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fuokir · 1 year

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Aena Florence Cowell - Profile

◊ Basic Information ◊

▹ Gender: Female ▹ Date of birth: 19th of February ▹ MBTI: Defender ISFJ-A ▹ Nationality: British | Welsh ▹ Blood status: Pure-blood ▹ Wand: English Oak Wood | Unicorn Core | 14 ½" Length | Slightly Springy flexibility ▹ Nickname: - ▹ House: Slytherin ▹ Patronus: Red Squirrel ▹ Boggart: Dragon/Fire ▹ Amortentia: Juniper, menthol, lime ▹ Animagus: -

◊ Appearance ◊

Aena is slightly above average height. She has long blond hair, to be honest it's hard to say what color, her hair was once very burned out in the sun, I would call it a pearl blond, with a warm undertone. Violet eyes, in her favorite sly squint. A long, straight nose, it is very easy for them to get into other people's business. Freckled skin and two facial scars.

▹ Clothing style: Ready to dress up in anything, the main thing is that it be washed and ironed. She loves trendy blouses and comfortable shoes, otherwise she just wants to look neat. ▹ Accessories: Silver earrings. A brooch with which she secures a bow on her collar. ▹ Other distinguishing features: Two scars. First received before Hogwarts, her younger sister hit her with a candlestick in a fit of rage. This scar cuts through her upper lip. The second one was obtained approximately between 4-6 class step (I still haven't decided) in a fight with Aisha. This scar is located across the bridge of the nose.

◊ Personality ◊

Aena is a person who values connections very much, and, first of all, values her own comfort. She can come across as rude due to her bluntness, although she usually tries to choose her words. For close people, Aena is the figure of an older sister, patronizing and ready to help with deed or advice. She is still clueless in conversation, but it has its own charm. If you come to her in a bad mood or in tears, she will definitely coo around you and if words do not help, then be sure that you will be taken to have fun in Hogsmeade, even if Professor Weasley did not give permission to visit the village. Due to her rather reserved nature, it is very difficult to catch her own resentment or bad mood. As a rule, she suppresses bad emotions if the pressure on her is very strong. Cowell is inclined to break loose on someone, but more often than something (Ferdinand Octavius Pratt will never forgive her for his torn portrait that once hung in the Trophy Hall). Otherwise, she learned to live such moments in herself, not wanting to impose her problems.

▹ Traits: Self-confident, imposing, diligent, cunning, communicable. ▹ Likes: Feeling of winning, gift gifts to friends and family (she is one of those people who will see a wild flower, remember you and pick it to give), To speak caustically. ▹ Dislikes: Gobstones, hates all kinds of sweets and candies (childhood trauma). ▹ Good at: Chess, persuasion, remember things quickly. ▹ Bad at: Flying on a broom (she gets motion sick), to be tact. ▹ Hobbies: Board games, Herbarium, calligraphy. ▹ Fears: Fire, fatal disease. ▹ Ambition: Become an influential person in the magical world.

◊ Family ◊

▹Father: Ambrose Thomas Cowell ▹Mother: Lavinia Marjorie Cowell (nee Brown) ▹Sibling: Aeva Francis Cowell (little sister) | Darcia Arthur Cowell (little brother) ▹ Paternal grandparents: Bertram Caspar Cowell and Marjorie Rose Cowell ▹Maternal grandparents: They do not communicate for one reason or another / Aena does not know them, as much.. ▹ Other noteworthy relatives: Angus Beresford Cowell (uncle), Anna Rayne Brown (aunt), Victor Brown (cousin), Cain Beresford Brown (cousin, illegitimate son of Anna and Angus).

▹ Pet: Couple Mooncalfs and Jobberknoll ▹ Family home: Cardiff ▹ Blood Status: Pure-Blood ▹ Social standing: Middle class family, i guess... Aristocracy? ▹ Family background: The relationship between the Browns and the Cowells became very tense after the announcement of the engagement between Lavinia and Ambrose. Both Aena's parents were strong-willed and strong-willed, and although the families did not want this union, in fear that the newlyweds would quickly fall out of love with each other when they were drawn into the routine, this did not happen. The birth of Aena, the first-born, was not accepted by applause, the parents were still very young, just about to graduate from Hogwarts. it was also that Anna, Lavinia's cousin, and Angus, Ambrose's brother, were not careful and their families found out about their union. And although the Cowells, as a fairly young purebred family, were not well known, everyone whispered about the Browns. This angered the Browns and almost all ties between the families were cut off. This did not prevent the girl from growing up in love and care, even in some kind of permissiveness. Aena was a mischievous child. In particular, she adopted the confidence of her father, and inherited from her mother an unshakable determination. Of course her uncle Angus, who frequents them (living for a while with his brother and his family), also contributed. He was cunning, playful, witty and an excellent gambler. During the early years of Ambrose and Lavinia's marriage, he often stayed to babysit his niece while his brother and his wife worked at Gringotts Wizarding Bank. It would be nonsense if, in the end, Aena did not learn to play almost as well as her uncle. Over time, her sister was born, and now not only Angus was the nanny, but Aena herself, because her sister turned out to be a completely restless child.

The Cowell family can be safely called an example of a healthy family, where everyone listens and hears each other. Where conflicts are not hushed up, but resolved. In their house there is always an atmosphere of warmth and comfort. Family members value each other, they will never refuse to help friends and relatives. Her parents still work in a bank. Grandfather was an Auror, and her grandmother worked as a curse breaker. Her uncle Angus does not work anywhere, but thanks to his skill as a card sharper, he squanders money in all directions.

◊ Relationships ◊

It is difficult to write down with whom Alena is friends to one degree or another, since she tends to call a friend a person with whom she communicated a couple of times both of them at school. Anyway, she was the most frequent communication with Amit Thakkar, Aisha Werdy(oc), Grace Pinch-Smedley and Imelda Reyes. With the advent of the New Fifth Year, Aena's friend list has become noticeably larger! Since the fifth year, a new student has appeared in Cowell's inner circle (I would like to use a specific character, but I love many MCs so much … this is a difficult choice for me, in general, your character could be here !!!). Through the new fifth year, Aena became closer to Sebastian Sallow and Ominis Gaunt. This was an interesting experience for Aena, who was very prejudiced against Gaunt due to rumors and stories from her parents. Although her parents did not want to appear biased, because they had also been the subject of all sorts of dirty rumors before, they were very afraid of ties with the Gaunts. Interestingly, thanks to MC, Cowell stopped communicating with Cressida Blume. One day, Aena managed to overhear a conversation between a newcomer and Ominis in the Hogwarts library, where the MC told in detail what he had read in a Gryffindor girl's diary. She also had a quarrel with Imelda for a while, Reyes was tirelessly talking dirty about the new one and Aena was so tired of it that she asked Imelda not to talk to her until it was all over.

Any more serious and romantic feelings were alien to Aena for a long time. Probably the culprit was gambling, through which she received joy and adrenaline. When she was strictly banned from playing within the walls of the school for as much as 2 years, for Cowell it was a global catastrophe. She was still holding small sessions of games in Hogsmeade, Aena could not find a place for herself and did not know what to do. She struggled with background anxiety for a long time, at some point losing any interest in games. Ominis became her distraction. They bumped into each other on the way to Hogsmeade, talking. Gaunt had another problem with his parents (and more problems with Sebastian), Aena had complete emptiness and disappointment in herself as a person (she was really ashamed of her actions). The Slytherins entered into a playful agreement, Aena helped the boy create the appearance of the life that the Gaunts wanted for him (minimal, but this, as it turned out, was enough), and in return Ominis was supposed to simply brighten up Aena's especially lonely days. And so, with slow steps, they became closer and closer to each other.

◊ little things ◊

Heather Mason - Silent Hill 3

Dana Scully - X-Files

Morrigan - Dragon age:Origins

Suki - ATLA

Princess Leia Organa - Star Wars

Rhaenys Targaryen - House of the Dragon

#hogwarts legacy mc #hogwarts legacy oc #aena cowell #hphl #hphl mc #hp oc #ominis gaunt #ominis gaunt x mc #ominis x mc

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jackoshadows · 9 months

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then there are the other supporting characters.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

#Arya Stark #Jon Snow #Jonrya #Austen

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lizzy-bonnet · 1 year

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Austenian Dads

A recent post about mothers-in-law by @bethanydelleman had me thinking about the dads in Jane Austen. We get a lot of discourse about mothers and mother figures, who have big, important roles in the stores, but her depictions of fatherhood are interesting too. Here, in my opinion, are the dads and dad-like figures in her novels, ranked from best to worst.

(note: I've left out deceased and barely-there dads, but I will note that Mr. Dashwood's attempt to look out for his daughters, and the amount of grief occasioned by his death, indicate that he is a Top Dad.)

Mr. Musgrove - Notwithstanding "poor Richard", Mr. Musgrove has three reasonably well-adjusted adult children, seems to love his younger children, and goes to his daughter's bedside when she is injured. His children all make Sensible Matches, and he likes kids enough to permit the little Harvilles to be brought back to Uppercross to increase its noise. He folds my beloved Anne into his family and treats her affectionately whenever she is with them. By the standards of the day, he seems pretty solid. 8/10 Least Bad Dad.

Sir John Middleton - Like Mr. Musgrove, Sir John is a people person. His immediate and unreserved adoption of the Dashwoods in their hour of need tells us that he is an unambiguously good-hearted person, which usually leads to loving parenting. His kids are young so we don't see him interacting much with them, but his desire to give everyone a nice time bodes well. He doesn't notice when his teasing goes to far. 7/10 definitely tells the same dad joke over and over.

Mr. Bennet - As a reader I love him because he's pithy, but he's honestly not a great dad, and is not modeling a happy marriage for his daughters. He shows favouritism to Lizzy, lets Lydia run wild, is hurtful towards Mary and Kitty, and fails to save up any money to bribe worthless young men to marry his daughters. 5/10 for putting all his eggs in the "having a son" basket and then doing nothing when the handle on the basket breaks.

Lt. Price - Loud, embarrassing, shiftless. Ignores his daughters but seems to maybe do OK with his sons? 3.5/10, tops.

Sir Walter Elliot - This fucking guy, am I right? He's vain, he's self-obsessed, he's a spendthrift, and he's a dreadful parent. His eldest daughter is his favourite and he basically forgets Anne and Mary exist when they're not directly in front of him (and sometimes doesn't notice them even when they are). His favouritism has damaged Anne and Mary in different ways to Mr. Bennet's to his younger daughters, but the source is the same: he has one child who is like him and others that he doesn't click with, so he basically lets them shift for themselves. In the Elliot household I'm certain this means that sensitive Anne was left to grieve her mother without any comfort from her father. It's no wonder she was ready to marry the first loving man she saw. When he sees her looking well, he thinks it's down to her skin care regimen. 3/10 merely Gowland's.

Sir Thomas Bertram - Poor Fanny, her father figures are both the pits. Sir Thomas knows absolutely zero about what any of his kids are like and can't see how bad Aunt Norris's influence is on all of them. He swings wildly between neglectful and overbearing, and then tries to pressure Fanny into marrying Henry Crawford despite his attentions making her visibly miserable. He also knows perfectly well that Fanny is shy, and yet does not give her any warning that he's throwing a ball for her coming out, plus he sends her home to Portsmouth as a sort of weirdo punishment to make her see what she's missing by not marrying Henry. 2/10 points and he really only gets these for 1. offering to free Maria from her engagement and 2. getting a fire in Fanny's grate, even if he left it until WAY too late to do her much good.

General Tilney - the closest Austen gives us to a villainous parent. The General is dictatorial to his children, oppressive around the house and occasionally creepy towards Catherine. This is made apparent by the fact that the Abbey suddenly becomes much more fun when he goes off to London. He shows himself the ultimate Bad Dad by tossing his daughter's friend out of the house without explanation and hardly the resources to get herself home. 0/10 Gothic Tyrant Dad.

#jane austen #dads #pride and predjudice and zombies #persuasion #northanger abbey #sense and sensibility #mansfield park

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zero-on-the-clocktower · 1 year

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I’m no longer starving, so it’s time for five of my favorite Wayneradiotv/RTVS AI Dungeon stories. I’m limiting it to five, otherwise this will be way too long. Also, these are in no particular order and this isn’t a ranking.

1: The Orb

This is what got me into Wayne, thanks to @jesuscrab ‘s masterful edit of it. The AI popping off and generating such an enigmatic character who went around killing moving killers is one for the ages. Then it jumped the shark and became a space opera, and it was still hilarious! I can always watch this story and laugh at the many layers of nonsense in this one.

2: Sunday School

I love AI Dungeon stories with amazing NPCs, which will continue. This story has two, in Brown, the anime mentor janitor with a weird fixation on drugs and pineapples, and Jesus. Jesus forgetting everything and then going “I AM NINTENDO!” is an amazing moment that is stuck in my brain.

3: Fantasy Mall City

This episode is known for its ant story, which is indeed an amazing moment. However, I have a soft spot for the first story of the episode. The main reason for that is Bertram the Bounty, one of the best characterized NPCs AI Dungeon has come up with. I also think the mall city concept is unironically really cool. Also, Gloomy Joe and the killer clown and the ending are all great moments too, not to mention “STATUS INFINITE!”

4: Stoner Teens in Hell

This episode is endlessly rewatchable to me, partially because of Gooby, partially for this story. The time spent in hell with Satan was hilarious. Then there was lines like “mixed berry medley” and the croquet on the Empire State Building. Then, the Freemason discs and the Joker cemented this story in my mind as one of my favorites of all time. This one is a rollercoaster, and it’s so worth it. Log, Trog, and Holly also happen to be my top three favorite RTVS members, so that made this one even better.

5: Cooperative Law

This story is fucking amazing. The worldbuilding the AI came up with is wild, and as was said in the video, it has no idea how a court works. This one also had amazing NPCs, with the stacked prosecution team and especially Judge Fudge and Judge Tubbs. It has amazing quotes and so many unexpected moments, and is worth experiencing for yourself!

#wayneradiotv #rtvs #rtvs ai dungeon #Wayneradiotv ai dungeon #ai dungeon

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witchcraftandburialdirt · 13 days

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𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐃 𝐁𝐘 𝐃𝐀𝐘𝐋𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐇𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐘 / 𝐋𝐎𝐑𝐄 : 𝚁𝚘𝚋𝚒𝚗 𝙰𝚕𝚝𝚞𝚜 𝙱𝚊𝚞𝚍𝚎𝚕𝚊𝚒𝚛𝚎 ━ Triggering Content Ahead: Please Proceed with Caution ━

As the firstborn son to Bran and Palila Baudelaire, Robin was born on the fateful day of June 28th, 1788, amidst torrents that drenched Suffolk ( it was, after all, the wettest day ever recorded in the city). However he was not to stay here within the bustling world of man but in the quietude of a small, unnamed town in the open fields of Northumberland. The world was the same as it always was, and men like Bran rarely found the comforts of family; the Baudelaire household was an oddity to say the least. It was even more infrequent for men of Bran's occupation to ever settle and marry; Sin Eaters were the dredges of society after all — vilified but needed — a necessary evil in the eyes of many within the Northern English countryside. Most would not want to marry a monster. Yet the boy's days were painted with the colors of nature and the woodland — gardening beneath the watchful eye of his mother, hunting in the trees along his father's side, and nurturing a bond with his siblings, Wren and Linette. He did not understand, in his young age, why the world gazed upon them with such scorn.

A sin-eater is a person who consumes a ritual meal in order to spiritually take on the sins of a deceased person. The food was believed to absorb the sins of a recently dead person, thus absolving the soul of the person. Many funerals were attended by a professed "sin-eater," hired to take upon him the sins of the deceased. By swallowing bread and beer, with a suitable ceremony before the corpse, he was supposed to free it from every penalty for past offences, appropriating the punishment to himself. Sin Eaters were not often the study of academia due to their shrouded and often reviled existence; Abhorred by the superstitious villagers as a thing unclean, the sin-eater cut himself off from all social intercourse with his fellow creatures by reason of the life he had chosen; he lived as a rule in a remote place by himself, and those who chanced to meet him avoided him as they would a leper. This unfortunate was held to be the associate of evil spirits, and given to witchcraft, incantations and unholy practices; only when a death took place did they seek him out, and when his purpose was accomplished they burned the wooden bowl and platter from which he had eaten the food handed across, or placed on the corpse for his consumption. ( Funeral Customs by Bertram S. Puckle ; 1926 )

As was tradition, Robin Altus Baudelaire learned his destined profession at the tender age of innocence, when his eyes were still round with light and his cheeks like apples. Bran was a man of unwavering faith and often spoke of the virtues of piety and mercy, imparting the belief that to sacrifice oneself for the sake of others mirrored the divine compassion of Christ. Martyrdom became a beautiful thing to the boy, and while the townsfolk remained blind to their struggles, Robin's heart held firm to the conviction that when the world crumbled beneath time's weight, they would understand the grace that had granted them passage into Heaven’s hold. Perhaps then they would be able to look upon the family without such reckless hate. A lofty dream. Still, despite the leers and glowers, nestled on the fringes of a quaint village, their small home stood as a refuge against the wild forests just beyond the horizon of the ebbing grass sea, of their neighbors' contempt.

Life was peaceful, despite its hardships, and Robin's heart never emptied, even if some days his stomach would. However, a brutal winter in 1800 swept through, and with it came an unseen terror — almost certainly the greatest calamity of his time — riding upon the winter winds was Father Death cloaked in white. One night, Linette, Robin's beloved sister, coughed blood across her pillow. It was the beginning of the end. She would be the first to fall, and as the silver moon waxed and waned, the Baudelaire family succumbed one by one to the relentless grip of the disease, decaying from the inside out. All except their eldest son, who was now tasked with the perilous journey into the town they served — a place buzzing with life and commerce, and worst of all, man. He was instructed by his father to venture forth to the apothecary to fetch cod liver oil and turpentine, remedies with the potential to stave off consumption. For as long as it could, anyway.

But aged only twelve and without the ability to read the delicate labels of the vials lining the shelves, Robin found himself at a loss when crossing through the apothecary's aisles — and in a moment of desperation, he asked the owner for help. But the moment he spoke, the atmosphere shifted and icy fingers crawled their way up Robin's spine. The Baudelaires were a family marked by grief, their hair shimmering like moonlight-woven thread, and as such horrible rumors clung to their presence and haunted their steps. Chatter coursed through the two other clerks quickly, suspicion twisting their gazes as they recognized the boy’s lineage. Unease simmered; for now the question was why the Robin had truly traveled into town. His kin oft came in the wake of death; so what foul omen was he? Fear was always eager to fester within men when confronted with the unknown, and upon hearing the medicines he requested, it ignited within the shop and spread like flame to dry grass. The apothecary provided the boy with the necessary ailments, as he'd very politely asked, but not without paying a heavy toll. For now the men within the village knew that Father Death loomed over the Baudelaire home, ready to ride their gasping moans further into the town and poised to claim what was rightfully His … and such things could not be ignored.

Ultimately, their home was a mere transient stop on the Grim's remorseless journey — a stepping stone marked by the stench of a lingering malevolence; they were diseased rats who had come to chew festering wounds along the shire's wintry and pale pastures.

During one cold December night, the young Baudelaire bairn awoke with a start — but not due to the chill. No, no, something was wrong; he could tell that much, but the specifics were lost on him in the dark. However, a ghostly whisper tugged at his consciousness, urging him to listen closely and to keep quiet, and in his panic, he did.

Outside Robin could hear the hushed and hurried murmurs of men echoing through the thick veil of night, mingling with the soft rustling of hay. He couldn't make sense of it at the time, and being a polite young lad, he quietly went to greet these sudden strangers — but panic seized him when he realized the door was barred. Something, or rather someone, had jammed it shut, but once again … why? A tender chide of the same voice from earlier told him to flee, nevertheless cruel and ravenous flames began to snake around the doorframe, their flickering tongues illuminating the planes of Robin's young face as he recoiled in terror. Each crackling ember seemed as a thousand eyes to reflect the devil's wickedness, soon rolling together to transform the entrance into a gaping maw eager to consume everything within its reach.

Hastily he dashed to his family, trying to rouse them from their infected dreams, but they remained ensnared in a slumber far too deep to wake now. Only little Linny opened her eyes, and Robin practically threw himself at her to try and lift her out of her blankets. Yet, as he grasped her frail form, the weight nearly crushed him. He was not a strong boy — and he struggled, weak and trembling … what little strength he had waned as the choking smoke filled his lungs. With a final, desperate effort, he dragged her halfway from the bed, only to slip and fall to the floor, where the searing heat began to lap at his hands and ignite the fluttering edges of his nightshirt.

The bright orange beast roared to life, and Robin's will to live fought to bring him to his now calloused and bubbling feet; with one final glance towards his weeping sister, he left her screaming and reaching for him. Each step was walking on embers, and the sharp sting of her cries were glass shards in his ears, but he gritted his teeth against the pain and summoned every ounce of endurance he had to reach the rear of the house. His bloodied fingers clawed nothing short of a frenzy on the splintered window frame of the storage room, his nails breaking and his hands raw from the relentless struggle against the cruel timbers blocking freedom from this hell. Each jagged edge tore at him, but in his mindless adrenaline fueled high, he carved a path out, determined to escape the fiery grasp of doom lingering just behind. With each wooden creak Robin felt the delicate breath of winter kiss his scorching skin through the cracks, and with a final surge of will, he shattered the remaining glass and tumbled into a world blanketed in pearlescent shimmer. Each snowflake swirled like a thousand daggers against his burning skin, and the merciless cold gnawed at him and nearly stole his life away, but his body forced him to stand once more — to finally flee from this wretched place. The towering trees looming ahead offered a haven from the hunting dogs and their whistling owners; there were far too many trees and dense underbrush to bother … And so once everything fell silent, Robin went the only way he could: forward.

But for all of his determination, Robin had seen too few winters to withstand the savage bite of the icy chill and decided instead to quietly nestle within the dense thicket, content to surrender to the exhaustion that clawed at his aching limbs and burned in his weary eyes. As the frost crept insidiously into his flesh and bones, he felt a warmth beckoning him, a promise of rest that whispered sweet and soft. Teetering upon the brink of sleep, the familiar comfort of his mother’s arms enveloped him, lifting him up as she had done in his childhood and cradling him against the safety of her chest. The ground beneath him transformed into a soft bed of snow, each flake a delicate touch against his numbed skin, inviting him deeper into dreamless slumber. Yet, a gentle sound stirred the soupy lull of his brain, and the world blurred around him as Robin urged himself to peel open his heavy lids. When he finally managed to lift his gaze, he saw what he thought to be a cloaked man seated on a horse emerging from the swirling white. Fear and fatigue battled within him, but he could no longer run nor resist, and with nothing left, he closed his eyes.

Father Death had come … He should have known better than to run.

He reached neither Heaven nor Hell that day, and by the following evening the boy’s fatigued body, once frozen stiff, began to thaw like the first light of dawn breaking through dense clouds. He awoke to the soothing purr of a small cat snuggled against his chest, and Robin's eyes fluttered open and stared into the glow of a crackling hearth — relaxing as he saw its contained and crumbling state. For a fleeting moment, a fragile hope blossomed within him which momentarily banished the thoughts of despair threatening to stain his mind. Perhaps, he dared to dream; all of his trials were nothing more than a cruel fantasy — a nightmare he was glad to be free from. But as reality seeped back in, it bore the weight of bittersweet truth: his father’s familiar silhouette did not grace the threshold of the room in greeting, and as his vision cleared, he was soon to find that he was not in his home. Still, Robin could not bear to lift his body from its resting place, and with a reluctant heart, he gave in to the gentle lull of his surroundings and let the veil of sleep wash over him again.

It was here, amidst flickering candlelight and aged parchment, that Robin's life would change; whether for better or worse, one could not yet say. The lost child was nursed back to health by that same figure who had found him in the woods that day. His name was Abel. He was a compassionate young priest with a gentle heart who had just come to town to bring a new dawn to the church. Upon his trek through the forest, he had miraculously spotted the boy collapsing into the nearby brush, and once he had bundled the bairn up in his extra jackets, he took him home. Robin learned that he was tasked with filling the shoes of their beloved but long-retired clergyman, and he also learned that Abel's wisdom and kindness knew no bounds. Many people warned the priest of his ward, of the cursed blood in his veins, but it mattered little to Robin's new guardian. He saw the Sin Eaters not as devils but as souls burdened by suffering, deserving of understanding and redemption.

To give oneself for another was Christly.

Under Abel's dark and watchful eyes, Robin found refuge and purpose over the long span of ten years, and he blossomed into a learned young man. He stood proudly beside Abel, acting as an acolyte and loyal aide, delivering assistance to the townsfolk who came seeking guidance from them. To hear their sins and forgive them, but he never once heard anyone over those ten years confess of that night. Regardless, those fickle villagers were touched by his dedication and began to see him not just as a cursed boy raised in the church’s shadow; he was even invited to birthday celebrations!

For once in his life, he truly felt human. For one decade Robin dwelled in peace; he thrived under the azure skies and reveled in the patterns that led his daily duties. The laughter of children oft bounced through the town like a chirping bird, bountiful harvests painted the fields in hues of amber and crimson, and the caress of breezes stirred the vibrant blooms adorning every garden. It was perfect. It should have been perfect, but the Baudelaires were a family marked by grief, and one evening, when the setting sun drenched the sky in a shade of lavender, Robin had to wonder if his nightmares had crawled to life. Winter had come again and brought with it the worst thing to ever meet his ear. It was a soft interruption, something that would not usually stir such dread, but for the Baudelaire boy, it brought him back to being small and scared.

A cough.

With one simple sound, Robin's vibrant world began to fade into a haunting echo of its past glory. As the weeks dragged on, Abel's illness deepened, and the villagers were quick to recall that strange family that had vanished into the woods long ago. Gossip fluttered like moths around the village hearths, spreading tales that spoke of an insatiable White Death. Consumption had come again, and it seemed that even with Abel's blessings, Robin would never be able to escape the horrors festering in his own blood. This was his fault … and he knew he would never reconcile what he had done; he had betrayed Abel to his death, and all those who had given him kindness were, surely, deceived. As that darkness seeped into him, Robin grappled with the agonizing truth: hope was a distant shore, and forever he would wade alone on an empty sea of sullen waters.

On the night of Abel's passing, Robin felt a piece of him die too — and he wept until his eyes were red and his voice was hoarse.

Mercifully, the church granted him one week to pack his things and go — for another priest had come, and this one was eager to reignite the strict mortal ethics of the time. Abel's leniency had caught the eye of the papal, and now it was time to return to proper teachings. The heavy mahogany doors that once swung open to greet him now stood resolutely locked, leaving him in a world of shuttered windows and drawn curtains. Through the streets Robin went, and he spoke to no one; he ventured from the village's edge into the depths of the forest alone. No one even asked where he was going. The only willing company the tears in his eyes and the weight of Abel's rosary that hung around the pale column of his throat. His feet moved instinctively along a well-trodden path, winding through the underbrush until the ground under his soles felt familiar and his body carried him to its desired mark. The very place his mind had begged to not be forced into for the rest of his days; yet here he stood.

A soot-covered monstrosity whose wooden edges jutted out like the waiting claws of a great beast; its looming presence instantly lifted a warning in Robin's heart as he gawked in its great shadow. For ten long years he had avoided this forsaken place in both the realms of his dreams and God's blessed green earth. Nevertheless, he beheld its unwavering grim loyalty as if it were waiting for him to return all this time. It welcomed the Baudelaire heir inside peeling, rotting walls. Within this loneliness he stayed, allowing misery to fester and act as a poison to slow his heart; light drained from the world, and in the hues of each lonely dusk he could see the reflections of his old life. But hunger, in its stark apathy, stirred him from his sorrowful reverie to remind him of his mortality, and he knew there was only one path left to tread if he wanted to continue living. And so, Robin damned himself to don the mantle left behind by his late father, a heavy cloak of duty he was sure to suffocate under.

This was to be his fate: ever to dwell underneath the fading trees bound to his mourning, ever to rot.

But fate seemed uneager to arrive. Despite how swiftly his world had turned to sorrow and despair, Robin clung tenaciously to his duty — his silent vow to survive, to continue on. And soon enough the heavy grief that had shrouded his existence so heavily began to lift, and shortly thereafter he found an unexpected vibrancy in the new world around him. Just as in the days of his childhood, Nature's indifference welcomed him; finally there was a place to rest from judgment.

Cool water greeted him in the sweltering grasp of summer, gentle breezes carried the sweet fragrance of wildflowers in spring, autumn draped itself in golden magnificence, and even dark and cold winter seemed to offer him a reluctant mercy. Status mattered not there, where the rabbits looked upon him no differently than they did the petunias in his garden. He was not without burden, however, for when the Death Knells summoned him to town, Robin shuddered and shook. It was a difficult thing to travel into that place and be amongst those people … The world of men had become somewhat lost to him in his seclusion, and their murmurings in his presence brought little in the way of comfort. Robin ignored them, or tried to, in order to remain steadfast in his mission to the deceased. While not undimmed by bitterness or resentment that would otherwise cloud his purpose ( yet ), he did find a strange fear of those he served. Nonetheless, he knew that judgment was not his to wield; it belonged solely to their heavenly Father; and once his duty was fulfilled, he would retreat back into the forest — now quite content with the lack of visitors.

So one could imagine Robin's jolt of shock when, without warning or letter, a stuttering knock hit his door. If it had been only once he would have assumed it to be a trick of the wind, but twice, thrice! Each one more insistent than the last! Curiosity piqued and caution tossed aside, Robin rose swiftly with a racing heart to open the door — perhaps a foolish decision, but the earlier mead with his dinner evinced itself to be very talented in lowering his inhibitions. Now to deal with the fallout of such an action: for standing on his doorstep was a ragtag group of young men from the village. Maybe four or five in number, with movements unsteady and huffing breath like taxed horses. Anxiety skyrocketed, and without thinking, he began to take a step back. One of the boys, his words slurred and tangled, began to explain how they had lost their way, but Robin’s senses were overwhelmed by the cloud of whiskey-laden breath that had wafted toward him. It curled into his nostrils, sending a thousand shivers racing up his spine; he'd never liked the smell and now was not proving to be an exception. He had no idea what to say to remedy how awkward everything had become; and frankly, he was afraid he would gag if he tried to speak.

However the drunken lisps dwindled into a whisper before fading entirely, leaving behind a suffocating silence that summoned the Sin Eater’s attention back. Surely they had not intended to trespass upon his land, nor had they come to him with benevolent hearts; those were reserved for their intended host, which he was most certainly not. As Robin's gaze swept over the group, he became acutely aware of the transformation that had overtaken them. Their eyes, once sparkling in their delirium, now widened in disbelief, reflecting a dawning horror as if they had gazed upon some grotesque abomination from the depths of a sickly nightmare. Mouths hung agape and faces drained of color, each man now a canvas painted with shades of ashen pallor. In that instant, Robin found himself no longer being looked at as a fellow human being, but a manifestation of their most profound fears — a creature born from the dark recesses of Lilith's mind, a descendent of snakes and demons! Robin wished to reach out, he had once known each of them by name, to bridge the yawning chasm of misunderstanding that lay between them but ...

In their eyes, he caught the unmistakable reflection of their revulsion; a mirror to his own self-loathing, for in their horror at him he, too, found reason to recoil.

In the crisp dark night, he stood within the doorway of his weathered home, half bathed in the warm glow of flickering candlelight behind him that danced across his hair and skin. The golden firelight crackled a warning, transforming his moonlit-touched locks into a halo wreathed in a shriek of hellfire. But, o' his eyes, it was his eyes that truly unsettled. They glowed like sickly green lanterns, piercing through the darkness with an unnatural sheen that belied their hollow depths. It was now of little wonder to him why the townsfolk spoke of him in hushed murmurs and chided their children to stay close and avoid the woodland.

Everything was quiet between the accidental gathering, and Robin's soul yearned to escape this suffocating atmosphere; he wanted to leave, to break free from their unrelenting stares, but he found his feet rooted to the spot. He didn't know what to do; he didn't even feel as though he could breathe! With a heavy heart and trembling fingers he silently reached for the door, the brass handle suddenly felt so cold and foreign in his grip. Robin turned the handle, the creaking of the door echoed like the mournful wail of a lost soul, and shut out the uninvited throng that had rendered him a husk. He did not sleep that night, nor would he likely ever rest comfortably again. The weight of the gazes that had followed him pressed down atop his weary shoulders, but he supposed he could not cast too much blame upon them. He now saw that he was too far removed from humanity to seek refuge in companionship.

The next few days offered him no solace from his maddening delusions. Each rustle of a branch, each flutter of a bird, felt like a portent of doom, little reminders of the unseen eyes lurking just beyond the tree line, ever watchful, ever patient. With every reluctant step away from the welcoming hearth of his abode, a frigid tendril of dread tightened about Robin's heart, constricting with a merciless grip that threatened to squeeze the very life from his lungs. Unable to ignore his heart's thrumming admonitions that cautioned him not venture too far; for to do so would invite the abyss, and he would never come home again. Every sun-drenched afternoon melded into endless loops of fevered paranoia. Visions of the men from the night prior loomed large in his mind, their faces twisted into malicious grins as he replayed the encounter in his head over and over again. Were they still out there, ensconced in the shadows, biding their time? Robin found himself checking the handle frequently; once at night and once in the morn, grateful for each time the door was not barricaded. His fingers held too many scars already.

Still, with winter fast approaching, it was becoming more and more difficult to maintain his isolation while the persistent rumble of hunger echoed in the cavern of his stomach; it was the only companion in his solitude. The passing weeks had turned into a monotonous cycle of silence, broken only by the occasional crackle of distant frost, but the sinking dread never left. All the same, that fateful morning had to arrive; an inexplicable urge stirred within him, something far beyond mere hunger, igniting a glint of determination that had long lain dormant. It was a call that resonated deep within, reverberating through the very marrow of his bones — he could not hope to resist it. So, with that single stride, he left his home behind and stepped into the murky depths of a thousand towering trees.

And Robin Altus Baudelaire never returned.

#✧ ── 𝐑𝐎𝐁𝐈𝐍 𝐀. 𝐁𝐀𝐔𝐃𝐄𝐋𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐄 ... 【 ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴏᴏɴ-ᴇʏᴇᴅ ᴍᴀɢᴇ 】#── 𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐃 𝐁𝐘 𝐃𝐀𝐘𝐋𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 #── 𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐇 𝐋𝐀𝐔𝐆𝐇𝐒 𝐀𝐓 𝐘𝐄 - 𝐌𝐀𝐃 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐓𝐀𝐋𝐒 - 𝐀𝐒 𝐘𝐄 𝐑𝐔𝐍! ...【 ᴄʜᴀʀᴀᴄᴛᴇʀ ꜱᴛᴜᴅɪᴇꜱ 】#brozi warning #mother death #familial death tw #blood tw #horror tw #grief tw #parental death tw #implied murder tw #death tw #injury tw #fire tw #tw sui ideation #alcohol ment tw #angst tw #no happy ending #if I missed any please let me know!

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anghraine · 7 months

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crossedwithblue replied to this post:

are most of these that aren't on AO3 still on LJ? I really enjoyed what is om AO3 and would love to read the rest if possible :)

Oh, thank you very much! The old fics I listed in the post are all up at AO3:

Left to Follow, the "what if Darcy cheated LOL PSYCH it's about his parents" fic, is here. (The discarded chapters are not on AO3. I originally posted them on Hyacinth Gardens, a long-defunct website, but the other chapters might still be up at fanfiction.net under Peradan.)

Sword and Sorcery, the fantasy AU vignettes, are here. (These are probably the worst on the writing level of all my old P&P fic, IMO.)

Catalyst, the "Darcy talks over the first proposal with his cousin—who tells him he was completely right" fic, is here.

Such Terms of Cordiality, the wild AU where Elizabeth and Darcy start their relationship with good first impressions at Ramsgate and also Lady Anne and Mr Bennet are worse than friends, they're exes, and Lady Anne is still alive and Jane doesn't fall in love with Bingley andandand is here.

Season of Courtship, the canon-compliant Darcy/Elizabeth engagement fic, is here.

The Widow, the post-P&P/MP Elizabeth/Tom Bertram fic, is here.

Incumbrance of Mystery, the crack murder mystery fic, is here.

Claims to Reputation, the epistolary fic about the two oldest Wickham children trying to leverage their Bennet connections, is here.

My livejournal account is still up, but I really can't encourage anyone to use lj at this point and I'm pretty sure that nearly everything I wrote there ended up at ff.net or AO3.

#crossedwithblue #respuestas #nice things people say to me #austen blogging #fic talk #fic talk: left to follow #fic talk: sword and sorcery #fic talk: catalyst #fic talk: such terms of cordiality #fic talk: season of courtship #fic talk: the widow #fic talk: incumbrance of mystery #fic talk: comforts and consequences

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muu-kun · 6 months

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Career Breakdowns: Muu's Employment at a Brothel Edition. Part One.

Background information pertaining to the business in which he is employed by:

Name: Cracked Saddle. It was through his own curiosity that Muu came to learn that the name is intended to be a reference to many different things. One of which includes the fact that the ongoing matters within the establishment invoke the assumption that all used and worn out in a matter akin to a cracked saddle would come about in time and longevity of usage. Another is that of the observation that saddles are prone to cracking due to the conditions presented in frequently riding a horse. The bit about riding was really all that the owner of the establishment needed to go forward with when he put his time and money into an establishment centered on men primarily servicing other men.

The Boss himself: Cracked Saddle is ran by a surprisingly very kindhearted man by the name of Bertram Wild Okabe, a born and raised third generation American who's family lineage remains distantly connected to Japan. Having spent his childhood in the deep south of the United States, he grew to form an appreciation of the aesthetics and values behind the culture Native American communities in the vicinity. Lessons taught to him as a boy by those kind of enough to take his spiritedness curiosity under their wing have carried with him as an a middle aged man who's focus in life is to tend to those less fortunate than himself. In his prime, travels about the Earth in search of meaning and home amongst the vastness of the planet, brought him face to face with witnessing the tribulations faced by young men on the streets, more lost than himself. No matter where his impulsiveness and yearning to live life to his fullest, conversations had with those in a state of adolescence that mirrored his own would stick with him the most. Enough so in fact that on returning to where he felt not just the most like himself, but also the most in tune with the heart of rhe universe around him, he took to building a property in which he could facilitate a safe space to exist for likely those some young men turned to adults after years of surviving on the streets with a limited education on much else than utilizing intimate encounters as a means for money to be spent on food and supplies for making it though the day out on the streets. For him, the goal has never been to stop sex work from taking place. Instead, he solely intends on maintaining an environment in which those in community can come seek out an avenue for their urges that doesn't include going out onto the streets to scope out the barely above children that shouldn't be out on them in the first place. If those employed under him were asked what sort of connection does he functionally maintain with all of the men working at Cracked Saddle, the answer would unanimously be that he makes each of them feel loved by him entirely. Never would he allow for any of them be subject to harm, or to venture forward with an act with an individual they did not fully provide their consent towards in the first place. While it may be an objectifying business, he himself makes no point to make those working for him feel that way under his gaze by any means. Never does he offer pity either. These are people arguably more brave than he could ever consider himself to ever be, so why would he have thought to glance upon them as if they were merely pawns to profit from? The only instances in which he has thought to send harm any of their ways is out of punishment for referring to him as a fuddy duddy. Yes, he may be a stickler for rules; however, he was once cool in the face of danger well before some of the men in his care could even walk and talk. As the person who writes out their business reports at the end of each month, was it really all that much to ask for consistent respect?

General Information of Big Bertram himself:

Name: Bertram Wild Okabe.

Nicknames: Wild Card by most, as well as Bertie / Birdy / Ram-man by a specific, strange named employee of his known as Muu.

Age: 48

Birthday: January 16th, 1976.

Height: 160cm / 6ft3in

Sex & Gender: Male. Though he welcomes all identities with open arms, he himself doesn't associate himself with anything other than being an ordinary cismale.

Sexuality: Pansexual. A self described lover of all. His preference, though, lies with women. It just remains unfortunate that he can not settle with one as his far too independent lifestyle prevents him from complete commitment. In regards to position in the bedroom for those with dirty, curious minds, Bertram is a full-fledged top. Submissiveness in that way has never been in his demeanor and he has no plans for that to change at any point in the near or distant future.

Relationship status and children: Chronically single and none that he knows of for the time being. The likelihood of such is high, but not yet confirmed. He'd love to be a parent, though, so such an opportunity would be welcomed by him should such occur naturally in his life any time soon.

#; ♡ ; cracked saddle reference

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bethanydelleman · 1 year

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We need to talk about the Compromise Trope

Tl;DR It makes zero flipping sense because men always face a smaller social cost than women. You cannot force a powerful man to do anything, much less get married for life to someone he hates. And you wouldn’t actually want this trope to be true, because even if a man is forced to marry, he can just abandon or mistreat his wife. (This is a really long post)

Discussion of sexual assault and spousal abuse.

For those who don’t know, this is an extremely common trope in Jane Austen Fan Fiction/Regency romance. I don’t know where it originated, though there are two types of situations in Jane Austen’s works which are close. The basic premise is this: a man and woman are caught alone in a dark room/kissing (with full consent on both sides or not)/just hugging sometimes and a whole bunch of people scream and they are forced to get married.

Often both sides are unhappy with this marriage but it must happen, so they deal with it. This is the most common form of “Forced Marriage Situation” in the JAFF that I have read and heard about.

The two situations that come close are Lydia and Wickham’s elopement and then behaviour that has engaged honour in Pride & Prejudice, Sense & Sensibility, Mansfield Park, and Persuasion. With Lydia and Wickham, that wasn’t an innocent kiss in a library, they were living together and most likely having sex for a few days/weeks before Darcy got the whole situation figured out. However, Darcy did not try to force a marriage first, he actually tries to get Lydia away. What we can assume from this is that Darcy recognizes that marriage to a dishonorable man is worse than the blow to Lydia’s (and her family’s) reputation or life’s happiness.

Situations where honour is engaged but no actual touching has happened (as far as we know), are Jane/Bingley, Marianne/Willoughby, and Louisa/Wentworth. In each of these situations, a man and a woman act in such a way that people begin to assume that they are engaged. Word is spread abroad, and the men all absent themselves from the situation in the hopes that rumours will die down. Lastly we have Henry Crawford/Maria Bertram, who do touch in the context of a play and who are acting very flirtatiously even though Maria is engaged. Henry also pointedly quits the scene. Two of these men (or their friends) are trying to exit an engagement situation fairly, two of them are just ghosting because they don’t care.

But here is the problem with the trope: while a man may be honour-bound to propose if he’s been raising expectations, no one can force him. Mrs. Bennet and Mrs. Jennings both complain to the world that Jane and Marianne have been ill-used, but nothing comes of it! Bingley comes back eventually, but not because he’s “compromised” Jane and feels bad about it. Willoughby gets married to Miss Grey anyways and he doesn’t suffer that much socially (Sir John forgives him before the novel ends). Also, Willoughby seduced and impregnated Eliza Williams, which is way past “compromise”, and while it’s not clear how widely known this is, he is not shunned socially for that indiscretion either.

This is the whole problem with the trope: powerful men can survive far greater social disgrace than women!!! This is probably partially because women are expected to be virgins and men are not, but also because of the imbalance in marriage prospects. I imagine that a woman with £30,000 pounds could weather a scandal far better than someone like Eliza Williams. Men like Henry Crawford and Darcy would be basically bulletproof, or at least that is how they are portrayed.

Oscar Wilde spends a lot of time on this imbalance of consequences (especially in A Woman of No Importance) and his conclusion is that men can basically get away with anything while women, and sometimes their children, bear the full brunt of social cost. We still see this today! It’s the woman who most often bears the consequences for getting pregnant as a teen, for example, and the largest blow to their future prospects.

In the only “compromise” I’ve read in a contemporary novel, Molly in Wives & Daughters (written in 1866) is caught giving Mr. Preston a letter and meeting with him clandestinely. What happens is nothing like the JAFF compromise trope. Molly’s reputation is trashed, but Mr. Preston is certainly not forced to marry her, people just talk about how they will probably marry. Molly is the one who bears almost the entire social cost, Mr. Preston isn’t even that worried about it until his employer gets involved. He is only a steward and could be held accountable by a higher up, people like Darcy and Crawford have no one who could do the same thing.

Another thing I see now which is just wild is Caroline trying to sneak in Darcy’s room at night. I don’t know how that is supposed to make a “compromise” since there are no witnesses, but also, that is incredibly dumb. A man as powerful as Darcy could have full on sex with a woman and deny it and probably face almost no backlash. Especially since Caroline would have no proof. I mean she can’t get a DNA test in this era and once she admits she’s had sex it could have been with a footman.

And you say, but Darcy is honourable? Sure, but this woman threw herself at him without consent! I am sure he wouldn’t have sex with Caroline without marrying her, but if she started kissing him and then people demanded they marry? It would be perfectly moral for him to throw her under the bus. And then Caroline’s reputation is destroyed and she gains nothing.

The fact is, if “compromise” was a real thing, it would be gamed. Humans will take any loophole and widen it until you can drive a truck through it. All of the nobility would be married by women throwing themselves at them, here, I wrote a farce about it.

If anything, the “compromise” trope is a fantasy where men are actually held accountable for violating women. Which seems like it would be nice, but considering that some women, especially Caroline, weaponize “compromise”, you start to border on some disturbing territory. Like the idea that women who accuse famous people of rape are just doing it for attention/wealth. And that is not great! That is something we also still struggle with today.

The only way “compromise” works as it is presented is if someone more powerful than the man involved forces him to marry. So for example, a father threatens to cut off his son’s allowance or disinherit him, like Mrs. Smith in Sense & Sensibility. However, even married a man isn’t “trapped”, he can just leave his wife behind and fuck off to Italy. Which is literally the plot of All's Well That Ends Well by William Shakespeare, in which the king forces a man to marry. This happens in Jane Austen too! Wickham just goes to London and Bath to enjoy himself and leaves Lydia with her family. Or if you’d like real world examples: Percy Shelley and Lord Byron. Also Jane Eyre now that I think about it...

But that’s not even the worst that could happen! In Mrs. Hubback’s The Younger Sister, (a completion of the novel fragment The Watsons by Jane Austen) which was written in 1850, we have this chilling exchange about a man forced to marry:

"Ah, I am glad I have brought you to your senses, at last; now consider, if we could do as Emma advises, and persuade this Mr. Musgrove to marry, as he ought, there would be an end of all trouble in the affair."

"To you, perhaps, but not to Miss Margaret; I dare say her amiable husband would beat her every day."

This situation was a bit different, they were suing for breach of contract because Mr. Musgrove proposed to Margaret and then pretended he hadn’t. Two women overheard the proposal and would have been able to testify in court against Mr. Musgrove. This was a real thing and could either result in restitution payments or marriage. However, you couldn’t sue for breach of contract over a kiss or a “compromise”, you needed proof of engagement. The real cases I have seen involved publicly known engagements, or letters and tokens of affection (think Lucy Steele in Sense & Sensibility) So again, not “compromise.”

The point though is that a man being forced to marry a woman could abuse her without much repercussion. In JAFF/Historical romance it always works out, but in real life I can see someone being pretty resentful that they were forced to get married and taking it out on the other party.

Also, the entire concept of a man trapped in an engagement and unable to get out because of their reputation/honour is kind of laughable because that’s why breach of contract laws exist! And women, who were technically “allowed” to back out, faced pressure to marry:

“But after a certain time—after the world suspects that two people are engaged to each other, it is scarcely possible for the woman to recede: when they come within a certain distance, they are pressed to unite, by the irresistible force of external circumstances. A woman is too often reduced to this dilemma: either she must marry a man she does not love, or she must be blamed by the world—either she must sacrifice a portion of her reputation, or the whole of her happiness.” (Belinda Ch 18, Maria Edgeworth)

So again, the social burden is carried by women

(Brief note about Edward Ferrars, he is trying to honour his promise to Lucy Steele and is “trapped” in an engagement, but he made that proposal of his own free will. His family would clearly have supported him in a breach of promise suit so he could marry Miss Morton. Lucy only has a hold on Edward because he’s too honourable to jilt her.)

Lastly, duels. I know almost nothing about duels but they just sound profoundly stupid to me. The only duel we see in Jane Austen is between Colonel Brandon and Willoughby, they are both unwounded and go home quietly. I don’t know what duels are supposed to solve, if Colonel Brandon had killed Willoughby he probably would have gone to jail/been hung (I don’t know if he’s rich enough to get away with it). So if he wins, Eliza is screwed, if he loses, Eliza is screwed, there is really no good outcome.

Mrs. Bennet wants Mr. Bennet to fight Wickham, but to what end? If Mr. Bennet killed Wickham, then Lydia isn’t un-ruined? So what is the point? I guess maybe the man agrees to marry your daughter rather than face death? It just seems like pointless drama to me. I don’t think I’ve ever heard of a duel with a good outcome, illuminate me in the comments/reblogs if you have.

Here is what I imagine is a more realistic scene of “compromise”: A man and woman are making out, some people burst into the library! Social pressure mounts for the couple to marry, but the guy isn’t interested. He goes to Italy for fun, leaving the girl to bear the full brunt of slut shaming and reputation damage.

Five years later, the man returns and is invited back into society. The girl is unmarried and unmarriageable, perhaps banished by her family to some cottage. Or she stuck it out and hoped people would forgive a youthful lapse of propriety, was she rich and pretty enough to get over the stigma? One can only hope.

Now specifically in Pride & Prejudice variations:

There are some cases where Darcy doesn’t like Elizabeth and is mad that he has to marry her. I just don’t think those would happen. After all, he encourages Bingley to leave Jane while there is still wiggle room, I think he’d just leave and hope for the best. He might even pay a breach of contract fine, after all, if he marries a woman he hates or distrusts, that’s the rest of his life and the reputation of Pemberley forever. Paying a fine and waiting for people to forget would hardly hurt him. And he probably wouldn’t think it was morally wrong if he suspected that Elizabeth did it on purpose to try and trap him.

There are other situations where Darcy is happy to marry Elizabeth but she hates him. These may also not result in marriage because Elizabeth is pretty big on not marrying people she does not love for social gain. I mean especially a man who just sexually assaulted her! If she thinks as poorly of him as she does canonically at Hunsford, I can’t see her saying yes. After all, now not only is Darcy someone she dislikes, he just proved he isn’t trustworthy or capable of self control.

Also, there are way too many variations where despite hating Darcy, Elizabeth is totally into the kiss. Which is so weird to me! If someone I hated kissed me they would be slapped! I doubt people are going to be screaming for Elizabeth to marry someone who assaulted her, they’d probably be angry at Darcy.

Lastly, Caroline Bingley. She is trying to compromise Darcy but sometimes ends up in a compromise marriage herself. Now she is actually rich and has a very caring brother. I cannot see her doing something like actually marrying Wickham or Mr. Collins. She could probably survive the reputation damage because of her large fortune or live on her dowry. After all, Darcy has told her Wickham can’t be trusted. It would be dangerous for her to agree to marry him.

Basically, I think any compromise situation in Pride & Prejudice is out of character. If one really wants Darcy and Elizabeth married pre-understanding and reformation arc, I would suggest placing Elizabeth in reduced financial circumstances, like Mr. Bennet dying. Otherwise, you need to significantly change the characters of both Elizabeth and Darcy.

#wives and daughters #elizabeth gaskell #The Younger Sister #mrs. hubback #oscar wilde #compromise trope #historical romance #jane austen fan fiction #JAFF #pride and prejudice variations #pride and prejudice #jane austen #long post #and kind of rambling #I hope I made my point #a woman of no importance

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