#does Gabriel John Utterson mean nothing to you :(

[friendofmossandbones]

Every time someone does an adaptation of The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde where Hyde and Jekyll are two separate people an angel fucking dies.

[love-the-purple-cat]

Oh don't you dare look back, just keep your eyes on me - Chapter 1 Part 8

The following morning he is woken up by knocking on his bedroom door.

“Come in?” It comes out as more of a question than an order. His father never knocks, Yuzu knocks thrice softly, and Karin just yells.

His answer appears in the form of one... Cherī. He seriously didn’t know her surname? How?

“Mornin',” She says, padding into his room. “Scoot over.”

“Why?” He asks, already doing what she said.

“’Cuz,” She plops onto his mattress, trying hard not to let her face touch his pillowcase. “Ah woke up early ta' get ‘ere.”

“Why?” He covers the lower portion of her body with his blanket, making sure that not a centimetre of skin could be seen.

“Get ready an' Ah'll tell ya.” She stretches like a cat, eyes already closed for a short nap.

He huffs but leaves for the bathroom, stopping to tell his father that a friend was in his room. He didn’t want her getting hurt just because of his norm.

Twenty minutes later, Ichigo returns to find that Cherī had covered her entire body and was sleeping with her head angled so that his sheets wouldn’t get dirtied by her makeup. She was also wearing a beanie, stuffed full with her hair. He almost feels bad waking her up.

Almost.

“Wake up, Cherī.” He shakes her shoulder and she groans, swatting and kicking.

“’n‘min’t.” She mumbles.

“We have school, and this is my bed.”

She cracks one eye open. She wasn’t wearing her contacts today. They were a blue so light it reminded him of ice.

 “Our bed.” She says in a tone meant to be a correction.

Ichigo blinks. “No.” He tugs the blanket free from her grasp. “Come one, Yuzu made an extra plate of breakfast for you.”

“Ugh, fiiiine.” She finally stumbles out of bed.

The two make their way downstairs, bookbags in hand and hats on heads. His dad is overdramatic as always and starts bawling at his mother's poster. Cherī shoots Isshin curious and nervous looks. Yuzu and Karin are polite in their own way.

 ——————————

They're two blocks away from his home when Cherī says, “Hey, Ichi. Look.” When he gives her his undivided attention, she takes off the beanie. His jaw drops as she runs her finger through her dyed hair. “Sweet, right? It's Love Letter.” Her eyes are sparkling in the morning light, a mischievous smile playing on her lips.

Ichigo says nothing, just blinks. It takes a few moments longer for his mouth to start working and ask, “Why?”

She shrugs, “Ah’ve told ya, haven't Ah? Ah've been thinkin’ of dyein' ma' hair fer a while now. Now seems like a good time.” She aims to bump their shoulders but given the fact she's 5’1” with heels and he's 5’9”, she ends up bumping his shoulder with her head and shoulder checking his arm. “It just happens for me ta' dye ma' hair da same day we dyed yers. An' Ah'm sad ta’ say that any attention ya get at school, yer gonna havta share.” She says this in a mockingly sympathetic tone.

He snorts, eyes still not leaving her hair. He reaches out a hand and tucks a lock of hair behind her ear. She has a small black heart earring.

“We'll be making quite the impression when we get there.” He says, taking off his own hat and running his fingers through the blue locks.

“Damn rite we will.” She growls. “An' we're gonna own it.”

Ichigo laughs at that.

 ——————————

They certainty made heads turn when they pass the gate. He pays them little mind, too busy listening to Cherī explain how there was no way Jonathan Harker wasn’t at least a little interested in Dracula. She also went on to explain that Henry Jekyll definitely had a crush on his friend Gabriel John Utterson, and that crush was transferred to Mr. Hyde. She then praised the amazing pun of, "If he be Mr. Hyde, I shall be Mr. Seek." Which is an amazing pun.

Before he knows it, they have reached his classroom. He sits on his chair and Cherī sits on his desk, bending and laying her right leg on the surface, not at all bothered by her skirt.

“Ichigo!” Keigo loudly greets, throwing himself at the teen.

Ichigo allows himself to be tackled. That is enough for the brunette to jump back in surprise. His eyes then fall on Cherī who is looking at them curiously.

“Ichigo,” Tatsuki says, eyeing his hair. “You’ve changed your hair.”

He shrugs, a touch amused by their surprise. “Decided that it was time for me to change it. She,” He juts a thumb at the girl sitting on his desk, “Helped.”

The ravenette eyes Cherī, suspicion clear in her eyes. “Arisawa Tatsuki.”

“Akao Cherī.” She chirps back. So that’s her surname.

“So, what brings you here, Cherī?” Tatsuki asks.

“Please call me Akao.” The girl retorts. “I’m explaining to Ichigo the homoerotic undertones in Frankenstein, and how Victor was the reason his whole life burned down. Not because of the creature he created, but because he was too scared to own up to it. The moment it was given life, Victor fled his laboratory, naïvely thinking that it would leave him be, and afterwards started blaming it for the misfortune that struck his life when he himself was to blame.”

There she goes speaking understandably. But she did make a good argument on Frankenstein.

Tatsuki blinks, turning to face him with a questioning gaze.

Ichigo straightens and says, “But how was he to know what was going to happen? Victor didn’t expect for the creature to murder.”

“Yes, but he never actually does anything about it. He only moans and whines about the misfortune. When Justine is accused of murder, instead of making up a believable lie about how he had unintentionally made an enemy who had sworn to kill his family or something like that to save Justine, he just says she's innocence and fucks off. He never takes responsibly for his actions, preferring to blame the creature he had created out of the desire to show that breathing life into a corpse was possible.”

He nods, “True.”

“Well, time for me ta' go.” She jumps off his desk, bypassing his friends and desks for the door. “See ya at lunch, Ichi.” She calls, waving goodbye.

“See you later.” He calls back.

The moment she is out of sight, Keigo turns to him with a wail. “Ichigo! How could you!? You've been keeping a babe like her to yourself only!”

Ichigo glares, “Don’t you dare talk about Cherī like that!” He growls, more venom in his voice than intended. Keigo immediately stops at that, looking a touch scared. Ichigo sighs, “Sorry. I didn’t mean to sound so harsh.”

“You’re awfully protective of her.” Tatsuki states.

“Well, yeah.” Because how could he not be?

“How long have you known her? I haven’t seen her around before.”

The now bluenette leans back in his chair, looking up at the ceiling in thought. “Nearly two months.”

“Two months? And we're only learning about her now?” Her brows are nearly touching her hairline.

He shrugs, “She’s in a different class.”

Tatsuki purses her lips but doesn’t say anything.

[melodiouswhite]

Say it with flowers!

He blinked confusedly at the huge, colourful bouquet of flowers shoved into his face. "What the hell is this?", he asked the person offering him the bouquet. The taller, black-haired man frowned. "A bouquet of flowers, obviously. That's a ridiculous question, even from you, Hyde." "I see that, but you do know, that I'm not the kind of man, who-" "It's for both you and Jekyll", the other interrupted him impatiently. "Now shut up and take the damn flowers!" Then he shoved the bouquet into Hyde's arms and ran off. Now that was uncharacteristic for him. Was he in a hurry? The brunette frowned, then balanced the bouquet in one arm, to get out his key and open the door.

"Hey, Jekyll!", he called out, as soon as he was in their lab. "What the heck just happened?" At once, the distorted image of his other half appeared on one of the glass cabinets. "I don't know, Hyde." "Do you think he put something in that bouquet? Something poisonous, or-" Jekyll laughed: "Don't be silly, Hyde! Like he would do that!" "He did look pretty miffed." "You would've been miffed too, if you caught him coming home from a night of visiting the coffee houses*." There was no arguing with that. Hyde had spent a fun night, as usual, when he returned to Jekyll's home.  But tonight, as he was approaching the backdoor to Jekyll's lab, it had happened like a replay of their first meeting, that he met with Mr. Gabriel John Utterson, Jekyll's lawyer. Who currently also happened to be the lover of both of them. Now one might think, that he would be faithful to his lover, but Edward Hyde wasn't someone for monogamy, even though he was extremely possessive of Utterson and ready to murder everyone, who coquetted with his lawyer.  Utterson didn't seem to mind, or if he did, he never expressed it. It would have been pointless anyway. But still, what had that just been about? "Still though, what's with these stupid flowers? What am I supposed to do with them?" "I think he wants to tell you - us, something with them. It's popular to exchange words through flowers. But don't ask me what flower means what, I really don't remember." Hyde thought for a moment. Maybe some of the servants would know the meaning of the flowers … oh, like hell would he admit to a servant of Jekyll's, that he didn't know something!  What time was it anyway? He looked at the grandfather clock at the opposite wall. It was midnight. Huh … it's not as late as I thought. Suddenly, he had an idea. "Hyde? What are you doing?", Jekyll questioned, when Hyde slipped back into his coat, "You've had your fun for tonight, where else would you want to go at this hour-HYDE!!!" "Calm down, Jekyll", the brunette giggled, "I'm just going to your study! I need to use your new telephone." Then he leapt out of the window, with the flower bouquet tucked in his coat. "Was zur Hölle-?!**", Lady Summers grumbled, when her telephone rang, just as she had been about to retire.  With a sour expression, she took up the receiver. "Hello?" "Hello, this is Edward Hyde speaking", he timidly spoke into the telephone. He had never used the apparatus before and wasn't quite sure as to how it worked. So he was relieved, when he heard the Prussian's mellow, faintly lisping voice answer, albeit slightly distorted by the receiver. "Ah, Mister Hyde! What a surprise! I hope you have a good reason to call me at this time, I was about to retire." "It won't be long", he assured her, "I just wanna know something. Hark, I just met Gab- Mr. Utterson and he gave me a bouquet of flowers." For a few seconds Lady Summers didn't answer and Hyde wondered, if there was something wrong with the telephone. But then he heard her amused chuckle. "Well, that doesn't sound like a problem to me!" "But Jekyll says that this could be a message and that the flowers have meanings. But he doesn't know what meaning, that's why I'm calling you." "Oh, I see. Well, don't you worry, I'm an expert on floriography! First off, if he gives you a bouquet of flowers, it usually means, that he loves you very much and wants you to be the only one to know." Hyde snorted: "As if. He's my bed-fellow, nothing more. And Jekyll and I already are the only ones who know - well, except for you and Lanyon." He heard Jekyll snort in his head, which overlapped with Lady Summers' giggle.  "You keep telling yourself that, Mr. Hyde", she chortled, "But back to your flower bouquet. Tell me what the flowers are and I'll reveal, what he means to tell you." "To me and Jekyll." "Oh?" "Yes, the bouquet is for both of us, he said." "Interesting. Then I hope the doctor is listening?" "I am", Jekyll whispered in his head. "He is", he informed the Lady. "Good. Now, tell me what flowers there are." Hyde opened the ribbon and lay the flowers out on the table next to him. It sure was a colourful assortment. Jekyll, I don't know all of the flowers. "Don't worry, I'll help you with the ones you don't know." "So it seems every flower in this bouquet is there twice. One for Jekyll and one for me, I guess." "Go on." He picked up the first two flowers, two fragrant lilies. "I have here two lilies." "What colour?" "Orange." "Oh." Her voice sounded surprised. "Go on." "Wait, what does it mean?" "I'll tell you in the end. Go on and don't forget to give me the colour with the sort of flower. The meaning of a flower also depends a lot on the colour", the Prussian explained. Hyde was worried at her tone, but continued: "Two yellow carnations …" "Huh …" "Two geranium flowers …" The Lady snorted audibly. "Two marigolds …" "Oh. Oh dear …" Hyde picked up two flowers that looked like hyacinths - but since when could hyacinths be yellow? "They can be", Jekyll told him, "They're just not that easy to get your hands on." "Alright, I also have two yellow hyacinths." "Not surprising at this point", the Lady replied. Hyde, by now thoroughly annoyed by her dry commenting, continued: "Then I have two daffodils and two petunias. That's all for now." "I see … uhm …" "Well?", he growled impatiently. Her answer came rather hesitantly: "Mr. Hyde … I'm afraid he wants to say - pardon my French - 'You're bloody arseholes and I can't stand you'." Hyde almost dropped the receiver. "In flower?!", he cried incredulously. "In flower", Lady Summers confirmed. She didn't sound like she was joking. Jekyll was dead silent in his head, obviously just as shocked as he was. For a few minutes not a word was exchanged. Finally Lady Summers' worried voice broke the silence: "Mister Hyde? Are you still there?" "Yes … are you sure, Milady? I mean, the flowers - just explain!" Why am I feeling so anxious all of the sudden? I mean, it's no surprise- "Alright, Mr. Hyde: orange lilies mean hatred. Yellow carnations essentially mean the same, or to be more specific, they mean 'You have disappointed me'. Geraniums mean 'stupidity' or 'folly'. Marigold stands for cruelty, despair, grief or jealousy. Yellow hyacinths simply mean 'I'm jealous'. Daffodils stand for egotism and petunias stand for resentment and anger. In conclusion, he is angry with you and done with your behaviour and your attitude towards your relationship." "…" In his head, Hyde could hear Jekyll sob bitterly. He was probably having a nervous breakdown about how he had known it all along, that Gabriel hated them both, that they weren't worthy of him and so on. Hyde himself didn't know, what he was feeling. Shock? Disappointment? Upset? Hurt? Anger? Resignation? He had no blooming clue! "Mister Hyde?" Lady Summers' voice snapped him out of it. "What?", he snapped in annoyance. "Check if there are any more flowers hidden in the bouquet." "What? Why?" "Just try it. What do you have to lose?" Curse that Prussian bitch for always being right! How did she do that?! He searched the bouquet and lo and behold, he did indeed find a tiny bouquet that was hidden within the bigger one. "There is! But how did you-?" "I didn't. It was just female intuition. What flowers are those?" "Two primroses and two violets." I swear, if this is another 'I hate you'-bouquet, I will- Suddenly, the Prussian cackled at the other end of the line. What the bloody hell was so funny now?! "Oh, Mr. Hyde and Dr. Jekyll, you two are some lucky rascals! Your 'bedfellow', as you call him, is way too good for you!" "What?" Hyde heard Jekyll gasp in mortification. He himself usually found the Lady's bluntness rather amusing, but right now he was just confused and wanted answers. The Lady giggled, before explaining merrily: "Primroses mean 'I can't live without you'. Violets mean 'I will always be true' or 'I will always be there'. They stand for modesty, faithfulness, loyalty and devotion. That adds a nice bonus to the arsehole message, don't you agree?" Hyde nodded absently. Then he shook his head in disbelief. That crazy lawyer … "Mister Hyde, are you alright?" He blinked. "But of course!", he cried, "Why would I not be?" It was true. He was feeling just fine. So why- Oh. "Jekyll is bawling in my head", he informed the aristocrat. "Don't mind me", Jekyll sobbed, "It's just tears of joy!" "Just Jekyll?", she queried. He could picture her lifting an eyebrow. It was only after her retort, that Hyde realised, that he too was crying. Tears … where the hell did they come from? "No", he admitted quietly, not quite sure, if the Prussian noblewoman could hear him through the phone. Then he cleared his throat and continued a bit louder: "Don't worry, I'm good. That's it for now, Milady. Thank you." "My pleasure, but next time don't call me in the middle of the night. Good night." "Good night." He hung up the phone. Then, for some reason, he began to laugh giddily. While he was crying. What's wrong with me? Now it was Jekyll's turn to laugh: "Isn't that plain, Hyde? There's nothing wrong with you! You're happy! Those are tears of joy you're crying here! You're happy, because Gabriel loves you just like me!" Hyde didn't even feel like arguing. He just continued to laugh like an idiot. Suddenly two arms wrapped themselves around him from behind. "Edward", Utterson cooed gently. Hyde squirmed, turning around in the other's arms.  Then he grabbed the lawyer by the collar and pulled him into a searing kiss. "Fuck you too, you bastard!", he rasped, when they broke apart. "You got my message then?" "Damn right, I did!", Hyde growled and kissed him again. "If you ever break that promise and leave me, I'll bloody kill you. You're mine." "Then it's only my right to ask the same of you", Utterson growled back, "If I am to be yours, you must be mine as well." The younger man smirked and wrapped his arms around the lawyer's neck. "Fine with me, Gabe", he purred seductively. Another make-out session ensued. The black-haired man was cradling Hyde in his arms and the brunette allowed himself to melt. Is this what love feels like? 

… 

I've been wanting to write this for quite a while, so I did it, as long as I still had the inspiration. Btw, in the Victorian age it was popular to convey feelings through flowers, especially if saying them out loud would be inappropriate. There is an entire language built around it, it's called 'floriography' or 'Semlalik'. This custom is an import from the Middle East, or from the Ottoman Empire, to be specific. *the coffee houses - euphemistic Victorian slang for the brothels **Was zur Hölle - German for 'What the hell'

[unstiteo-blog]

100 Lessons in Life.

(Summary: this is a story about a young Gabriel "John" Utterson and his life growing up with his family, along with the struggles he faces while the others try to figure out what troubles him.)

Chapter I: Lesson One

The blinding rays of sunlight washed over my eyes, begging I rise from my bed. It was clear they would not leave me alone until I did. With a quiet groan, I sat up, rub my eyes with my fists, rested my glasses on my face, and left my room for breakfast. I’m not surprised to see my sisters up and helping our father prepare the meals. They are nearly finished. I take my usual seat at the table, sit straight, and yawn. “Good morning.”

“Good morning, sleepyhead,” says my father. “You're usually up earlier than this.”

“I'm aware. I apologise for my tardiness, father.”

My father said nothing. He served me my food, ruffled my hair, and smiled at me. “No, no, son. You say, ‘thank you for waiting for me.’ It lets people know you are grateful for their patience.”

“Oh.” That actually did sound better than what I said. How did my father come to be so wise? “In that case, thank you for waiting for me.”

“You're very welcome.” He kissed my head, watched my sisters take their seats, and served their plates with that smile of his. “Why are you up so late?”

“I couldn’t sleep. I kept tossing and turning.”

“Was it a nightmare?” immediately asks my eldest sister, Sienna. I refer to her as Rosey, Rosey dear, or Rose, depending on the time of day. Naturally she would ask that sort of question; she has this tendency to take on the responsibilities of an adult but forgets she is a child, that we are all children who would like to spend time with her. “Were you overthinking again?”

“Again?” I ask, almost offended. “When have I overthought anything?”

“Kid's got a point,” speaks up Zara, who is halfway finished with her meal. No doubt because she wolfed it down like she always does. “If anything, he underthinks.”

“That's not even a word,” I reply with a roll of my eyes. “I just haven’t caught myself overthinking, that’s all.”

“Well,” quietly says Luna, who has more maturity than Zara since she was born after Sienna, “just because you haven’t noticed it doesn’t mean we haven’t. You’re not very good at hiding your emotions.”

Emotions? What emotions? I don’t feel anything! This is preposterous. Father sat at the far end of the table and gave me a worried look, which fills me with dread, but said nothing. I suppose it’s because he knows he can get me to crack with one look alone. “Thank you for the food,” I say, deflated. I suppose I have been overthinking, but not about me.

About them.

My family is very…different from me. If you saw us, you would most certainly not think we were related. I’m the only one who is much, much lighter than them to put it to you shortly. As of late, I’ve been hearing children my age speak ill of my sisters and my father. They say such terrible, abhorrent things that I shan’t repeat—I’m better than that. It concerns how I was born, for the most part, but I already know I wasn’t born under the best circumstances. It’s knowing strangers don’t like them because of me.

I feel like a burden.

But I can’t tell them that. Such matters cannot be changed, and such ignorance can only be helped with the help of miracles. Even so, why does it feel like a knife is piercing through my chest when I think of my mother? She left me; she didn’t want me. It hurts, but I find it in my heart to pity her. My father, Rosey, Lulu, and Zizi are the most kind-hearted and loyal people I've ever met. She could’ve had something nice but avoided it because of me.

I did that.

“Jack. Jack,” eventually cuts in my father. I notice Sienna has been shaking me—how long has she been doing that? “Are you there?”

“What? Huh?” Oh…perhaps not the best response I could’ve given at a time like this. My father frowns.

“You’re doing it again.”

“Oh, forgive me,” I pick at my food and start to eat. I can’t help but notice the others have lost their appetite. “I mean, thank you for assisting in my recovery. Who was speaking?”

“I was talking about how you have this tendency to dodge anything that concerns you,” says Luna. “You always put others before yourself.”

“That doesn’t sound like me at all. I’m a very selfish person, Lulu.”

“There you go again, dodging my point. You are not, and you know you're not. You're a hermit at best.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“You should listen to your sister, Jack,” interrupts my father, his voice soft and soothing. I don’t want to admit it, but it does help me relax a little. “She’s always been very talented at reading people, especially her younger brother.”

Drat. That she has. I would look like a fool to turn her away.

“Very well,” I sigh, picking at my food again. “Only because I am outmatched.”

“John-John,” says Sienna, whose arms are now draped over my shoulders, “never forget that the worst thing you can do to yourself in a time of need is to stay silent on the matter.”

“Closed mouths do not get fed,” advises Luna.

“Reaching out doesn’t make you weak,” says Zara. Our father reaches over to hold my hand. He squeezes it firmly.

“We love you, my boy. Do not forget that.”

My hands were ice cold. Sienna pecked my forehead, Luna clung to my arm, and Zara approaches me only to lightly punch me in my [unoccupied] arm. It made me grin.

After that, we continued eating breakfast together, talking and laughing as if none of that happened. Something is wrong with me, we’ve noticed, but I don’t let it prevent me from enjoying my days with my loved ones. Furthermore, I have much studying to do if I wish to become a lawyer someday. I can’t allow the past to consume my thoughts.

The day continued on as normal. Father went to work, our nanny looked out after us, I stayed in father's office to read his books on law. It was obvious he wanted to be a lawyer more than anything, but his job was what kept a roof over our heads, food in our stomachs, and provided us with clothing. He was afraid to quit if it meant sacrificing what kept our needs in check. If he quit now and failed to become a lawyer, what happens to us?

I suppose I'd always felt responsible to become a lawyer if we plummet into an unfortunate ending. Much to my surprise, it appears being a lawyer is rather interesting. There is much arguing involved, and you can imagine that's a hobby of mine with three sisters.

I don’t exactly know when I took a break from studying, but I do know I decided to take a break and read one of father's books for fun, but it must’ve taken up the entire day since—

Knock, knock, knock.

Speak of the devil.

There he stood in the doorway, a faint smile on his face. “The girls told me they hadn’t seen you all day. I figured you’d be in here.”

“Am I truly that predictable?”

“A bit, yes. But I’m grateful to know you’re safe.”

“Where else would I turn?”

He didn’t reply. He sat next to me, glanced at the sea of scattered books on the floorboards, then he turned to look at me. “Jack, may we talk about earlier today?”

Blasted. “What…what happened earlier today?”

Father frowned. “Jack…”

“You just got back from work. I don’t wish to bother you.”

“You could never. I love you and the moments we spend together. Knowing you are suffering bothers me more than anything.”

“It happens all the time, you know that.”

“Yes, I do. And I get more concerned the more it occurs. What have I always told you?”

I paused for a moment. “Never eat before retiring to bed?”

Father laughed. “Good guess, but no.”

“Pet all the dogs you meet on the street?”

“You’re more of a cat person, aren’t you?”

“Get enough sleep?”

“Have you been getting enough sleep? You did mention you were tossing and turning the night before.”

I shift uneasily. There’s a question I didn’t want to answer. I look at my hands, avoiding eye contact, and shake my head. “My head is too loud sometimes. The thoughts I have, whether I’m alone or with family, blind me from reality. It’s like someone plunged me underwater and they’re trying to talk to me—I can’t hear them properly.”

There’s silence for a moment. Oh God, what did I do? This was my fault. I never should’ve opened up. Now he thinks I’ve gone mad. He’s going to call me looney for feeling like this, I know it.

I feel father’s arms pull me in for a hug. Instinctively, I hide away in his chest, safe from this cruel world. What’s this? He isn’t angry with me? “Jack,” says he, “you should’ve told me sooner. I’m not scolding you for bottling such feelings up, but I know that it must be even more frightening thinking you’re enduring this alone—you feel like you’re insane.”

Aren’t I?

“But you’re not insane,” he continues. “You're simply hurting, and everybody hurts once in a while. We all hurt in different ways. Please, Jack, tell us when you need us. We will always be right there to help you.”

I think tears started to leak from my eyes, but I had them screwed too tightly to tell. Father rubbed my back and hushed me, not seeming too alarmed by my state. “That’s all right, Jack. Let everything out. It’s okay to cry if you’re feeling upset.”

At that, I cried harder. I didn’t mean to! It was comforting to know he didn’t dare let go. Eventually, my crying session came to an end, and I pulled away from father to wipe my eyes. “Hey,” says he, “how are you feeling?”

“To tell you the full truth, I'm tired. But I do feel better.”

“Let’s get you to bed then.”

He picked me up—despite my resistance—and carried me to bed. He pulled the blanket over me, pressed a goodnight kiss to my forehead, and smiled at me. “Do you need anything?”

I think for a moment. “A little glass of water, please.”

“Of course. Water is a necessity, drink plenty of water.”

As soon as he left, however, I dozed off. I was utterly exhausted.

[melodiouswhite]

Fire, Earth, Water, Air

(A/N: I was having a mind fuck, because I was high on delicious raspberry brownies and the voice of Anthony Warlow, so I’m delivering this grotesquely saccharine trash to you. I am not sorry)

I associate people with the oddest things, especially those I care about the most. Maybe it's because I am a man of science (a mad scientist, as my loved ones say), that I look at them and think of things that wouldn't even occur to most ordinary people. Why is it that I see them and compare them to the four elements of alchemy? I'm not an alchemist. I experiment with transcendent medicine and split my very own soul. That doesn't necessarily make me an alchemist. My friends and loved ones would probably disagree.

But I can't help it. When I am around the four of them, it's like all elements come into place.

Fire, earth, water and air.

Those are traditionally four of the five elements of alchemy. Ether is the fifth one, but I don't know anyone whom it would suit. And I can't be any of the other four, because my dear ones fit them so much better than I do.

The elements suit them in exactly that order.

Edward Hyde is the fire.

What else could he possibly be?

He is my alter ego, my darker side personified. He is as destructive as the element I connect him to. He has a hot temper, the slightest mistake can set him ablaze. If you get too close to him, you will burn your hands. Metaphorically of course. That little demon has no sense of boundaries. He is my hell child and one day, we both will go there.

But like fire, he draws me in. While everyone else recoils from his dark aura, I see the glow within him. I look at him like at the fire in my chimney, watching the flames dance and glow. It's like a drug to me. Hyde flares with energy and when he touches me, it feels like his spark sets me aflame as well. When his skin is on mine, I burn with want and desire. His voice makes me melt like butter in the sun. His silver tongue sets me ablaze. Like fire, I can't touch him without burning myself, yet his warmth tempts me again and again. I want his warmth, his light, I envy him for it. He knows, of course. I love how alive and vigorous he makes me feel. And although I know, that he consumes me like fire consumes everything in its path, I don't have the heart to snuff this fire out. I suppose I will never learn, but it's fine, because he will always be with me, as long as I live. We both know that I can't live without him and he never tires to remind me of it. Edward Hyde is the biggest pest I know, but I love him.

Hastie Lanyon is the earth.

He is my dear friend and colleague. He is firm, sensible and generous. And stubborn. My god, is he stubborn! Yet, I need him. When he's not having a nervous breakdown, he is a source of stability I can rely on. He is the voice of reason I refuse to listen to, yet I am lost without him. I know that, because I have been lost without him before and I will not let it happen again. Of course it's difficult. Sometimes we rouse each other's temper until his seemingly stable surface breaks and unleashes an earthquake. In nine of ten cases, he is the first one to pick up the pieces. I'm a horribly selfish man and I know that I don't give him the appreciation he deserves. He knows it too. But he doesn't speak of it, never. He has given me more chances than I deserved, forgave me more often than I deserved. He took our past together and buried it somewhere, so we could face the future. I cannot put my gratitude into words, but he knows anyway. Sometimes I wonder, if I'm just that obvious or if he's just that good at reading me.

Gabriel John Utterson is the water.

He is more than my best friend. He is my love, my life. Of course I know that he's not innocent, that he's not an angel, yet he seems heaven-sent to me. I need him to live, like a flower needs the rain. He gives water to my barren soul. He runs deep, like a still water and unless he expresses it, it's impossible to know what he really feels. I can only ever try to dive down to the ground of his being, knowing that I will never reach. His eyes have the colour of the clear sky, yet, they resemble the water like no other. They sparkle like the surface of a lake under the sun, when he is happy and freeze to ice, when he is angry. When he hold me in his arms, when he kisses me, I drink it up as greedily and desperately as a man dying from thirst would drink from a well. In a way, he is mine, my elixir of life. His waters carry away the broken remains of my dead dreams, heal the wounds of my broken heart and wash the scars until they fade and no longer hurt.

If I burn up under Hyde's touch, Gabriel cools me down. I am an anxious and restless man, but he makes me feel at peace and I love, adore, worship him for it. There is no word strong enough to express just how much I love and need him, how deep my gratitude is for everything he does for me. Sometimes I wonder, why he doesn't just leave me, because I'm thoroughly unworthy of him.

Then there is Lady Summers.

She is the air.

She flies higher than anyone else, yet she lands as easily as a cat. Not just figuratively, in my eyes. When she dances, she is graceful and her steps are light, when she fights, her movements are as fast as the wind. She seems to really fly. Ever since I have known her, she has been the wind that carried me down safely, when I fell. I can never be angry at her for long, her direct, knowing and pragmatic demeanour is just too enlivening. She breathes life into me, when I suffocate.

No one can confine her, no one can tame her. She does whatever she wants and more than often gets away with it. The rules of mankind mean nothing to her, she plays by her own.

She is as multifaceted as the weather. Behind her beautiful face hides a force of nature. Just when you believe you know her, she catches you by surprise. She defies any understanding. She can be a gentle breeze, but she can also be a terrible storm. In her wrath she can tear everything to shreds, like a tornado does with a wooden house. Her sympathy is as warm as the summer, her cruelty is as cold as the winter. I can only dream of the things she knows. She sees and has seen so many things that no one else can see.

I can never have her boundless freedom, but sometimes she gives me a taste of it. When she talks of her adventures, her stories carry me far away.

They go so perfectly together. They fit in so beautifully. When I'm around all four of them, I feel like I'm one with the world. I feel safer than I ever could have imagined. There are no words for how dear they are to me. But at the same time I feel both like I'm something and like I'm nothing. I don't know where I belong. All of them have an element that fits them perfectly, but what am I?

I am not the air, because I can't soar like Lady Summers can. I, with my stilted wings, can never fly high enough to reach my goals and ambitions.

I am not the water, because my soul is as barren as a desert. I never knew how shallow I was, until Gabriel demonstrated, just how profound he is.

I am not the earth, because despite being chained, I have lost every touch to the ground. I have cut off my own roots. Without Lanyon's helping hand, I would lose my last shred of sanity.

I am not the fire, because my own flame has long since gone out. I am just a pile of ash next to Hyde's nigh unquenchable flame, spiritless, dead and cold. He made me realise that.

I always used to feel like I was far above mankind, as if I was on top of the world. But when I see the four of them together, I realise how wrong I was. They humble me, but I need them to feel whole again, to pick up the pieces of the soul that I shattered in my foolishness.

I need Hyde to feel alive, Lanyon to feel sane, Gabriel to feel at peace and Lady Summers to feel free.

Without them, I'm less than human. They know that and indulge me. I am a lucky man, because I have them.

I have no element that fits me and I am not worthy of being the ether, but that's fine, because when I have my four elements around me, it doesn't matter and I can be me, I can be Henry Jekyll again.

[unstiteo-blog]

100 Lessons in Life.

(Summary: we learn more about Gabriel "John" Utterson's father, Hugo Utterson, and what he wants most in life.)

Chapter II: To be a Father

I haven’t exactly caught up, emotionally, with what just happened. To be a father means you must always expect the unexpected, no matter how small or dire the situation is. If you can’t be there and do anything in your power to make everything all right when your child is in need, what good are you as a parent?

Absolutely no good. At least, that’s how I was raised. To be a father means you must make the scary demons not go away, but appear in a different light; you must teach your child how to face their fears as there will be a day you will not be able to help them. That day is judgment day. Have you succeeded as a parent, a provider, a caretaker? Have you raised them properly and given them enough knowledge on the real world to understand how to provide for themselves?

It is a day I am always hopeful for, since my children can’t wait to change the world in their own beautiful ways. They are brilliant, they are witty, they are humble—well, Zara could be a bit more humble, though her pride is what makes her who she is—they are grounded, and they love each other dearly. Even on their worst days (as siblings bicker and fight), I know they could never find it in themselves to ignore one another. I am forever, and always will be, intensely proud of my daughters and son. Nothing can change that.

To be a father means you must accept how much you love your children, and also accept they will never love you as much as you love them. It isn’t because they don’t love you at all, it is because they aren’t your parents. To be a father means you must be ready for the day they leave, even if it will hurt. You must be ready to say goodbye with a brave smile and a strong voice. It is what they want.

I want that day to arrive for my babies, I sincerely do. But if I can’t help Jack, what are the chances he will live to see that day at all? That is a thought that all parents have, losing their angels. If I can’t protect my children, can I do anything for them at all?

This noise nearly prevents me from seeing the girls in the kitchen, cleaning up. I stumble back a bit, blinking confusedly. The nanny was dismissed as soon as I'd arrived, however I didn’t expect to see them clean up after themselves. Did they feel obligated to? I hurry inside and shoo them out into the dining room, which is only a few steps back. “No, no, no! Little girls do not belong in the kitchen. I am happy to clean up once I come home.”

They all give me frowns as a response. I find myself doing the same. “You’re worried about your brother, aren’t you?” Sienna nodded her head.

“Papa, is there any way we can help?”

“Be there by his side when he needs you, and please be patient with him. Your concern is as deep as mine, but you three are still young. Have fun, please. You already know how to cook and clean, yes?”

“Yes, but that isn’t the issue.”

“What is then?”

“You can’t expect us to distract ourselves with fun when we’re too troubled to have fun. You have always told us that distracting yourself from pain is unhealthy, so why do you do it?”

Ah…sometimes I underestimate Sienna, and for no good reason. I should’ve known that she, the fifteen year old who enjoys the company of her father or herself along with a book, sees the world in an entirely different view from someone, say, Jack or Zara's age. I wonder if she’s ever shared such philosophical ideologies with Luna, as she’s the quietest and most timid but I’ve noticed she adores hearing what other people have to say. She is a very good listener, my little Luna. Did she inherit that from her mother?

“Sienna, stop,” begs Luna at that moment. “I’m sure papa has a reasonable explanation for why he does what he does.”

“I agree, but I won’t stand for this hypocrisy.”

“Pressuring someone for answers never works! Drop it, please.”

Stubbornness against kindness. I curse the world for ever allowing the girls to share my pigheadedness. There is a difference between perseverance and…obstinacy. “Girls,” I warn, “that’s enough. Always carry your caring nature wherever you go, Luna. Sienna, you are right. I should not be giving you advice if I am not willing to take it. I'm sorry.”

Sienna’s face softens. “Thank you. I forgive you.”

“Dad,” says Zara, tugging on my sleeve, “where was Gabito anyways?”

“In my office reading my books.”

“Did he make a big mess?”

“Yes, but I’ll clean it up later.”

“Dad?”

“Yes, dear?”

“Is he okay?”

My chest felt sore looking at their faces. I knelt to her height, held her hands, and offered her a smile. “Eventually, yes. Like I said, if you stay by his side and be patient with him, he'll be okay again.”

“Forever?”

“I…No, I’m afraid. There will be days where he will most likely be troubled like this once more. The best we can do is love him as we always have. All right?”

“Okay. I can do that.”

“I know.”

I kissed her forehead, held out my arms, and she practically ran into me. The little fighter is getting strong! Sienna and Luna joined in, but they didn’t seem too joyous. “Challenge any anxious thoughts about it. It’s all right to be scared or worried, or both—it just means you love that person with all your heart. And you three have the biggest hearts for tiny, adorable children. Please, talk to me if you ever need anything. I love you.”

“Thank you, papa,” says Sienna.

“We love you, too,” adds Luna.

“Who you calling adorable?” questions Zara. I chuckle.

“I need to fetch Jack his glass of water. Spend time together.”

They nodded their heads and ran off to play. I grabbed a cup, filled it with water, and returned to Jack's room. I was about to greet him until I realised he was already asleep. I set the glass on his bookshelf that was a few inches shorter than him, and glanced back at him.

To be a father means you must always expect the unexpected.

So then, why wasn’t I expecting this?

I silently leave his room, my head starting to pound. Wonderful. I'll just have a glass of water myself, wait for the girls to sleep, then go to bed as early as possible.

I have a long day of work ahead of me tomorrow anyhow. Not that my feelings matter.

To be a father means you are always willing to make sacrifices.

When I arrived at work, I was greeted with that unpleasant stench of wax in every nook and cranny yet again. I crinkled my nose—I never enjoyed this part. Frankly, I never enjoyed any part of my job. I’m aspiring to be a lawyer at the moment. It'll be far more beneficial for my children and I.

That’s it, Hugo. Focus on them. Think about how much you want to succeed to keep them happy.

The stench dissipated. I entered my office and got to work. As of right now, they call me a chandler. A candlemaker, if you will. Though, I’ve caught myself making soap more and more often. I'm not complaining. So long as I don’t have to deal with the smell of wax all day, I'm fairly satisfied.

About an hour in, a pale man with sand blond hair and deep sea blue eyes entered, and they lit up when they fell on me. “Mr. Utterson, we're needed in the back for a conference.”

What? Now? “All right. I will be there promptly.”

“Very good, sir.”

With that, he left, presumably to attend the conference. I always wonder who that lad is. I don’t believe I ever got his name. Ah, well. Perhaps he’s just another stranger I'll never know.

I leave my office and enter the conference room, taking my usual seat at the very back. Understand this isn’t my usual seat by choice. I would prefer to sit somewhere else, someplace that doesn’t make me feel like I’m being stared down whenever I speak, but I don’t necessarily have a say in the matter.

I suppose I do, but I only have a say in it if I don’t wish to work there any longer.

I’m aspiring to be a lawyer, after all.

“We got a big order in today, gents,” says my boss. “I expect one-thousand candles and one-thousand soaps by the end of the month.”

I can feel the unease in the room. We’ve made more than that in the past, but like any artist with a painting or drawing, these things take time.

“Utterson,” he continues, “you’re on soap duty.”

“Yes, sir.”

“I'll be assigning who works with you.”

“Yes, sir.”

The unease rose. Nobody wished to work with me. They all think I’m pretentious, they all think I’m a suck-up.

There’s another reason why they despise me, however, I feel as though that one is rather obvious.

“Owens, you’re on candle duty.”

“You may as well give it to Utterson as well,” says someone that is not Owens. “He wouldn’t fret about getting a splinter stuck in his finger.”

Snickering arose.

“I agree!” says another man who definitely isn’t Owens. “I haven’t caught him making a fuss about his hair when there’s dust about.”

“It may have been all that womanly influence on him growing up. He doesn’t know how to behave.”

As if either of those twits were to talk.

“Sir,” I say, clearing my throat, “if I finish early, may I tend to my daughters and son? My four children, three girls and one,” I glimpse at both those rude men, “white son.”

“They can't tend to themselves? I know one of your girls is about that age.”

“They can, but I enjoy seeing my children get along with one another. It…makes my heart swell with joy.”

“Fine. But just this once, Utterson. It was damnably lucky that you got this job, so I expect those soaps to be the best bars of soap you’ve ever produced.”

“Understood, sir.”

“Good.”

He started to assign Owens his helpers, but I didn’t pay much attention. Instead, I was busy fighting against a smirk. The two insulting men were glaring at me. What can I say? You show the boss work above mediocrity and you respect him, you sort of become his favourite.

Truthfully, I wanted the attention off of Owens, whoever he might’ve been. I heavily disagree with the implications that being raised around women makes a man less of a man. Jack learns so many things from his sisters every day, it blows me away how brilliant they all are. Those girls are so kind, so genuine. I sincerely believe their impact on his life will only be a positive one.

“Utterson.”

Ah. My boss has assigned me my partners. Not one of them looked happy.

That’s fine. It’s me who'll be earning that time off anyhow for my work above mediocrity.

Hm. I wonder who Owens is. I wonder what he’s thinking right about now.

I came home to, well—

“Zara! What have I said about stealing my dresses? They’re too big for you!”

“You don’t even wear the ones I steal! Leave me alone!”

“What’s wrong with your own?”

“I said leave me alone, Sienna! I’m helping you out!”

“You are most certainly not you little thief!”

That.

That is what I came home to.

“Gabriel, stop tracking mud in the house! Papa works so hard to keep it clean!” scolds Luna.

“It’s not my doing! How are you so sure it isn’t Zizi?”

“Because if it was Zara, there would be mud on her dress and face!”

“You mean my dress?” butts in Sienna.

“Same difference!”

“That doesn’t even make any sense!”

“It means stay out of arguments that didn’t involve you to begin with!”

“You made it seem like it was Zara's dress when it’s not! It’s my dress!”

“What does it matter?” asks Jack. “It’s just a bloody dress.”

“You’re a boy!” scream the girls.

All right. I’ve seen enough.

I dismiss the nanny with a tired smile, and I felt it vanish the moment I approached them. It’s not that I’m angry or annoyed, I’m merely exhausted. Their sibling fights can be…something. It can be about one thing but then it ends up being something else. It’s almost amazing how they do it. “All right, all right. One at a time, please. What happened?”

They all started talking at the same time.

“My dears,” I cut off, “I said one at a time.”

“Zara stole my dress!”

“Sienna’s a joyless snitch!”

“Gabriel tracked mud in the house!”

“Luna’s a liar!”

“Sienna, please share. You wear roughly three dresses tops, and you are beginning to outgrow them anyhow. That reminds me, we are going shopping tomorrow. Zara, what have I said about stealing you sisters belongings? They are not yours, so you do not take them. And no name calling. Jack, have you been tracking mud in the house?”

“No!”

“Then what’s that on the bottom of your shoe?”

He went quiet. Then, he pouted.

“Don’t give me that face, young man. Luna doesn’t lie and you know this. If you wish to be a lawyer, you need to be better at arguing. Luna?”

“Yes, papa?”

“That wasn’t a very nice thing to say to Sienna. In fact, none of you were very kind to each other. We are all terribly angry today. Close your eyes, children.”

They followed my instructions.

“And count back from ten in your heads.

There was silence. Sweet, sweet silence. When they opened their eyes, the anger had vanished from their faces.

“Very good. Now, why don’t we try talking about these things instead of yelling and pointing fingers at each other that ultimately gives me a headache?”

Sienna was the first to start. “I suppose you can borrow my dresses, Zara. But you best not ruin them!”

Her sister grinned. “No promises.”

“You’re awful. Why did you even want it today? You spoke like you were hiding something.”

Come to think of it, Zara does appear to be holding something. She’s slouched over a bit as well. Zara frowned and hesitantly revealed what she was hiding underneath the layers that were far too big for her.

“I found him near the backyard.”

A puppy. It was cold, scared, and hurt. Severely hurt. Does it even have any fur…? This poor thing, my heart shattered at the sight. I can only guess it hasn’t been fed if it was left to die like this.

“Oh no!” exclaimed Luna. “Juju, did you know about this?”

“Yeah. Zizi went to grab something warm while I fetched him out of the mud.”

“That explains the mud tracks.”

“I’m sorry for being dishonest.”

“I’m sorry for not understanding.”

Luna was swift to tug at my sleeve. “Papa, we have to save him! Can we keep him, please-please-please?”

“Luna, dogs are a big responsibility and—”

“Spare me the lecture, he’ll die without our help! You can’t tell me you don’t want to help him. I know you do.”

When looking at that injured puppy, I felt that aching pain again. That insatiable desire to help the baby until it was all better. Luna isn’t normally stubborn, if ever, but she won’t take no for an answer. For good reason, of course.

Even if she could, I don’t think I can bring myself to say no.

“All right. We may keep the dog.”

The children cheered. Even Jack, the cat person. I think he’s just happy to know we’re not allowing an innocent animal to die.

To be a father means to give in to your child’s wants every now and then. Sometimes those big grins of theirs is what makes it all worth it.

“Will you take turns caring for it?” I ask.

“We all will!” replies Luna, her smile still brighter than the sun. “I’m happy to bathe him.”

“I don’t mind walking him,” says Sienna.

“And I can play with him!” says Zara.

“I'll feed him,” volunteers Jack.

All of this pleases Luna. To be a father means you must always stick together as a team for your family. That’s something I learned within this family.