towards your cabin was Arthur.

You put your tools down and approached him, forcing yourself to walk calmly. The closer you got, the more unfamiliar he appeared. His beard had grown out, looking unkempt and way too long for what you were used to see him wear. Long strands of hair spilled out from under his hat. Arthur’s skin was darker than usual, even the unforgiving desert in the west hadn't left his skin as sunburned as it now appeared. Most of the red had settled into a golden-brown tan, particularly strong around the area where he cuffed his sleeves. For not seeing him for almost a month, this was quite a change.

A faint smile appeared on his lips when you reached him and walked next to his horse, leading it to your cabin.

"I thought I'd never see you again", you blurted out straight up.

Maybe a “Hello” or “Thanks for stopping by” would have been more appropriate, but the thought that had driven you insane the last three to four weeks just slipped out.

"I know. I'm sorry", Arthur jumped off his horse when you had reached your newly fixed gate. He looked at you, trying to take it all in. He had missed you; he had thought of you so much the last days and weeks, having you in front of him was a little overwhelming. But you looked like he remembered you. You weren’t wearing your fine clothes that you had worn when you caught him in your pond, but the worn jeans and shirt that had seen many fences painted and potted many plants looked good on you. It looked homely.

Arthur cleared his throat before he asked, "D'ya still cut hair?"

It was awkward...the ways he pronounced his question, the uncomfortable manner in which he scratched his way too long beard, seemingly unhappy with its new length.

Before you could answer, he added sarcastically: "Tried finding a barber on the Caribbean island but didn't came across someone I wanted to trust with scissors."

"Caribbean island?", you repeated questioningly, leading him into the cabin.

The tension between you felt peculiar. If tension were a tangible thing, you could have thrown a lasso and seemingly strangled it out of the air. But it wasn’t, so you and Arthur only struggled with finding your rhythm again.

"I came as soon as I could after returning...", Arthur explained apologizing, as if he had to rectify not visiting you sooner.

"Arthur. I thought you were dead", in front of your table, you stopped and looked directly at the man.

"'m afraid I have to disappoint", he chuckled, "Instead I'm here, asking ya for a cheap haircut because we lost...ten thousands in the sea."

"Ugh", you groaned, readying a chair for Arthur to sit on right at the table, "You sound so desperate, I might just give ya that haircut for free."

Arthur placed his jacket on a hinge next to the door and his hat on a free spot on the table. Again, it felt like he knew exactly where to place them, just as if he was coming home after a workday.

"Where d'ya want me, miss?", Arthur asked politely as if he had just entered a barber shop and there wasn't only one chair that looked prepared enough to serve as seat for his cut. You pointed at the chair a little absentmindedly, gathering your equipment and laying it out in the table in front of you.

"How short were you thinking?", you asked, walking around the seated man, ruffling his hair a little.

"Whatever you prefer", Arthur answered.

"What's that supposed to mean?", you asked, letting your finger scrape through his hair. His hair was wet at the roots, so you added surprisedly, "Did you just take a bath?"

"Might 've...", Arthur shrugged as if it was no big deal.

"You didn’t have to”, you reassured him, secretly amused by how endearing you found it.

"You wouldn't say that if you’d seen me before the bath. After three days in the Caribbean, killing half of the Pinkerton's agency and moving camp, you would have shot me on sight", Arthur joked, a bitter smile playing on his lips. Your answer was a soft chuckle.

After combing his hair, you repeated you question: "You're sure you don't want me to tell you how you want your hair done?"

"I trust ya", Arthur said.

"Mh, big mistake", you grinned. You caught Arthur's eye for a moment, and you could have sworn it was admiration in his expression. And trust, which honestly, was seldom for this man.

"I'll just cut it a little shorter than you had it when you first came to collect me", you said, waiting for his confirmation.

"...collect you and failed miserably at that", Arthur added.

"I thank the lord every day for that", you said jokingly. It was no laughing matter, though. You knew that as well as Arthur. The list of people the gang had lost in the last two months was long and you not rejoining was probably the only thing that had kept your name off that list.

You started doing Arthur's hair and one minute in, you decided to carefully pose the question of "What the hell happened the last couple weeks?". Arthur couldn't stop talking. He explained the plan of the bank robbery, explained when it went south. When Hosea was mentioned, he digressed a little. You too ended up sharing some anecdotes of the old man. You had loved him and felt a pang of guilt that you hadn't sent word to him that you were indeed fine. Hosea had been so kind to you when you expressed your wish to be on your own for a while, he had wished you the best and you had never even thought about sending a letter.

Then Arthur mentioned escape from Saint Denis. Your mouth went dry when Arthur recounted the storm, how he went overboard, nearly drowning and not knowing how lucky he was that he washed ashore on a beach. It was uncanny how some of the rumours you had heard mirrored the actual story.

Then came Guarma and everything that happened there. The return, the Pinkertons apparently following someone to Lagras and finally the move to Beaver's Hollow. They had been up there for a couple a couple of days now, and so much had already happened.

You listened, occasionally asked a question, but most of the time you were concentrating on not messing up the haircut. You had never heard Arthur talk that much before. Sober, that is. He can be quite a chatty drunk, but it seemed like he just wanted to get everything off his chest.

"How does that look?", you asked when you were done with his hair, holding a little mirror for Arthur to see.

His only response was a nob and a slight smile.

"Okay then", you spoke gently, "your beard's next."

The whole retelling of the last couple of weeks was what Arthur needed, but it killed his mood the same time. At least, that's what you though he was silent for. You cleared a spot on the table for you to sit on. It was way more comfortable sitting in front of Arthur while trimming his beard, but if you sat on a chair, you wouldn't have the height you needed.

You took a seat on the table in front of Arthur and noticed how his eyes immediately fixed on the ground.

"D'ya mind spreading your legs a little?", you asked. Despite the request confusing him a little, Arthur did as he was told and you put your on foot on his chair, so you wouldn't topple forward. Arthur tried his best to stifle the cough that worked its way up as he choked on his own saliva at this move.

"We're not going for a clean shave, are we?", you asked casually, trying to catch Arthur's eyes. He shrugged: "Whatever's easier for you."

You shook your head and began to trim his beard back to what you remembered he had the last time he visited you. Soon after you started, you noticed Arthur's cheeks getting warm and red. You were well aware that your cleavage was on his eye-level, probably the reason why he decided he was better off inspecting the floor. Meanwhile, you enjoyed gently tilting his head the way you needed it, finding no resistance from the man himself.

You talked only little, answering insignificant questions Arthur posed when the blade wasn't near his face, and he could actually move his mouth. You were almost done, only lining up his beard to give it an overall cleaner look, when Arthur said something out of the blue.

"Y'know, I been thinkin' about you. A lot," Arthur croaked, his throat dry all of a sudden.

"Mhm", you answered, not sure which direction that was supposed to go. You stopped shaving off the stubble on his neck when his Adam’s apple bobbed.

"Uh, I mean...", Arthur clears his throat, forcing you to stop the shave and look at him. Finally, his eyes found yours, "We're...uhm...friends, I hope." He forced a little chuckle that didn't sound genuine, especially under your curious gaze. You gave a quiet hum as sign of agreement.

"'s just that I...look, I understand if ya've found someone else. Hell, I took my sweet time and it wasn't fair how I treated you when you...", Arthur cleared his throat again, the words coming difficult to him, "when ya told me about yer feelings."

This was the point when your heartrate picked up and you felt your hands become sweatier. You had to put the blade down for a moment to wipe your hand on your shirt. Your mind was still caught on the line 'I understand if ya've found someone else'...like that had even been an option for you. For months you had tried to get over this man, then he came back waltzing into your life and you put your own ugly bounty poster on the wall as a reminder. And the you fixed the bedframe that he had fixed rather unsatisfyingly. You hadn't told him it broke the very same night he had “repaired” it. Nothing had changes the last year, you were pining as much for this man as ever...and yet, you didn't quite know how to react.

"I really like ya", he finally said, " I know well I don’t deserve it, but if ya wanted to give me another chance…"

"Morgan", you exhaled, "I got my boot between your balls and a blade at your throat...if you want to pull my leg I suggest you-"

"I mean it", and Arthur's gaze was so intense, this time it was you who struggled to watch him in the eye. You knew he wasn't lying. Hell, you hadn't really expected that he was just pulling your leg, you just said it to say something…to lighten up the mood that appeared so heavy again.

"Okay", you mumbled, barely able to disguise the tremor in your voice. Then you took the blade again, carefully turning Arthur's head upwards so you could better reach the hair you still needed to shave. There was this long and uncomfortable silence that neither of you wanted to break. You heard the birds outside, the blade scratching the skin and a heartbeat...if it was yours or Arthur's, you weren't quite sure.

Arthur thought that Guarma had been hell, but he found that your silence and okay was even more tortuous.

Finally, you were done. With a hairdressing brush you got rid of all the loose hair that decorated Arthur’s face. He gave you a slightly annoyed look as you tickled him behind his ears. Then you took the little towel that had prevented hair from falling into his shirt out in the garden to shake it out.  

The moment you stepped into the cabin again, Arthur's eyes caught yours and they were demanding an answer.

"I've never stopped loving you", the words burned as they left your mouth. The towel was thrown over an empty chair. Saying the words out loud…it changed something. Because as long as you had only thought them, there was this slim chance that they weren’t true. But there was no backing-out now, no denying.  

You continued: "But I can't...I won't rejoin the gang. I want to live here."

You said that because you knew that Arthur wouldn’t leave the gang for you, but you wouldn’t rejoin in either.

"Y/n...this thing is pretty much over", Arthur sighed. He was referring to the gang. He had alluded to it when he had recounted the happenings of the past weeks, especially breaking John out of jail and earning Dutch's disapproval. This was the first time he directly admitted it, "I want the Marstons safe...and the women...then it's done."

"Oh, so 'one more big score and then you can leave everything behind", you mimicked Dutch's voice. A tinge of animosity accompanied your words and this certainly wasn’t lost on Arthur. You couldn’t help but feel a bit unfairly placed in this situation.

"C'mere for a second", Arthur beckoned you, his eyes following every one of your movements until you stood in front of him, your hips brushing against the table. Arthur remained seated in his chair. Glancing at the man quickly, you congratulated yourself on having done a good job; his haircut looked sharp.

Then, suddenly, Arthur took your hand. It was such an unusual gesture, it alarmed you immediately. His hands were warm and rough, but not in an unpleasant way. Arthur held your hand lightly, as if he was afraid of hurting you.

"I promise this is the last time. In a week, we're going to hit a train with army pay. Wednesday evening. After that, I'm done", Arthur spoke earnestly.

"I can't-" believe you, you wanted to say, because you knew it had been the same story with Mary. You knew that once an outlaw means always and outlaw. Not even Arthur's word was enough to ensure that those bonds wouldn't bind him to his old life and to the gang.

"Don’t say nothing yet", Arthur interrupted calmly. He stood up and let your hand slide off his, as he walked to his satchel. He pulled out his journal and carefully put it next to you. With no hesitation, he opened and skimmed through it. You couldn't see most of the pages because he flipped through them so quickly.

"It ain't even half-way done", Arthur assessed, showing you the empty pages, "I'll leave that here 'n collect it in a week."

"What?", you questioned, frowning, "What if I decide to read it as a bedtime story?"

"'s nothing in there that yer not allowed to know", Arthur mumbled, "Contrary. Sometimes I think I'm much better expressing my feelings on paper. I've never been a good talker."

Silently, Arthur opened a page in his journal that had a little dog-ear. The left side was empty and only had smudges of pencil on it, on the right side there was this impressively detailed bounty poster. It had the layout of the bounty posters they have hanging all over town, obviously it wasn't printed, but hand drawn. You recognized your name, your 15-dollars-worth and then yourself, staring back at you. You hadn't imagined Arthur to be one to draw people, let alone portrait style. In the brush of his pencil you recognized that he might be more professed in sketching trees and animals, but it was a perfectly decent drawing of you. Hell, it was even flattering, compared to the atrocity they had on your real poster.

Arthur put the journal away, leaving it on top of a pile of books on your nightstand.

"I jus' need t'know if this is a place I'm allowed to return to", Arthur finally asked.

"Always", you replied without hesitation, your gaze still fixed on his journal. Is he trying in tempting you to read it? Because if that's the case, it was definitely working.

"So I won't be greeted with a gun in my face?", Arthur chuckled.

You sighed, taking a brush that stood abandoned in the corner of the room and started to swipe Arthur's hair out of the house. "If you're going to bring that up one more time, I swear I'll give you a reason to fear me", you quipped.

"Oh, I already fear you a great deal", Arthur said sarcastically.

You shot him an intense gaze.

"You staying for dinner?", you asked in between the sound of bristles scratching on wood.

Arthur shrugged, mumbling: "They won't miss me for another day..."

"Good. Then go hunt something", you asserted, gently shoving him outside by brushing against his boots until he took the hint.

"Yes ma'am...", Arthur mumbled, a hint of amusement in his voice. When you had successfully shoved him outside, you closed the door behind him, not without a bit of force. It left him slightly perplexed and wondering.

You had tried your best to hold your feelings together, but it had become a little much. Since Arthur's confession, your hands hadn't stopped shaking and you hastily put the brush aside, sitting down with your back against the door. There were so many feelings inside you that all needed to be addressed, but you struggled to even detangle them.

First and foremost: You had spent months pining for Arthur, only to be rejected in a cruel way and then again wasting months in trying to get over him. Just when you thought you were getting somewhere, he comes back into your life with a request that suggests anything but care for you. So, he leaves, and appears again. Then leaves again, presumed dead or out of country and now he's here again, asking for another chance as if you even had the power to reject him. You didn't know if Arthur would be able to make you happy. In a way, you feared it might be the opposite because there was still one score...one more score. He might die, or he might stay for another score, and another, and so on.

You stifled a sob. Scenarios played out in your mind, and they all converged into two possible outcomes, ending with Arthur dead or disappeared, disappointing you yet and yet again because one can't just stop being an outlaw. The 5000 on his head won't just disappear, presumed or actually dead - it didn't matter much.

"Son of a bitch", you hissed, mad at the situation.

You just wanted to be happy and find some closure for this surge of emotions that had held you hostage for months, if not years.  

"Y/n?", Arthur's voice was so soft when he called out your name, you almost jumped in shock because you thought he had long gone hunting. But his voice came from right in front of the door.

"You okay?", he asked quietly.

"Yeah", you croaked, and it sounded anything but convincing.

"Ya sure?", he wanted you to confirm.

"I just need some time to think...", you whispered, trying hard not to sob.

"I'll stay close", you heard him state, then there were his steps leading away from the house.

For a while, you just sat on the floor. How to proceed?

By the time Arthur returned, the door to your cabin was wide open again, the sun shining inside. You had made your decision.

"I got us a rabbit", Arthur announced, "already skinned it. Figured it ain’t your kinda work."

You responded with an appreciative nod.

"It’s a real beauty”, Arthur grinned, a wisp of humour in his eyes, “or was, anyhow.  I shot it with a small arrow so I reckon the meat-“ before Arthur could put the rabbit down on the table, you had sneaked in for a hug.

"Oh", Arthur stuttered, carefully placing the rabbit down. He lifted his bloody and dirty hands in the air to make sure not to get any dirt on you. Even though you wore clothes that had seen better days and apparently had been demoted to housework, he still didn’t want to get you dirty. Despite his desire to reciprocate the hug.

"Y/n…", he chuckled apologetically, "I need to get washed up."

At that moment, you suddenly looked up to him, your faces mere inches apart. He noticed your gaze drifting between his eyes and lips, then you leaned in, placing a gentle peck on his cheek.

The blush was immediate. Your hands instinctively found their way to his face and tenderly cupped his cheeks. They were just as warm as they had been when you cut his beard.

"I'm really glad you're here", you said, a smile playing on your lips.

"Yeah, I'm-" Arthur began, but you interrupted him with a proper kiss. It was a brief one, testing the waters if Arthur would be fine with that. As you pulled back slightly to assess his reaction, he didn’t hesitate a second, closing the distance between you once more. "I really …don't wanna get ya…dirty", Arthur mumbled between kisses. He could feel the corner of your lips curving into a smile each time you interrupted him. The man struggled to keep his dirty hands in the air.

The kisses quickly became more passionate, and when your hands left his cheeks, one to rest in the hollow between his shoulder and neck, while the other one boldly explored his chest region. It occasionally shifted to grab his arm and squeezing lightly.

Arthur mumbled your name warningly, twice. Then he couldn't help but put his hand in the small of your back, pushing you closer. His bloody hands would surely leave a mark on your clothes, but neither of you cared about that, as his hands became just as active as yours, sometimes cupping your cheek, at other times allowing himself to explore your body a little.

Arthur had just enough control to not place you on the rabbit, when he lifted you up on the table. When both of you became short of breath, Arthur rested his forehead against yours. Your legs had snaked around his, caging him in.

"Haven't done that in a long time", Arthur's voice was raspy as he tried to apologize for the somewhat sloppy make-out session.

"Me neither", you giggled and placed a final kiss on his cheek, "brushed your hair for nothing", you noted, looking up to Arthur's tousled hair. Your fault.

Arthur backed away a little, as much as your legs allowed him: "Christ." He had left signific signs of blood and dirt all over you.

"Mhh…", you hummed amusedly, "Ain't my fault you can't keep your hands to yourself."

"T'way I see it, darling…", Arthur smiled and tried to brush some dirt off your cheek with his thumb, "it's precisely your fault."

Arthur had headed to a keg outside to get cleaned. You decided to get cleaned up only after butchering the rabbit, as this would get your hands dirty again anyways. As the meat sizzled in the in the pan, you decided it was time to wash up as well. While you put the finishing touches on the dish, Arthur sat at the table, leisurely smoking a cigarette and observing you. He had asked if he could help you with anything, but you had declined, insisting that he had already done his part by hunting the rabbit. It was your turn prepare it.

When you plated the meal, it was really nothing too complicated, and yet, Arthur thought, for a free meal, it was perfect. You initiated a conversation; it was more light-hearted than the one you had when you cut his hair. The weightier themes seemed to have lifted from Arthur’s heart, and both of you sought distractions.

You told Arthur more about how you passed your days, gardening, drawing, riding into town. Really most of the money you earned the honest way, cutting hair and doing the odd delivery job for the grocery store.

It was frightening how easy it was to talk to Arthur. Two or three years ago, you would have never imagined, talking so freely to him. Though he'd always been kind, there was an air of unapproachability that had since crumbled completely after the heartfelt conversation you both shared.

The conversation where Arthur poured out his frustrations and regrets concerning Hosea's and Lenny's death, had brought a sense of liberation. It dawned on him how long it had been since he spoke so openly with anyone. Arthur leaned back into his chair. In front of him was his empty plate, opposite of the table, you sat within arm’s reach, chatting about an interesting traveller that came past your cabin a few months back. Arthur listened attentively, his eyes following the movements of your fingers skilfully rolling a cigarette.

Neither of you ran out of stories to tell the other. Arthur talked about people he had met on his travels, a clumsy photographer, a man obsessed with fast horses and racing.

You only realised how long you had been talking when the light in the cabin became sparse, the sun sinking closer to the horizon.

As the visibility waned, limited to the faint glow emitted by the burning tip of the cigarette, you finally rose to your feet to illuminate the cabin with the warm light of lanterns.

"I'll get my bedroll", Arthur announced, standing up with a grunt. He hadn't allowed himself to be this idle in a long time. All he had done today was sitting still for a haircut, killing one rabbit and then indulging in a lavish meal while engaging in easy conversation. His body had finally caught up with the stress of the last few weeks and he didn't know how to feel about how much his body ached. Despite the sun barely disappearing, Arthur would have been ready for bed. Funny, he thought, admitting one’s feeling for a girl could drain his strength that much.

At his announcement, Arthur noticed that you halted and were about to open your mouth as if to suggest something. But you didn't and let him venture outside.

When he took longer than anticipated, you followed him outside, only to find him leaning against the fence, his eyes in the sky. The sky was in this beautiful transition phase, going from hues of purple to a serene shade of blue with the first stars emerging in the east. You observed Arthur’s profile for a while, he didn't protest or showed any signs of being disturbed by your presence.

He was handsome. Something about his stature made you want to lean into him. But you didn't. Instead, you stood there, finding it hard to peel your eyes off him. Your lips quivered under the urge to say what you had thought earlier. After a big breath, you tried to say as casually as you managed: "I know my bed is too small for two people...but I was thinking if I put the mattress on the floor we could-"

"Y/N", Arthur interrupted you gently. He turned to look at you. Caringly, his hand found your shoulder, "It ain't right just yet."

Lying next to each other, cuddling, hugging, maybe stealing another kiss, you craved it badly. You finally had what you had desired for so long, you wanted it all at once. But Arthur knew that it would be unwise. He thought a lot about you, hell he did. And in his mind, he'd be too embarrassed to admit it of course, you had done way more than just kissed. But he knew it'd be wrong. He didn't want to fully commit just yet, and he didn't want to get your hopes up. It was genuine, when he said that the train robbery was the last score he wanted to do with the gang, but one train robbery is enough to get killed and he wouldn't dream about giving you this kind of pain. If he held it vague, if there was no sleeping close to each other, there was also no missing this proximity...if. Always if.

"Fine", you sucked in a little air, "but you take the bed then."

The two of you headed inside, Arthur with his bedroll clamped under his arm.

He shook his head: "It's your house, I can't jus'-"

"Exactly. It's my house, I can sleep in the bed every damn day. Besides, I don't figure you had a proper bed on Guarma, did you?", you teased.

"No, but-"

"Neither do you have one in camp so please- accept it", you looked up at Arthur rather desperately.

"Fine. You don't come complainin' to me if yer back hurts tomorrow", Arthur quipped.

"Oh, I'll definitely complain", you grinned. Arthur gave you his bedroll to spread in the corner where he had slept the last time. Arthur had sat down on the bed and watched you quietly as you readied your sleeping corner. When you glanced back at him, it was evident how weary he was, his eyes barely open, sitting up only out of politeness.

"You don't have to stay awake for me", you smiled, leaning against the table and studying the exhausted man. You noticed how tired he had become during your conversation. He had at least supressed three yawns.

"I jus'...haven't seen ya for so long, I don't want to waste that time with sleeping", Arthur explained. You found it cute he thought that way.

"You're not wasting anything", 'because we'll see each other again in a week, right?' you added in your mind. "I have this book I want to finish anyways, you just rest", you assured him.

You waited until he had settled in, exchanging a couple laughs about how unstable your bedframe was, and then you did the dishes. It didn't take you long, but Arthur was asleep when you had finished. He was turned towards the wall. On the nightstand was his journal. He had put it on top of the book you were currently reading. You took the book and settled on the bedroll.

You woke up to the sound of the bed creaking and blinked at Arthur, the first rays of the sun casting a warm glow on his frame. At some point during the night, he must have woken up and shed his clothes, as he now rested in the room clad only in his unionsuit.

"'m sorry, darlin'. I didn't want to wake ya", he apologized his raspy morning voice.

"It's okay", you yawned, forcing yourself to throw off your blanket to stand up, "I'll make some coffee."

In a couple big steps, Arthur was at your side: "You sleep some more, it's my turn for breakfast." Arthur squatted next to you and tugged you in before you could protest. You forced your tired eyes to stay on his face and not venture further down, pondering what the thin material might reveal.

When Arthur shot you a content smile, seeing you were up for no protest, a wave of panic washed over you.

"You won't just leave, right?", all of a sudden, you were wide awake.

"I won't", Arthur assured you.

"'cause if you do-", you started, a yawn interrupting your threat. Arthur chuckled at how cute and innocent you looked, happy that your yawn cut off before you could destroy that innocence with another gory threat.

"I'm way too scared of what you'd do", and then, to your surprise, he kissed your forehead. You only relaxed when Arthur had stood up again and indeed started to set up coffee. You were soon off to sleep again, only woken when the sizzling of fat in the pan woke you.

Arthur had made eggs. You ate in silence. A couple of times, Arthur tried to start a conversation, but you weren’t in the mood. He’d be gone in a couple of hours and you’d be left wondering if he’d ever return. Arthur knew that this was what was plaguing you, but he didn’t find the right angle to approach you.

You both did the dishes together, you helped Arthur by saddling his horse and then he had mounted it, looking down at you.

“Ya ain’t so happy about the prospect of me returning in a week, ‘s that it?”, Arthur joked.

“No”, you answered dryly, “I ain’t so happy about you leaving for a week.”

Arthur sighed and steered his horse closer to the fence: “Climb up here, I gotta tell ya something.”

Rather unwillingly, you climbed on one of the horizontal planks that kept your fence together. Arthur offered his hand for support and as an excuse to pull you a little closer. He kissed you, gently, on your lips.

“I promised I’ll be back, didn’t I?”, Arthur mumbled. He wasn’t convinced, and neither were you when you whispered a dire “Yeah..”

You didn’t like the good-bye kiss. In fact, you wished he hadn’t done that. It hurt even more, seeing him disappear between the trees in the distance. For a while, you stood there helplessly, wondering what to do next. Minutes passed before you ventured into your cabin, distracting yourself with some cleaning before your eyes fell on Arthur’s journal. You noticed a piece of paper sticking out. Without thinking, you opened the journal and the loose paper floated to the ground. You didn’t even bother picking it up, your eyes caught the first word written on top of the page. It was your name, written in Arthur’s familiar handwriting.

“Hell no”, you kicked the paper under the bed before you could read any further. You weren’t up for some heartfelt “Good-bye, in case I die I want you to know this”-letter. Frustration and anger bubbled within you as you scrambled into your good jeans and crammed your revolver into its back pocket. With a swift motion, you picked up your hunting rifle, mounted your horse and started to follow Arthur’s track.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x--x-x-x-x-x-x-x

next chapter: here

Shoutout to @little-honeypie who basically wrote the confession scene. I wouldn't have ever finished this if it weren't for them <3

taglist: @photo1030

taglist for this series: @pinkiemme @loveheartarthur @twola @shiokitsune @missredemption @kakashiislut @thewalkingdead1463 @yyiikes @renwai @walk-in-sunshine @rdrlady @ivybeeloved @trinswhimsys @reddedmiller @chiefqueefsosa @sauvignon-velvet @mrsarthurmorgan @readingcoco @pookiesnatcher @gloomdoomraccoon

[dreaming-hibi]

I'm the kind of person who goes straight to the source to try and straighten things out, just so I can have some peace of mind.

Warning: this is about KHR.

I couldn't remember exactly what was the deal with Luce - Aria - Uni. I was pretty sure Luce was dead, we were never given any indication as to the contrary, but Aria... Aria was different.

To begin where beginnings begin, when I was watching the KHR anime and then reading the manga, I always found it mighty suspicious that the anime got so many details about the Arcobaleno right. I knew for a fact that the anime-only Arcobaleno Trials Arc aired before the Curse of the Rainbow Arc, so how could the anime have details that were yet to be revealed in the manga? That's when I discovered that this anime-only arc was personally supervised by Amano-sensei herself. Long story short: this arc confirms that Aria was still alive in the present.

But then, why is Aria gone during the Curse of the Rainbow Arc? And why does Uni look exactly as she did in the future?

Let's remember once again the ability of the Arcobaleno pacifiers: the Pacifiers exists in moments. The pacifiers exist as points in time and space, thus allowing them to move between times and spaces. Now let's also remember that Luce, Aria and Uni have this particular ability to see the future.

----This is about to get complicated so buckle up!---- Aria saw the future gifted by the Arcobaleno, but she also saw another future: the future in which the curse would be broken (I'll be back with another theory in which the characters are now living in a different timeline than the one with the future we know). Aria thus chose to give that opportunity to her daughter but, Uni would have been a child in the present and not able to participate in the coming battle. But here is the thing, what if Uni no longer existed in the present? What are you talking about, Kei?? Uni disappearing in the future has no impact on the present! But, what if it did? Uni is the Sky Arcobaleno, she gave her life to revive the other Arcobaleno. What if her decision to give her life for the other 5 also meant she would cease to exist through all timelines? Because, again, the Arcobaleno exist as a point in time and space, a moment that comes and goes as the circumstances see fit.

And here is when I come in with my source: Chapter 354! γ 「あんたの娘ユニと共に散った未来の記憶を受け取ったあの日・・・あんたはおしゃぶりを残して消えた…」

Gamma: "On the day I received the memories of the future in which I died together with your daughter, Uni... You left, leaving behind this pacifier."

γ 「その後　この時代に誕生しているはずのユニも探したが・・・未だ消息はつかめない…」

Gamma: "After that, although we searched for Yuni, who should have already been born in this period... To this moment, we haven't found a single trace of her."

Gamma claims that Aria disappeared right on the day they gained their memories from the future, leaving only the pacifier behind. Their subsequent search of Uni yielded no results, even though they were sure she was already born and why is that? Because Uni no longer existed in the present time! Then how does Uni come back, Kei? Aria, and by a miracle we are all very familiar with. Being the Sky Arcobaleno of the time, Aria gave her own life to revive Uni. But why wasn't she revived as a baby? Because Aria revived the Uni she had seen in her vision, someone who would be capable of entering the Representative Battle and break the curse. Uni is the same age as she was in the future because that's who Aria revived in the present time.

That's my rant, have a good day everyone

[cirilla-fiona-riannon]

Galileo Galilei Main Story

Translations may not always capture the exact nuances or tone of the original text. Expect grammatical errors and inaccuracies.

Galileo: "Talk?"

His eyebrows twitched as I showed him the history books and biographies I had borrowed from the library.

Mitsuki: "I looked into your past while I waited for you today."

Galileo: "........."

Galileo: "I see. Did you find any useful information?"

Mitsuki: "You mentioned before a person who pursued the truth and was punished."

Mitsuki: "That was you, wasn't it?"

He didn't answer, and I continued.

Mitsuki: "You advocated heliocentrism, were put on trial for heresy, and sentenced to life imprisonment."

Mitsuki: "I don't know why it's recorded that you died afterward, but I'm pretty sure you lived with the bitterness of being denied the truth."

Mitsuki: "There's just one thing I don't understand, though."

Galileo: ".........."

Mitsuki: "The day I came to your place and mentioned, 'And yet it moves,' you got angry."

Mitsuki: "You told me not to talk about this man, as if you were angry with yourself."

A shadow fell over his expression, and the atmosphere around us turned cold.

Mitsuki: "It's as if you're denying yourself."

Galileo: "Enough. Stop talking nonsense."

Mitsuki: "Why do you speak as if you're denying your past self?"

Galileo: "I told you to shut up."

The anger in his voice made me tremble slightly, but...

(I can't back down.)

If I back down now, I won't be able to reach him.

Mitsuki: "Please tell me! I want to know. You should have stood by the truth you saw with your own eyes."

Galileo: "Stop."

Mitsuki: "For you, the truth should still be important, so why are you denying your past self!?"

Galileo: "I said stop!!"

Mitsuki: "----!"

In an instant, his strong tone made my body jump. He glanced away and said this.

Galileo: "Stood by the truth? I wasn't wrong at all."

(Galileo?)

Galileo: "But by bringing the truth to light, I gained nothing." 

Galileo: "On the contrary, because of it, I lost everything."

Galileo: "Everything... I..."

His lips trembled, and his words spilled like water overflowing from a cracked glass.

As he collapsed to his knees, it seemed like he no longer saw me.

Galileo: "If I hadn't advocated for the heliocentric theory, none of that would’ve happened."

(What is he talking about?)

Galileo: "Why even them? They hadn't committed any crime."

Galileo: "Why did everyone have to be killed by those humans!?"

(........)

He gasped for breath, clutching at his chest.

Galileo: “It’s all me. It’s all my fault.”

Mitsuki: “Galileo.”

Galileo: “I killed them. I killed them all!”

Galileo: “I was the only one condemned as a heretic and rejected by the world!”

Mitsuki: “Galileo!!”

Before I realized it, I was holding him tight.

Mitsuki: “You’re not wrong. You’re not wrong at all.”

Mitsuki: “So please, don’t hurt yourself anymore.”

I tightened my grip, trying to anchor his heart.

Galileo: “I’m not wrong?”

Mitsuki: “No. You’re not wrong.”

I repeated the same words, peering into Galileo’s face.

His amethyst eyes, once as deep as the ocean, now seemed hollow, like when he ate those Blanc flowers.

(He still has a past that I don't know about.)

A heavy past, one that involved someone's life.

(What I say may only be a temporary comfort, but I want to convey my message properly.)

(The image of him that I've witnessed must also be part of the truth.)

Mitsuki: "Even at this moment, the earth is turning. That's the truth."

Mitsuki: "The truth you've discovered will be passed down to many people."

Galileo: "........"

Mitsuki: "Your belief in seeking the truth, no matter what happened in the past, was never wrong."

Mitsuki: "If you continue to deny your past self, then I will continue to affirm it, no matter how many times."

Galileo: "........."

After conveying all the feelings in my heart, I embraced the person in front of me again, and he accepted it without saying a word.

A short time later, I left the university and walked alone down the main street.

After that, Galileo left the room without saying a word.

(I've seen him angry before, but I've never seen him blame himself like that.)

The vivid memory of his intense scream resurfaced in my mind.

(He said it was because of him that they were killed.)

(Maybe someone died as a result of the trial?)

Although Napoleon and Sebastian didn't mention anything like that, there might have been something not recorded in history or books.

(In any case, I went too far.)

(I dug into his old wounds and hurt him deeply.)

As the weight of guilt bore down on me, I suddenly bumped into something.

???: "Ah."

Lowering my gaze, I saw a young girl with chestnut-colored hair, and I quickly crouched down to help her.

Mitsuki: "I'm sorry. I was lost in thought and didn't notice you. Are you hurt?"

Girl: "I'm okay. I'm sorry for bumping into you."

Although the girl said so, her feet wobbled.

(Somehow, she seems worn out.)

Judging from her dirty clothes, it seemed that she was poor.

Mitsuki: "Are you alone? Do you have your father or mother nearby?"

Girl: "My brother... haa..."

The girl struggled to breathe and clutched her throat.

Mitsuki: "Are you okay? If you're in pain, I can call a doctor."

Girl: "No. That's not it."

Girl: "I'm just really thirsty."

The girl tightly grasped my hand and clung to it.

???: "Mireia!!"

Suddenly, someone shouted, and the girl suddenly released my hand.

Curly-haired boy: "Mireia, it's dangerous to be alone."

Curly-haired boy: "Are you okay, miss?"

Mitsuki: "You!"

The curly-haired boy who came running to us was the same boy with golden curls whom I had met twice before.

Mitsuki: "Is this girl your sister, by any chance?"

Miguel: "Yeah. I'm Miguel, and she's Mireia."

Mitsuki: "I see. I'm Mitsuki. Mireia, I'm glad your brother came for you."

Miguel: "Mireia, are you okay?"

Mireia: "Yeah."

Miguel: "Miss, did Mireia cause you any trouble? Did she hurt you or..."

(Hurt me?)

I tilted my head, feeling his concern for his sister didn't quite match his words.

Mitsuki: "She didn't cause any trouble at all. More importantly, Mireia seems to be in pain."

(Oh, right.)

I asked Miguel and Mireia to wait for a moment, then headed to a nearby bakery.

Then, I gave them the bread and milk that I bought.

Mitsuki: "You said you were thirsty, right? Are you also hungry?"

Mitsuki: "This is the least I can do, but please take it."

The two of them exchanged glances and smiled sadly when they saw the bread and milk.

Miguel: "You're very kind, big sis."

Mitsuki: "Eh?"

Miguel: "You tried to help me before, right?"

Miguel: "We've never had someone care about us like this since Mireia and I have been together."

(Have they been living a tough life?)

I didn't exactly know what happened, but my heart ached just thinking about it.

Miguel: "Thank you for being so kind."

(Kind, huh?)

(I've only done trivial things, and I've just hurt Galileo, so I don't deserve to be told that.)

Still, being thanked for reaching out made me feel a bit better.

Mitsuki: "No, thank you. I've been feeling down since earlier."

(Oh, by the way...)

When I asked where they lived, it turned out the siblings were indeed staying in the slums.

Mitsuki: "I've heard there have been dangerous incidents lately, so be careful, okay?"

Miguel: "You mean those rumors about vampires?"

(Miguel knows about it too.)

Mitsuki: "Yes. I don't think vampires are all scary, though."

Mireia: "I think so too. Vampires aren't scary at all!"

Miguel: "Mireia..."

Mitsuki: "Hehe, it's nice to hear that you're not scared of vampires, Mireia."

I smiled at them both as they walked away, holding hands.

(Thank you, Miguel.)

I didn't know how to face Galileo, but seeing you and Mireia made me feel a little better.

(I should go back now.)

(He’ll probably reject me, but I want to apologize to Galileo.)

As Mitsuki walked away quickly into the dusk, the siblings arrived in a deserted alleyway.

Mireia took a sip of milk and nibbled on the bread, but...

Mireia: “Big brother, it’s still no good. This isn’t enough at all.”

Miguel: “Hang in there a little longer, Mireia. I’ll definitely figure something out.”

Miguel: “I promise I won’t let you go hungry.”

Holding each other’s thin hands, the brother and sister disappeared into the dimly lit street.

Previous Part ╎ Masterlist ╎ Premium

[lelanida]

Why was Alef so fixated on getting rid of the other gods\their cults? If I understand the Pantheon lore correctly. Did Megabird know the other gods other than Angst?

That's a good question, actually.

Of course, the Megabird knew about other gods. They literally lived in her house. But I can't say that she was very close to them. The Pantheon feared her as a powerful cosmic entity that could bring you into non-existence with a flick of a wing. And Megan herself treated the gods like funny little animals (which most of them are lol). Translating the relationship of the Megabird and the pantheon into our language, it's like someone drew your oc, not to say that with much of talent, but it's still feels nice, isn't it? And Angst didn't care about the pantheon at all. It wasn't his area of influence.

The gods in my au are literally the same elders, only they don't have a physical body. They are in no way superior in strength to the elders and in some respects even inferior. They are also burdened with ordinary emotions and don't always do good things. In the situation of the Hidden Forest, the fact that Dryad died does not mean that she is good. Dryad was much older and more experienced than Teth, and in theory, it was she who should have taken the first step towards applying the two sides. Perhaps, after all, getting into non-existence is too strong a punishment for her, but I can not say that she suffered undeservedly. Her face was just begging to be punched. I hope she learns a good lesson from this if she can come back.

Alef is probably one of the most complex characters I've ever written. He is a being of light, the son and messenger of the Megabird, carrying her will. He was made for this purpose. That's what WE'RE ALL made for, if we're honest. In the beginning of his existence, Alef performed his function properly. After the overthrow of his first gods, Alef and Daleph set off on a grand journey through all the kingdoms in order to reunite the elders. But at some point, the family reunion campaign turned into a real crusade for the glory of the Megabird. By the way, Megabird herself was not informed about this. Let's face it, Alef is a bit of a narcissist and loves attention to himself. First, victory in the trials, then a warm welcome in the Daylight Prairie (which was just the main nest of worship for the goddess of light), triumph over the Dryad in the forest, all this fueled the ego of the young prince, and at some point he began to "do justice to the pantheon" for himself. Only he would never admit it, of course.

Why didn't the Megabird stop him? Even better question. I used to say a long time ago that Alef is the best creation of a Megabird, her pride. Contrary to popular opinion, I do not believe that 'Bird manipulated the Alef in any way. He wasn't her puppet at all. The bird does not interfere in the lives of her children just SO much that I will soon start composing songs about it. I apologize in advance if my actions lead to the degradation of the Megabird image in the fandom.

Megabird was fascinated by literally any Alef's act and never hindered his rivalry with the pantheon. And then, as we know, it became pointless to try to reason with the king. We all know this story. Alef decided to get rid of the old gods in order to prove first of all to himself that he could do it. Ognivo, for example, did nothing wrong but was overthrown anyway. Just by inertia from others. Alef, the second most powerful being of light after Megabird, does not tolerate disobedience to his address. So when the prince set foot in the Valley for the first time, the days of the deity were already numbered.

This situation looks pretty clear in my head, but when I sit down to describe it, my brain turns to jelly. I hope this answer will satisfy you!

[gojoho]

MERCY

• pairing; toji fushiguro x reader [ nsfw ]

• premise; it’s the same dance with him, a shameless game of cat and mouse in which he always win but maybe losing is equally as rewarding. 

• words; 2078

• note & warning; i’m back with some toji content, he’s just been in my mind a little to long for me not the write about him. some warnings for this one is public, unprotected ( wrap it and then tap it folks ) sex, with the usual grammatical errors—I swear I try to proof read ya’ll but they just manage to find a way to stay in there. i am slowly but surely getting my mojo back.

Old habits die hard; it's easier to hate each other that way. Labeling whatever that was manifesting between the two of you as that, a bad habit. A dirty secret only an onyx sky could appreciate enough to hide. Perhaps that's what kept it alive and kicking, midnight turmoil, where even the most terrible of bad ideas are more seductive.

Though it's debatable if the alcohol left you unhinged, mindless, and bold. What other excuse did you have for allowing the bastard to enter your domain? There was no shame from the thinking without a conscience, but with the pounding music and pulsing lights, you weren't sure there was even space to think. He held a brazen stare all evening, keen to every move you made.

A man's attention was never anything to sneeze at, but when it was a straggler like Toji Fushiguro, it was intoxicating. And more than the liquor, everything seemed to be within reach under his spotlight. He held his distance, clung to the darkness, yet with such an adamant gaze he could have been right there beside you. At least, that's how you imagined it but the game wasn't that easy.

  He'd stay in his dark corner, not quite able to step closer until you were ready. Until the heat underneath your skin became unbearable, leaving you an aching mess. That made it easier to devour you. Whether it meant burying his head between your thighs or hooking his arms around your waist and keeping you open. Or bottomed out inside you, mouth feasting on your chest.

The club was full, Friday night packed but it would work in your favor. You knew none of the songs, not that it mattered, it was mere fuel to your movements. A nice accessory to the sway of your hips, to suggestive temptation behind them.

It wasn't worth looking in his direction; he was always watching. At that thought alone, your clothes become a nuisance. A means to an end, that would start with him. Toji was a patient man but knew that patience didn't extend to everyone, you in particular. He was a tease, and as your dress inclined it almost felt as if he'd been the one to hike it up.

A sensation too similar to his hands moving over your bare thighs, ready to pry them open. His smug chuckle was right there feeding your imagination, and as one song faded into the next, there wasn't a spot on your body that hadn't been kissed in theory. With one thought, you were drooling over a man less than ten feet away, fantasizing about all the ways he could take you. It was more of a headache than it seems, and as the pace of the songs picks up, the conscience returns. Whilst you make your way back to the bar. You'd need a little more liquid luck to get through the rest of the night.

  “That was quite a show.”

  “Didn’t know I had an audience.” What else could you have done but tell a bald-faced lie? Telling him the truth didn't do anyone any good. How you envision him fucking you in the middle of the dance floor.

“Could’ve fooled me." The bar was located farther away from the DJ and next to the restrooms. The quieter end of the venue, but you're sure you'd have heard his smirk regardless.

After all this time, it's only then that you turn to him.“What are you doing here Fushiguro?”

Big mistake, ten feet away he looked the same as when you last saw him, but up close and personal, some details that had escaped memory came back to haunt you.

“Would you believe me if I told you, I’m here to see you?”

Yeah right, “Not in the slightest.”

“It’s true for the most part, had a job in the area and thought I’d pop in do some sightseeing." He shifted his weight back to the counter, his elbows well-rested on either side.

“Well you came and you saw.”

“On the contrary,” he said. The double meaning has turned your cheeks crimson, and you're thankful for the red lights underneath the counter. “Cute dress.”

Images from moments before gloss over your eyes, heating every part of your body. They burned a path down your chest before settling below your hips. “Seriously Fushiguro what do you want? You made it pretty clear we both want different things the last time you popped in.”

“Things are different.” Sincere wasn't the word you or anyone else would use to describe the guy, but his demeanor defied all expectations. He seemed to be a completely different person.

  “Yeah, they are,” you mumbled, tossing back a shot you managed to order before his interruption.

  “Look," he started and turned to face you. Face inches from yours, his scent enveloping both of you. "I tried the settling down thing and it doesn’t work with my kind of lifestyle.”

It wasn't the words you wanted to hear, but you probably wouldn't have had them anyway. Wishful thinking, “Then that’s clears things up doesn’t it?” Toji Fushiguro didn’t do apologies, much like he didn’t do commitment, and even as he called after you, that would never change. Something you wish your body would recognize, no matter how much it longed for him.

  The corridor to the restrooms was too quiet for him being that close to you...too intimate. In the quick second you had turned you back to him, ready to sober up and head home, he’d already been behind you. Pushing you up against the wall in the far corner, his arms barricading you in.

  “You’re quite stubborn, you know that.” His voice was low, quiet all to maintain the secrecy veiled in the darkness.

  “Thanks, I’ll be sure to add it to my resume.” You witted, going to duck around him but he was quick and with a step forward his hips pushed yours in back place.

  “Will you just listen,” he pleaded. Not that you had much of a choice, but he took your silence as obedience. “I won’t make excuses, I’m a shitty guy but it’s gotten me this far. You won’t get the white picket fence with me. That’s not who I am.”

It was true, he was a shitty person. One minute here and the next gone with the wind. All with impeccable timing, usually around when he’d finish fucking you senseless. Truthfully it wasn’t something too much of a problem, it was better if he had his life and you with your own. Though you supposed between the kisses, and that final thrust that brought you both over the edge left some vulnerability.

  “If I’m stubborn, then you’re quite dense. I never asked for that Toji. I was fine with the wild sex but was a little conversation too much to ask? You’ve got baggage, newsflash so do I, but you’d think we’d handle it like two grown adults. You’ve always been on the move, please, slow down every once in a while.”

The silence is deafening, louder than the upbeat track in the distance. You were irritated, angry, and, to make it worse, aroused. What else did he expect from you but a meltdown? As he moved his head to your back, he lowered his arms, allowing them to ghost your waist. “I'm sorry,” he said softly, kissing it.

In retrospect, you should have jumped for joy, climbed to the top of the bar, and screamed at the top of your lungs like a lunatic, but you didn't. You didn't want to abandon his embrace at that moment; he had really changed.

The kiss in trial is slow and tender, responsive to not only the worries but any emotion in between. Everything you didn't think he was capable of and all rage bleeds into desire. Each of you starved and desperate to find a fill.

The stiffness of his pants condemned his hold, which found its power over your hips. You want to propose that he return the excitement to your place or whatever hotel he was staying in, but he broke the kiss to turn you around. His patience had reached its maximum for the night.

“Wait for a second,” you mumbled out. A slight moan slipped through feeling his erection firm and strong against your rear. The ends of your dress taunted by his fingertips liked how you pictured them too. “Sorry princess, no can do.”

  It’s almost impressive how quickly he lifts your dress and slipping a finger past your thong. But should anyone know your body in grave detail it was him. There’s a ceremonial cheer from the crowd as the DJ lets the beat drop, Toji’s opportune moment of intrusion. Your own cry, not one in interest to the music but the long slender finger to part your folds.

“I’ve waited all night to get my hands on you,” he mumbled out, lips pressed to the back of your neck.

  “Toji—”

“I’ll be quick, just the way you like it.”

  It’s in your best interest to stop him there, keeping private matters just that, you should stop him...should.

  “Fuck…quickly.” you cursed out in compliance. There’s a smirk on his face, you know it. Sure he’s different, but some things never change.

  In the second he pulled his finger away, you whimper half expecting for it to slip back in, maybe even with a partner but a casual Friday night turns into Christmas.

  “I'll take my time with you later, right now—” he started face pressed into the back of your shoulder. “I just need to be inside you.”

  First was the tip of his cock, a feeble tickle before the rest of his inches followed. Stretching you full, slipping deep into your heat. Coaxing the ache that was for him, letting the world see just how easily your body welcomed his own. Yet, it was hard to care about the rest of the world when your own revolved around everything below your hips.

  He gripped them tightly, anchoring you there at the hilt with a slow sure thrust before looping a hand to your front. Twisting the nerves in time with his sudden thrust. Quick like he said, but still slow enough to feel him move inside you. In and out, then over again. The excitement of having him there indulging with your body, and the anxiety of getting caught clashed. Making you even more aware of your walls around him, but in his muffled moans there are words of encouragement. Sweet nothings that make your arousal fierce, sexy, and less wrong.

  “Don't stop, ” you say a little too loud for doing something taboo but you don't care, “Don't fucking stop.”

  The million and one fantasy that flooded your mind on the dancefloor spirals, winding with the moment and coiled in an untamed void. Ready to snap at those trying to control it. And there, shrouded in the thin veil of privacy Toji picks up his pace, teasing it with each stroke until finally, it shudders through. Coming in waves, meeting your peek every time he pushed forward. Bolting down your legs the more sloppy and anxious his hips became.

  “Fuck, ” he grunts hands shooting to your chest. Pulling you closer to him, eating up your moans with his.

  Almost feral with the way he continued despite his cock’s twitches, he wasn't nearly satisfied but that was a mess neither of you was capable of cleaning up at the moment. Regrettably, you push back on his rhythm stopping it completely. Snapping him from the haze.

“We should go, ” you whisper out on his lips. Which he can only grunt back in response to, hesitant to slip from your warmth.

His hands are glued to your body, unable to null all contact as you tugged your dress back down or as he tucks himself back into his pants. You'd ask whether it was back to your place or his but the languid look on his face as the two of you shamelessly stepped into the light made it fruitful. It didn't matter where the two of you went, he'd have you crying for mercy.

[early2000smovieimagines]

Meeting and Dating Kahmunrah

(My gif)(Requested by @arianatheangelworld​ )

(I changed the movie plot a bit to fit the meeting portion of this but I doubt that that will upset you. And the meeting story is a bit long but that’s because there’s dialogue in it, sorry!)

- You were working at the Museum of natural history as an archivist when your old friend Larry came along and convinced you to accompany him to Washington.

- Though it took a bit of convincing, you ended up agreeing and soon found yourself standing next to the old night guard as Kahmunrah and his guards awakened.

- Contrary to your companion, you at least pretended to be intrigued by the Ancient Egyptians awakening …which drew his attention to you. He continued to glance over at you as he spoke, up until Larry stole his attention away with his defiant behavior and Rubik’s cube scheme.

- Speaking of the Rubik’s cube, it didn’t necessarily go as …perfectly as Larry had initially hoped. When the octopus went about snatching up and swiping people away, you were left in its grasp as Larry managed to escape with the tablet.

- So, you were taken prisoner by the bloodthirsty Egyptian …though he wasn’t exactly ...good at it.

- Initially, he tries to act like the typical seductive yet evil villain but his voice, paired with him messing up his words and the stumble that occurred as he tried to attractively lean on something near you, made his attempts quite unsuccessful.

- As you defy him more and more, he pulls the whole “you are so lucky that I don’t kill you” act; though he isn’t particularly convincing. You know very well that he was once a ruthless killer, and that he could still very well be one, but it’s obvious that he can’t bring himself to even hurt you, let alone kill you.

- To test your theory, you attempt to provoke him, and what does he do? Gives you more threats, more warnings, more scoffs. It’s honestly somewhat ...cute; watching him act all tough. Endearing in a way.

- That being said: you aren’t completely cruel, so you give it up and let him believe he’s won. Once you stop that, it only takes a few minutes for you to grow bored; you are just sitting there tied up, so you let out a quiet huff and turn to him.

“You know …I know a lot about your brother; it’s kind of my job, but I don’t think he has nearly as interesting of a story as you must have. I mean, sure he was pharaoh for a few years but it was so short lived. And getting everything he wanted …what's so interesting about that?” You apologized to Ahkmenrah in your head as you spoke.

“I mean there’s no trials or tribulations, no drama, no nothing. Just perfection in the most shallow degree.... I guess what I’m trying to say is that I’d like to hear more about you.” You prompted and he eyed you somewhat suspiciously.

“You would?” He asked a bit guarded and you nodded. “About what exactly?”

“Ohh about anything,” you replied. “You must have been quite the fighter. You look like you were.”

- There it is. He sent you a pleased, prideful smile as he launched into tales of his combat achievements. After he was finished with that, he moved from subject to subject eagerly. It was then that it dawned on you that you were probably the first person to genuinely show interest in him and you found yourself feeling somewhat sympathetic.

“It’s a shame we’re in this situation. I would have liked to get to know you more.” You’d said somewhat offhandedly as he finished telling one of his stories.

- He froze for a moment, his mouth opening and closing a few times before he managed an attempt at speaking. “Well I …I mean. Well who says we couldn’t? I’ll be ruler of the world after all.” He went off on a bit of a tangent related to said idea before he looked over at you. "Wouldn’t you say?”

- Before you could respond, in came Jedidiah and soon enough Larry arrived too, instigating the whole hour glass situation and leaving you at a bit of a crossroads as to how you truly felt about the bloodthirsty Kahmunrah.

“The world isn’t as great as you think it is,” you blurted out as you waited for Larry to find the code to the tablet. “Really, I mean sure it can be pretty and power is alluring but …it’s also polluted and it’s violent and there’s the whole heat death of the universe or the nuclear warfare thing.”

“It’s not like the world you lived in. I mean it’s home for me but, with all due respect, I don’t think you really know what you’re asking for. Plus, you’re gonna be frozen again in a few hours and then you’ll be transported to my museum in a few weeks.” Shit. Shit. You probably weren’t supposed to mention that or at least shouldn’t have. Larry didn’t even know, hardly anyone really knew about the renovations.

“What did you say?”

“What?”

“What did you say just then.”

“About the heat death of the universe?! Yeah there’s this whole, we’re-” He interrupted you.

“No, not that! You said I was being transported to your museum!” He exclaimed and you sighed.

- With no other choice, you began to explain everything that you knew. He went silent for a moment, sitting in his “throne” and thinking about what you’d said.

“Would you like me to be there... at your museum?” He asked finally, attempting to appear nonchalant.

“...yes. I think I’d like that very much.” You answered and he tried his best to hide his pleasure in your reply.

- Before you knew it, he’d called his men to retrieve Larry, and soon enough, he was explaining to the man that it had “come to his attention” that they’d be seeing a lot more of each other in the near future and that he had “changed his mind about things”. Larry eyed him; and you, suspiciously before accepting his words, standing there awkwardly as the Egyptian smiled and clasped his hands pleasantly.

- So yeah, soon enough Kahmunrah was at your museum and since he’d; you know, tried to take over the world and apparently may or may not have killed his younger brother, he wasn’t too popular. And though you’d initially played up your intrigue for the man, you couldn’t deny that you did; in fact, like him and found him particularly attractive.

- Due to your interest in and acceptance of him, he spent most of his waking hours with you.

- It isn’t long before the two of you get together, he’s quite fond of you and is used to taking; or at least getting, what he wants at the exact moment he wants it. So, he tries his hand at a bit of flirting before finally making his first move.

- You’re in your office with him when it happens. He looks over at you and just blurts out that he’d like for you to be his queen, effectively stopping your hand as you were writing.

- Obviously, you were a bit taken aback so you looked up at him with wide eyes, watching as he tried his best to hide his nervousness; though the glancing away from you and clearing of his throat gave it away.

- You replied that you’d “like that”, causing him to look over at you with a smile. Before you knew it, he’d leaned forward, taking your face in his hands and pressing a soft, chaste kiss on your lips.

“Wonderful!”

- And thus, you officially made the bloodthirsty Pharaoh fall in love with you.

- I’m convinced that Kahmunrah desperately wanted  to find a wife in his day, thinking that it would give him everything that his parents never did: love, affection, favoritism, etc. So, now that he has you, he yearns for your touch and attention more than anything else in the world. 

- He’s constantly trying to hold and keep his hands on you. He lives to be affectionate with you and show everyone that you’re his. 

- He likes to keep his hand on the small of your back, holding you at his side and leading you as you walk. 

- Hugs from behind and/or his hands on your upper arms, pulling you back to press against his chest.  

- Whenever you’re with him, he wants to have your full attention and dedicates himself to obtaining it when he doesn't. He likes when you come to see him on your own accord, rather than him calling for or visiting you himself. 

- Top of the head and temple kisses.

- Somewhat rough, passionate kisses. He tries to convey all the emotion that he has inside of him into said kiss and you can most certainly feel it whenever he does. 

- Domineering kisses. He likes holding the back of your head or pulling you into his body abruptly, his lips searing against your own. 

- Soft pecks and kisses when he’s in a softer, happier mood, or when he’s dejected and you’re trying to cheer him up. 

- Lot’s of pet names; they show everyone in your general vicinity just how much he cares for you. He’ll call you things like “my queen”, “my jewel”, darling, honey, etc. Larry wasn’t sure how to respond when he first heard one. 

- He likes when you cuddle into him, usually wrapping your arms around his middle and nuzzling into his chest while he wraps his arms around you. That being said: he secretly likes being the one to cuddle into you. 

- Bridal carrying. 

- Sitting on his lap or standing by his side, holding his hand as he gazes up at you lovingly while the two of you speak. 

- He’s definitely attempted to seduce you in that smoldering “striking a pose in front of a roaring fire” type of way but all it managed to do was make you laugh before you tried to assure him that “No, no, you are sexy. It’s just cliché. Please Kah, I’m sorry, really”. 

- He enjoys telling you stories though you try to steer away from his family life and focus on superstition or his more happier memories; knowing that you’ll just send him into a mood if his brother comes up in conversation. 

- Him trying to impress you, whether it be with tales of his achievements or his efforts to “be good”. He lives off of your praise and craves it like nothing else; particularly because he didn’t receive much of it in his life. 

- Not many people give him the time of day or attempt to be nice and; at least, pretend to be somewhat amused/amazed by him; Larry in particular, so he appreciates that you do; even if he knows you’re at least somewhat faking it. 

- Speaking of him trying to impress you: there was this one time; possibly before you even started dating, that he just so happened to notice you looking at his arms and a lightbulb went off in his head as he realize that oh, that’s something that I can get her with.  

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Like what?”

“ You’re staring at my arms. Why,” he gasps and grins. “You like them!”

“ What are you talking about?” You reply a bit nervously.

“Youuu’re attracted to them!” He accuses confidently and you scoff; though a moment later you’re glancing back as he crosses them in front of his chest. “You are! Look, you’re looking again!” 

- He wants to spoil you so badly. He may just find a way to do so....

- Occasionally, he tries to be harsh with you but he just can’t follow through. You’re like the only person who’s nice to him so he wants to see you happy; even if he’s sort of mean at first. He always ends up doing what you asked in the end, usually pretending like he doesn’t know what you’re talking about while enjoying the kiss on the forehead that you give him for it. 

- He thinks you’re adorable and he expresses it quite a lot. He may or may not baby you every now and again for this exact reason. 

- Watching him fondly as he fiddles with things and acts like a goof. 

- If you haven’t noticed it yet, he’s quite dorky and cute when it really comes down to it. It’s fun to sit and watch him gush about something or just be himself. 

- Sneaking him out of the museum for a little while. He convinced you to go to the opera with him at least once. 

- He thinks your apartment is adorable; a bit unintentionally condescending in retrospect but he did live in palace, and he likes to snoop around your stuff.  

- He likes your gifts to him. In comparison to his upbringing, they’re quite quaint but the intention behind them makes him far happier to receive said gifts rather than a box of diamonds. 

- Always having his guards at hand no matter where the two of you go. 

- Letting him rant about his brother. You think Ahkmenrah is a darling but you hold your tongue and seek to understand where he’s coming from. 

- Trying to bridge the gap between the two siblings. According to an earlier version of the script, Kahmunrah was the one who killed his brother, though regardless of this, there is going to be some tension between them that must be resolved. 

- Telling him about the new world, he’s both greatly knowledgeable yet clueless at the same time. 

- Letting him talk to you about all that he’d hoped to achieve: the power he’d wanted, the throne, the statues, …you after the minute he saw you. 

- Getting a rather exaggerated introduction to people. He makes you sound far more important than you really are. 

- Getting looked at for backup in situations like the “tunic incident”. 

- Calming him down when someone or something angers him.

- He wants what he wants at the exact moment he wants it so he’s arguably a bit impatient; even with you at times. 

- Letting him “whine” to you and comforting him when things don’t go as planned.

- Assuring him that he is, in fact, big and scary and powerful. 

- He’s a little miffed that he can’t speak to your parents when they call. He wants to introduce himself, make a good first impression and make it known that you’d found yourself a wonderful and impressive future husband! They can get used to the fact that he’s a dead Pharaoh, can’t they?

- He’s an incredibly jealous individual though I’m sure you were able to gather that for yourself. He isn’t even subtle about it, immediately calling you away from the person or scaring them off himself. He’ll at least attempt to deny that it was because he was jealous but you’re both fully aware that that isn’t true.

- You’re his “precious jewel” and he’s going to do all that he can to ensure your safety. He’ll threaten death on all who upset you and kill all who hurt you. He isn’t risking losing you, he just isn’t.

- The two of you bicker more than you genuinely fight, sending each other little glares before one of you finally concedes. Other times, he’ll raise his voice and make threats though he isn’t frightening and fails miserably at being harsh with you. 

- He thinks you’re cute when you’re angry most of the time, which probably causes you to give him the silent treatment. He’ll apologize quickly if you’re really upset with him or fondly yet reluctantly on occasion; if you look particularly adorable with your brows all furrowed. 

- He tells you that he loves you quite often; especially if you’re alone. Its very important to him that you know he does, considering how often he felt unloved as a child. 

- Quite obviously, your future is a bit difficult to anticipate but he isn’t going to let you go without a fight. 

[hedgiwithapen]

0 missed calls

for @mosylufanfic and Ciscoramonlovebot (update:5:18, missing opening added in) Cisco didn’t call.  Caitlin checked her phone absently, over and over, until Frost told her she was acting like a middleschooler waiting for her crush to  text back. She felt herself flushing and flipped her phone over, putting a stack of papers over it for good measure.  A minute later she checked it again. “Caity.” “I just, he  moved,  that’s--you call to let everyone know you arrived safe,” Caitlin defended. “Did he call while he was on the road trip? Or in Antarctica?” Caitlin chewed her lip. “ Not much but--- but service was bad, and he was really busy…” Frost sighed. ~ Cisco didn’t call.  Caitlin checked her email, her spam folder, answered every single telemarketer and robo-call just in case. “Caitlin?” Iris asked. “Everything ok?” “Uh, no, yeah, I mean…” She trailed off. “Oh, I have the results. On that test, for your article. It looks like--” she  scrambled for the printouts. “ whoever’s doing this isn’t a metahuman. They must be using tech, to make it seem like--” “Thanks,” Iris took the papers, glancing at them. “But you know that’s not what I meant. Contrary to what some people think, our lives don’t have to be just work.” Caitlin gave an elegant shrug. “I just… it’s been a week since he left and that’s… it’s just weird.” “Did you call?” “Him?” Caitlin asked. “I… he didn’t answer. I didn’t want to keep leaving messages. It was … it was late…” “I meant, did you call all the times you left,” Iris said gently. Caitlin shrank inwardly. “No,” she admitted. “Just give him time.”

~ Cisco didn’t call. Caitlin stared at the article, frowning as she read the comments. It was the usual internet noise: an argument over a tiny detail blown out of proportion , a metaphobe stirring up trouble,  fans of Iris praising the writing,  and of the Flash cheering the effort. “This isn’t right,” she said softly, scanning usernames and icons. “Uh, what?” Barry asked, sprawled on the couch with the remains of a 3 foot sandwich. “Iris did her fact checking, and she was there for most of it. What do you think she got wrong?” “Not that,” Caitlin shook her head, turning the tablet so Barry could see. “Caitlin. You’ve gotta learn not to read the comments.” “No, this,” She gave an angry sigh, flicking a finger to scroll back to the headline. “Flash defeats E-vile in Tech Team-up.” Barry frowned.  “Uh. That… is what you were calling him, right?” Caitlin stood, pacing. “ something’s wrong, see for yourself.” Barry took the tablet and speed-read through the comments. “I… ok, I must still have that concussion. What is it?  No one’s being mean about the name….” “I know! That’s the problem! It’s a terrible name, and cisco hasn’t so much as left a comment about it! Something isn’t right.” Barry scuffed a shoe along the floor. “Caitlin, he made his choice.  He doesn’t have to be part of this mess--and I can’t blame him… I miss him too, but-” “No! No buts! He’d never let me live this down.  I want you to take me to his new  apartment, now.” “If he wanted to see us, he wouldn’t have left,” Barry said, stopping her before she could interrupt. “ he asked for space. Let’s just… give it to him. Ok?” “Ok,” Caitlin said, but her heart wasn’t in it. ~ Cisco didn’t call, and Caitlin was sick of it. On the one occasion Barry had visited ARGUS to see if Ramsey was in any state to have a trial, he hadn’t even seen Cisco. If the engineer was avoiding them, Caitlin decided, he’d have to tell that to her face. She’d left, but she’d always said she was leaving for good, she hadn’t made it seem like--like-- well. She made up her mind. Getting to ARGUS on her own was less than convenient, but not impossible. She told the team she was off duty for a weekend, entrusting Allegra with the massive first aid kit, and took off. They were surprised to see her. “Is Cisc-- is Agent Ramon available?” she asked the agent at the security desk, signing her in. It felt foreign, being so formal. “No.” The agent did not elaborate, exchanging a glance with the Agent who’d met her at the door.  “What’s the nature of this visit?” “Oh, I’m here to check on Ramsey. Er, Dr. Rosso.” “Oh, Bloodwork. We could have sent over the latest files, saved you a trip. Flash drop you off, Dr. Snow?” “Uh, No,” she said. “I’d like to see Dr. Rosso.” “There’s no change since the last check in, you know.” “I know.” She’d read the scant report. “I just need to double check a, a new theory.” “Hmm. I hope you’ll let us in on that,” the agent sighed. “Fine. Visitor pass.” He handed the laminated card over it, and the first man nodded. “Well, follow me, and do not wander.” Caitlin nodded, feeling like a chastised kindergartener. She sent a quick text: I’m here, when’s your lunch break? I need to see you. There wasn’t even a ‘read’ indication.  ~ Ramsey had not changed. There was no light in his eyes as he smiled at her, dripping darkness in his containment cell, and asked how her friends had fared. She’d  tried to ignore the parts of her old friend she could almost still see, going through her mental checklist. The files had been accurate. His condition was… stable, for now. Leaving containment would speed up the progression, until he was… well, until Ramsey wasn’t anymore.  The thought hurt. “I’ve seen enough,” she told her ARGUS escort, blinking back tears. How was this her life? So many people gone, her heart full of open graves.  She didn’t wait for the agent to lead the way back through the doors into the main hallway, trying to get the sight of Ramsey out of her mind. “Wait, Dr. Snow,” the agent called out, and she froze in the doorway. She’d pushed open one of two doors, forgetting the one that led to the exit. She stepped back, releasing the door and  letting it swing shut in her face again. “Sorry,” she said, her voice thick. “I… I wasn’t thinking. Just turned around.” It was a lie, of course.  She worried the agent would be able to tell, that he’d see in the way her eyes went blue in anger, what she’d seen. But he merely walked with her back to the front hall. Caitlin swallowed bile, clamping down on Frost screaming in her mind. There were too many agents, with too many weapons. They’d be on her in a second if she tried to do anything without a plan. But she couldn’t get the image out of her mind. The container, the tiny prison cell smaller than a Pipeline box, labeled Subject 2, and Cisco standing in it, one bloody, bandaged hand pressed flat against the glass.

[silverdphantom]

Theory : the Grigori always knew the truth about the twins and never intended to execute Rin

For a long time, the biggest threat hanging on Rin's head was not Lucifer or even Satan, but the Grigori’s willingness to execute him, would he be recognised as a demon and a threat. But now that we have seen the past and know more about who are the Grigori, I tend to think this threat never really existed and the Grigori knew Shiro Fugimoto was raising Satan's kids with the help of Mephisto since the very beginning. And they were perfectly OK with that. As they always did in the past, they go along even with Mephisto’s most horrendous plans. They agree, reluctantly, with Section 13, they could perfectly agree with Turning-Satan's-kids-into-weapons plan. But in front of the rest of the Order, they kept the appearences.

By the way, the Grigori are also Nephilim of god-like demons just like Rin, so even if they are now far less powerful because of their diluted blood, I don't think they could fear Rin as humans could. In a way, he is the same as them. It was the same for Izumo, who accepted Rin’s situation far more easily than the other because she was herself an hybrid.

I know this can look unlikely given how they publicly acted about Rin, but I believe it was just that: an act. And here are the elements I base my theory on:

1. Section 13

The events of Section 13 showed the Grigori, especially Shemihaza, not being distrutful toward Mephisto, but at the contrary working hand in hand. Mephisto did not have to hide anything from them, no matter how awful.

2. The meeting in Gehenna

Shiemi's grandmother was here, in Gehenna, with the rest of the Demon royalty, when Samael announced his intention to raise Rin to make him a suitable vessel for Satan. So, even if she first intended to “get rid of anything that could attract Satan’s attention”, she knew Shiro Fugimoto was raising Satan’s kids. And was ultimately okay with that.

You could argue that it was the previous generation and that they said nothing about the truth on the Blue Night, but the last arguments show why I think the current generation did know about the twins.

3. Shiemi's mother

First, one could think that when a Grigori learns one of the comrades of her only daughter and heir is the son of Satan, her first reaction would be to remove said daughter from the class to keep her safe from such danger. She did not. Shiemi was allowed to stay close to Rin.

Second, on the first chapter Shiemi and her were introduced, Rin USED HIS FLAMES AND SHOWED OFF HIS TAIL IN THE GARDEN OF THE CURRENT SHEMIHAZA.

Maybe Shiemi’s mother did not notice. Maybe ?

Third, Shiro used to bring Yukio along to the shop. Shiemi’s mother was still probably alive at that time. Shiro knew the face the face of the previous Grigori. I think he knew who the women owning the shop truly were. And I think they also knew his secret.

4. Nemu Takara

Despite having been introduced in the second chapter of the manga, he remains a mystery. But here I will go with the main theory about him : he is a Nephilim of Armumahel, the Emperor of Nothingness. He is part of the Grigori too. And, unlike Shiemi, he already knew who he was.

Mephisto explained at the beginning of the Illuminati Arc that he recruited Nemu Takara from an “external party” to monitor the exwires. And who needed most monitoring among the exwires ? Rin. I think Takara was mainly recruited to watch upon Rin in case things would go really bad. After all, as Shiemi proved it, in spite of Rin’s power, a descendant of the Grigori still would be powerful enough to contain him even for a little while. He was to use his power as a last resort.

And I don’t think Mephisto could have recruited Nemu without the actual Armumahel knowing why.

5. Rin's trial

In a way, this moment could be used against this theory, but I would like to insist on the fact that Mephisto did not look the slightest worried about the trial’s outcome and that, in such an important moment, he did not provide any good argument for Rin’s survival. Instead, he just went about about that bet on Rin’s future “Will he become a lord of Gehenna or the savior of the Order and Assiah”. And his talk convinced no one in the audience, neither Angel or the judges. Except the Grigori.

In fact, they never intended to have Rin executed, and the trial was just a way to show to the rest of the Order that they had control over that new threat. They had already taken Mephisto’s bet a long time ago.

And in fact, when you think about that, the same bet has been also made about them, the descendants of the Demon Emperors and Kings.

I don’t know if it is much more reassuring, because it would mean the Grigori are just as manipulative as Mephisto.

What do you think about that ? Whether you agree or not, don’t hesitate !

[montagnarde1793]

Ribbons of Scarlet: A predictably terrible novel on the French Revolution (part 4)

Parts 1, 2, 3 and 5.

Inaccuracies: the minor, the inconsistent, the fuck no and the unintentionally hilarious

I have no intention of detailing every historical inaccuracy in this book. I’d say we’d be here all day, but we’ve already been here all day, so maybe all week?

The book is riddled with minor errors, oversimplifications and dubious interpretations — some of which could be chalked up in theory to writing from a limited POV, but this is not a book that allows for that kind of complexity. Opinions may be those of the characters, but explanations for events and who belongs to what group and so on tend to be those of the authors regardless of which character is speaking.

Given the level of detail of this book, I would count things like Condorcet’s being made a member of the Constituent Assembly or the Revolutionary Tribunal being founded by September 1792 minor errors. They might even have been deliberate (combining the Constituent and the Legislative Assemblies or the Tribunal of 27 August and the Revolutionary Tribunal, for “simplicity”’s sake).

“Les Enragés” is also an official group and that’s their official self-designation in the world of this novel. Um. Ok.

Also things like the complete lack of self-awareness revealed by the assumption that because 21st century Americans consider omelettes a breakfast food this must be a universal constant.

Anyway, I find that kind of thing irritating but pretty inevitable. Errare humanum est and all that.

Other minor errors are forgivable in and of themselves, I suppose, but indicative of a larger lack of understanding, similar to some of the implausible scenarios the authors set up (cf. Manon Roland’s random trip to Caen).

There’s a moment, for example, when one of the figures on trial for “conspiracy” in the red shirt affair appeals to the crowd by saying “I am suspected merely because I am an émigré.” (p. 490) which is hilarious when you realize the fact of being an émigré and returning to France after the cut-off date was already punishable by execution — a law pushed among others by our friends the reasonable, moderate “Girondins.” And I say this not to condemn them (on this point, at least) — there were actual, serious arguments in support of such a law — but to highlight a trend. The authors have decided that certain figures are reasonable, so they give them what they consider to be reasonable opinions, whether or not those opinions line up with those they actually held and, as we’ll see, they’ve decided others are dangerous extremists, so likewise they only get to do things the authors consider extreme, or at best hypocritical.

Usually there’s at least some consistency to the errors — too much in fact, as noted. But the fanciful claim that the guillotine was painted red and that everyone who was executed was dressed in red to hide the blood is repeated more than once, before being replaced with the accurate assertion that dressing the condemned in red was reserved for assassins (also arsonists and poisoners, in accordance with the penal code of 1791).

More serious are the “errors” that serve a certain narrative, like the repeated assertion that Louis XVI abolished torture and notably execution by breaking on the wheel. Er… no he didn’t. I’m going to charitably assume that the authors just confused torture for the purposes of obtaining a confession with torture as a punishment. Louis XVI abolished the former, not the latter. That may seem like a nitpick, but they make a very big fuss about it.

People were still being broken on the wheel until the implementation of the Constituent Assembly’s penal code which provided that all executions should be equal and as quick and painless as possible — ultimately leading to the adoption of the guillotine. The first execution by guillotine is apparently such a crucial event that we have to implausibly have Louis XVI’s sister sneak out and witness it, but we’ll just ignore the fact that the “hero” La Fayette’s cousin bloodily repressed the mutiny of Swiss soldiers in Nancy resulting in a number of hangings and one man being broken on the wheel — repression that La Fayette applauded — in 1790, because 1790 is a year in which nothing happened.

Besides, as is well known, La Fayette never did anything wrong (Sophie de Grouchy forgives him for firing on her when she was petitioning for a republic in 1791 (p. 509-510) so you should too, I guess. Though while we’re here, her signing the Champ de Mars petition is a pretty unlikely scenario, actually, given that only the Cordeliers petition remained after the Assembly’s 15 July decree and that even before that Condorcet didn’t dare to sign his articles in favor of a much less democratic republic than the Cordeliers were advocating for Le Républicain (which prudently stopped publication after 15 July).)

The abolition of torture thing is merely one of a number of errors or exaggeratedly charitable interpretations of Louis XVI’s actions to fit the myth of the fundamentally well-meaning, soft-hearted reformer who was just in over his head. Mme Élisabeth’s violence, while I commend it for its accuracy, serves to highlight her brother’s pacifism. We’re meant to believe that of course it was nothing but revolutionary slander/conspiracy theories to think he was actually intending to use foreign troops to restore himself to absolute power, despite the overwhelming evidence to the contrary. Mme Élisabeth asserts that she would like that to happen but her brother would never and Manon Roland confirms it from her point of view too.

On a similar note, Condorcet gets his usual “consensual figure” treatment. We’re unsurprisingly fed the myth of Condorcet as the paragon of democracy and feminism, with nary a touch of ambiguity. Even Pauline Léon can only reproach him with being ineffectual. That’s par for the course, as is framing the people’s fears of grain speculation as a conspiracy theory at least from Sophie de Grouchy’s point of view, though nothing in the text contradicts her at any point (p. 61), but framing Condorcet’s pre-revolutionary math lectures at the Lycée as him and his wife opening a school for popular education and Sophie de Grouchy personally teaching Reine Audu to read at her husband’s invitation… That’s pretty disingenuous.

On the other hand, nothing is too awful to be believed without question of the “radical” revolutionaries, whether it comes from dubious sources (as regards the myths about Lamballe being stripped naked and/or raped before or — depending on the “source” — after being massacred, or about Charlotte Corday’s head being slapped by the executioner and her body examined for evidence of virginity, or Robespierre’s lusting over Émilie de Sainte-Amaranthe and personally participating in Catherine Théot’s rituals) or is just made up. Surely the September Massacres were bad enough without imagining that random bystanders — including children — were being raped and massacred in the streets? Since calling for the execution of adult royals based on their actual actions doesn’t sound sinister enough, let’s have Pauline Léon demand the massacre of Louis XVI’s underage children too!

On that note, I have to wonder whether part of the problem is that we’re so used to hearing about atrocities on a scale that dwarfs anything that happened in the 1790s that what the sources suggest — which could still be pretty ugly, don’t get me wrong — doesn’t live up to the hype. The French Revolution is built up in reactionary propaganda like it’s one of the periods of the worst violence in history. I suspect that it’s like with a scary movie: your imagination will conjure up something far scarier than what they could show you on screen. So, expecting to find horrors, you readily believe whichever sources (or “sources”) have the most of them and fill in the blanks when the sources don’t match up to your image of what terror, chaos and violence look like.

It’s basically just deductive reasoning: they say there was horrific violence, so I’m going to depict what must have happened according to my mental image of horrific violence. It’s no different really from deciding a character is reasonable and therefore giving them the opinions you find reasonable. But not only is this poor methodology (which perhaps you don’t care about, as a novelist), it sucks out everything that’s nuanced or complicated or surprising about history for the sake of flattering your own prejudices. And that’s a shame.

Anyway, as for the red shirt affair, it’s generally believed by historians to be a cynical maneuver on the part of the Committee of General Security* to make Robespierre look like a tyrant by executing a large group of supposed co-conspirators with would-be assassins Ladmirat/Ladmiral and Cécile Renault but needless to say — and following G. Lenotre’s lead — that’s not at all how it’s portrayed here. Robespierre is of course personally involved for his own (necessarily hypocritical) reasons. He wants Émilie de Sainte-Amaranthe but in this telling she and her family have reason to believe he’s cozying up to royalists like them for personal political gain too. Oh, also, Saint-Just and Fouquier-Tinville are lusting over Émilie de Sainte-Amaranthe too, because why the fuck not?

*To use the misleading standard translation (sûreté ≠ sécurité)

Particularly ludicrous is the insinuation that not only did the Convention abolish slavery entirely as an expedient — which, to be fair, some historians argue, though there’s ample evidence that proves there was more to it than that — but that they had to because otherwise the British and Spanish would come to the slaves’ aid first. As if the plantation owners were not doing their level best to deliver their colonies over to the British precisely to preserve slavery. That bit was just insulting.

But you know, why let a little thing like reality interfere with dividing the world into reasonable people and hypocritical demagogues and the mobs that they incite, am I right?

And it’s often the absence of certain realities that poses the greatest problem. Like, counterrevolutionaries aren’t a real threat, that’s all a figment of the revolutionaries’ imagination... but as usual this idea coexists uncomfortably with the existence of actual counterrevolutionaries in the narrative.

The war, which dominated everyone’s reality from 1792 onward, is barely mentioned. Manon Roland is made to treat the idea that the Prussians were well positioned to march on Paris after the surrender of Verdun as an absurd rumor (p. 268-269) and we’re meant to agree. (This was very much not an imaginary threat, if you didn’t know.)

Also! Get ready because I’m going to cite Serna favorably for once:

Il est frappant de noter combien l’historiographie s’est de suite intéressée aux massacres de Paris et aux prisonniers d’Orléans, sans vraiment porter son intérêt sur les morts civils sur le front et la mise à sac des villes et villages à la frontière, deux poids deux mesures qui ne peuvent qu’interroger.

–      Pierre Serna, « « La France est république » : Comment est né le Nouveau Régime dans le Patriote français de Brissot » dans Michel Biard, Philippe Bourdin, Hervé Leuwers et Pierre Serna, dir., 1792. Entrer en République, Paris, A. Colin, 2013, NP, note 37.

(Translation: “It’s striking to note how the historiography took an immediate interest in the massacres in Paris and the prisoners of Orléans, without really getting interested in the civilian deaths at the front and the sacking of cities and towns along the border, a double standard that we can’t help but question.”)

I mean, we know why: military violence, up to and including every kind of war crime, is normal and expected as long as it’s a proper war conducted between two foreign powers (though the various foyers of civil war also don’t really come up in this book). But yeah, that is a pretty big fucking hypocritical double standard, isn’t it? And one that this particular novel reflects rather than invents (as is also true of many of its other flaws, to be entirely fair).

It’s also particularly ironic, for a book that touts itself as feminist, that the real gains made by women regarding inheritance, marriage redefined as a contract between equal partners dissolvable by divorce, the rights of single mothers and illegitimate children and so on — even if the periods of Reaction that followed reversed them — are nowhere to be seen. Nor do we see women voting on the constitution of 1793 or fighting in the army or any of a number of things real women did. I concede that no one novel can be expected to show everything, but given the things they bent over backward to include, would it have been so difficult to include things that are thematically relevant?

This wouldn’t even piss me off so much except for the way Pauline Léon’s storyline ends. Her arc consists of her being convinced of the folly of those of her beliefs that the author doesn’t approve of so that she can be used as a mouthpiece for the moral the author wants us to take from all this and then being forced into marriage because she gets pregnant. And I cite (p. 433):

They would silence us all.

One woman at a time.

First the Angel of Assassination. Then Widow Capet, who had once been queen. Olympe de Gouges five days ago. Now proud Manon Roland.

A professed Girondin, Manon was still against tyranny and had been an advocate for the republic since the dawn of the Terror. Once, I wouldn’t have been able to admit that, but I could admit it now. Now that it’s too late.

And, when she tells Théophile Leclerc he got her pregnant, he replies (p. 435):

“‘We must marry. You’ve no other choice,’” he continued when I didn’t respond. […]

We had wanted liberty in France. But what freedom was there now? I had none. Théo would possess me utterly. I knew it, because the look her gave me had me wanting to crumble to the ground. All the choices I’d fought years for had been stripped away.

And now, I was nothing.

If there’s one point in history before the last 50 years or so that that’s not true it’s in 1793, when this scene is set. Will she be more comfortably off if she marries? Yes, and that would unfortunately be true pregnant or not. But there’s nothing forcing her to marry him if she doesn’t want to and even if she does he doesn’t own or control her under revolutionary marriage law. Were things perfect for women in 1793? Of course not, but given that they were a lot worse both before and especially after, I’m more than a little sick of 1793 being portrayed as the most misogynist of all the misogynist eras.

Ironically though, they omit Amar’s report and the closing of women’s political societies* which is a far more relevant and accurate point if you’re trying to make the case for revolutionary misogyny. Not to mention, it’s kind of baffling to leave it out of Pauline Léon’s storyline as it was targeted against the society she led in particular. (Her section ends instead with Manon Roland’s execution.) But I guess that would require introducing Amar and we can’t have people believing that Robespierre, Danton and Marat weren’t the only Montagnards; they might get confused otherwise. Maybe at this point I should just be glad they didn’t give Robespierre Amar’s speech in the name of consolidation of characters?

*NB, mixed societies were never closed (until the Thermidorian Reaction shut down all political clubs), so the result is a bit more ambiguous than is often claimed.

Anyway. We’ll finally conclude this mess in the next part…

[likelytowritesomestuff]

An headcanon of mine about the body switch in 'Good Omens'

Hi everyone!

During this quarantine I rewatched ‘Good Omens’ and during episode 6, I was like: “How I cannot realize that Aziraphale and Crowley switched their bodies? It’s so obvious!” but then I thought about how every watcher didn’t see that plot twist coming at a first vision and I didn’t feel so stupid anymore XD.

But actually, when I first saw these scenes, I was a little surprised to see Aziraphale so calm in front of his superiors, while Crowley was perfectly IC in Hell and after rewatching them, I can offer you a theory for that.

During millennials, Crowley always changed name, gender and physical appearance according to the eras. He has always been different… But actually he could never change. He is a demon, he could never be someone else.

On the contrary, Aziraphale has always been the same through the centuries: he changed just the essential according to the era he was living, because he really believes in his ideals, but at the same time he is scared by the possibility to be something else.

And after 6 episodes, the trial scenes come.

When I rewatched the scenes knowing what would happen next, I noticed that Crowley was saying everything Aziraphale would have said in that situation, but still he manages to portrays his best friend lover husband in a credible way. Yes, he was the dandy we all know and love, but still he always has to hold himself in order to not being too different by the other angels and this is the occasion for him to be someone else and not being afraid of ‘experimenting’.

On the other hand, Crowley manages to fake being Aziraphale, but at the same time he is very much the way he is with his angel. He doesn’t talk too much and only to point out how things should be: he is simply being Crowley and even if he is not in his body, it’s like he accepts himself for the first time.

That’s my theory, I hope you like it!

(Their versions of Crowley and Aziraphale also reflect the way the angel and the demon see each other, highlighting their respective strenghts and I think it’s beautiful, as said in this post)

(Sorry for any mistakes, english is not my first language)

[liechotomy]

okay not about the hat BUT this is more about Kokichi in his backstory and I'm curious about your view. if he uses something in symbolism of defeating evil, was he and DICE also facing a lot of evil? i have the impression he learned in trial by fire but there's so little information which weirds me out. i just feel like it was pretty bad, like he was actually fighting a bad organization or something? tho this is a bit conspiracy theory ig lol

okay a bit more clearly in case it came across wrong: if he's doing that stuff outside of the killing game (the whole pretending to be a bad guy thing) does it mean that the world is fucked up outside besides 'obsessed with dr'? I feel like Tsumugi pulled a lot of nonsense with the fiction and Kokichi's situation is messed up like he had to deal with life or death a lot to get to how he is now 

I’m still mulling over much of the specifics of Ouma’s backstory. Eventually I should put some verses and/or backstory information up regarding my ideas. But for now... In my view, there are basically two backstories to consider--the fictional one Tsumugi created and the real one that existed before the killing game (the truth, basically). Everything we know about Ouma is pretty much restricted to the “fake” backstory, including the existence of DICE. According to my headcanons, the reality of the situation is that a despair cult has been continuing to run and broadcast killing games after the events of DR1-3 (and that those events being fictional was a lie). I also believe the events of DRv3 all occurred inside a program resembling Neo World.

Buuut all that’s just a tangent, sorry. Since we’re talking about the backstory with DICE in it, this would be the fictional history. So that means the whole story including the meteors that hit as the world was recovering from the Tragedy, the virus, the Gofer Project, space, earth’s destruction, etc. Just to be clear.

Anyway, my perception of what DICE seemed to be like, and the way Ouma operates as sort of a chaotic element for change/progress, gives me the feeling they were more the type to want to defy the harmful aspects of the status quo. The fact that they committed (non-violent) crimes indicates to me that they might be thwarting a concept rather than an organization/s, if that makes sense? Like, they’re not evil, but they’re also not lawful. In my tentative headcanon, it could be that as the world was recovering from Despair and the Tragedy, society might have reactively swung the other way in regards to order and control--meaning in order to combat despair, societies (or at least Ouma’s community) began to impose harsh regulations and a strict, inflexible view of proper conduct. Basically, they retaliated against the uncertainty and chaos of a world in despair, with excessive order. And for whatever reason, maybe just personality-related, Ouma and the other members of DICE did not fit in well in such a stringent environment. They chose to rebel, holding the belief that a little chaos won’t kill anyone. It’s not the same as despair; in fact, too much order and control are their own sort of burdens that could also end in despair. But yes, I would bet that the world definitely still had a lot of problems and that Ouma’s life (fictional--and real, honestly) has been unusual and difficult. No one develops so many masks and lies as a coping mechanism for no reason.

Regarding the symbolism of his hat (that represents a heroic traitor to the Nazis, for those of you just tuning in)... In general, Ouma seems to secretly encourage others to look at reality from various angles, not just accepting truth or lies at face value, but understanding different, hidden truths that are proven by the actions of others or even the results their plans. So his hat, and the fact that his crimes are laughable, that he’s never honest about his threats of death or violence... They all point to the lesson that you have to look deeper at a person (especially him) to truly know them. The example he wears is this: one could lash out in offense at the perception that he’s wearing a Nazi hat, but that perception is a lie, because his hat is worn in honor of the German officer who gave his life try to kill Hitler and demolish the SS. And if you don’t care enough about him to try to truly get to know him, he will play along with your vapid notion that he is a villain, continuing to give subtle hints to the contrary.

[bumblebeug]

Choosing Trust Pt.2

Yo, I really enjoyed making Choosing Trust so instead of other fics I thought it’d be fun to continue down that prompt. 

Choosing Trust: Family Knowledge

Marinette sighed as she watched her best friend and confidante and Chloe walk away.

‘It couldn’t be helped,’ Marinette thought. Paris needed a Ladybug and Marinette was needed elsewhere.

Days ago, Marinette had found, quite by accident, her summons to the Guardian’s temple clutched in her mother’s hands when she arrived late from a Kitty Section practice session.

“Hey mom,” Marinette said lightly, not noticing how her mother clutched a scrap of paper in her hands, “You didn’t have to wait you know, I was only five minutes –”

“Marinette.” Her mother said, tone tense.

She stiffened. Her mother only used that tone for two instances: when she was deeply in trouble or when something was deeply troubling. Immediately Marinette cast her mind back trying to think of anything that she could have done to earn that tone. When it came up blank, Marinette began to panic. Wang Cheng sprung to the forefront of her mind – he’d had an accident recently. If her mother was using that tone then it must be worse than Marinette had thought.

“Is Uncle Cheng alright?” Marinette asked in a tiny voice. “Were his hands worse off than the doctors had initially thought?”

Momentarily confused, her mother shook her head. “What? No, no – your uncle is fine. It was just a stress fracture.”

Sabine then held up the letter with the Temple Guardian’s insignia facing Marinette, “Do you know what this is? What it means?”

Marinette forcibly kept her breathing easy and feigned ignorance. “No,” she lied easily.

“What is It?”

Marinette waited for her mother to draw her eyebrows down – as she did whenever she caught Marinette telling a fib. But the moment never came. Instead, her mother drew a ragged breath.

“I think you should sit down.”

Marinette complied and sat very still, waiting for her mother to start talking first. Her mother stared at the ceiling for several long minutes before looking down at the space in between them before meeting her daughter’s concerned gaze.

“Do you remember the news about the miraculous reappearance of that temple in the Tibetan mountains?” Her mother began lowly.

Mutely, Marinette nodded. The reappearance of the temple had plastered the news for a better part of the month before coverage of Queen Wasp had taken over. A person would have had to have lived under a rock to have missed the implications of a temple suddenly reappearing like that. Especially since it suddenly supported the Ladyblog’s “crazy” theory of a secret order directing Miraculous appearances.

“Well…” her mother took another deep inhale through her nose, “The news was right – it’s no ordinary temple. In its heyday, it housed great magic and those that were chosen to walk those sacred halls became Guardians.”

“Mom?” Marinette interjected. Her voice wavered, “How do you know–?”

Her mother raised a single eyebrow, effectively silencing her daughter’s interruption and continued, “Though most Guardians lived within the walls of the temple, they were not bound to it. Guardians were free, and were encouraged even, to travel. To walk the lands helping those that needed help the most. So, when the Guardian’s Temple suddenly disappeared, precious few of the order survived. And those that survived continued on teaching the core lessons, but not the magic, throughout the generations.”

Her mother paused and looked at Marinette, “Do you understand what I’m saying so far?”

“I…think so,” Marinette lied. In truth, her thoughts were whirling recklessly through her mind. If her mother knew all this then that meant… That meant… Her mind shut down – refusing to process her thoughts.

Meanwhile, her mother nodded, ignorant of her daughter’s inner distress. “Good, good.” She said half-absentmindedly, “Where was I? Oh yes. So. What does this letter mean? And how can I know all of this? Well. When great, great Grandmother Ya married her husband, this secret was revealed to her – which she passed down to her children who finally passed it down to me when the time was right.”

Sabine wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, “I had hoped that there was a better way to introduce you to all of this or, better yet, never have had to talk to you about this ever. But, we are where we are.”

Sabine finally relinquished the letter into Marinette’s waiting hands, “Sweetie. I’m so sorry but you’ve been summoned.”

The words, once uttered, echoed strangely in Marinette’s ears, conveying an importance that should have been impossible to convey verbally.  But logically, Marinette knew that she should have been expecting something like this – after all, the appearance of the Guardian’s Temple and Master Fu’s passing down of the guardianship happened too close together for fate to not interfere.

If she thought about it, it made sense that she would be summoned.

But she hadn’t.

Hadn’t truly thought about the implications of becoming a Guardian. How could she have? It all happened while she was under duress. Paris had been at stake – in the moment there was no time to think of anything else. And after? Too much came too fast so the meaning of guardianship was shunted to the back of her mind.

But now?

The finality of her mother’s words rang deeply in her psyche.

Summons.

Guardianship and all that entailed.

Marinette’s mother took notice of her daughter’s eyes widening and how each breath became more shallow than the last. She grasped her hands, “Dear. Breathe with me.”

Once Marinette was capable of pulling air into her lungs steadily her mother ran her thumb over her daughter’s knuckles, “It can’t be ignored.”

“I’m sorry,” her mother gathered Marinette in her arms and apologized over and over again softly. “It can’t be ignored.”

“You must have been recognized as being exceptional,” Sabine murmured in a soothing tone, “I’m so proud of you.”

“I…,” Anything Marinette had been planning on saying died in her throat. Her identity was safe, but another lie had sprouted to shield her mother from the truth of who she really was. And what could she say anyways? ‘No mom, the only reason I was summoned was because I was Ladybug before I was named Guardian by Master Fu?’

She couldn’t. She wasn’t exceptional. But there was no way to explain all of this to her mother without revealing everything so instead she just swallowed down anything that went contrary to her mother’s imagination and said,

“I’m going to make you proud – I promise.”

They clutched each other tightly.

When they pulled apart, Marinette studied the letter. It was straightforward thanks to the grueling hours she had spent studying Han characters under her mother’s tutelage. The Guardians wanted her to travel to Lhasa (in any way she deemed necessary) – when she arrived, there would be an emissary waiting to guide her into their sacred hall to begin “the guardian trials”.

Beyond that, the letter only stipulated that she bring her “most precious items of passage.”

“What about Dad?” Marinette questioned.

“Don’t mind your father,” her mother dismissed without a thought. “He understands as well as I do how important something like this is.”

Marinette’s eyebrows creased slightly at her mother’s words but she didn’t comment, not sure she wanted to learn everything she didn’t know about her parent’s marriage. Some cans of worms, she thought, are best left unopened.

Her eyes dropped back down to the creased paper and committed each step to memory before tearing it into fine shreds.

“Mom,” She said slowly. She brought her eyes up to her mother’s, wide blue eyes meeting dark brown, “I love you and Dad– you know that right?”

Marinette wasn’t sure why she was suddenly desperate to hear her mother’s affirmation. It wasn’t like a visit to the temple would take too long – after all, she had already gotten some training under her belt thanks to Master Fu. But something about the atmosphere made Marinette feel like it would be the last time she would be able to see her mother for a while.

An absurd thought.

But one that nonetheless pulled the question out of her mouth before she even realized what she asked. Her mother didn’t even hesitate.

“I love you now and I’ll love you for another thousand years,” her mother replied firmly.

Marinette’s eyes slid shut momentarily as she locked the familiar phrase into her memory.

“Before I go,” Marinette began, “I need to plan a few things out…”

___

Hope you guys had as much fun reading that as I had writing that. Originally, I had planned on writing Chloe out further but I felt that switching between Marinette and Chloe would be more interesting. 

Choosing Trust Pt. 1

Part 3

Taglist!

@mrbookboy, @vixen-uchiha, @northernbluetongue, @umiko9692

[mbtiofwhys]

Kurisu Makise

INTP 

Functional order: Ti - Ne - Si - Fe

Spoiler warning

This article will cover Kurisu’s analysis with precise reference to the plot. Also, please note that:

this article only refers to the anime adaptation of S;G, as none of us mods has still played the visual novel. 

this article only refers to Stein’s;Gate classic, as only ENFP mod have seen the movies and the Zero. If you have further comments or want to discuss about it, leave a comment or contact us!

Judging Functional Axis

Introverted Thinking (Ti) / Extroverted Feeling (Fe) 

First and foremost, Kurisu is rational. She analyzes everything she sees, never satisfied with superficial explanations but always looking for the pieces of the puzzle and the rules that support the structure. She needs her own framework to work with, highly values a methodical approach and takes pride in her logic- to the point that she refuses to accept something that ‘doesn’t make sense’ even if everything around her proves otherwise. Kurisu strongly rejects even the possibility that time-travel could be real, at first, because logically that doesn’t fit with either her system or all the soundest scientific theories. The cell phone–operated microwave Okabe got to build has been created by pure experimentation, following a trial-and-error, more casual approach, rather than a structured one - so Kurisu’s first reaction at witnessing bananas turned into a jelly is to run away, because such a thing shouldn’t be possible, it’s not logical that it’s possible. But, when she accepts that a time-traveling microwave does in fact exist, she grabs a marker and writes everything down on a whiteboard to better understand how it works. Only after she’s clarified the rules and the theory behind the machine, she’s able to proceed with the next step: improving it.

Kurisu’s strong Ti is counterbalanced by her inferior Fe. She can lecture an entire class about her articles and discuss quantum physics, but she doesn’t fit well around too many people in social circumstances and is overall quite awkward when it comes to interacting with others. She’s in denial of her feelings most of the time, regarding Okabe but not limited to him. She hates getting emotional and overall finds emotions to be a burden. Nonetheless, her Fe can be easily spotted in her working overall well with the other lab members. She admits to enjoy the lively atmosphere (in opposition to her previous workplace) and the “round tables” summoned by Okabe. Her Ti makes her stubborn and honest when speaking, but she doesn’t like conflict and prefers when everyone works together and in harmony - as she states more than once to both Mayuri and Suzuha, as the second clearly dislikes her. 

Perceiving Functional Axis

Extroverted Intuition (Ne) / Introverted Sensing (Si)

Her Ti paired with her Ne is what defines her character as ‘being a genius’: she’s not afraid of asking questions, and tries to look at things from a different perspective and to consider various options. She’s not only generally curious, but also knowledgeable about many topics, from neuroscience to physics - and she puts all her knowledge at work to improve Okabe’s creation, literally mixing notions from the most various fields to create the Time-Leap Machine. 

She enjoys discussions and doesn’t back off from confuting theories and abstractions, and this enables her to be more open to Okabe’s unmethodical experiments and to accept that time traveling is indeed possible. Her aux-Ne, paired with Ti and Si, also makes her extremely cautious before taking action: if Okabe leaps into things without further thinking, Kurisu is the exact opposite. She has to think about what to do first, and has to ponder all the viable options to better judge what is the most logical course of action (Ti-Ne).

Her Si, although tertiary, shows in her tides with her past and in the general value that Kurisu confers to past experience: as she states at around episode 20, it’s one’s past and mistakes that define who a person is. This also affects her method, as she usually proceeds in little steps (compared to Okabe, who tends to be ‘all or nothing’), does continuous comparisons between things, theories and experiences (Ne-Si) and tends to avoid risks when it’s not necessary.

Also typed as: INTJ

This is the most common mistype about Kurisu - someone opts for ISTJ as well, but looking around on the internet, INTJ is the one you’ll probably find.

Our article is of course not the universal truth, but we are confident in typing Kurisu as INTP. Here’s why (in addition to the previous analysis):

Ni, especially if dominant, is not only about the future, but is also about the intrinsic meaning of things, the most general patterns and symbols. It’s a highly abstract, subjective introverted function that searches for what a certain thing means to it, rather than how something works. Here’s the key difference between Ni and Ti: if Ni sees a computer, it looks for a way to interpret said computer, it sees how the computer can fit in Ni’s own subjective framework. If Ti sees a computer, on contrary, it tries to understand how it works, what are its components and how they’re connected, so that Ti can form its knowledge about computers and build up its own with the pieces it finds around in the world.

Kurisu doesn’t has Te. Te looks for facts, objective logic and proven truths - Kurisu isn’t like that and it shows starting from the very first episodes, when she runs away from the lab. If Te is provided with the proof that something can happen before its own eyes, it tends to believe it, because it’s in the real world. If you can do it, then it’s doable - Te logic. Kurisu on contrary is still skeptic even when she accepts to stay in the lab: all her doubts crumble only when she has all the information she needs, and she can complete the theory behind D-Mails and time traveling. Only after she thought about the pieces and formed her own theory she is confident in assessing that time travel is possible and how to do it.

Consequently, she isn’t a Se user but, most of all, she isn’t a Fi user: her self-awareness isn’t very high, and she often questions herself about her identity as a person and as a scientist. She doesn’t show signs of Fi, but definitely shows many signs of inferior-Fe.

Regarding the ISTJ typing, the Te/Fi point is still valid, plus: Kurisu certainly has Si, but it isn’t that high. She is overall versatile, open and not too rigid on her opinion. It’s not that ISTJ cannot change their mind, but it takes them time, effort and a good amount of solid reasons. Kurisu’s auxiliary Ne on contrary enables her to confute her flawed logical theories about time traveling so that she can build a new system and proceed with the improvement of the Time-Leap Machine. She can confront changes and unexpected circumstances and doesn’t necessary needs a plan: she can make one up if it’s needed, she only has to think things through and consider various options - TiNe, as we’ve said.

For further reading:

An article by funkymbti about INTP vs INTJ: https://funkymbtifiction.tumblr.com/post/83933024503/type-contrast-intj-vs-intp-how-can-you-tell-them

Two big entries from mbtinotes about Te vs Ti (https://mbti-notes.tumblr.com/post/142863816372/type-spotting-te-v-ti) and Fe vs Fi (https://mbti-notes.tumblr.com/post/137908467362/type-spotting-fe-v-fi)

[yasbxxgie]

A Black Biologist Pioneered Animal Intelligence Research, but His Work Was Buried

Black biologist Charles Henry Turner was doing groundbreaking research into animal cognition at the turn of the 20th century, yet his ideas never gained traction on account of racism and his seemingly radical viewpoint. Many concepts proposed by Turner are now accepted science, and a group of researchers to say it’s long past time to give credit where it’s due—and to avoid the mistakes of the past.

A new Perspectives essay published in Science describes the contributions of biologist Charles H. Turner (1867-1923), an American zoologist whose “early discoveries are forgotten for all the wrong reasons,” according to the paper’s two authors, Hiruni Samadi Galpayage Dona and Lars Chittka, both biologists at Queen Mary University of London.

Turner’s work went against the prevailing scientific discourse of the time, as he explored and entertained the idea that many animal species were capable of complex behaviors involving intelligence, problem solving, and even conscious awareness. Today, we take many of these ideas for granted, but Turner’s research into these matters never got the recognition it deserved.

“It is deplorable that the now-popular field of ‘animal personality’ has taken so little notice of Turner’s trailblazing approach,” they write.

For Turner’s contemporaries, it was a combination of racism and skepticism of his seemingly outlandish theories. His “visionary ideas about animal intelligence did not resonate in the field,” the authors write, “perhaps they were simply too far ahead of the time,” adding that they’re “almost completely unrecognized in the current literature.”

A deeper dive into Turner’s work reveals some truly groundbreaking insights and approaches. Born in Cincinnati in 1867—just two years after the end of the U.S. Civil War—Turner, who earned his Ph.D. in 1907 while at the University of Chicago, devised some innovative experimental approaches to studying animal behavior and cognition. In the decades prior, biologists Charles Darwin and George Wallace discussed animal intelligence, but their work was based predominantly on field observations and inference. Turner, in addition to observing animals in the wild, devised controlled experiments with animals not unlike those commonly done today.

From 1891 to 1917, Turner published over 70 papers (!), including three that appeared in the journal Science. He studied the learning curves of ants, did a comparative anatomy of bird brains (finding similarities with the brains of reptiles), studied honeybee vision, showed that insects (namely silkworm moths) can hear, studied the hunting habits of sand wasps, did maze experiments with cockroaches (in which he claimed the bugs acted with “will”), and documented detouring behavior in wild snakes (he once saw a snake catch a lizard by climbing up a neighboring tree so that it could pounce on its prey from above). He also studied individual variation and intelligence in spiders, as the authors explain:

Contrary to the still-popular view that spider web construction is a prime example of invertebrates’ robotic, repetitive action patterns, Turner reported variation between individuals in adapting their construction to the geometry of available space and the functionality in capturing prey: “we may safely conclude that an instinctive impulse prompts gallery spiders to weave gallery webs, but the details of the construction are the products of intelligent action.”

Turner’s observations and experiments led him to propose theories about the intentional behaviors of animal, arguing that they are intelligent, conscious beings. Some of these ideas wouldn’t be re-explored for another century, including the suggestion of free will among insects—an idea not revisited until only recently. Indeed, his were highly unconventional ideas; it wasn’t until 2012, for example, that a consortium of scientists signed the Cambridge Declaration on Consciousness, in which they admitted that all animals have conscious awareness to some degree.

In Turner’s era, the traditional approach saw animals as creatures driven almost exclusively by instinct and held that any apparent intelligence could be explained by sheer persistence, among other processes, as the authors describe:

Early ethologists such as Oskar Heinroth, Charles Whitman, and Wallace Craig focused instead on innate behavior and imprinting, a simple form of learning. Where problem-solving was observed, such as when animals open puzzle boxes, behaviorists such as Edward Thorndike proposed that this materialized as a result of trial and error, not insight or understanding of the nature of the challenge. None of these scientists were interested in individual variation of behavior.

Turner, in addition to not receiving the recognition or respect of his peers, was denied a position at the University of Chicago. This snubbing was due to racism, the authors contend (Turner became a high school teacher after earning his Ph.D.) This limited his access to resources that could’ve pushed his research to the next level, such as lab equipment, texts, and research assistants; the lack of the latter prevented his ideas from trickling down to the next generation of biologists. As the authors point out by comparison, Russian scientist Ivan Pavlov (1849-1936), famous for his salivating dogs, trained more than 140 colleagues.

The authors “cannot help but wonder what Turner might have achieved if he had had comparable resources and manpower” as the “entire field of animal cognition may have developed differently.” To which they added: “One would hope that nowadays, a person of Turner’s caliber might not face similar adversity in terms of academic employment opportunities or long-term recognition of their contribution to science” but even today “very few scholars in animal cognition, or indeed across biology, are Black.”

Turned died at the age of 56 from a heart condition, but not before he made contributions to the U.S. civil rights movement, fighting for social and educational services among Black people living in St. Louis, Missouri, where he made his home.

Turner’s story is as intriguing as it is frustrating, a sad reminder of the immense contributions made by people who, over the course of history, have had to endure hardships imposed by systematic discrimination [racism].

[kimminstudying]

Case Study - 006

Warning: Graphic Content

Dr. H.H Holmes was born Herman Mudgett on May 16, 1861 in Gilmanton, New Hampshire. He is an infamous swindler and con artist who is considered America’s first known serial killer and was a main suspect in the Jack the Ripper murders. While he confessed to 27 murders, only nine could be proven by police and several of the people he claimed to have murdered were still alive. Police suspected that they were next on Holmes’ list. Sometimes referred to as the "Beast of Chicago," Holmes is believed to have killed somewhere between 20 and 200 people. He killed many of his victims in a specially constructed home, which was later nicknamed the "Murder Castle."

Holmes was born into a wealthy family to Levi Horton Mudgett and Theodate Page Price in Gilmanton, an isolated town 20 miles away from Concord. In his childhood, Holmes showed signs of high intelligence at an early age. He was fascinated with anatomy and medicine from childhood, as he would trap animals in order to perform “surgery” on them. Sometimes the animals were still breathing when they went under the knife. A young Dr. Holmes is suspected of killing a child playmate for the same reason, but this has only been rumored and not proven.

One challenge Holmes faced in early life was a strabismic left eye. Strabismus is a medical condition that involves poor control of the eye muscles. Many people commented on Holmes’ inability to look them in the eye, but this was a physical deficiency, not a spiritual one. By all accounts, Holmes was a charming conversationalist. He went on to marry at least three women, some at the same time as he was a compulsive womanizer who carried on several affairs.

Holmes attended the University of Michigan in 1884 before moving to Chicago in 1886 and taking a job as a pharmacist, taking on the alias “Dr. H.H Holmes.” Police suspect it was soon after his arrival that his killing spree began. His criminal career began with various frauds and scams with both insurance policies and with people directly. While he was attending school in Michigan, Holmes would steal the bodies of cadavers and use them for insurance claims as well as for his own private experiments as well.

For instance, he often rented bicycles or articles of furniture and hide them away to sell for cash. Obscuring his identity helped him avoid paying bills, but did not help him in avoiding lawsuits. It is rumored that Holmes killed the pharmacy owner, then his wife when she gained the property, but that is only a rumor. The truth is, it was owned by a young FEMALE doctor and HER husband who both sold the pharmacy to Holmes and outlived him by decades. Across the street from the drugstore, Holmes was constructing a building he said to be a hotel. Popular theory has it that Holmes designed his “Murder Castle” so he could slaughter victims away from prying eyes. For example, the second floor of the hotel was set up like a maze with rooms reporters dubbed, “The Room of the Three Corpses” or “The Asphyxiation Chamber.” There were doors leading nowhere and rooms concealed behind false walls.

Holmes has opened his hotel for business for the 1893 World’s Fair and dozens, if not hundreds, of fairgoers, were said to have been gassed in their rooms as they went missing after their stay. It is suspect that after they were gassed, they were then lowered by ropes to the basement, where Holmes would dissect their corpses. The Castle was proven to have been the place of at least 5 out of the 9 murders that Holmes confessed to and was found guilty of. 

The murder for which Holmes was caught and put on trial was that of Benjamin Pitezel, his partner in his insurance fraud schemes who was also planning to stab Holmes in the back by stealing all of the money on their last run together. After discovering this betrayal, Holmes would obtain a dead body, using his medical connections, and partially mutilate it. He claimed the body was that of his partner and helped Pitezel’s “widow” obtain the insurance money, keeping some for himself after the fact. Holmes killed Ben Pitezel and said it was the result of an accidental explosion for his insurance money, but then Holmes went on to murder Pitezel’s son and two of his daughters for reasons never fully explained. The story of Pitezel’s death was challenged by the insurance company. Holmes was investigated and ultimately hanged on May 7, 1896, nine days shy of his 35th birthday.

Though Holmes has been suspected of killing strangers, his proven murders were all of people he knew. 

The first canonical victim was Julia Conner. Holmes employed Mrs. Conner as a clerk in the jewelry shop that was part of the drugstore. Julia’s husband, Ned Conner, worked as a jeweler and sometimes managed the store. The couple lived for a time at the Holmes Castle and at some point, Mrs. Conner began to have an affair with Holmes. As a result, Mr. Conner broke off the marriage and left his wife and daughter. Julia and Pearl appeared to have favored this decision, as they lived fairly happily in close association with Holmes and the castle’s friendly janitor, Pat Quinlan.

 Like Ben Pitezel, Quinlan later became known as an accomplice of Holmes as he was good with tools and had a strong back. Quinlan reported to his wife and daughter, who were friends of Julia and Pearl, that Julia had moved to California with a new husband around Christmas of 1891. On the contrary, other tenants at the castle reported seeing the two on Christmas Eve before they were never seen again. At various times after his imprisonment, Holmes claimed that Julia had died on the operating table while he was performing an abortion on her. He is suspected to have either killed her intentionally or by accident while performing the operation. 

It’s possible that Holmes killed her in another way, as there were no witnesses and Pearl was also missing. The abortion gone wrong is plausible for the death of Julia, but there was no explanation for the disappearance of Pearl. Years later, when the castle basement was dug up, the bones of a child about Pearl’s age were discovered. They were the most incriminating evidence against Holmes ever found at the site. Pearl was likely poisoned, possibly smothered, by Holmes. Holmes felt no remorse about being the blame for the death of a child, as he tries to rent out the rooms the Conner family occupies during their stray merely weeks after their disappearances.

When he did manage to rent out space, the new tenant reported that personal items and clothes were still in the room, but not packed away like one would expect. These items were thrown around the room as if someone was looking for something and didn’t bother to clean up their messes. According to the new tenant, these items included a doll that Holmes kicked under the bed. It is suspected that Holmes ransacked the room in the hope of finding valuables to pawn off or take for himself. Holmes offered to give his new tenant the goods left behind, but when she refused he had them shipped away, possibly to his own home. 

His third victim, Emeline Cigrand was unmarried, had no children, and didn’t live at the castle, though Cigrand worked for Holmes before becoming romantically involved with him. When she disappeared in December of 1892, Holmes said she’d gone off to get married, like he’d said for Julia. In his later confession, Holmes claimed that Cigrand also passed from a botched abortion in which he was performing.

Quinlan, the janitor, also plays a part in Cigrand’s disappearance. The day after she was last seen, Quinlan helped Holmes and another man toting a large crate from the castle. This was reported by one of the same witnesses who saw the clothes left by Julia and Pearl a year before. When compared to each other, the murders of Julia and Emeline look like the acts of a narcissist who is desperate to protect his fake reputation. The killing of little Pearl is harder to fathom, but it does fit the profile of a psychopath.

The last of his canonical victims at the castle were Holmes’ mistress and her sister.  There was money to be made from the death of his mistress, Minnie Williams and Holmes most likely killed her sister Nannie to remove her as a possible witness. Holmes and Minnie seem to have been well matched. Her name appears on several deeds for his property, and she’s known to have sold the property she owned, very likely to turn the money over to Holmes. 

Some may think that it’s illogical for Holmes to have killed Minnie if she was bringing money into him, but according to Holmes himself, Minnie was the murderer. He claimed that when Nannie came to visit the castle, Minnie got jealous and struck her sister with a stool, ultimately killing her. Holmes then confessed to disposing of the body and helping Minnie flee the country. With a letter Nannie wrote on the Fourth of July, 1893, it’s safe to say she did meet Holmes and possibly had an affair with him while her sister was out. Holmes’ report of Minnie’s jealousy-filled rage has some credibility as there are reports from other witnesses from various states involving Minnie in other fights across the nation. On the other hand, it’s always unlikely that Holmes is telling the truth to it’s easier to believe he killed both sisters, considering there are numerous holes in Holmes's autobiography that have been debunked as lies. Neither sister is confirmed to have been seen after July 5th, 1893. The next day, several transactions were carried out on behalf of Minnie, all to the benefit of Holmes. Holmes stayed remarkably consistent in saying he hadn’t killed either Williams's sister and it is unknown how they died. The modest profit Holmes made doesn’t seem like much of an amount for Holmes to commit murder for,  given how eager Minnie was to help him lie, cheat, and steal it seemed illogical for Holmes to kill her as well.

If we can believe a minor detail in his autobiography, he had been considering high-stakes insurance fraud for a decade before his execution. There had always been a missing ingredient, the lack of which made his plans too dangerous to implement. Necessity may have been that ingredient. Chicago had gotten less and less safe for Holmes since the insurance company started investigating the castle fire and him moving would mean leaving several sham businesses behind, so he may have wanted big money, fast. Rather than a necessity, the habit may have driven him to kill Ben Pitezel. Having gotten away with a string of murders, he’d learned he didn’t have to make murder a last resort.

In 1894, Holmes left Chicago to first go to Colorado, then go to Texas. In Denver, there was money that Minnie had left unclaimed, in which Holmes took for himself as he made himself Minnie’s next of kin on her life insurance policy. While in Denver, Holmes married again. This was his third marriage if you count only the wives he didn’t kill. Counting Emeline Cigrand and Minnie Williams brings the total to five.

Along with his new bride, Holmes went to Fort Worth. Financial security was to be provided by Ben Pitezel’s life insurance, a $10,000 policy had been taken out months before, with Holmes paying the premiums. It was at this point that Holmes made two crucial mistakes; the first was stealing horses in Texas, the second was blabbing about his insurance scheme in jail for stealing said horses. Holmes had borrowed horses and sold them, just as he had borrowed and sold bicycles and furniture before. His second mistake happened after he left Fort Worth to hide out in St Louis, Missouri. The same-old hustles that worked so well in Chicago got him into immediate trouble there. Though he had a shot at building up a new drugstore business, he decided instead to rip off his suppliers. Holmes was arrested and jailed, while he was awaiting bail, he met a criminal hero of his and asked a favor he would come to regret.

Marion Hedgepeth, a train robber who was famous for the shine on his shoes, shared a cell with Holmes. Probably feeling they were kindred spirits, Holmes bragged about the insurance scheme to him and asked if Hedgepeth knew a lawyer filthy enough to want in on the action. Hedgepeth did. He gave Holmes the referral but later flipped on Holmes in the hope of getting time knocked off his sentence. It didn’t work, but that was no comfort to Holmes. In the end, Hedgepeth didn’t get time off. He was parolled in 1906, went back to crime, and got shot holding up a Chicago saloon in 1909.

Ben Pitezel moved to Philadelphia, PA in August 1894. On September 1st, Holmes visited him, killed him, and rigged the scene to look like an accident. It was a failed attempt at tricking the police, however. Since the murder was done with chloroform. Holmes then broke a bottle, poured it over Pitezel’s head, and set his hair aflame with a book of matches. When the body was found three days later, the doctor on the scene said it couldn’t have been an accident. A second party had clearly been involved. Still, there was no evidence tying that second party to Holmes. Carrie Pitezel, Ben’s widow, knew about the scheme. Like her husband, she’d been told that the body would not be Ben’s, but a substitute. To claim the insurance money, Holmes needed a family member to identify the rotting corpse. When Carrie fell ill, he lured 15-year-old Alice Pitezel to do the job. Alice ID’d her weeks-dead dad by his teeth. The insurance company cut a check for $10,000. The crooked lawyer Holmes had hired took $2500. Three hundred was spent on expenses. All but $500 of the rest went to Holmes.

Holmes claimed that the money was for a purchase Holmes financed with Pitezel and he had not been paid back. The purchase was a Fort Worth property which was owned by Minnie Williams. Instead of walking away with $6700 in his pockets with his newest wife, Gerogiana Yoke, under one of his numerous alais’, his greed drove him to set out on a mission to exterminate the Pitezels. Over the next several weeks, Holmes separated Carrie Pitezel from her children: Alice and a younger boy and a younger girl. 

Holmes and Georgiana moved separately, Holmes being the only one he and his wife were following the two groups, none of the groups were aware of any other, though they visited the same cities, often riding the same trains at different times. Only Holmes knew they were on each other’s trail. Philly to Cinncinatti to Indianapolis to Detroit, with stops in between. Toronto, Canada, and Ogdensburg, New York. Carrie went where she was told because her husband was supposed to be waiting at the end of the tracks. Holmes said, “Minnie Williams” was taking care of 15-year-old Alice, 12-year-old Nellie, and 8-year-old Howard while Carrie rode the rails. Carrie didn’t know Minnie had been dead for more than a year. She also didn’t know her children were staying in hotels within miles of her own.

Holmes kept a collection of letters from mother to children and vice versa. Occasionally, he even delivered letters, some he likely wrote himself, cribbing phrases he’d heard from the children, whom he soon would kill off to gain their insurance money. Howard was the first to go. Most likely, he ate poisoned eggs. Teeth and chunks of his skull were found in the flue of a stove in a rented house in Holmes’ name. All of the remains of Alice and Nellie were recovered. They had been stripped naked and buried in a shallow half-basement. Holmes described running gas into a trunk he shut them in, but there was no gas in the house. Their cause of death was unclear, but police found no evidence supporting Holmes’ statements regarding their deaths. Only the method of their burial is known. Holmes borrowed the shovel from a neighbor, saying he wanted to make a place for potatoes.

Holmes then took time off from assassination to visit his hometown in Vermont, an act which continues to puzzle investigators to this day as there was no apparant reason as to why Holmes would suddenly want to go off the grid. After all, there was always money to be made. In his hometown was Holmes’ first wife, Clara, as well as their son Robert. Robbie was 15, the same age as Alice. The Mudgetts hadn’t heard from Holmes in six years. He sent a letter saying he’d recovered from amnesia and was welcomed with open arms. Even though there was news that he’d married a lovely nurse who tended him after a railway accident.

The peace Holmes sought at home didn’t last as good things came to an end. Soon after Vermont, he was busted in Boston, where he’d taken Georgiana to finish their vacation. She had enjoyed the trip so far – staying at the best hotels, going for nights at the opera, ignoring the chemical smell her husband carried around. It was the Pinkerton Detective Agency who brought Holmes down, in cooperation with the Boston P. D. and investigator W. E. Gary of Fidelity Mutual, the insurance company who had paid for Ben Pitezel’s death. Train robber Hedgepeth had spilled the beans by this time. The crooked lawyer likewise confessed to irregularities. A long list of fraud victims were found who stood ready to condemn Holmes’ character in court. Holmes then quickly confessed to insurance fraud. Ben Pitezel wasn’t Ben Pitezel, he said, just some dumb corpse. Newspapers picked up the cover story and ran. From November 1894 to July 1895, fragments of truth were uncovered. After being transferred to Philadelphia and charged with murdering Ben, Holmes claimed Minnie Williams was keeping the children. He had the District Attorney place a coded personal ad asking Minnie to get in touch. Minnie never came forward. 

The Chicago castle’s strange construction caused an excavation to be ordered to start on July 20th, 1895. Clumps of ash were mistaken for rib bones and reported as such. Lists of possible victims were written that included the living and the dead. It’s a mistake to think TV invented the media circus. Crowds flocked to the Murder Castle, spurred on by newspaper coverage. On Sunday, July 28th, 4900 gawkers were turned away by police, while a hundred were allowed to trample the crime scene. Over the months that followed, the bodies of the Pitezel children were found. A lawyer for Holmes managed to convince the judge not to allow evidence about any murder but Ben Pitezel’s to be discussed in court. It was one of the defense’s only victories. Twelve jurors convicted Holmes of killing Ben. His appeals were denied. When he stood at last on the gallows, he insisted once more that the only lives he had ever taken were Julia’s and Emeline’s, in the botched abortion surgeries. According to a doctor who observed the hanging, Holmes died instantly of a broken neck, though his body twitched for several minutes after that.

A long-standing rumor held that Holmes escaped his death. He was supposed to have bribed guards and priests to screen him from witnesses while he swapped places with a dead body. Though the story was never taken that seriously, the rumor that he lived to wreak vengeance on people associated with his trial persisted until recently. Jeff Mudgett, the great-great-grandson of Holmes, attempted to prove the rumor in 2017. In a televised excavation, Holmes was unearthed from his grave, which involved consulting old records of where the grave was since it wasn’t marked. The excavators had to dig through concrete. Holmes feared his body would be desecrated, so he took extreme measures. After the excavators dealt with some extra protection Holmes had put in that scholars didn’t even know about, his DNA was found to be a close match to Jeff Mudgett’s. It turns out, he was dead the whole time. Unsurprisingly, rumors about Holmes didn’t stop when he did. Sloppy reporting and deliberate myth-making continued to mislead the public for decades to come. Holmes is remembered today mostly for what he might have done, rather than the crimes he actually committed.

~brianna