#fish footman
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A pair of Alice in Wonderland characters I've only been requested to make a few times - at least in comparison to the nearly 100 march hares I've been requested to make.
The Fish and Frog Footmen.
Drawn Comms | Felt and Sticker Shop
#alice in wonderland#aiw#needle felt#needle felting#needle felted#felt art#alice in wonderland art#soft sculpture#fish footman#frog footman#frog art#frog
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The Fish Footman and the Frog Footman from "Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland" (1865)
just want to think about them for a bit
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Fantasy Guide to Hosting a High Society Dinner Party
In every period piece, the rich, the noble and the Royal often gather for an exquisite meal where etiquette reigns supreme. The intricacies of these high society dinners are complex, one foot out of line and you risk offending your guests. So how can we write them?
Place Settings
Perhaps the most complex part of a dinner is how the silverware, plates and glasses are arranged on the table. First the table is laid with a wool cloth to keep the white tablecloth in place. The tablecloth has to hang midway between the floor and the table. Every course has to have its own set of silverware, every course must have its own glass for the wine being served. Napkins are usually of linen, cut about twenty-four to twenty-six inches. Most tables would have centrepieces either of candelabras or flowers. This would be undertaken by the footmen under the eye of the butler.
Seating
Table seatings are just as important as anything for a dinner as it marks rank. The head of the house sits at the head of the table. The guest of honor sits next to the head and if they have a guest, say a friend, they sit on the other side of the head of the household. A spouse of the female guest will sit to the left of the host and the spouse of the male guest at the left of the hostess. Important guests are seated near the host or hostess. Other guests at the table are arranged by interests, usually near people they can speak with. Married or engaged guest generally do not sit with one another. Most dinners are arranged in a man-woman arrangement. Most dinners, especially formal ones, would have assigned seating.
Serving
In the dinning room, there are usually a collection of footmen and the butler to serve. The butler selects and pours each wine for the courses served. He serves the host first, working clockwise around the table with each footmen carrying either the sides, accompanying sauce or the meat/fish itself. In very formal settings, every guest may have their own footman to cater their needs. While waiting at table, the servants don't talk to the guests unless asked a direct question they must avoid avoid eye contact and offer the plate to the appropriate height so the guest can easily serve themselves. All footmen and the butler must wear white gloves while serving.
Timeline
Before dinner, guests gather in the salon or drawing room to have a drink and get settled before hand. Some houses served cocktails during this time. When dinner is announced, the guests will make their way into dining room with the men escorting the ladies they are seated with, following after the host in order of precedent. Most formal dinners had multiple courses, sometimes as much as twenty or so. After dinner, the ladies would leave the men to their drink and cigars while they take coffee in one of the drawing rooms. They would reunite after for some light conversation and entertainment.
Drink
There are strict rules involving drink. Most courses would have their own wine. White wine is served with the fish, red wine with the meat, and champagne or sherry with dessert. Port, coffee and other drinks such as curaçao would be served after supper. Wine would have had to be strained for sediment by the butler beforehand and decanted once opened.
Dining Etiquette
There are numerous rules to follow when is dining at a formal dinner right down to leaving the table or what you wear.
One doesn't sit until the hostess has been seated, the guests wait behind their chairs until she sits.
Men would pull out the chair for the lady to their right. Hands should remain off the table when not in use they should be ones lap.
Napkins are placed on one's lap but only after the host/hostess does, with the fold tucked at the waist.
As for silverware, one begins with the outermost pieces and work your way in for each course.
One only begins eating or drink when the host does. When the host/hostess stops eating, placing their silverware on the plate at the 10:20 position, everyone must stop eating.
When a lady rises, the men near her are expected to stand, pulling out her chair and pulling it in when she returns.
When being served, one is not expected to thank the servants.
When at a formal dinner, men would wear their whites and tails. At a less formal dinner, men would wear dinner jackets.
Married ladies would wear tiaras at formal suppers and all ladies wore gloves, removing them while eating.
#Fantasy Guide to high society dining#Dining Etiquette#Writing guide#etiquette#Dining Etiquette guide#Fantasy guide#writing#writeblr#writing resources#writing reference#writing advice#writer#writer's problems#spilled words#writer's life#Fantasy Guide
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The Fish Footman and the Frog Footman by John Tenniel, 1865.
Context: illustration from Alice's Adventures in Wonderland by Lewis Carroll.
#classic art#drawing#illustration#john tenniel#english artist#19th century#fantasy#literature#alice in wonderland#alice's adventures in wonderland#frog#fish#footmen#outside#exterior
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The 1997 Anastasia movie, while most likely being most people’s introduction to the Romanov Family and their history, was incredibly inaccurate.
Here are some of those inaccuracies
In the first opening moments, of the film we see the Dowager Empress Marie Feodorovna boarding the carriage to go to the ball. The footman greets her as Your Highness. In fact, the Dowager Empress addressed as Your Imperial Highness (there was a huge difference as Princess and Princesses were only entitled Your Highness.)
The Romanov Tercentennial was in fact 1913, not 1916.
In 1916, as the movie claims, Anastasia is 8. In fact, Anastasia was born in 1901, making her actually 15 at the time of the ball.
When we see Anastasia greet her grandmother at the ball, Marie Feodorovna wears a wedding ring on her left hand. In Russian Orthodoxy, the wedding band is worn on the right hand.
When the ‘evil’ Rasputin party-crashes the ball, Nicholas tells him he is a traitor. In the time Rasputin spent with the family, there was never any evidence that he betrayed them. He offered them his support, albeit for questionable reasons, but was only sent away for a short time by the Tsar under pressure from his ministers.
The raid of the Winter Palace occurred well into 1917, not 1916 as portrayed in the film. By this time, Nicholas had already abdicated (March of 1917) and they were imprisoned first at the Alexander Palace, then in the Governor’s mansion in Tobolsk, before being moved to the Ipatiev House in 1918, where they were ultimately murdered. The murder of the imperial family did not happen until two years after the ball in the film.
When Anastasia runs back to her room to retrieve her music box, we see the room to be rather “royal-looking” with a single large bed in the corner. Anastasia shared a room with her older sister Marie for all of their childhood, and their beds were in fact camp-beds; hard and not as luxurious as other royalty’s of the time.
Ten Years Later, 1926, Anya leaves the orphanage for a job at the fish market. When Anastasia reaches the fork in the road, the sign says Saint Petersburg. During the Great War, St. Petersburg was renamed Petrograd, a less German-sounding name. After communist leader Vladimir Lenin died in 1924, it became Leningrad, when it did not become Saint Petersburg again until 1991. Throughout the film this inaccuracy is repeated, most significantly in the song Rumor in Saint Petersburg. One would think even the peasants would be accustomed to a new name of their city after 10-15 years.
When Anastasia reaches the train station, the station guard wears the red cap with the Soviet crest. This crest wasn’t used in fact until the 1930s. It was only 1926.
A number of times, the peasants and Dmitri call her The Princess. In Russia, this would have been a great offense to her title, as Anastasia had always been, a Grand Duchess. The title Princess ranks significantly under Grand Duchess
Anya, is in fact a Russian nickname for Anna, not Anastasia. Anya was the name of her mother’s lady-in-waiting and close friend Anna Vyrubova. Anastasia’s nickname was Nastya, Nastia or shvibzik “imp”.
In 1926, the Catherine Palace was being used as a museum and its park area was open to the public, not quite as run down as in the film.
It wasn’t also the Imperial Family’s home, as suggested; they preferred the comfort and privacy of the Alexander Palace at Tsarskoe Selo, a little while outside the city.
When Olga, Tatiana and Marie come down to dance with their sister during the song, they all look to be around the same height. In truth, Anastasia was much shorter than her sisters. Tatiana was the tallest in the family, standing at around 5’9
The same mistake was made with Nicholas. When he and Alexandra come out of the portrait, he looks to be much taller than Alix; he, like his daughter, was actually rather short, only about 5’6, and stood around the same height as his wife.
When Bartok watches Vlad, Anastasia and Dmitri leave the ball room, he says All the Romanovs are dead. This simply wasn’t true. In 1919, around 30 Romanovs managed to escape via various methods, including the Dowager Empress Marie Feodorovna.
On the boat to France, Rasputin attempts to force Anya to jump off the side of the ship. She dreams she sees her father, sisters and brother playing in water. Nicholas calls her “Sunshine”, which was actually the nickname of her little brother, Alexei.
In this same dream, Alexei jumps from the top of the cliff down into the water. It was well-known that Alexei had a severe type 2 case of hemophilia, and there was no way Nicholas nor any of the sisters would have allowed him to make such a dangerous leap.
When the gang are journeying to Paris, they hope to meet the Dowager Empress. In 1926, Marie was actually living in Denmark, after the death of her beloved sister, Queen Alexandra of England the year before.
When Anastasia meets Sophie, she is asked how she likes her tea. Anastasia tells her she doesn’t like tea. But there have been many anecdotes of the real Anastasia drinking tea in the mornings and afternoons with her sisters and parents. (This of course may have changed as she aged).
When Dimitri refers to Anya and the Dowager Empress as ‘your grace’ this title is also incorrect. “Your Grace” was commonly used only amongst non-royal dukes and duchesses, and archbishops of the United kingdom.
When Vladimir announces ‘we have found the heir to the Russian throne’, this is completely innacurate. Even as the closest surviving member to the last Tsar, Anastasia would, sadly, have no right to the throne. There were around 30 dynastic members of the family surviving in 1926, and many available males. In Imperial Russia, the line of succession was strictly male-primogeniture; the eldest son would inherit the throne. In 1926, by law, this male would be the Grand Duke Cyril Vladimirovich.
The Dowager Empress could not have possibly had the means to offer a 10 million ruble reward for the return of her granddaughter. The Romanov fortune had all but disappeared and she largely relied on the charity of the English and Danish Royal Family.
The biggest inaccuracy, however, was that Anastasia survived. She, along with the rest of her family, were murdered by the Bolsheviks in 1918
#russian history#tsarist russia#anastasia romanov#anastasia 1997#film history#historical inaccuracies
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I was tagged by @tokkias in this WIP-Share game, so here we go!
rules: share the first line (or two or more!) of every current wip you have (that you feel comfortable sharing) and tag some writer friends! feel free to add the titles of your documents if you see fit
\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/
Dragon Bound (Chaptered)
“The only question that matters is this: How do we choose?” Murmurs lifted around the room again before someone cut in loudly.
“Ultear! You can’t seriously be in line with this idea!” The small-framed older man crossed his arms over his chest, his frown deepening.
“I see no other alternative Yajima. Four of those dragons are ravaging our nation, killing at will. If the sacrifice of one person can stem their bloodlust, then the only question that needs answering is…how do we choose?”
Villainy (Working Title, Chaptered)
The first time he saw her was at some high society function, he didn’t remember which one. They were young, no more than 6 and 7 years old. The adults were talking around him when he noticed the blonde girl in her puffy blue dress and shiny black shoes. She was holding an elegant woman’s hand and kicking her feet aimlessly. He tugged on his father’s sleeve insistently.
“Dad, can I go play with her?” he asked when Igneel leaned down to him. His father glanced over at the child his son indicated and smiled.
“Of course you can. Mind your manners, son,” he warned lightly. Natsu beamed at his father and practically bounced across the room. Igneel watched his son completely forget his manners, failing to bow to the girl or her mother.
No Title
Natsu tugged at the stiff collar of his shirt. He knew he was lucky to be a footman, especially in a house as prestigious as the Heartfilia Estate, but that didn’t make the uniform any less itchy. He was grateful for his promotion, truly. He’d never expected (or wanted) to be more than just a kitchen boy. What job could be better? The work was heavy and the hours long, but he was a strong young man, so it never bothered him. Besides that, working in the kitchens gave him ample opportunity to swipe a bit of whatever Mirajane, the cook, was making that day.
But being a footman meant more free time, better pay, and better perks. As a footman, he would get to travel a bit, instead of getting left behind all the time. An empty manor could be an adventure of its own, but he wanted to see the world more than he wanted to explore the empty gardens that he already knew back to front. Footmen also had a better chance of being taken seriously when trying to buy land or a home, and Natsu wanted nothing more than to build a home along a river somewhere and while his days away fishing and dreaming.
No Title
“So, what is it like when you become E.N.D.?”
Natsu looked over at her. Lucy was laying on her stomach, waving her bare legs in the air as she read through a book. She was sitting up on her elbows now, looking up at him. “What’s got you thinking about that all of a sudden?” he wondered.
Lucy ran a slender finger along the page of her book. Something I read in here reminded me of that Tartaros guy, Jackal. He was able to choose between his forms at will, remember? Can you do that? Or is he something separate from you entirely?”
Natsu hummed thoughtfully, trying to remember the feelings he’d experienced in his limited transformations. “I think I could learn to do it….I remember what happens when I take his form, so it’s not like I’m….gone or anything. Lucy nodded and tapped her lip thoughtfully.
Futures (Working Title, One Shot)
“Lucy, now that it’s over, I just…. I wanna hold her. What do you think? You would know her better than I do…is she ready?” he asked the stone. “Did your Natsu ever manage to tell you how he felt? I don’t think he would have. He didn’t have to watch you die.” He fell silent for a long time, just staring at the tree branches sightlessly.
“I think about that a lot. Did he love you as much as I love her? Did you love him too? ……Does she?” His voice was barely above a whisper. He glanced over at the stone and sat up on his elbows. “I wish things could have been different for you and him. I hope you find each other again,” he murmured. He pushed himself into a squat and gazed at the flowers he’d left.
“Happy Birthday Lucy,” he said gently before standing up. “Wish me luck.”
There you go! A hand full of snippets for snacking! I'd love to hear your thoughts or feedback, and to see what you are working on too! I think Tokkias already tagged all my writing friends except @kiliinstinct.
#creative writing#WIP Share Gane#fic writer ask game#fairy tail fanfic#ao3 fanfic#fairy tail nalu#lucy heartfilia#natsu dragneel#natsu x lucy#fairy tail#snippets#wip game
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Previous | Chapter Start | Beginning | Next
author's note: I was not kidding about those content warnings we are already in the shit.
transcript below the cut!
Blackwell Palace, August 1994
ANDRE | [looking at a portrait of his deceased parents, sighs]
FOOTMAN | [offscreen] Your Highness?
FOORMAN | [offscreen] Your grandfather is ready to see you, now.
ANDRE | [sighs] Okay.
EVERARD III | ...I'll get right down to it: I need you on Thursday night.
ANDRE | Er...at the ambassador's dinner?
EVERARD III | What? No, don't be stupid. At the Daytime Broadcasting Awards.
ANDRE | ...you want me on a red carpet? Can't you send Olly?
EVERARD III | And you let her?
EVERARD III | [scoffs] Watch your tone, boy. D'you think I'm too old to knock some manners into you? I will not argue with you. Olivia's not going, you are.
ANDRE | [unhappily] Yes, sir?
EVERARD III | [offscreen] Quit feeling sorry for yourself. It's one night, you'll live.
ANDRE | Yes, sir.
EVERARD III | Lighten up, Andre. You're so morose all the damn time. People think you're a cold fish, nobody wants you for King. It'd be good for your image... [rant continues, indistinct]
ANDRE | [sighs] Damn it, Olly.
[phone ringing]
OLIVIA | [groaning]
OLIVIA | Hello?
ANDRE | [over the phone] Olly? It's Andre.
OLIVIA | [resigned] Oh. Hi.
ANDRE | "Hi?" Is that really all you have to say to me?
OLIVIA | [over the phone] Listen, I know you're mad at me, but—
ANDRE | Who do you think has to pick up your slack, Olly?
ANDRE | [over the phone] When you cancel appearances for no reason—
OLIVIA | Andre, I can't go.
ANDRE | [over the phone] When you cancel for no reason, he sends me or Elise.
OLIVIA | [offscreen] I told you! I can't go, I can't even leave the house.
ANDRE | [offscreen] Why not?
OLIVIA | [offscreen] ...that's none of your business.
ANDRE | It is when it's costing me time with my family!
OLIVIA | [scoffs] Oh, so you're the only one with a family now?
ANDRE | That is not what I said.
ANDRE | [looking at a portrait of his deceased parents, sighs]
FOOTMAN | [offscreen] Your Highness?
FOORMAN | [offscreen] Your grandfather is ready to see you, now.
ANDRE | [sighs] Okay.
EVERARD III | ...I'll get right down to it: I need you on Thursday night.
ANDRE | Er...at the ambassador's dinner?
EVERARD III | What? No, don't be stupid. At the Daytime Broadcasting Awards.
ANDRE | ...you want me on a red carpet? Can't you send Olly?
EVERARD III | And you let her?
EVERARD III | [scoffs] Watch your tone, boy. D'you think I'm too old to knock some manners into you? I will not argue with you. Olivia's not going, you are.
ANDRE | [unhappily] Yes, sir?
EVERARD III | [offscreen] Quit feeling sorry for yourself. It's one night, you'll live.
ANDRE | Yes, sir.
EVERARD III | Lighten up, Andre. You're so morose all the damn time. People think you're a cold fish, nobody wants you for King. It'd be good for your image... [rant continues, indistinct]
ANDRE | [sighs] Damn it, Olly.
[phone ringing]
OLIVIA | [groaning]
OLIVIA | Hello?
ANDRE | [over the phone] Olly? It's Andre.
OLIVIA | [resigned] Oh. Hi.
ANDRE | "Hi?" Is that really all you have to say to me?
OLIVIA | [over the phone] Listen, I know you're mad at me, but—
ANDRE | Who do you think has to pick up your slack, Olly?
ANDRE | [over the phone] When you cancel appearances for no reason—
OLIVIA | Andre, I can't go.
ANDRE | [over the phone] When you cancel for no reason, he sends me or Elise.
OLIVIA | [offscreen] I told you! I can't go, I can't even leave the house.
ANDRE | [offscreen] Why not?
OLIVIA | [offscreen] ...that's none of your business.
ANDRE | It is when it's costing me time with my family!
OLIVIA | [scoffs] Oh, so you're the only one with a family now?
ANDRE | That is not what I said.
OLIVIA | Oh, but that's you meant isn't it?
ANDRE | [over the phone] Olly—
OLIVIA | Don't "Olly" me. God, you are so fucking full of yourself!
ANDRE | Oh, I'm full of myself? Excuse me, who is cancelling engagements? Who is hiding out at Morley? Who is hiding behind Grandfather?
OLIVIA | Oh— fuck you, Andre. Go fuck yourself, you sanctimonious piece of shit—
[call disconnects]
[dialtone]
ANDRE | ...damn it, Olly.
[dialtone continues]
OLIVIA | [sighs]
FLORENCE | [from outside the room] Mom?
FLORENCE | Mom? Are you still in there?
FLORE
#armorica story#character: andre st. fleur#character: everard st. fleur#character: olivia st. fleur#character: florence norman#domestic violence cw#abuse cw#behind the scenes#armorica: 1994
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Mister Lockwood's Daughter: Chapter Four
@whumpyourdamnpears
Many thanks to my darling beta reader/editor @demonroo-arts
content: made to beg
Simon asks politely, Clementine finds joy in the absurd, Mister Lockwood is pleased.
The next few days followed much the same pattern: Simon administered medicine and read to Clementine while Mister Lockwood looked on and seethed. Simon, true to his word, did his best not to overstep or misbehave again. Despite his efforts, some dark part of him was getting angry. He silenced that part of him as best he could–something told him fighting back would end very poorly for him.
“She considered him to be a footman because he was in livery: otherwise, judging by his face only, she would have called him a fish–” Simon paused as Clementine giggled. He couldn’t help but smile for the first time since his kidnapping. “What’s so silly about that? Can’t a fish be a footman?”
“But they don’t have feet!” Clementine cried. She fell back into her pillows in a fit of giggles. “Oh, I would like a fish footman. He’d do everything I told him to–as long as I spoke fish!”
The clock on the wall struck one. Mister Lockwood rose to his feet. Clementine sagged in her seat as he took Simon by the shoulder.
“Can’t he stay? I don’t understand why he needs to leave everyday. Where do you go, anyway?” Asked Clementine. Simon glanced up at Mister Lockwood, anxiety in his eyes,
“Simon has to go back to his room. The longer he stays here, the more likely he is to get sick. Isn’t that right, Simon?” Mister Lockwood shot a warning glance down at his prisoner.
“Yes. I need to stay safe, too. Don’t worry, I’ll be back tomorrow.” Simon raised from his seat, and with a goodbye to Clementine allowed himself to be escorted back to his room. He hesitated in the doorway. He turned to Mister Lockwood abruptly. “May I ask something of you?”
“You may.”
“You’re going to have to get rid of Clementine’s toys once she’s better. They carry the disease on them. I was hoping…” Simon paused. Mister Lockwood raised his eyebrow. “I can draw quite well, or so I’ve been told. I was wondering if you’d allow me to make paper dolls for the girl. She could keep them by her bed, and they’re cheaper to dispose of than regular dolls. I’d need pastel crayons, and–”
“And scissors. You’re asking me for scissors.” Mister Lockwood’s voice was flat.
“Yes. Sir, I understand why you might be hesitant, but I assure you–I’m not scheming to attack you. I’m not stupid, I understand the situation I’m in, and–”
Mister Lockwood cupped Simon's cheek, cutting him off.
“You’re going to ask me. Politely. Then perhaps I’ll consider it.” He said, softly enough to make Simon uneasy. Simon flushed with embarrassment.
“Please, sir. I promise I’m not trying to hurt you. I just want to make your daughter happy. It’d only be for a little while–you could take the scissors away when I’m done. Please.” Simon begged. More frightening than any of Mister Lockwood’s rage was the surge of affection in his eyes. He rubbed his thumb across Simon’s cheekbone. Simon pulled his face away, only to be dragged back by Mister Lockwood’s hand cupping his other cheek.
“Since you ask so prettily… Yes, I’ll allow it. I'll have the supplies sent up later today. Say thank you, now.” Mister Lockwood said. His voice was low and full of fondness. Simon couldn’t stand it.
“Thank you, sir.” Simon whispered. He wished more than anything to get away from this horrible place, from this horrible man. He closed his eyes and willed it all away.
Mister Lockwood released Simon’s face. He left the room, closing and locking the door behind him.
“Goodnight, Simon.” Mister Lockwood said through the door.
Thick paper, pastels, and a pair of scissors were delivered an hour later. Simon got to work, drawing ladies in finery and gentlemen’s wardrobes and a footman with a fish’s face. He slept with the scissors on the mantelpiece, burning a hole in his mind.
#whump#whump writing#whump story#historical whump#whumpee#whumper#mister lockwood's daughter#I've still got writer's block so the updates may slow down
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my love for you is infinite - part13
Santiago Garcia x afab!reader(Darcy)
note: pride and prejudice (2005) but with triple frontier boys because why not lol
word count: 1009
warnings: shenanigans
you can also read it on ao3.
part12 - part14 - masterlist
A footman escorts Santiago and the Gardiners through the stupendous library. The footman opens the double doors to reveal the magnificent drawing room. Darcy is and her sister Georgiana plays the piano. She jumps up and hurries over.
“My sister, Miss Georgiana...”
They smile and bob. Georgiana is a friendly, sweet girl.
“Mr. Santiago, my sister has told me so much about you. I feel as if we are friends already.”
“Oh, thank you.”
Not knowing what to do with this information, Santiago looks around.
“What a beautiful pianoforte.”
“My brother gave it to me” Georgiana says while smiling at her sister “She shouldn't have.”
“Yes, I should.”
“Oh, very well then.”
“She’s easily persuaded, is she not?”
Darcy and Georgiana smile at each other with affection.
“Your unfortunate sister once had to put up with my playing for a whole evening.”
Georgiana turns huge innocent eyes upon Santiago.
“But she says you play so well!”
Santiago, astounded, looks at Darcy, who gives a small, rather sweet shrug.
“Then she has perjured himself most profoundly.”
Darcy laughs.
“I said played "quite well".”
“Quite well is not very well. I am satisfied.”
Georgiana looks between them, intrigued and aware, instinctively, of the enormous attraction between them. Darcy notices and makes an effort to be normal.
“Your uncle is fond of fishing, I hear.”
“Yes, very.”
“Can you persuade him to borrow a rod this afternoon? For the lake here is very well stocked and its occupants left in peace for far too long.”
“That is a kindness he will never forget, Ma’am.”
He smiles gratefully, openly and Darcy has to look away.
“Do you play duets, Mr. Santiago?”
“Only when forced.”
“Sister, you must force him.
Santiago looks at Darcy - they smile at each other, a shy smile, a truce.
***
Darcy is driving Santiago and the Gardiners back to Lambton. The rugged landscape looks even more beautiful and dramatic in the dusk light. Santiago sits up with Darcy who holds the reins, while Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner sit comfortably in the carriage. Mr. Gardiner smiles broadly at two large fish that lie beside him.
“It is so beautiful up here. I will be sorry to leave.”
Darcy smiles at him.
“You have been a most gracious host. I'm sure my aunt and uncle will talk of nothing else for days.”
“I have recently thought a great deal about how I appear and act to others.”
Santiago looks at her, a serious last look as though he wants to record her features properly.
***
The party arrive back at the inn.
“What a wonderful lady” Mr. Gardiner says quietly to Santiago.
“Thank you so much Miss Darcy.”
Darcy is about to take her leave when the maid brings Santiago a letter.
“For you, sir.”
“It’s from Francisco.”
He rips open the letter.
***
Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner are sitting, looking grim. Darcy is pacing, equally' concerned.
Santiago walks in with the letter, he tries to speak, chokes a sob and walks out again. With great difficulty, Darcy restrains himself from following him. So, she sits down.
Santiago comes in again very quickly.
“No, I'm perfectly well. Truly.”
He takes a deep breath. Darcy's face is a picture of tender concern. Mrs. Gardiner watches her, too.
“It is the most dreadful news. Ben has run away - with Mr. Wickham. They are gone together from Brighton to Lord knows where. He has no money, no connections, I fear he is lost forever.”
“This is my fault - if only I had exposed Wickham when I should.” says Darcy.
“No, it is my fault. I might have prevented all of it merely by being open with my brothers.”
Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner look at each other perplexed.
“Has anything been done to recover him?”
“Father has gone to London. But I know very well that nothing can be done. We have not the smallest hope.”
“Would I could help you.”
“Miss Darcy, I think it is too late.”
“I am afraid we must go at once I will join Mr. Bennet and find Ben before he ruins the family forever.”
“This is grave indeed. I will leave you. Goodbye.”
Darcy pauses at the door, looks back at Santiago and then is gone.
Santiago, Francisco, Tom and William are gathered around Mrs. Bennet who has taken to her bed.
***
“Why did the Forsters let him out of their sight? I always said they were unfit to have charge of him.”
“And now he is ruined.” Tom says smugly.
“You are all ruined. Who will take you now with a fallen sibling? Poor Mr. Bennet will now have to fight the perfidious Wickham and then be killed”
“He hasn't found him yet, Mama.”
“- and the Mr. Collins' will turn us out before he is cold in his grave”
“Do not be alarmed, mama. Our uncle is helping in the search.” says Francisco.
“Ben must know what this will do to my nerves, such flutterings and spasms all over me. . .”
It is clear Mrs. Bennet is truly suffering. Santiago strokes her hand.
***
Santiago and William walk into the drawing room. Francisco and Tom are busying themselves.
“Look. It's Papa!”
They all rush into the library. Mr. Bennet slumps at his desk.
“- who is to fight Wickham and make him marry Ben, now you've come home?” William asks.
“For God's sake let me be! Santiago, help me with my boots.”
“You suppose them to be still in London?”
Mr. Bennet nods “Where else could they be so well concealed?”
“Oh father, I'm so sorry.”
“It’s been my own doing.”
“You mustn't be too severe on yourself.”
“No Santiago. Let me once in my life feel how much I have been to blame. I am not afraid of being overpowered by the experience. It will pass away soon enough.”
***
The boys have a letter. William grabs it from Francisco, Tom grabs it from William, before he has a chance to open it, Francisco grabs it from Tom.
“It’s to Papa. It's in Uncle's writing.”
Mr. Bennet snatches the letter.
“As it is addressed to me...”
He tears it open and begins to read, squinting because he has forgotten his glasses.
“He’s found them.”
“Are they married?”
“Just wait. I can't make out his script.”
Santiago snatches it.
“Give it to me. “
“Are they married?” William asks again.
“They will be, if father will settle a hundred pounds a year on Ben. That is Wickham's condition.”
“A hundred pounds!”
“You will agree to this, father?”
The letter is passed around the others.
“Of course I will agree. But how much your uncle has laid on this wretched man already is anybody's guess.”
“What do you mean, Father?”
“No man in his senses would marry Ben on so slight a temptation as a hundred a year.”
“Ah, I see.” Santiago says.
“See what?”
“Your uncle is very generous.”
“Do you think it a large sum?”
“Wickham’s a fool if he takes her for less than ten thousand pounds.”
“Ten thousand! Heaven forbids!” Francisco exclaims.
***
“Ben married! And at fifteen too! Ring the bell, William! I must put on my things and tell Lady Lucas! Oh, to see her face! And tell the servants they will have a bowl of punch!”
The other Bennets are assembled.
“We should thank our uncle, Mama.”
“And so he should help! He's much richer than us, and he hasn't got any children.”
Santiago looks at his mother in perfect astonishment as she gets out of bed.
“A son, married!”
“Is that all you think about?”
“When you have five children, Santiago, tell me what else will occupy your thoughts and then perhaps you will understand.”
“You don't know what Wickham's like.”
“Now where will they live? Purvis Lodge might do. Ashworth is vacant of course, but it's too far off, I couldn't be as to have her ten miles from me”
“Before you take any of these houses, Mrs. Bennet, let us be clear. Into one house he will never be welcome.”
Mrs. Bennet stares at him.
#santiago garcia#frankie morales#ben miller#will miller#tom davis#triple frontier#santiago garcia x reader#onevolon fic#oscar isaac characters#oscar isaac fic#oscar isaac fanfiction
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{ Location: St. Christpher's Palace, Winchester City }
Crown Prince William of Wessex: Father, the footman told me you wanted to see me.
Prince Christian, The Earl of Gloucester: Yes, Will perfect timing, let's have a seat.
{ Location: Hyde Park ; Claremont House }
Queen Anne II of Wessex: Margaret, dear hope you are up for a bit of walking.
Princess Margaret of Lancaster: Your Majesty. I appreciate the invite
Anne II: Well when I heard that you enjoy fishing, I knew I had to have you on the estate. There's a perfect little waterhole for us to enjoy the afternoon.
Margaret: Murky, but a wonderful spot to fish Your Majesty.
Christian: I wanted to talk to you, about wife, or rather soon to be wife.
William: My wife?
Christian: Yes. Simply put what is happening cannot go on any longer.
Anne II: So dear, how are you feeling? I'm sure nerves abound heading into the big day.
Margaret: Yes there is still much to do to get ready for the wedding. It has been nice having these last few days to prepare.
Anne II: Yes, that was a clever little ruse you and Will cooked up. But we both know missing public engagements can't last.
William: I want to support her. I want our relationship, our family to be built on trust.
Christian: And that's all fine, but steering from the plan, won't due. Family is more than you and her. It is everything that comes after you and came before you. It is our house.
Christian: You need to tell her plainly that within this family, there is no room for individuality or personal feelings. We are all mere cogs in the same machine striving for the same goal, no matter how hard or frivolous our part may be.
Margaret: I appreciate all that you are saying, but yours and my situations are different.
Anne II: I understand more than you know. I wasn't destined to be Queen. I was the second daughter. My sister was the one who was trained to rule. It was her death that propelled me to the throne. One of the reasons Christian appealed to me early in our courting, was the fact that he wasn't destined to be ruler of anything. I wanted the quiet country existence away from it all. But for what ever reason the Crown saw fit to land on my head.
William: I don't think that is fair to say!
Christian: Why not? She is only doing what you allow her to do. And what she's doing will affect you in the long run.
William: You've seen tabloids, the talk shows, the protestors in the street, even I can't bare it at times.
Christian: We are at a point were the only option is moving forward. We all must buckle in and accept the decisions we've made. Come hell or high water.
Anne II: This family is a calling. And believe it or not you were destined to marry William like he's destined to sit on the throne one day. It will be your duty to...
Margaret: ...I don't think I can be some doll on the shelf, some ornament in his chain.
Anne II: I hope you won't be. A Sovereign doesn't need a doll or guided pieces, there are plenty of those around. The Sovereign needs a protector. Someone who will stand for them, the way Christian supports me.
Christian: Now listen here boy, you may think you are doing the right thing, but someday, the Watcher willing, your own son will sit on that throne.
William: There won't be a throne if the people continue to hate the Margaret.
Christian: The people need to see us to believe in us. And if some believe that we are meant to be the villain in their story, then frankly, that's the part she must be willing to play.
Christian: Now, this nonsense of not attending her scheduled engagements is done. You control your house, and need to man up and put an end to it!
Anne II: I know not everything we ask will be fair. But, as a mother I'm hoping I can count on you to do this one thing and help my son shoulder the weight of the Crown.
#sims 4 royal simblr#sims 4 royalty#sims royal legacy#sims 4 royal family#sims 4 royal#sims royalty#sims 4 royals#sims royal family#sims royal#sims royal story#marriagepact#sims 4 simblr#sims 4 story#sims 4 legacy#sims 4 lepacy challenge
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i finished my bingo card from @ficreadingchallenge! i've already requested a new card, because this was great fun, and it made me read things i otherwise wouldn't have. thank you for hosting this event 💗🥰
list of fics under the cut
1. de-aging/kid
Thunder Song by almaasi
Garashir, DS9, 10,776 w, rated gen
summary:
After crash-landing on a stormy L-Class planet, Garak and Bashir begin to de-age rapidly. Now a scrawny pre-augment Julian must take shelter with six-year-old Elim, a tentatively murderous but desperately lonely boy. Julian can barely speak – and without functioning translators, Elim’s words are useless. But what they can do… is sing.
2. gift giving
Thinking of You by stateofintegrity
Garashir, DS9, 788 w, rated teen
summary:
Garak receives tangible proof that Julian is always thinking of him.
3. bodyswap
when I looked to myself I was somebody else by mythicalqueen
Kiradax, DS9, 5,829 w, rated gen
summary:
She turned towards the noise, her eyes widening in shock when she saw her own body sitting up on a biobed. She looked for a reflective surface, her mouth falling slightly open when she found one. Or rather, Kira’s mouth. She reached up and touched her nose to confirm what she was seeing. “Julian, I'm not entirely sure what's going on, but I'm Jadzia.”
Julian raised his eyebrows and Kira turned towards them. Confusion took over her features, followed by disbelief and then realization. She rolled her eyes. “So that's why it feels like there are seven other people in my head. There are.”
4. hurt/comfort
Cold and Comfort by GenuineSnoof
Barisi, SVU, 9,717 w, rated teen
summary:
Sequel to "The Horrible Past, all the Fish and The Deal".
Rafael gets locked in a dark garage by accident for hours.
5. rec'd by a friend (@rieraclaelin)
in the burning light we see by elysiumwaits
Adoribull, DA, 1,009 w, rated teen
summary:
It's not only the snows of Emprise du Lion that have chilled Dorian to the bone.
6. under the influence
A Certain Vulnerability by AreYouReady
Lwaxana/Odo/Quark, DS9, 1,181, rated teen
summary:
Quark makes Lwaxana a Margarita.
Odo makes an arrest.
7. road trip
Just Ourselves - and Immortality by archea2
Wincest, SPN, 4,119 w, rated teen
summary:
Turns out soon is Sam on a bridge, and that rare species of hug that lasts enough Mississipis to flood all of Wisconsin and Dean’s heart into the bargain.
And it’s only the beginning, the wind promises, ruffling Sam’s hair over the back of his neck and Dean’s fingers.
(Written as pre-Wincest, but can easily be read as Gencest.)
8. mythical creature AU
Draconids by anonymous
Garashir, DS9, 1,569 w, rated gen
9. new (to you) pairing
And A Time To Learn by rommunisms
Jake/Nog, DS9, 2,566 w, rated gen
summary:
Set after 1x11 "The Nagus". Jake has been teaching Nog to read; Nog wants to return the favour.
10. daring rescue
Odo's Hero by imnotokaywiththerunning
Quodo, DS9, 1,337 w, rated gen
summary:
In a change of circumstance, Odo relies on Quark to get him out of trouble. It goes about as well as Odo expects.
11. historical AU
The Solicitor and the Chauffeur by Robin Hood (kjack89)
Barisi, SVU, 7,080 w, rated teen
summary:
“Not a footman either,” Sonny told him, lifting the soup tureen and bringing it to the table. “I’m the new chauffeur.”
“Are you indeed,” Rafael murmured as he carefully ladled soup into his bowl. “Then Carisi it is, though I should love to know your given name anyway.”
Something about the way he said it — or maybe just the way he looked up at Sonny, his green eyes mischievous — made Sonny blush, and he hurried to return the tureen to its spot, less he accidentally drop it and make even bigger a fool of himself. “Oh, uh, it’s Dominick, m’lord, but everyone calls me Sonny.”
“Sonny,” Rafael repeated, sounding amused once again. “Of course you would be.” Sonny frowned slightly but before he could ask what exactly he meant by that, Rafael continued, “And you needn’t call me ‘my lord’, I haven’t a peerage yet.”
“Yet, my—I mean, uh, sir?”
For some reason, the question caused Rafael’s smile to disappear. “Yes,” he said stiffly, stirring his soup with his spoon. “Truth be told, I’m engaged to be married to Lady Calhoun.”
12. domestic/curtain fic
the way you sound in the morning by CrimsonPetrichor
Winterfalcon, MCU, 828 w, rated gen
summary:
Bucky is on his second cup of coffee and three chapters into The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy when Sam finally stirs beside him.
--
A slow morning with Sam and Bucky.
13. free space
14. happy ending
From the Dust by katiemariie
Garashir, DS9, 9,384 w, rated mature
summary:
When Sisko returns to linear existence, he tasks Julian with a special mission that takes him to Cardassia and Elim Garak.
15. angst
still by brewrosemilk
Buddie, 911, 9,368 w, rated teen
summary:
For the first time, Buck longs for a bullet wound to treat. Dirt to dig at. A door to break through. Something. There’s nothing.
“Your guess was correct, Diaz,” the bomb technician tells them, as he gestures to the orange circle. “You’re standing on a large sensor plate, wired to a detonator. It’s incredibly important that you don’t move. Don’t shift. When you put your weight down, it was like cocking a gun - you take your weight off, this thing is powerful enough to take the entire house with it."
Inspired by Castle, S05E22: Still
16. lyrics title - listen to the song too!
Where Everybody Knows Your Name by shinealightonme
Jake Sisko & Quark, DS9, 7,329 w, rated gen
summary:
Probably the best way to prove that Jake doesn't need everyone hovering over him is not to go into business with Quark. But at least Quark isn't going to make him talk about his feelings.
17. podfic
Are you... scared? by allandrogynouscreatures read by SweetPollyOliver
Quodo, DS9, ~3 min, rated gen
summary:
While Quark and Odo are arguing in Odo's office, the station's power goes out.
18. unfinished/in progress
Fairy Tales in Deep Space by airandangels
Garashir, DS9, 21,555 w, rated gen
summary:
An interesting anthropological experiment: tell Elim Garak human fairy-tales, and see what he thinks the morals are.
19. holiday fic
A Game of Secrets by AstroGold
Garashir, DS9, 4,764 w, rated teen
summary:
It's a universal truth: Secret Santa gifts can get really elaborate. For Star Trek Secret Santa 2019
20. gen fic
Soldiers Were Children Once by sixbeforelunch
Quark, DS9, 1,297 w, rated teen
summary:
Quark understands these Federation types better than most Ferengi. This hasn't gotten him a moon yet, but maybe someday it will make him enough for a large asteroid. Set during the Dominion War, no specific spoilers.
21. fic with no comments yet
Practice by Dirge
Odo & Quark, DS9, 309 w, rated gen
summary:
"Ah. You broke into my desk drawer again."
22. rarepair
Monuments to Self-Loathing: A Par'Mach Comedy by katiemariie
Worf/Quark, DS9, 14,142 w, rated teen
summary:
Set somewhere in season four, Worf struggles to adjust to life on the station, choosing to spend his off hours alone in his quarters. When Sisko gives him a gift that obliges him to remain in public, Worf opts to hang out at the bar where he becomes a better father, rescues the innocent townsfolk, and strikes up a relationship with one person on DS9 he somehow doesn't hate talking to: Quark.
23. fic written by someone who follows you
More Simple Than Plain by LadyDrace @ladydrace
Garashir, DS9, 2,887 w, rated teen
It's the "crashed on a planet" trope, with additional "aliens made them do it". Except no one does it, and the aliens are something in the air.
In any case, Garak goes feral, and it's cuter than anyone expected.
24. secret identity
Tech Support by kenshincha
Stony, MCU, 9,018 w, rated gen
summary:
A series of stories where Steve mistakes Tony for tech support and Tony goes along with it.
25. didn't know they were dating
Nice by Writer_Lethogica
Winterfalcon, MCU, 3,069 w, rated teen
summary:
Based on the fanart piece "nice" by villanette, Bucky has a mostly uneventful night at the Wilson household as he waits for Sam to come home from a mission.
EXCERPT:
“You need sleep,” Bucky said.
Because while Sam took the mantle of Captain America, Bucky took the title of Captain Obvious.
Sam snorted.
Nice.
Sam’s head fell onto Bucky’s shoulder lightly.
“Really? I was thinking about just hanging out down here all night. Maybe throw a party,” mumbled Sam into Bucky’s skin.
“Go up. I’ll meet you up there,” murmured Bucky, glancing over at his open prosthesis.
#Smowkie talks#summer fic reading bingo#ficreadingchallenge#Garashir#Kiradax#Barisi#Adoribull#Wincest#Jake x Nog#Quodo#Winterfalcon#Sambucky#Buddie#Stony
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[IMAGE ID: two horizontal flags with nine stripes; each flag has an angler slime in the center. the angler slime is a blue blob with eyes closed, darker blue fins, and a light lure; it resembles an angler fish. the middle stripe is twice as large as the rest of them, which are equally sized. the first flag has these top three colors: dark red-purple, dull red-purple, and red-orange. the second flag has these top three colors: nearly-black purple, navy blue, and dull warm blue. each flag has these bottom six stripes: light yellow, off-white, light yellow, medium blue, dark blue, and navy blue. END ID.]
anglerslimibel: a gender connected to being an angler slime rebel; this gender is connected to angler slimes, angler slime aesthetics, rebel aesthetics, rebellion aesthetics, and dystrofare troininity!
footmanglerslimic: a gender connected to being an angler slime footman, or a footman of angler slimes; this gender is connected to angler slimes, angler slime aesthetics, footman aesthetics, and dystrofare droxininity!
@radiomogai @liom-archive @obscurian @electrosaccharine @page-2-ids
#anglerslimibel#footmanglerslimic#rebel system#footman system#angler slime#dystrofare#mogai gender#mogai coining#gender coining#tech.png
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A Demon's Work is Never Done
Lady Johanna Constantine x f!demon!reader
Summary: In the Year of Our Lord 1787 you wander the world in search of something new, something undiscovered. You find more than you bargained for when you meet the lovely Johanna Constantine.
Warnings: 18+ only, nsfw, bisexual reader, toxic relationship, sexual themes
WC: 4.1k
This is the third instalment of works in The Anthology of Asmodeus’ Heir.
Part One: The Devil is in the Details
Part Two: Lightbringer’s Champion
Part Three: A Demon's Work is Never Done
Part Four: Rise of the Fallen
Part Five: Queen of the Damned
A/N: Reblogs are super appreciated 💜
The Year of Our Lord 1785 - London, England
Another half decent poet had died, William Whitehead, one of the few that you could listen to without wanting to throw yourself into Lucifer’s central hearth. 70 years of life seemed like such a waste, you couldn’t understand why mortals weren’t jumping at the chance for getting an extra 10 years. They didn’t need their souls anyway, not the way they fucked and fought their way across the continent. There was no heaven for them.
“Ay! Hot as hell innit,” a tramp that was well past her used by date called out. “Mind you, just another day to the demon-folk.”
“Mad old bat,” you hissed, blowing a theatrical tendril of smoke from your mouth. “Be gone with you, Hettie.”
She cackled loudly, swaying her filthy, heavy skirts as she danced out of the dank alley and off towards the pub. Poor man that gave her coin for a shag, he might well sell his soul when he catches syphilis from her.
Chuckling to yourself, you continued on your way along the river as a gorgeous ship docked. It was only by fate's ministrations that the Dockmaster stepped out of his office and called for the captain. A rare name you had heard a handful of times over the centuries. Hob Gadling.
You followed the Dockmaster’s attention and found an impeccably dressed male standing proud as the ramp waited to be connected. The dock smelled terrible with the livestock waiting to be boarded to other ships and the fish from the smaller boats along the Thames but you could still mark his scent. Human but not mortal.
Curious.
You didn’t see the point in lingering around the area any longer, since an immortal would have no reason to sell their soul, so you followed your nose to the nicer side of the city and into Buckingham House.
“Is Charlie in residence?” you asked a startled footman, his eyes darting to the gates still sealed shut behind you.
“Her Majesty, Queen Charlotte,” he corrected as he reached for the sword on his hip, “is not taking callings this evening.”
“Perfect.” You smiled and brushed past, dodging the swipe of his sword before it could bury in your belly. You were up the steps and crossing the threshold before he could shout his alarm, a laugh taunting him in your wake. “Honey, I’m home.”
The faces in the parlour all turned to you and while most shied away from your intense stare the Queen and one other did not. No one had the gall to reproach you for your unusual dress, forgoing the heavy layers of skirting over a hoop and a restricting corset for the comfort of a free flowing peplos. It had been a favourite of your fashion for aeons and if any of the riff-raff thought the lack of modesty was an invitation for their touch then they would lose their hand at the very least.
“What do we have here?” you asked as you glided across the ornate flooring and met the young woman’s gaze as she remained seated, not an ounce of fear in those sapphire eyes. “You do so gather the most beautiful of things, Charlie.”
“Indeed,” the Queen smirked over her tea cup. “The lovely Johanna Constantine. My dear husband has commissioned her assistance in retrieving a lost item, Pandora’s Box.”
“Is that so?” You dropped into an overstuffed chair and crossed your legs, earning a grumble of complaints from the Ladies-In-Waiting. “Echidna won’t be happy, which means I am yours to assist on this adventure. I love Norway at this time of year.”
Johanna remained passive, if not mildly bored, as she sipped her tea and tried to glean any information she could from you with those intelligent eyes. She was a hawk, noticing each small movement, your body language, what weapons were hidden on your body and where. “This property is warded.”
You bit your lip and took delight as her pupils dilated at the sight, a hint of jasmine emanating from her. The rest of the party were delightfully unaware of what Johanna had discovered. “It is, though now that I recall it, they felt different. That wouldn’t be your doing would it, love?”
“Johanna has proven herself a worthy occultist,” Charlotte said smugly. “If the laws were different I would have her ordained high priestess.”
“That would be a tragedy. Drab cloth, abstinence.” You shivered dramatically at the thought and a small smile teased her pressed lips. “You deserve blissful orgasms, mistress.”
“That is quite enough.” The Queen whispered, her eyes flickering to the doors opening to reveal her husband, King George the Third. “Look who has returned to London.”
The King took one look at you and left the room again. “Is he still upset he lost the game?”
She gave a discrete shrug and reached for a scone. “Those were his favourite horses, and it cost a fortune to breed them right.”
“Thou shalt not play dice with a demon.”
Charlotte grinned and tapped her nose.
Johanna choked on a laugh, her cheeks turning pink as she hid her face behind an embroidered fan. “You knowingly let a demon into your home?”
“Och, such a crude word, demon,” you huffed, swiping a pastry from the silver tray. “We aren’t all the same, you know. I could teach you a great deal about them. I suppose we will have plenty of time for that on our journey north.”
Her teeth flashed as she darted closer and stole half of your pastry with a wicked smile. “I look forward to it.”
Of course in those pleasure filled nights spent on the ship, you had given her too much information about demons. She was sharp witted and skilled with wards before, now she could exorcise lesser demons who stole bodies to roam earth and also summon them. You swore you would stop but she was an opportunist through and through, knowing how to detach your mind with a few flicks of that wicked tongue.
“Can you make me immortal?” she asked as she lay in your arms, the ocean lapping at your ship.
“That’s not within my power,” you admitted quietly, your fingers mapping the constellation of light freckles across her back. “But the few times I have witnessed humans receive the gift of immortality it has only ended in tragedy. The three-faced goddess does not take lightly someone circumventing their fate. There would also be the matter of your daughter, it would be more than a mother could take to watch their child grow old and die.”
Her eyes blazed in defiance as she did not get the answer she was hoping for and pulled away. “You do not want to spend eternity with me.”
“That is not-”
“When I return to the King with Pandora’s Box he will return what is rightfully mine, the land and manor my parents owned. A future.” She drew the sheet around her as she rose from the bed. “For us.”
You sighed as the cool air kissed your skin, the warmth stolen with the linen Johanna was wrapped in. “Pandora’s box may give you the answers you seek, but I implore you to reconsider before you open it. The risk is always greater than the reward.”
“Thank you,” she squealed as she dove back onto the bed and into your arms.
The sea began to churn as a sudden storm blew in and eclipsed the sun, and you whispered the truth under your breath, “I’m going to regret this.”
“You pussy-drunk demon,” you hissed to yourself. “Should have kept your damn mouth shut.”
Your fists banged against the church doors but it was consecrated ground that had been strongly warded and Johanna had stolen your dagger. The unholy relic was currently stabbed through the lock so even you couldn’t break it.
You felt the heatwave erupt as the box was open and knew it had undoubtedly woken up beings that were better off asleep.
“Johanna, open this door now!” Your order went unanswered but the scream of her daughter echoed through the church, Mouse was screaming for help. “Open the fucking door!”
The stained glass windows exploded and shards sliced at your skin. The pain was second to the fear of what was happening inside. You could hear voices but they were speaking too quietly to hear or the shield around the church was strong enough to dampen your senses.
There was only one person who had the power to break through the holy shield and you really wished there was another option. But there wasn’t. So back home you went.
“Lucifer, Asmodeus’ heir wishes to speak with you. She says it’s urgent,” Mazikeen said, using your title to help increase your chances of being granted entry.
The iron door swung open and you crossed the stone floor quickly, not even taking the time to survey the room for threats lurking in the shadows.
“200 years since you last visited,” Lucifer murmured as she lazily traced the curves of the bones that made her throne, “and now you come to ask for my help.”
“200 years?” you asked, licking your lips as you skirted behind the throne and pricked your finger on the claw at the arch of her leathery wings. “You haven’t aged a bit.”
“Ugh, lust demons,” Mazikeen spat before turning her back to stare out over the city.
“Don’t act like you haven’t sought my bed, Maz.” You smirked before giving your attention back to Lucifer. “I wouldn’t be so foolish to ask for your help, your Majesty. I offer an exchange. You haven’t chosen your new Champion since Forrasis was killed.”
Her sharp nails tapped a beat on the skull beneath it. “Remind me again who killed him.”
“There is only one demon brave and sexy enough to have achieved such a feat - in a fair fight I might add.” You teased as you brushed her hand aside and took a seat on the arm of the throne. “He was hardly a Champion worthy of the name if I could kill him with one strike. I can be your Champion.”
“You are right, he wasn’t worthy. But that does not mean that you are.” Lucifer said as she slapped you off her chair with a bat of her wings and you laughed as you slid across the floor. You laugh even as your bones feel close to breaking, because she doesn’t tolerate weakness, cowering or fear. “You shall have the power you need and in return you will vie against ten demons of my choosing to be named my Champion. But, if you lose then I will take every last drop of your power.”
You bowed your head so she didn’t see you swallow the lump in your throat. When you looked up again she was no longer seated in her throne but in front of you, her hand wrapped around your throat as she lifted your feet off the ground. There was no passion to her kiss, her power so formidable that she was completely unaffected by yours, as she sealed her lips over yours and breathed a morsel of her power into you.
The rush was unlike anything you had or would ever feel again. A healthy dose of fear crept in as you realised just how powerful she was, no wonder she was so calm and collected - she was the apex predator with nothing to fear.
The ground surged up to meet you as she flung you away but where you should have crashed into stone you landed in soft grass outside the church. Mouse’s screams had gone silent, replaced by Johanna’s, so you gathered the power Lucifer had given you and threw it all at the church doors, splintering them wide open.
It only took a fraction of a second to understand what had happened as the box sealed shut and the power was once again contained. Johanna was screaming at the box, begging it to give her back. Mouse, she was nowhere to be seen.
“Johanna ,she’s gone,” you snapped as she wept over the box and ignored the shake you gave her. “We need to go before something worse comes to release Echidna.”
“She took her.” Johanna hissed before her fists curled and she lashed out at you. “This is your fault!”
You caught her fists but she struck you with her knee and you grunted as the air was knocked from you. “I warned you.”
“If you had made me immortal then this wouldn’t have happened.”
You snatched the box up with one hand and gripped her wrist with the other before using the last of Lucifer’s power to move through the shadows and arrive at Blackwood Manor, or as the newly titled Lady Johanna Constantine had already renamed Fawney Rig. She had been certain she would return with the box.
“We spent weeks on that horrid ship and you could have just done that!” Her irritated scream disrupted the birds in the trees and sent them flocking to another property.
“I made a deal with - you know what? I’m done telling you anything.”
“I got the answers I needed. I just need to find the Devil and the wandering Jew.”
You had seen that look of hunger on many mortal’s faces. The hunger for power and you realised with a bitter laugh that she cared for no one but herself.
“And what about your daughter?”
Johanna ripped the box from your hands and looked at you with empty eyes you had once thought were full of love. “At least I won't have to watch her grow old and die.”
You didn’t dare tell her that necromancy ran in her veins, a scent you had picked up on the moment you laid eyes on her. It was what made her occultism skills unparalleled by mortals. If she ever learnt of her power she could become the harbinger of death.
“I may be a demon, but you are the real monster.” You turned your back to leave but slammed into a shield, crude runes drawn into the gravel as she stood beside you. “I can’t believe I thought this was love.”
Her laugh had you placing bricks one by one around your heart, building a wall to protect it knowing that it was already too late. “You are a lust demon, you cannot feel love.”
You sent a blast of power at the shield but she had taken every piece of the information you had given her and created a custom made prison to contain you.
“You may still be of use to me so I won’t kill you just yet,” she said as she used your dagger to prick her finger and draw the marks to bind a contract to her skin. “That doesn’t mean I won’t take precautions. You will not harm me, or try to escape Fawney Rig.”
You had no room in the containment circle to avoid the point of the dagger as it slashed down your palm and your blood dripped onto hers. The contract burnt into your skin and Johanna swiped her slipper through the runes to release you from the tiny prison, only to give you a larger one.
“Welcome home.”
The Year of our Lord 1787
The ache in your belly never ended, the need never sated. Johanna, intelligent, heartless Johanna, kept you on the verge of starvation. Small intimacies to keep you from longing for Death but not enough to clear the haze that clouded your mind. Whenever she felt her own needs rising she would disappear from Fawney Rig and return with rosy cheeks and the scent of a man or another woman on her.
Everytime she returned you felt a shard of ice pierce your chest.
“Who are these men?”
You were pulled from your sluggish stupor as Johanna slapped a piece of paper on the table in front of you. You blinked thrice before you could focus clearly enough to see the page and frowned at the drawing.
“Not the foggiest.” You pushed the paper away from you. “Look at the date, whoever they are, they are long dead. Not a half decent caricature, if I do say so.”
The letters of the contract burned into your skin flared and Johanna darted back as she drew your blade. “You are forbidden to harm me or try to escape.”
“If you had shared my bed you would have seen that yours is not the only contract I currently hold.” You chuckled as a trickle of fear bled into her eyes and you rolled up your sleeves. “I am forbidden to escape but you never stipulated if I were summoned.”
“You demon-bitch.”
A bitter smile curled your lips as her venomous curse shattered what remained of your heart. “When you need me, know I'll come for you.”
“I never want to see you, speak to you or touch you so long as I live.”
There was no hint of the woman you had fallen in love with, nothing but icy promises on a forked tongue. Bowing your head as the warmth of Hell called to you, you granted her wish. “Then so it shall be, my Lady.”
The flames licked your feet and you were pulled into the smoke, crashing to your knees at Lucifer’s feet.
“Rise, the tournament is about to begin,” Lucifer stated over the thunderous screams of the crowd far below. “My new Champion awaits.”
“I have had a really hard couple of years, Lucy.” You tried to stand but your legs buckled. “Maybe the tournament can start tomorrow? Dinner and nap, sounds fair?”
“Fair is not a concept that exists in my realm, there are no breaks or holidays” Lucifer mentioned with a hint of amusement twitching her pursed lips. “A demon’s work is never done.”
Nails as sharp as claws broke your skin as Mazikeen grabbed your nape and pulled you to your feet, her breath hot in your ear. “Afraid you aren’t worthy of being Morningstar’s Champion?”
You bared your teeth as the fire in your belly raged. You were a fool for making this deal in an attempt to save Johanna. You were a fool to have loved a mortal. But you weren’t foolish enough to back out of the deal and you did not want to die. “Why would I want to be Morningstar’s Champion when I could be Lightbringer’s Champion?”
“Our Majesty is no longer the Lightbringer.” Blood ran in rivulets down your back as Mazikeen dug her nails in deeper.
You looked to Lucifer, tearing your own skin as you turned in Mazikeen’s grasp. Her hands were threatening to crush the skulls on her throne despite the calm facade on her bored face. You smiled, a dark, wicked smile that turned her knuckles white as bowed your head. “Indeed. Still, it would bring me endless entertainment to know those puritans in the Silver City would be shitting kittens when a demon is crowned Lightbringer’s Champion.”
Mazikeen chuckled as she released her talons but you remained standing, just. “That would certainly ruffle those feathers of theirs.”
A quiet, resigned sigh was hidden by the crinkle of Lucifer's vinyl dress as she rose from the throne. “No other demon would pride themselves on carrying a Lightbringer title.”
“I’m not just some other demon, sweet Lucifer.” You purred at her approach.
“I see that now.” Lucifer nodded before she narrowed her eyes on Mazikeen. “I also see that she is merely distracting us while she feeds.”
Your laugh echoed back up the cliff face that Lucifer threw you from. Mazikeen would certainly be pissed at you if you survived, not because you fed from her but because you did it in front of Lucifer. Ever the professional.
Those few minutes spent syphoning undoubtedly saved your life.
The Year of our Lord 1789
You had tried not to think of Johanna much over the last two years, opting instead to bury yourself in lovers and duel all those who thought to take your title as Lightbringer’s Champion. It had been fun. Messy and brutal, but fun.
It was only by happenstance that you left the warm bosom of Hell to wander your favourite city and saw the date on the front page of The London Gazette - 7th June 1789.
Cloaked and hidden in the shadows, you watched Johanna step inside the White Horse Tavern. Fawney Rig had been too heavily warded for you to enter but the public house had no such shields so you had followed her carriage to the East End.
“What are you doing here?” you asked yourself as she disappeared into the building.
The brick exterior was cool as you rested your head against it, waging an internal battle with the part of you that wanted to follow her and the other part that told you to stop being stupid, find a lover and chase her thoughts from your mind.
It was her whimpers that stopped the internal argument. The pitiful sounds were so unlike her to make that it pulled you back to reality and had you hurrying into the stuffy pub in search of her.
“No, no, not you,” she whispered.
Your eyes failed to find her as they darted around the room, lingering in the darker corners where bodies were tangled with the passing of coins. None of those women could come close to the beauty Johanna possessed so you moved deeper into the room and spied a door where her scent drifted from.
Another whimper, a quiet plea for mercy, slipped out from under the door that you approached - the sounds lost to the din of the revellers, but not to you. You grasped the door handle and melted the lock as you shoved the door open to find a private dining area.
The hair on your nape rose at the mix of scents filling the space. One was a scent you had encountered before briefly in passing. It was the captain at the docks, human but not, once mortal but no longer.
The other scent was old. That was the only way to describe it. It held the same undertones you had smelt once before when you discovered an ancient cave in the sacred glass sands, full of scrolls that had almost disintegrated with time. Whoever Johanna had encountered was powerful and old.
“What have you done?” you growled as you scooped Johanna from the floor, her heavy skirts tangling around her legs.
“No, not you…you’re gone,” she shuddered as she tried to pull away. “You’re not here, this isn’t real.”
You held tighter, easily stopping her feeble attempts to roll away. “Let me help you.”
“No!” She growled, her fear draining away as anger replaced it. The clarity in her eyes returned from whatever those men had done to her mind and she reached for the amulet that had been nestled between her breasts.
Power radiated from her touch and you stumbled into the wall, letting her fall as gently as possible as she sapped your strength.
“You’ve learnt a new trick,” you rasped as she began to recite a Latin scripture.
“A few really.” She smiled as she pulled a cross from the folds of her dress. “Now, fuck off back to Hell.”
Blood dripped from your nose as you fought against the pull of the hellhole she opened. Your ears were ringing and a pressure was building behind your eyes as if your brain would explode if you stayed any longer.
“I was only trying to help.”
“Demons don’t help,” she spat as she stepped forward with her cross held high, “and demons don’t love.”
“That is a lie you tell yourself so you don’t have to admit the truth.” You laughed bitterly as you surrendered yourself to the suction of the hellhole. “The truth is, a demon loves you and you love a demon and if you can love a monster like me then what does that make you?”
“I hate you, and all of your kind.” She picked up the dagger she stole from you, holding the blade as she raised it and threw it with deadly accuracy. She knew so much but still knew so very little as you caught the handle, the knife that had been forged with your own blood and power. The dagger could not kill you but the intent which she threw it with felt like it would.
Slicing your palm, you swore an oath even she would recognise as binding. “For as long as you live, you shall not see, hear or feel my presence. Farewell, my Lady.”
The candles flared, blinding her until she had to shield her eyes and you wondered if you would ever have the strength to return to earth. You wondered if you would ever be able to fix what she broke in you.
Click here to read the next instalment in The Anthology of Asmodeus' Heir: Rise of the Fallen
#johanna constantine x reader#johanna constantine#sandman fanfiction#the sandman fanfic#netflix the sandman#lady johanna constantine#featuring#hob gadling
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Could you please do 27 from the gentle love prompts?
Here you go, a little pre-canon Cobert piece, anon and also for @vinnyvangohsleftear who requested the same prompt :) Thank you!
Day 2
27 – defending them in front of others
“Yes, of course, she is doing all that is asked of her, but with what success?” his mother’s voice proclaimed in no uncertain tone and loud enough for everyone present to hear it. “I mean, Robert, that is really the bare minimum your wife is fulfilling here. Look at those flower arrangements.”
She picked at some orange flowers with pointed fingers and an expression of disgust written on her face.
“Oh really, Mama,” Robert put in. “They aren’t too bad.” But he couldn’t think of anything else to say. When he leaned closer to show appreciation for Cora’s critiqued flower arrangements, a rather repulsive smell rose to his nose. Maybe Mama was right and these botanicals didn’t have that much to them. But Cora’s efforts only being the bare minimum? Absolutely not.
Robert turned his head looking for Cora. She wasn’t with them in the drawing room but right outside with the two girls and nanny. Tea was over and Cora’s guests had left after uttering sweet compliments as they blew kisses on Cora’s cheeks. Mama wasn’t as impressed. She made these compliments out to be mere pleasantries and insincere civilness. Fortunately, Cora hadn’t witnessed Mama’s harsh judgement. Not this time at least. After teatime, she had been much too eager to meet Nanny halfway who readied the girls for their afternoon walk. Now, they were standing outside on the gravel in front of the drawing room. Mary was jumping on one leg, showing off her new skill with excitement and Cora squatted – quite unladylike he had to add – in front of her eldest daughter and cheered her on. Nanny was rocking the pushchair while Edith was sitting upright in it and mustered the whole situation with a sceptical expression. Robert was glad Mama was standing with her back to the windowfront, even though he himself enjoyed seeing his sweet family so casually.
“Cora is doing her job very well,” he said without taking his eyes off his wife.
“I can see why you feel like you have to say that,” Violet replied and redirected Robert’s attention back to her with this statement. She was fishing a last scone from the tray the footman was carrying back to the kitchen. She eyed the pastry scrutinisingly as she continued talking, “and I respect your loyalty to your wife, but if we were all acting like you on this matter, I’m afraid this estate would be in quite inept hands in some years. And it won’t help you fulfil your tasks to your best abilities either.”
From the corner of his eye, Robert could see the butler busying himself with rearranging the throw pillows on one of the sofas as a futile attempt to escape the awkward silence that followed. He wasn’t the only one who tried blending into the background at Mama’s latest statement. In his upwelling anger, Robert could see how his father stood at the mantle of the fireplace, still in his walking attire and his back turned to Mama and Robert. Robert was sure his father had heard every word Mama had said about Cora and had decided to deliberately zone out at this point, now that it seemed to get serious. Rosamund however, who was staying for a few days since it was Papa’s birthday soon, sat on a sofa next to where Papa was standing and looked at Robert with raised eyebrows, eagerly waiting for his response. Certainly, this was more entertaining for her than the ever-same stories that were exchanged during tea with the other ladies.
The sound of Papa slurping the remainder of his tea made Robert finally snap. His simmering blood now boiled severely behind his eyes.
“I won’t accept ANY of these things said about my wife and me!” He spat the words out in a dangerously low and forceful whisper. Mama’s lips narrowed into nothing but a thin line.
“In fact, Cora is doing an astoundingly good job, and no one of you – no one of us – can understand what it is like to be in her position. What I see is a lady adapting to all the demands and challenges remarkably well. And there is more than one way to do this job, Mama. Cora is finding her own way, with all your help and guidance, but it has to be her own way nevertheless.” His chest heaved, the adrenaline still rushing through his veins. No one dared to speak, and Robert challenged Mama with an intense look. He usually didn’t defy his mother’s words. Somehow, he expected more of a reaction from her than the ignorant silence.
Rosamund and Papa observed the dispute now with more curiosity. Papa turned around and looked his son up and down with some estrangement. The superior eagerness on Rosamund’s face was relieved by genuine surprise.
“You really are always so awfully defensive of her, Robert,” Mama eventually dropped. Before he could interject, Mama went on. “And you better get a grip on yourself, because this is truly no tone in which to talk to your mother.”
He took a quick breath and briefly decided to disregard the last statement. “It is not that I am defensive, Mama.” He couldn’t keep his voice under control, and it quickly broke into a higher volume as his anger took over. “YOU are just unreasonably RUDE!”
It was a good thing that the butler had left the room just a minute before because Robert knew, his mother would forgive him even less if he had yelled at her in front of the staff.
He heard his mother’s sharp intake of breath and the beginning of his father’s displeased grumble but only saw Cora through the window behind Mama. She was standing there in her dark green coat and looked at him with wide eyes. Nanny was bringing the children back inside but Cora was standing behind the window and looked at him with worry. His yelling must have been loud enough to be noticed outside. Robert saw how her eyes asked him if everything was alright.
Before his father could set to chide him, Robert cleared his throat, “Please excuse me. I’m not feeling quite well.” He turned on his heel and left the drawing room.
In the main hall, he met Cora whose feet quickly carried her from the front door to him. She stepped to his side and grabbed his arm to walk up the stairs with him.
“What was all that about?” she asked curiously. She shot him a glance with her attentively wide eyes. The bright blue stuck with Robert even as their eye contact broke.
“Oh, nothing.”
“You seemed really upset,” she remarked.
“Well, you know how Mama can be.” He kept his answers short, not wanting to burden Cora with the unpleasant discussion.
“But what could she have complained about? Everything went well today, didn’t it?” Cora leaned forward while talking, showing her full expression of confused worry to him.
“Exactly. That’s why I’ve been so upset that she had to dampen everyone’s spirit just because she is in a lousy mood,” Robert grumbled. He patted her hand where it held onto his upper arm. He was relieved when it seemed like this answer calmed Cora’s mind. She relaxed beside him as they ascended the last steps of the large staircase.
“Well, I’m glad tea time had been a success at least. I don’t want to imagine her humour if that too had displeased her.” The swing in her tone, that attributed undeniably to her Americanness, was unmissable to Robert.
“Me neither,” he just replied. This one time, that he was able to, Robert wanted to shield his sweet wife from the sorrow his mother often provoked.
When Cora let go of his arm and turned to him as they reached the door to her room, she practically beamed at him.
“I know I won’t ever get a compliment out of her,” she began. “But the absence of any criticism is enough acknowledgement when it’s your mother.”
Robert gulped.
“Now let me get my coat off,” she said in her chipper mood. She rose slightly onto her toes and breathed a kiss on his cheek. “Will you join me in our sitting room in ten minutes? I could use someone to keep me company while I’m doing my needlepoint.”
Robert nodded slowly as she turned the door handle.
When there was no verbal answer from him, she added, “Otherwise I’d have to join Mama and Rosamund downstairs.”
“No, no! Of course, I’ll join you, my dear,” Robert quickly protested. “I’ll see you in a bit.”
Cora closed her door behind her with a content smile and Robert went to retrieve his book from his dressing room.
If you want to send in a prompt, the list is here.
#cobert flufftober#thanks for the prompt#cobert drabbles#cobert#robert crawley#cora crawley#pre-canon cobert#downton abbey drabble#downton abbey
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They should put me on the shit that made the fish footman from Through The Looking Glass look like that. Give me the eldritch fish hrt please and thank you.
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I’m interested to hear what you think is going to happen in wonderland, specifically with Neo?
This ask is brought on simultaneously by none and all of your RWBY thoughts, none of them sparked it but I like reading them.
ok so i think ive mentioned this before but my pet character allusion conspiracy theory™ is that neo is the duchess's baby. [link goes to full text of the relevant chapter of alice’s adventures in wonderland.]
to sum up context: alice wanders around for a while after falling down the rabbit hole and eventually comes to a house belonging to the duchess. after squabbling briefly with the frog footman outside [sidebar: the dialogue “but what am i to do?” “anything you like” hm!] she invites herself inside and encounters four characters: the duchess, her cook, the cheshire cat, and the baby. and… actually im gonna just rapid fire rattle through the pertinent excerpts—
The door led right into a large kitchen, which was full of smoke from one end to the other: the Duchess was sitting on a three-legged stool in the middle, nursing a baby: the cook was leaning over the fire, stirring a large cauldron which seemed to be full of soup.
“There’s certainly too much pepper in that soup!” Alice said to herself, as well as she could for sneezing.
There was certainly too much of it in the air. Even the Duchess sneezed occasionally; and as for the baby, it was sneezing and howling alternately without a moment’s pause. The only two creatures in the kitchen that did not sneeze were the cook, and a large cat, which was lying on the hearth and grinning from ear to ear.
[…]
And with that [the Duchess] began nursing her child again, singing a sort of lullaby to it as she did so, and giving it a violent shake at the end of every line:—
“Speak roughly to your little boy,
And beat him when he sneezes:
He only does it to annoy,
Because he knows it teases.”
[…]
While the Duchess sang the second verse of the song, she kept tossing the baby violently up and down, and the poor little thing howled so, that Alice could hardly hear the words:—
“I speak severely to my boy,
I beat him when he sneezes;
For he can thoroughly enjoy
The pepper when he pleases!”
[…]
“Here! You may nurse it a bit, if you like!” the Duchess said to Alice, flinging the baby at her as she spoke. “I must go and get ready to play croquet with the Queen,” and she hurried out of the room. The cook threw a frying-pan after her as she went, but it just missed her.
Alice caught the baby with some difficulty, as it was a queer-shaped little creature, and held out its arms and legs in all directions, “just like a star-fish,” thought Alice. The poor thing was snorting like a steam-engine when she caught it, and kept doubling itself up and straightening itself out again, so that altogether, for the first minute or two, it was as much as she could do to hold it.
As soon as she had made out the proper way of nursing it (which was to twist it up into a sort of knot, and then keep tight hold of its right ear and left foot, so as to prevent its undoing itself), she carried it out into the open air. “If I don’t take this child away with me,” thought Alice, “they’re sure to kill it in a day or two. Wouldn’t it be murder to leave it behind?” She said the last words out loud, and the little thing grunted in reply (it had left off sneezing by this time). “Don’t grunt,” said Alice; “that’s not a proper way of expressing yourself.”
The baby grunted again, and Alice looked very anxiously into its face to see what was the matter with it. There could be no doubt that it had a very turn-up nose, much more like a snout than a real nose; also its eyes were getting extremely small for a baby: altogether Alice did not like the look of the thing at all. “But perhaps it was only sobbing,” she thought, and looked into its eyes again, to see if there were any tears.
No, there were no tears. “If you’re going to turn into a pig, my dear,” said Alice seriously, “I’ll have nothing more to do with you. Mind now!” The poor little thing sobbed again (or grunted, it was impossible to say which), and they went on for some while in silence.
Alice was just beginning to think to herself, “Now, what am I to do with this creature, when I get it home?” when it grunted again, so violently that she looked down into its face in some alarm. This time there could be no mistake about it: it was neither more nor less than a pig, and she felt it would be quite absurd for her to carry it any further.
So she set the little creature down, and felt quite relieved to see it trot away quietly into the wood. “If it had grown up,” she said to herself, “it would have made a dreadfully ugly child: but it makes a rather handsome pig, I think.” And she began thinking over other children she knew, who might do very well as pigs, and was just saying to herself “if only one knew the right way to change them—” when she was a little startled by seeing the Cheshire-Cat sitting on a bough of a tree a few yards off.
OK. SO.
roman holiday established several facts about neopolitan’s history that are, i think, very compelling vis-a-vis the possibility of neo alluding to the duchess’s baby—to whit, she’s a mute child who was abused by her upper-class and politically connected parents largely on the grounds of her being [figuratively] loud about her problems and also [literally] not able to communicate “properly”; moreover her father stashed a hugely dangerous amount of volatile burn dust in a vault under her bedroom that at the end of the book detonates with enough force to destroy the whole estate, which—well, the pepper.
further, RH also explicitly identifies ‘the girl who fell through the world’ as remnant’s version of alice’s adventures in wonderland by identifying the heroine as a girl named alyx, and when it draws an overt line of connection between neo and tgwfttw (“As she drifted down, she felt like Alyx falling through the world.”) it does so at precisely the equivalent moment, in neo’s story, of alice rescuing the baby from the duchess and the cook by bringing it out of the house; it’s neo jumping out her bedroom window to escape the fire she lit by mistake whilst attempting to escape. which feels... well it could be a coincidence but it certainly had me raising an eyebrow klgksdf
[RH is also interesting in that it draws a line of emotional connection between neo and salem, by way of neo’s emotional connection to the character of the girl in the tower, which in turn loosely connects salem with ‘the girl who fell through the world’ and therefore lives rent free in my brain. i would apologize for being literally incapable of talking about rwby without bringing up salem but im not sorry. i have brainrot. ANYWAY,]
[further: the theme of gitt is that ultimately the girl rescues herself, by asking for help; neo is envious of the girl being rescued by a powerful magician; the connection drawn between neo and alyx directly parallels alice saving the baby from the pepper house, but involves neo rescuing herself and thinking of herself in relation to alyx. this also feels like it is, perhaps, relevant]
rwby is seldom straightforward in its utilization of character allusions so while i’m not ruling out ‘neo turns into a literal pig or pig faunus in void wonderland, shenanigans ensue’ as a possibility here my general feeling is that, if i’m right, the transformation of the baby will probably inform the thematic and symbolic thrust of neo’s character arc in v9 moreso than the literal events; which happens to fit together quite well with the emotional landscape set up with her in v6-8.
here’s a character who doesn’t have a single fucking clue who she was, who’s spent her whole life being mistreated because she can’t communicate the ‘right’ way, who has spent her entire life reacting to trauma by drastically transforming herself from one identity to the next and is currently spiraling because she hung her whole self-concept on being roman torchwick’s partner-in-crime and now he’s gone and she’s wholly consumed by this quixotic revenge scheme that has so little conviction behind it that cinder fall of all people was able to talk her around to a new target with remarkable ease. and now she’s stranded in this bizarre magical land that is asking her to think about who and what she is; she can’t remain as she is now, so who does she become?
(this is exactly why she fell. i’ve been saying that for a while, that the two non-rwby characters who fell, fell because they’re going to have identity crises and that’s what v9 will be centered around, so as u can imagine i am feeling a little bit smug today gklsdfhg)
so i am fairly confident that neo is going to undergo some kind of emotional transformation, perhaps symbolically represented by a physical transformation—whether it’ll be a ‘successful’ one (in the sense of arriving at a point where she is able to let go of torchwick and start figuring out who she is and who she wants to be) or not (in the sense of spiraling down until she destroys herself completely) is an open question, though i lean slightly more toward the former on the grounds of 1. how easily she let her anger at cinder be redirected at ruby, and 2. v8 being the point where salem-adjacent villains started to switch sides and/or undergo character development that appears to be telegraphing imminent villain-to-hero arcs, which is to say neo is staring down the barrel of this emotional transformation at just the right narrative time to get better instead of worse.
and with regards to the pig thing specifically, i’m also squinting a bit at ‘the shallow sea’ and the theme of transformation by a god/godlike magic in connection with…a magical island so uh,
LASTLY, neo’s disappearing act and illusions generally, in combination with the cheshire cat’s connection to the duchess (and the cat’s later interest in the baby’s transformation), feel potentially relevant—& this would hardly be the first time rwby did a dual character allusion where one rwby character simultaneously alludes to two different characters in the same story, a la blake being both the beauty and the beast. and if that’s the case, i would sort of anticipate the general trajectory of neo’s character arc being away from the baby [abused, helpless, transformed into an animal and abandoned] and toward the cat [knowledgeable, comfortable in itself, free to do as it pleases, helpful insofar as any wonderland character can be considered helpful], which is another mark in favor of a ‘successful’ transformation.
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