#'ill make this short' i said to myself before writing over 1700 words

[griffinsmith]

fiddled around with my old jackerita au a little! mostly just updated Mr Hound's involvement in the au. not sure if this really interests anyone but here it is and i also needed to write the words somewhere before i forgot lmao

Ok hi I havent written any notes for this au in over a year. Incredible how neurodivergency can allow you to experience things with vigor for a second time

So just to clarify this is for my jackerita au where jackall and margherita escape newgate together and eventually get together, its more fleshed out in these two posts here. This is not related to the jackall & hound au, and the only similarity it shares with that au is the design of mr hound that I use in it – I’m using the same redesigned hound design that you can find under this tag. Hopefully that makes enough sense. also this is all completely head canon and me being silly

Im mostly leaving the au the same, just tweaking some of the backstory of Jackall creating Hound, why he decided to kidnap the queen and use her crown’s jewels to become Hound permanently, and adding a little bit of stuff after he gets his ass thrown into jail. Im also slightly changing Jackall’s relationship to Hound in this au ok with that being said lets go

I previously mentioned that before stealing the queen, Jackall worked as the mechanical engineer for Barkingham, being specifically interested in defending the castle from outsiders, and that he proposed to the queen’s council that tapping into moon magic would allow them to transform guards into stronger versions of themselves. Jackall’s proposal got rejected, and this part is remaining the same

For the new lore, I am replacing Jackall not having the potion entirely ready when he presented his idea to the council. Instead, Jackall is done with the thing, but he hasn’t gotten a chance to try it out yet. He asks for support from the Queen’s council so he can have someone to try it out on. Because the Marleybonian society knows little to nothing about moon magic, and trying something unheard of like this is extremely frowned upon, Jackall did not get his proposal accepted.

Also for more details on that potion - Jackall engineered the potion to flip one’s magical alignment, meaning those who performed storm spells would instead be proficient in myth, and so forth. Additionally, one would have access to higher level spells than one would normally have. The potion, while focusing mostly on battling benefits, was also supposed to heighten one’s ability to physically fight and make one slightly less interested in morals and rules in order to achieve this (emphasis on * slightly *). Or at least Jackall thought as much - he did not spend as much time perfecting this ability as he did working on the other aspects of the potion. He just hoped that once he got funding, he’d be able to work any kinks out of it, but he suspected everything would be fine.

Jackall, after getting screamed at by the council, returns home saddened. He wanted to do something to defend the queen, perhaps even revolutionize how battles are fought in Marleybone! Who wouldn’t want to tap into stronger powers in duels? If he just had some funding, someone to try it out on, he could fully tap into moon magic and science and fully utilize his groundbreaking concoction that would allow users to keep a transformation in and out of fights, something no one had ever done before in the Marleybonian corner of the spiral.

After moping around for a few days, Jackall decided he no longer would wait for the council to come to their senses, and decided he would try out the potion on himself. Then, from there he could figure out how to perfect any minor flaws, and once it was finished, present it to the council again. He was sure future history books would hold him as a hero if he could get that potion to in front of the council. Surely if they saw the positive effects it could bring, they’d give him their support.

And so, at midnight one night, he took a swig of the potion, eager to see what it would do to him. Immediately after ingesting it, he noticed a wave of euphoria rushing through him, deciding that this was the part of the potion lessening his hold on morals a bit. He noted this as a success.

Upon attempting a spell, he was ecstatic to see that his magic had changed from Ice to Fire. After messing around a second or two with spellcasting, he was equally ecstatic to see he could perform higher level fire spells, outranking the normal ice spells he could usually perform. This was also noted as a success.

The potion seemed to work perfectly – his magic had changed appropriately, now a different school and stronger, and he felt more like he could win both duels and normal fights. He wrote the potion up as a great success, and would make sure to visit the Queen’s Council again in the morning to show off what it could do.

And then came a sharp pang of pain in Jackall’s chest that quickly spread through his entire body. As Jackall writhed and convulsed around on the floor for a bit, the true colors of the potion’s “losing your morals and rules” aspect shown through, and after a minute of painful transformation, Dr Jackall became Mr Hound.

What Jackall had hoped to achieve with his concoction was something that would temporarily allow the user to mostly forget about the consequences of hurting someone, while still understanding not to go absolutely hog wild and really hurt people in duels and physical fights. What Jackall ended up achieving was creating an uncaring and self-indulgent alter ego for whomever was foolish enough to drink it. Not to mention, said alter ego now had powerful spells and enough adrenaline in their system to take out an entire clock tower’s worth of thugs. Jackall had accidentally created a monster, but he wouldn’t find that out yet – Hound was still in charge for a few hours.

The potion was also not supposed to change appearances, but for Jackall, the potion turned his gray fur blue, and said fur and hair became rougher, pointier even. Hound, a being concerned only with himself, decided to wreck the shit out of the clothes he had just spawned into and gleefully ran amok along the streets of Marylebone wearing only a tattered overcoat and pants.

The potion’s effects only lasted for a few hours (which is already longer than the 30 minutes or so that Jackall intended it to last for – good work Jackall really knew what you were doing with this potion), but that was more than enough time for Hound to terrorize a few guards at Barkingham and some poor random citizens just trying to get somewhere.

When the potion did wear off, Jackall was dazed but … he was also a little thrilled. A normal person would probably be horrified that they just werewolf transformed into some horrible version of themselves that they had no control over, but Jackall felt refreshed. He’s spent so long stuck under the thumb of Barkingham, not getting to do what he wants – why not indulge every now and then and play into his vices? And so he continues, with Jackall downing a few swigs of the potion every few days and allowing himself to become Hound to do whatever he wants.

Quick note here – while I’ve taken some inspiration from both the Jek/yll Hy/de musical from the 90’s and the original book from the late 19th century, im going to be stepping away from how they portray Hyde slowly becoming like . actually violent and . killing people . so that this au makes a bit more sense for Jackall’s backstory in canon where he genuinely wants to become hound forever. We’ll save that darker side to hound for the other au.

Jackall spends about a month transforming into Hound on and off before deciding he’s tired of being himself, and he wants to permanently become Hound. So far, Hound hasn’t done anything really bad yet (Hound steals from people and attacks people in and out of battles but he hasn’t *really* hurt anyone yet. It’s fine it’s fine) so Jackall thinks it would be fine if he was Hound 100% of the time. A great plan.

In this state of excitement, and also wanting to stick it the Queen’s Council who denied him funding on the project, Jackall decides he’s going to get the jewels off of the Queen’s crown by kidnapping her and further use those jewels to perfect his alchemical solution and become Hound forever. He'll be able to indulge in whatever he wants and no one will be able to stop him - It’s the perfect plan. Jackall still works in Barkingham and sees the staff literally every day and they’re wondering why he’s been acting a little weird lately and yet he still thinks it’s the perfect plan.

And from there, the au remains mostly the same. Jackall breaks into Barkingham the same way I wrote that he did a year ago, and gets sent to Newgate and escapes with margherita and they become the owners of the shopping district jewel shop, all the same as before. However, there are a couple of minor added details.

Jackall stops taking swigs of his potion once he’s in jail. He can’t drink it anymore since its not on him, and he can’t make it anymore there. At first, he misses the freedom that Hound gave him, but as time goes on, he realizes how unsustainable and dangerous that behavior and Hound was, and he no longer misses being Hound. He finally realizes he had created a monster, and he resolves to never again transform into him.

Hound, on the other hand, did not get this memo. Hound frequently appears in Jackall’s nightmares, starting to show up in them about a week into Jackall’s jail stay. Jackall brushes the visits off, but they slowly become more and more vivid, with Hound seemingly threatening taking him over involuntarily. Hound clearly misses the freedom - the embodiment of Jackall's selfish and evil traits does not want to be caged any longer, and this terrifies Jackall. Jackall fears for what could happen if he does manage to take over again - Since Hound has had his urges repressed for so long, surely he would do something really bad if he gets his way again.

The nightmares cease for a bit when Jackall and Margarita break out of Newgate and adjust to their new lives in Wizard city. Jackall never once mentions the nightmares to Margherita, and hopes they’ve stopped for good. But like clockwork, once Jackall’s gotten accustomed to everything, Hound begins frequenting his dreams again, just as strong as before. So far, Jackall’s been able to rouse himself from his nightmares when they start to get dire, but there have been a few instances where he swears he sees Hound’s shadow on the wall when he awakens, even if only for a second.

Alongside with the fear of getting found out for the ex-convict he is, Jackall now has to worry for his alter ego growing stronger and gaining control permanently. It’s not like hiding from the cops is already stressful enough - no, now he has to worry that he’ll involuntarily become an impulsive and careless version of himself who could easily draw attention to his hiding spot on top of all that.

Ok that’s it bada bing bada boom I hope that was cohesive enough thank you for reading if you did!!!! Jackall you idiot you wanted to be hound forever and once you came to your senses you dont anymore. make up your mind boy

[internaljiujitsu]

Negrito: Race In The Latino Community

I had lots of nicknames growing up. Bolita (little ball) when I was a toddler because I was round. Jun (short for Junior), because I share a name with my dad. But the monikers I heard most from my mom and extended family were Negro (black), Negrito (little black) or Negrolo (black something or other). Notice a pattern?

As the darkest person in my Puerto Rican family, that’s how my loved ones would address me. It’s a common practice in Latino cultures. Identifying someone by their color, frowned upon in politically correct, modern society, has morphed into a term of endearment among racially diverse Latinos. Or so it seems.

Despite the wide range of hues within Latino culture that would suggest an evolved view of skin color, these societies are just as racist as any dusty mid western town full of red cap wearing “Americans.”

When a black South African, Zonzibini Tunzi, beat out Ms. Puerto Rico for the ridiculous Ms. Universe crown, the supervisor for the Island’s Education Department called the winner, “La prima de Shaka Zulu.” It means Shaka Zulu’s cousin. You know, the legendary African military leader.

In case you were wondering, there is no relation.

In 1937, Dominican dictator Rafael Trujillo had forty thousand Hatitian migrants massacred to “whiten” the population of the Caribbean nation. Sixty years later, every Dominican in the world hailed the dark skinned Sammy Sosa as one of their own when he chased Babe Ruth’s legendary home run record.

And now — twenty years after that — Sammy Sosa is white.

In the eighties, my friends and family referred to African American people as “Morenos” (Dark Skinned) or “Cocolos” (a term originating with a dark skin group of people in The Dominican Republic.) We were all living in the same impoverished, dilapidated neighborhood together, but never felt the same. There was always an us against them attitude. We often felt as if we needed to fight for respect within our own neighborhood while buying into media perceptions of what it meant to be black and brown. And what we saw around us everyday did little to give us faith in ourselves or our darker brethren.

But I could blend in anywhere — while feeling comfortable nowhere. I belonged to a light skinned (except for me and my dad) Puerto Rican family growing up in a black neighborhood but I found myself relating more to white culture. While the Cosby Show was number one, I watched Family Ties. While kids were listening to Chuck D or KRS 1, I was head banging to Guns and Roses. I hated baggy clothes, preferring tight jeans and t-shirts. But I didn’t feel like I was rebelling - I just liked what I liked, and got plenty of shit for it.

To me, the Cosby show was bullshit. That’s not how it was for the black and brown people I knew. It was fantasy. Family Ties I had seen play out before my own eyes at white friends’ homes with cookie cutter lives that seemed perfect (spoiler alert: they weren’t). I wanted what they had so badly — peace of mind and enthusiasm for the future — and I wasn’t finding it where I lived.

I also hated my brother at the time (who I love to death) and wanted to be the opposite of him. He was a thug who always gave my parents headaches. He set a terrible example for his little brother while constantly asserting the fact that he was six years older and wiser. Once I stopped idolizing him, I detested everything he stood for. He has long since proven me and the old neighborhood wrong.

It took me years to become as secure as I am, but even now I get shit from people in my life. I’ve embraced my heritage and have ensured that my five year old daughter does the same. But when my parents hear my daughter speak proper Spanish without a Puerto Rican accent, they make fun of us. She’s been attending a Spanish speaking school since she was two. Her mother and I have attempted to be consistent with the dialect we use with her. That means she actually rolls her r’s and doesn’t sound like she’s gonna hock a loogie when she says “carro” or “perro.” My family thinks it’s fucking hilarious.

But it’s not just family. In a recent conversion with an old friend who had just retired from the police department, he called me an “Oreo.” Black on the outside and white on the inside. This guy is in his fifties. I chuckled when he said it, but haven’t returned his calls since.

The thing is, I know he was just fucking around. He himself is of mixed race and sounds like an Irish American with a Brooklyn accent, but looks Japanese. But there is something about police perception of dark skin people, how we are supposed to sound, that bugged me about what he said.

There’s too much chuckling that goes on. Too much nodding. A former close friend of mine, who is half Puerto Rican and married to a dark skinned Dominican woman, once complained that a guy he knew had “niggered up” his car ( because he added shiny rims, window tint and other bells and whistles). It wasn’t the first time I heard him use the word. Each time it turned my stomach. I didn’t get it — I was his friend. Both me and his wife would have been denied access to white bathrooms and water fountains. Just because we did not identify with black culture didn’t mean we wouldn’t be exposed to the same bigotry and hatred. What the fuck? It was too much for me to overlook. We haven’t spoken in years.

There was an ugly song I remember from the old neighborhood back in the day. There were two versions:

“A fight, a fight, a nigger and a white, the black don’t win, we all jump in.”

Or,

“A fight, a fight, a nigger and a white, the white don’t win, we all jump in.”

Which one you sang depended on who you were with. Which “us” against which “them?”

I remember, as a teenager, going to the Sunset Park pool in Brooklyn with a bunch of Latino boys. On the way home, there was a group of black kids walking ahead of us. The group I was with, only one of whom was my close friend, started taunting them. They hurled racial epitaphs and threats at the black kids for being in their neighborhood. I was silent and utterly confused.

As a kid, it was actually my one close white friend, Jesse, who was the least racist kid I knew. He might have been the most genuine friend I ever had. I stopped returning his calls because I didn’t trust his friendship. Not because of anything he did — My negative view of myself kept me from believing that he really wanted to be my friend. Why would he? He was from a great family that lived in a beautiful house and valued the things that mattered to me but weren’t for me.

When I hung out with Jesse’s friends, the chip on my shoulder was always ready to bash someone over the head. At a party in some kid’s basement, someone spilled a drink. The host, an Italian kid that I didn’t know, asked me to help clean it up. I told him to go fuck himself. Then he asked me, “What are you?”

The party ended when I dragged him down a staircase and started beating him down before being pulled off and barely escaping the awaiting mob. I am my brother’s brother, after all.

So even though I felt like a Martian in my own neighborhood and knew I wanted better, I didn’t think I belonged on the other side either. I was stuck in this bizarre place where the only role models I had were Roberto Clemente, Eric Estrada and Slater. I never knew anyone else successful that looked like me. At the same time it seemed everyone around me was determined to make sure I never forgot where I belonged.

When I was twelve years old, I refused to attend my zone school because it had a reputation for being the worst in the city. It wasn’t my parents that refused, it was me. I told my mom and dad I would not go to junior high unless they transferred me. What if I hadn’t done that?

As it turns out, the school I ended up going to (because my dad used a friend’s address) was in a good part of town and was the best public education I ever experienced. The work was so advanced that I went from being one of the smartest kids in class to struggling. I actually had to study — something I never had to do much of and found excruciatingly boring. At that new school, I felt like the bad boy. The outcast. The kid that didn’t quite belong and couldn’t keep up.

My grades suffered that year, and when I transferred to a another school, I wasn’t placed in the gifted program for the first time in my scholastic career. I petitioned the principal and pleaded my case, explaining the difficult circumstances of the previous year and promising that I would shine in his “7SP“ class, which got to skip the eight grade and go straight to “9SP” in the fall. Like when I refused to go to that war zone of a school, I once again stood up for my own education. I was thirteen years old.

The work that year was far easier than what I had learned at the other school. I breezed through. The kind of disparity that existed between the two public middle schools I attended is indicative of the subpar education that children of color receive within what is supposed to be one school system. Kids in bad schools aren’t exposed to the same world that their crosstown rivals are and are ill prepared for the reality that awaits — be it a college admissions exam or the job market. Those who do not take it upon themselves to find opportunities for advancement can’t rely on working parents with little time or education to advocate for them. They are left with shitty choices and no one to champion their cause.

The scourge of poverty and racism is further sullied by the structural hierarchy of “shade” in communities of color. In the Autobiography of Frederick Douglass, the trailblazing abolitionist and former slave writes of the preferential treatment lighter slaves received, even among the others in bondage. Proximity to whiteness, then and now, is proximity to power and privilege.

In the late 1700’s, Spain instituted the process of gracias al sacar. Mixed race people could purchase a decree that converted them to white. One such royal decree granted to Cuban Manuel Baez in 1760 says that it erased “the defect that you suffer from birth and leave you able and capable as if you did not have it.” Ain’t that some shit.

Alice Walker coined the term “colorism” in her book, “In Search of Our Mother’s Garden”. She describes “prejudicial or preferential treatment of same-race people based solely on color.” Research has shown that skin tone affects the outcome of job interviews, court cases and elections. This is not a secret among people of color. They grow up believing that the whiter they look, the easier they’ll have it.

How does that make a kid feel who wants so badly to get ahead in life but has the mirror, the media and the world outside his window saying he doesn’t stand a chance? As if even after you do all the work and get to the finish line, the tape will be pulled back another few feet each time you stretch to get across. The life you want will be just out of reach, no matter how long or how fast you run.

There has been a delusion among some that because we’ve had a black president, hip hope rules the world and the Rock is the world’s biggest movie star, racism doesn’t exist anymore. There are people of color in positions of power and prestige, but they are few and far between. There just hasn’t been enough time for all the seeds of opportunity that were only planted a generation or two or three ago to compete with those who have seemingly inherited an eternity of racial privilege. Just because so many people fought for and finally earned some basic human rights doesn’t mean the playing field has been leveled.

The destruction of the long standing racial hierarchy is a challenging ongoing project that the world must decide to address together. The perpetuation of negative stereotypes of black and brown people is not only meant to strike fear in every suburban household, but to reinforce in the mind of the oppressed their role in society. Centuries of subjugation have purposefully convinced young men and women of color that they are born with an inherent disadvantage. Then, once their will to fight was clear, the oppressors barked that those they once lorded over should be grateful to simply be out of their chains.

It is up to people of color, whether African American, Latino, West Indian, or any other subdivision of “black” that may exist, to burn down the old models. The carefully calculated lie that “whiteness” is more attractive, desirable or indicative of ability must be deleted from our main frame. We must believe we are just as capable, because we obviously are. We must know that we have the opportunities, even if we have to work harder for them. And we cannot fight among ourselves, to the delight of those that would sooner see us dead, in jail or all together erased from the annals of history.

With dog whistles long having been discarded in favor of bull horns, the paper thin veil has been lifted from our union. In a country already in pieces, further division because of infighting is not something people of color, no matter their shade, can afford.