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jomiddlemarch · 16 days

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and is there honey still

Kissing Mary Vance was nothing like kissing Faith.

This realization, occurring a moment after the kiss ended, Jem’s hand still at Mary’s slender waist, her normally pale cheeks as pink as a rare mayflower, was followed immediately by the understanding that he’d never be able to tell anyone. There was no confidant he could trust with such a secret, even if he could bring himself to so violate the rules of gentlemanly behavior. It just wasn’t done and that was before he considered speaking of kissing Mary Vance, who was accepted as Miss Cornelia’s adopted daughter, but whose personal history was never quite forgotten.

Susan, should she ever hear of it, would be scandalized beyond comprehension.

Jem would never eat another slice of her strawberry pie.

His friends and siblings would be confused, Faith put out, her pique covering any feelings of betrayal, for all that there was nothing binding between them.

Mother would be disappointed and Dad would shake his head.

The expression in Mary’s eyes, those queer eyes he now saw were the color of moonstones, told him she understood it all.

“It’s nothing to make a fuss about,” she said. Faith would have tossed her head making such a remark, her golden-brown curls shown to advantage, but Mary only looked at him steadily and let the hand that had been on his shoulder drop to her lap.

“You hold yourself too cheap, Mary,” Jem said.

“That ain’t—that isn’t possible,” she replied. “Anyway, what’s a kiss amount to?”

It was a good question, one Jem had thought he’d known the answer to, just as he thought he’d known the answer to the question she was laboring over at her desk in the empty classroom, a piece of paper scribbled over and crossed-out, grey smudges on the foolscap, on Mary’s white cuffs. She would’ve laundered them herself, being Miss Cornelia’s daughter not relieving her of her housekeeping duties, chores she’d call them though Jem knew none of his sisters had ever helped even pinning clean clothes to the line.

He supposed a kiss could be an ordinary thing, a peck on the cheek or the lips, a greeting, friendly and inconsequential as a wave, a forgettable gesture of a mild affection.

Kissing Mary Vance was nothing like that.

He could say, in all honesty, that he hadn’t planned it. He’d been pointing out something in her writing, a tricky bit she’d gotten tangled up in, and she’d been peering down at the page, trying to make it out. When she’d perceived her mistake, she’d looked up at him, her expression one he’d never seen before, victory and pride and delight all swirled together, altering her face from one he’d recognized without being aware of it into one he’d been startled to discover. Without a word, without a thought, he’d leaned in and kissed her parted lips before she crowed over her achievement or thanked him, the caress impetuous, a whim, irresistible.

She was irresistible. He’d grazed her lips with his own and in the space before the next heartbeat, he’d cupped her jaw with one hand and let the other drop to her waist to draw her close. He felt the most tremendous desire for her possess him, everything else dropped away. She tasted, quite impossibly, of honey, though that was perhaps because he had always liked honey best, and she was warm in his embrace, coming closer when his hand at her waist reached around her back, sighing a little when he stroked her cheek and angled her head to be able to kiss her more deeply. Every second, his desire for her ratcheted sharply upwards and she met him, her hand clutching his shoulder, her sharp tongue sweet in his mouth. She kissed the way a fast girl kissed but there was a terrible innocence to her response that made him know she’d never kissed anyone else, whatever she might have intimated to his sisters and her friends.

He couldn’t say why he’d broken away.

A sound in the hallway or her sudden stillness when his hand grazed her breast, the need to breathe, the pounding of his heart felt throughout his whole body.

“It doesn’t have to mean anything,” Mary went on when he was stayed silent.

“Are you sorry?” he blurted out, and hearing the words he became suddenly terrified that he’d transgressed, become that monster Reverend Meredith always warned of in his gentle way, a man consumed by his appetites, greed and lust. “Oh, God, Mary, have I made you do something you didn’t want—”

“As if you could!” she said, wry again, Mary Vance again as he’d ever known her. If she’d wanted to, she would have slapped him, he was sure of that. “There’s no person living who could make me do what I didn’t want and certainly not you, Jem Blythe.”

“That’s good, I suppose,” he said, chastened, still too close to her. Still tasting the honey-sweetness of her lips, feeling the sound of the quiet moan of hers he’d swallowed in his throat.

“We don’t have to talk about it anymore,” she offered. “Or ever again. It could be just something that happened once, like as if you’d knocked over my inkwell, and we can forget about it. If that’s what you’d like. To be easy about it.”

“We don’t have to talk about it anymore,” he repeated, agreeing. An inkwell knocked over would leave a stain, one endless scrubbing would never entirely remove. “But I won’t forget. I shan’t.”

“That’s good, I suppose,” she said, her old tone mixed in with a new softness. He’d mussed her hair and some of the loose strands caught the light, a far cry from the usual trig appearance Miss Cornelia insisted upon. He wasn’t sure he’d ever see this Mary again, but it might be enough, to have seen it this one time. It was more Walter’s way to say he’d carry it as a talisman, but Jem felt it without saying it, that to have this moment might serve him well in the future.

“Mind you turn that paper in,” he said.

“Mind yourself, then,” she said and turned away.

He wouldn’t see Mary alone for another ten years.

“Thought I’d find you here,” Mary said, sitting down beside him, facing the water. She tucked her skirt around her and made no effort to conceal her sturdy, scuffed boots. It was a cool evening, cooler by the shore, but she didn’t have a coat or even the old wool shawl she’d refused to give up before he’d left for France. He shrugged off his own coat and offered it to her. He’d be warm enough in his heavy jersey, one the fisherman down at the harbor wore when the wind picked up.

“Not Rainbow Valley?” he said.

“Why would you go there? You’re not a child anymore. Haven’t been for a long time, unless I miss my mark,” she said.

“No, you’re right,” he said. “Not for a long time.”

“You don’t have to talk to me about anything. Not about the War or Walter or being a prisoner,” she said. She said it without any particular tenderness, which was the most consoling part. He recalled, very dimly, that before she had come to Miss Cornelia, she’d lived through her own horrors, yet spoke of them rarely if at all.

“Don’t have to tell me about any French girls either,” she added and he laughed.

It was the first time he’d laughed since he came home. Since he came back to the Glen, anyway, and called it home without being able to fully mean it.

“Not much to tell there. I mostly saw nuns and the Red Cross nurses are awfully brisk, whatever their nationality,” he said.

“I’ve always thought Cornelia would make a good nun, for all that she’s married,” Mary said.

“Perhaps,” Jem replied. The waves kept breaking on the sand and it was dusk, romantic if you wanted it to be. Mary had his coat wrapped around her shoulders. Jem felt scoured, raw and empty.

“Why’d you come, if you don’t expect me to talk?” he asked after several minutes of silence.

“I guess because you need someone who doesn’t expect you to talk but who’s willing to sit nearby, without fussing over anything,” she said. “I’ve plenty of handwork and housework to deal with at home. I’m perfectly content to sit and be idle and there’s nothing you can say or not say that can hurt me. I’m not hurt the way you are, I can bear whatever you need—”

“They can’t at home,” he said. Mother, with grief in her grey eyes and grey in her auburn hair, and Rilla, grown into a mother before she was a wife, Dad with something more broken inside him than any of the rest. Susan and Dog Monday and the letters from Di and Nan, blotted and halting. Una, who might as well be one of the French nuns who tended him, all of them mourning Walter and trying to rejoice at his return. Jem, trying to keep them from hearing any of his nightmares, biting his tongue when they spoke at a meal of the future or the past.

“I know,” she said. “Faith Meredith’s married a Brit. Officer, Lord Something Hoity-Toity of Fancy Abbey-on-High.”

“I’m happy for her,” Jem said tiredly. “We were childhood sweethearts, that’s all.”

“I know. Just wanted it said so you’d know I know,” Mary replied.

“If she’d waited, I wouldn’t have wanted her. I wouldn’t want her to have me now, as I am,” he said. “Befouled, diminished—”

“Walter’s dead, Jem. You don’t have to speak in his voice,” Mary said.

“I wasn’t—”

“Yes, you were. If you don’t think I’d remember, after all those afternoons, those walks and rambles, listening to him, well then. You’d be wrong. I remember,” she said.

“I want Faith to stay as she is. Beautiful, golden, untouched, a lovely memory from my splendid childhood,” Jem said.

“Good Lord, she’d far better off than I thought, even without taking a castle into account,” Mary exclaimed. “Maybe her Lord Gawain-Excalibur-Avalon actually treats her like a women. A person.”

“I didn’t know you liked the Arthurian legends,” Jem replied, taken aback by Mary’s remark, choosing to deflect.

“I liked the sword. And the Lady of the Lake with her own place,” Mary said.

“I thought it would be like that, the War, knights going out,” he said. “I knew there’d be wounds and death, but I thought there’d be honor—"

“You always were a bit of a fool,” Mary said. “Stands to reason though, the way you were raised.”

“We had a—you’re right,” he said, realizing he did not have to defend his parents or Ingleside. “Mother was so careful for us to be well-loved. To live in a world where we might imagine ourselves heroes or able to speak with the fairies—you would have done better than I at the Front, Mary.”

“No one would do better,” she said. He braced himself for her to talk about his medals, his valiant efforts in the prison camp, how he tended those around him with what little he had. How many men had died in his hands, their blood the scent in his nose as terrifying as gas. “You lived.”

“It doesn’t seem like enough.”

“Come here, then,” she said, shifting to kneel facing him. The moon had risen and it suited her, her eyes gleaming like opals, her hair silver, the shadow soft around her bare throat. She reached a hand to touch his cheek, rough with the whiskers he hadn’t shaved for the past few days. “Come here, James,” she said and the sound of his name startled him enough to move closer. To let her draw his face to hers for a kiss.

For a moment, he was seventeen again and Walter was alive, the fields of France green, the chestnut trees in leaf. Then he heard a wave break and felt Mary’s hand move to the nape of his neck, her fingers callused, and he tasted salt mixed with honey. She beckoned him and he put his arms around her, holding her tightly, trying to lose himself in her embrace. Letting her find him.

They were alone with the moon and the sea. There was no hallway and Mary kissed him well enough there were no memories, not of France or Germany or Holland, not of the ship or the train or the graveyard with the stone too white, the wilting mayflowers at its base. There was nothing Mary would not do, no end to the comfort she would offer. His hands were at her waist and her breast, eased beneath her skirts, and she coaxed him on. When he brought both back to cup her face, she’d smiled under his lips. When he lay back against the sand and brought her to lie next to him, her head resting upon his chest, she’d come with him.

“I should have asked, Miller Douglas?”

“He married Ada Parker six months ago. I didn’t shed a tear, except that they should be happy,” she said. “To be honest, I didn’t fancy being a shopkeeper’s wife, but I would have made the best of it.”

“I’m alive, but I don’t know what I have to offer,” Jem said. Mary thumped him on the chest, hard enough to notice, soft enough to be nothing more than a scolding.

“You’ve yourself and I’m myself. You don’t have to offer me anything,” she said.

“That’s the first lie you’ve told,” he said.

“Then remember me. This. How it was, how it might be,” she said. “Grieve and suffer and if you want, I’ll be there for it. Or you can come round in a while, when you’re sorted out. I’m in no hurry. I’ve an idea of how to run a doctor’s house, no offense to your mother or Susan, and I’d like to try it out some time.”

“Will there be much pie?” Jem asked.

“There will be honey-cake, pots and pots of clover honey ready to drizzle. That’s your favorite.”

“Call me James again,” he said.

She propped herself up on his chest so he could see her face, the curve of her lips, her silvery hair hanging loose around her cheeks.

“I believe you meant to say, please, James. Mind yourself, then.”

Tagging @gogandmagog who posted this:

DIANA, teasingly: “You, anyhow. I saw you kissing Faith Meredith in school last week ... and Mary Vance, too.”

JEM:- “For mercy’s sake, don’t let Susan hear you say that. She might forgive it with Faith but never with Mary Vance.” From The Blythes Are Quoted

And @freyafrida who wrote "also want to write jem/mary fic now although i have zero ideas for anything apart from the ship"

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choujinx · 2 months

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NIJI NO TANI NO ANNE (2003) by lucy maud montgomery & hara chieko

#niji no tani no anne #anne in rainbow valley #anne of green gables #akage no anne #faith meredith #jem blythe #nan blythe #diana blythe #jerry meredith #una meredith #shoujoedit #oldanimeedit #*nikki

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shannyh25 · 2 months

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Summary: Going to medical school is hard. But Jem figured if his father went to medical school and graduated, Jem can to. All Jem and Faith wants to do is help people. But what happens while Jem and Faith go to medical school and then Faith gets pregnant during their first year?

This is my first time writing a Jem and Faith fan fiction. Please tell me your thoughts. I know the basics did them, but that’s about it. I would love any tips and advice on making my story stronger. Thank you!

Title: Faith, Hope, and Happiness

Chapter 1

"Are you sure you have everything you need? All your medical textbooks, paper tablets, pencils, notebooks?" Anne asked anxiously to her oldest son.

Jem grinned at his mother. "Yes Ma, I promise. Dad and I went over everything just this morning, making sure I had everything I needed. He tripled checked. I have my medical bag that you and dad bought me with everything in it. I promise, I'll be just fine."

Anne turned to Gilbert. "Maybe Jem can just stay here and you can teach him everything he needs to know? You're the greatest surgeon in all of Glen St Mary. Jem doesn't need to go to school, does he? He can learn from hands on experience that you can teach him?"

Gilbert gently placed a kiss on his wife's forehead, "Trust me Anne-girl, if I could keep Jem at home and teach him everything, even surgery, I would do that in a heartbeat. It would save us a ton of money. But Jem has always done good in school so it's okay. He will be the next famous Doctor Blythe."

Anne sighed knowing she couldn't win this battle. Anne kissed Jen's head and then told the boys she needed to check on Susan. Susan has been in the kitchen all morning baking Rilla's favorite dinner and dessert. It was Rilla's 13th birthday. But instead of Susan being in a good celebratory mood, she has been in a bad mood because Jem was leaving in a month for medical school. Jem winced as he heard the cupboard door slam and then the sound of pots and pans being laid down harshly on the stove.

"I didn't mean to upset Mother about going to school. I just want you to help people and so does Faith. We plan on studying a lot together". Jem said.

"Don't worry about your mother. She'll be fine. She knew this day was coming, but I think you should go and speak to Rilla. She has been rather upset about you leaving for school." Gilbert said.

"It's her 13th birthday Dad. She should be excited about today of all days. Do we really need to give her a check up on her birthday?" Jem asked.

"I rather get it over with now. That way she doesn't have to dwell on it and you two can have a good rest of the time while you're still here. Rilla is the closest to you aside from Walter. In just a few short weeks, it will just be me, your mother, Susan and Rilla. You all will be off at school. It may be her birthday but she needs a checkup. She was rather anxious this morning and I pulled her into my office to discuss what was going on. She told me she was scared of being a teenager, the body changes around this time and she doesn't want you to go to medical school. She is terrified of starting school and you have always helped her with her homework. I reminded her I was a teacher once and so was your mother. She can always ask us for help but maybe it would be better if you spoke to her." Gilbert said.

Jem let it all sink in. Then looked up the stairs where his sister's room was then looked back at Gilbert.

"I don't have to go to school. I can stay here and tutor Rilla and earn money for boarding fees for when I do go to school. Faith and I did talk about that some and she said if worse comes to worse, she'll be alright with me staying home and helping Rilla."

"No, no Jem. I wouldn't expect you to sacrifice your medial schooling for Rilla. You have always wanted to be a doctor and now is your chance. Rilla will be just fine. Go up and speak to her but when you guys are done, I expect you in my office for her checkup. Remember, you're doing all the work. I'll be there to help guide you if you need help. I'll go and get the injection ready and the instruments ready for her blood draw. Take your time." Dad said.

Jem nodded his head. "I noticed she has been rather quiet and keeping to herself. She is more than welcome to come and stay with Faith and I. We would love to have her. Faith thinks of Rilla as a sister."

"Let's give it time after you leave for school. I need to keep an eye on her anxiety because she has been rather anxious about you leaving. Change is hard for her. Go speak to her Jem. Tell her once you get settled, perhaps she can stay with you guys for a visit." Gilbert said.

"Okay dad. I'll go up now." Jem said.

Gilbert patted his son on the head and watch his son go upstairs to comfort his sister.

Walking quietly up the stairs, Jem looked at all the pictures on the walls from over the years. Pictures of the children of different stages in life hung up on the walls. He stopped walking and looked at one picture. It was his favorite. The picture was taken a when Rilla was about 5 years old and he was grinning at the camera as he held Rilla upside down and she was squealing with laughter. Her hair was wild and all over the place. Jem was talking enough at that age that when he held Rilla by the ankles, the tips of her hair was hardly touching the ground. He chuckled at the memories.

He walked up the stairs and knocked on the door. The door was open ajar and he saw Rilla curled up on the bed and knees tucked into her chest. Her hair was coming out of her braid.

Jem didn't bother for an answer. He walked right into her room and sat down on the bed. Out of habit, Jem brushed her hair back to check her pulse. If he knew anything about doctoring, his father taught him the basics. Whenever Rilla was stressed out and Jem was around, he would always check her pulse first.

Rilla didn't even flinch or groan when she felt Jem check her pulse. She let him because she knew she was going to miss that whether she wanted to admit it or not. She sniffed and buried her face on her pillow.

"Hey Munchkin. Do you think we can talk for a little while? I want to make sure you'll be okay while I'm away at school." Jem said.

Sniffing, Rilla got up from laying down with Jem's. He wiped her eyes with his thumb. "Your pulse is much too fast. I rather it be slower by the time we go down stairs."

Rilla made an attempt to say something but Jem stopped her. "If I know anything dad taught me, it's basic doctoring. I still plan on giving you one last medical checkup tonight after supper when we all settle down. I expect your pulse to be back to normal. I expect you to eat your supper too."

"I don't want you to go to school Jem. Can't you stay here? Dad can teach you everything you need to know. He is the best doctor and surgeon here." Rilla said.

"That's basically what mom said just before I came up here. I have to go to school Rilla. I want to help people and children especially. I want to make people feel better and so does Faith. When the time comes Faith and I plan on taking over dad's medical office. You'll be my first patient." Jem said.

Rilla's lips trembled. "Who will help me with my homework? You have always helped me with that."

"Mom and dad used to be teachers, remember? I'm sure they will help you. I want you to talk to them. Once Faith and I get settled into our dorms, I want you to come stay with us. It can be for a week or a weekend. Whatever you feel comfortable with. I know you easily get homesick, but I think you should practice being away from home. I'll have everything you need medical-wise to help you." Jem said.

Rilla looked at him hesitantly. "I don't want you and Faith to get mad when I get anxious. You got mad at me that one time I went with you and Faith on a trip to one of Faith's family members houses."

Jem grimaced at the memory. "Faith wasn't mad at you, munchkin. She was mad at me because I force fed you when you didn't eat your breakfast. You know perfectly well that dad and I don't put up with that. You need to eat food and that will help with the nausea when you get homesick. I'll do it again if I have too. But Faith was mad at me for force feeding you and I got a big lecture from her after you ran off. She wants you to come and stay with us Munchkin. She thinks of you as a sister. She's protective of you to just like I am. That's why I got the lecture from her about what a bad brother I was."

"You're not a bad brother Jem. You're my favorite brother aside from Walter and he is going off to school soon as well this year. Then it will just be me at home with mom, dad and Susan. I would like to come and visit you and Faith if you and dad will let me." Rilla said.

Jem grinned. "I would love that Munchkin. You can be my guinea pig when it's time for me to practice my blood drawing skills, and giving you injections and practice my sewing skills. We'll have fun!"

Rilla wrinkles her nose. "Can't Faith do that? I'm terrified of needles and blood."

Jem patted Rilla's arm and grinned, "Please Rilla? You'll be my first ever patient. I'll be as gentle as I can. I already do the basic doctoring on you with dad watching. What's the difference?"

"You don't have to stitch me up and give me injections or draw my blood. Dad does all that." Rilla said.

Jem scoffed. "I helped stitch up your cut you had on your hand just a few months ago. I didn't do so bad, see?"

Jem took Rilla's hand and turned it over so he could see her palm. "See, hardly a scar. With dad's help, you were basically my first patient and I hardly left a scar. My stitches are tiny just like dad's!"

Rilla looked at her hand that Jem basically stitched back up. He really did do a good job and she supposed that she could be his and Faith's guinea pig.

"Well, alright. I suppose I can be your guinea pig. As long as you don't push the needle in my arm to hard." Rilla said.

"Thanks Munchkin. I'll practice my needle skills on Faith first." Jem said.

"I'm going to regret this." Rilla muttered.

"Now, another thing I want to discuss. I expect you to eat all your meals. Especially after I leave for school. I don't want any excuses on why you didn't eat them. Having an empty stomach will just make your nausea worse. I'll be getting updates from mom and dad on the matter. You know perfectly well I won't let you get away with not eating. Dad won't let you get away with that either. You're skinny enough and you need weight on you. I don't want to force feed you tonight of all nights. I'll be watching you and making sure you eat. I want to do a check up on you with dad present just to make sure I'm using the medical instruments right. I'm 99.9999% sure I am, but dad wanted me to tell you that you need an injection for school and he wanted me to practice drawing blood. So, I get a head start on the subject which why I partly came up here. He is waiting for us in his office."

"N,n,N, Now?" Rilla asked.

Jem nodded his head. "It's better we do this now and get over with early so we can enjoy the rest of our evening Munchkin. I promise I'll be as gentle as I can. I have done this before with some of dad's patients and they said I did good. Please trust me. If I hurt you, just tell me and dad can take over."

"Why hasn't the other kids gotten checkups from you?" Rilla asked.

"Because they aren't scared of doctors, needles and blood. They also don't have anxiety problems like you. So, you my dear Rilla, get to be my patient. I'm going to worry about you the most while I'm at school and so will Faith." Jem said.

"You don't need to. I'll be busy struggling in school while you're doing medical school. I wish you can stay home and tutor me. I'll be good and do what you tell me to do. I promise." Rilla said.

Rilla's lips started to tremble and a fresh set of tears started to fall from her eyes. Jem wiped her tears again with his thumb and pressed a kiss to her forehead.

"I would if I could Munchkin. But I need to concentrate on my own schooling. Trust me, my homework will be much harder than yours. Mom and dad will help you with your school work. I promise. When you come see me on the weekends, I'll help you too. School will be starting soon for both us. You can do this. I don't leave for another few weeks so we still have time to spend together. I need you to promise me something." Jem said.

Rilla looked at her brother curious.

"While I'm at school, I want you to promise me you'll keep up on your studies. If you need help, ask mom or dad. Don't forget they both used to be teachers. Secondly, I want you to promise me that you'll eat breakfast. Especially if you feel nauseous and anxious or at least half of it. I'll get reports from mom and dad. I expect you to eat the rest of your meals too. You know I won't put up with that when you visit Faith and I." Jem said.

Rilla bit her lip and looked at Jem. She knew he was being serious. Going all Doctor mode and teacher mode on her.

"Come on Munchkin. Dad's waiting for us in his office. I'll make you a deal. If you don't fight me when I give you an injection, I'll play a few rounds of checkers with you." Jem said.

"Let's make the best of the last few weeks, okay? I plan on being home every evening. You and I will have plenty of time together, okay?"

Sniffing Rilla nodded her head yes and she allowed Jem to take her hand to head downstairs to their dad's office.

#anne of green gables #jem blythe #faith meredith #medical school #medical student #medical stuff #friendship #friends #follow for updates #follow for follow

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anneofgreengablesincorrectquotes · 2 years

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Faith Meredith: I had nothing to do with it.

All the Blythe and Meredith kids, skeptically:

Faith Meredith: Okay, it was my idea. But I don’t feel good about it.

#source: friends #incorrect aogg quotes #aogg #anne of green gables #rainbow valley #rainbow valley quotes #faith meredith #incorrect quotes #incorrect book quotes #incorrect literature quotes #incorrect anne of green gables quotes #admin: marilla

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aithusiel · 3 days

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you wouldn't last an hour in the asylum where they raised me

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toxic-yuri-poll · 9 months

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TOXIC YURI CONTESTANTS ARE HERE!

AND WE HAVE OUR BRACKET!

image description under the cut.

original posts tagged #yurisweep and polls are tagged #toxic yuri poll

[IMAGE ID:

a single elimination double sided bracket with 28 participants. from top to bottom, left to right, there is Togacho, then chariox vs samarina, bella x rosalie vs misato x ritsuko, morgwen vs redcliff, amanda x lynn vs morrigan x nesta, clarke x octavia vs eleanore x velvet, tori x jade vs eve x villanelle, and catradora. on the other side is vrisrezi, then meredith grey x christina yang vs katherine x elena, buffy x faith vs ash x horizon, quinn x santana vs elster x falke, harrianthe vs ruby x klaasje, muu x rei vs nejjifer x needy, juriori vs nanno x yuri, and chelldos.

the second round has finished.

the next match ups are as follows.

Togacho vs Samarina, misato x ritsuko vs redcliff, amanda x lynn vs eleanor x velvet, eve x villanelle vs catradora. on the other side is vrisrezi vs meredith grey x cristina yang, buffy x faith vs quinn x santana, ruby x klaasje vs jennifer x needy, juriori vs chelldos. the third round has started. the next match ups are as follows. Samarina vs Redcliff, amanda x lynn vs eve x villanelle, vrisrezi vs fuffy, jenneedy vs chelldos

The third round has finished.

the next match ups are as follows.

Samarina vs Villaneve, Vrisrezi vs chelldos.

the fourth round has finished. the final round is as follows.

Samarina VS ChellDos

the final round has finished.

the WINNER is CHELL x GLADOS

END ID]

if anyone wants to fix that please for the love of god let me know.

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sanguispluvia · 2 months

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Starkids as Cats (my dream cast)

I worked for an unreasonably long time on this.

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tacticalhimbo · 1 year

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YALE PSYCHIATRIC - THE TRAGIC CASE OF FATHER JOHN WARD (FAITH: THE UNHOLY TRINITY)

With the new drop of development notes into the GOODIES folder of the game, I wanted to revisit an old analysis I did way back during the era of the Chapter 2 demo.

The long story made short is this: John has an interesting psychology that is backed by the in-game letters and allusions to his hospitalization at Yale Psychiatric. That being said, it isn't really expanded upon because it's not a core element to the plot.

Which, to an extent, can be disagreed with because it is entirely possible that the events of The Unholy Trinity are told through the perspective of an unreliable narrator (John), which then means that some (if not all) events that take place are exaggerated and intensified by John's mental state.

If you ask me, I see the series of events as a blend of details. Demons exist and the cult is very much up to something, but certain things are manipulated to fit a narrative (think, the Martin twins. Amy's mother miscarried, yet John was manipulated into believing the cult had kidnapped the born children for their rituals). I might expand on that another time, but for now, here is my perspective on the characterization of John Ward, and how mental illness plays a significant role throughout the series.

DISCLAIMER: I am not a psychiatric professional. I do have a degree and spent years studying the intersection between the mental health and correctional systems, but I am not a clinician or an individual with a lot of clinical knowledge. I'm just a guy with too much time on their hands and a tendency to let the autism win (/lh /j). Also, if there are any grammar issues… I know. It was, like, 3 AM when I wrote this, and I don't care to tidy it up more than I have tried to.

With this out of the way, let's dive into it. Below the cut will be spoilers for the game and discussions regarding psychiatric abuse. Reader discretion is advised.

In-game dialog and other citations will be highlighted using small text, as I cannot for the life of me get the indent/blockquote feature to work on desktop.

As of writing this post (January 2023), there are five notes regarding John's admission to Yale Psychiatric after the failed exorcism of Amy Martin. I'm going to transcribe them in order of events, and not in the order they are found. The first note we would see examining John's case file, if he were an actual patient, would be the intake assessment form:

Yale Psychiatric Institute NEW PATIENT INTAKE FORM

Patient Name: Ward, John Thomas

Age: 33 Sex: M Ethnicity: White/Caucasian

Assigned Counselor: Spinel, James, PhD

Health Examination Results: Height: 6 feet 2 inches Weight: 185 lbs HR: 92 bpm Blood Pressure: 135/81

Current Status: Minor cuts and bruises, sprain in left ankle.

Patient is in a state of psychologic shock.

Existing Conditions:

Asthma (dormant) Diminished mobility from childhood injury to right knee.

Notice the little note there about psychologic shock. We do get elaboration on the comment made by whoever conducted the intake process, which come from Yale Psychiatric Notes 1 & 2:

Notes - new patient initial consultation

Subject: John Thomas Ward

Present: Dr. James Spinel, PhD, and two orderlies

Subject non-responsive for first half-hour, followed by fragmented 'exorcism' narrative

Subject unable to maintain consistency in story (for example, stating that Amy was in the basement and then saying she was in the attic)

Subject insists incident was the result of demonic possession

Cannot declare subject of sound mind; will require several more sessions to fully understand subject's mental state. Will advise Martin Family attorneys.

—

Subject is suffering from delusion. In John's mind, he plays the role of the hero sent by God to protect the innocent. In order to escape the consequences of his actions, he has created his own reality. In order for everything to make sense, he needs to believe in the evil spirits and paranormal occurrences. I recommend an in-vivo approach until we can get John to accept the truth.

And for the love of God, please have Ms. Martin transferred to another facility. Somehow, John knows that she is in here with him.

Then there's the newer documentation and references to In Vivo, found in the GOODIES folder of the game. See the text around bullet point 3.

[IMAGE DESCRIPTION: An image of development notes for Faith: The Unholy Trinity Chapter 3, which were taken in an non-lined notebook. There are several roughly drawn images of the page, consisting of level mapping for puzzles in what the developer has called, in previous notes, GaryLand. The text beside bullet point 3 reads "Mini-environments to collect keys. Re-contextualized once you grab key (lost In Vivo). Placement of plagas cultists is 'contested space'. Keys? Sigils? Body parts? Notes alluding that John was there". Beside the last note is a doodle of the eyes emoji, with two stylized eyes looking to the left toward the text. END DESCRIPTION.]

Here's the thing about psychiatric institutions: They suck.

The mental health system in modern day America is better than it was in the 80s, naturally, but not by much. It is important to note that the deinstitutionalization of the mental health system was the right call to make. However, I must note that the lack of funding and resource allocation (mostly due to greed among politicians and public perception of those with mental illness) made it so that individuals are still institutionalized. As of the modern era, individuals with mental illness are disproportionately incarcerated.

The Prison Policy Initiative has a wonderful online research library with up-to-date and reflective research on the rates and treatment of individuals incarcerated, as well as how current carceral practices only work to exacerbate these issues through intensive focus on punishment:

But traveling back in time, before the tides shifted, we have to understand what the environment was like within psychiatric wards/asylums.

The deinstitutionalization of mental health emerged in the 50s following World War II. To make a very long story short, the human rights abuses were put into the spotlight. Several factors, such as inhumane living conditions, harmful treatment practices (which we will elaborate on later), and the rising costs and demand for psychiatric treatment, all contributed to the call for deinstitutionalization. The goal was to improve the quality of life for people with mental illness, and to really just… allow them to exist as humans within society. Though the movement began in the 50s, it didn't gain much popularity among advocate groups until the 60s and 70s (e.g., the National Alliance on Mental Illness (NAMI) and Project Release), where the movement truly took off.

However, large-scale closures of institutions didn't actually happen until the 80s, at least in the States. This means that, come 1986/1987, there were still institutions actively running. If you'd like to read more about how psychiatric institutions were run in this era, then I highly recommend reading Dr. David Laing Dawson's personal testimonies as a clinician during the era of asylums and advocacy:

But what were popular treatment modalities for patients like John? Firstly, and mentioned in the in-game notes, we have In Vivo Exposure Therapy, or more simply put: Exposure Therapy.

The American Psychiatric Association, in their Clinical Practice Guideline(s) for the Treatment of Posttraumatic Stress Disorder (2023), define In Vivo Exposure as:

Directly facing a feared object, situation or activity in real life. For example, someone with a fear of snakes might be instructed to handle a snake, or someone with social anxiety might be instructed to give a speech in front of an audience.

This intervention is not limited to PTSD, though, and is often used for other clinical concerns such as phobias, panic and anxiety, and (in some cases) Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder. The ultimate goal is to break the pattern of avoidance while confronting the fear in a safe environment. Which is great… for patients who are ready to confront these things. If there's one lesson to take away from this post, it's that treatment cannot be forced. Treatment is ineffective if the person requiring it is non-consenting or otherwise unwilling/unable to go through the modality.

So when you look at a patient like John, who is in an active state of crisis, and decide the best treatment intervention is to (effectively) tell him to "Suck it up" and induce anxiety and fear? It's disgusting and it would, in a realistic scenario, only exacerbate his symptoms even further. Which it seems to do, if the line about John having a reaction to Amy's presence in Yale Psychiatric is anything to go by. The man believes she is possessed by a demon (or knows she is), and has intense dread and anxiety around trying to save her (to the point where it's already a fixation). Exposing him to Amy's presence, or even the possibility of it, is not going to do him well until he is guided down from a crisis state and able to understand what is going on (as well as process the events that took place in the Martin home, because Amy would be a psychological trigger of recollection for said events).

John's official diagnoses are, ultimately, mild anxiety and acute coulrophobia (aka: fear of clowns). This much is clarified in the release form:

RELEASE FORM

SUBJECT: John Thomas Ward

DOR: 31 Oct 1986

This form certifies that the subject is hereby released from my care after having completed their required counseling and treatment to my satisfaction, with confidence that they are ready to resume their normal daily activities as a mentally stable member of society.

Dr. James Spinel, PhD

EXISTING CONDITION:

Mild anxiety

Acute coulrophobia

As an aside, can we just point out how John was only admitted for a month, give or take some days? Even if we take the events at face value (aka: demons are real; Hell is real; Lucifer is planning an invasion of Earth to reclaim what God has taken from him-), this feels… entirely too short to state that John is fully recovered.

At least from my interpretation of the intent behind "a mentally stable member of society", as the stigmatization of mental illness would place the burden of showing minimal, if any, signs of distress within day to day life… unless you were a hard-working husband who drank off most of his time at home while beating his wife, lest we forget the nuclear family values and toxic masculinity that still run rampant in American society. But I digress...

And immediately bring your attention to a bit of a continuity issue that, effectively, renders my last point moot: John's letter to Dr. McGlashan, who we can assume is a director of sorts within Yale Psychiatric.

This note is dated for December 30th, 1986:

Dear Dr. McGlashan,

It has been thirty days since the beginning of my treatment here at Yale Psychiatric Institute. Dr. Spinel, who has been so patient with me, has helped me understand my afflictions and has helped me fund a way to move forward and accept the truth.

With Dr. Spinel's help, I have come to accept what really happened in September at the Martin family residence. I accept that what happened was not the result of any supernatural phenomenon, but rather the desperate actions of a young girl driven to violence by her dogmatic parents and old church rituals that are thought to drive out evil.

I am happy to report that, since accepting the truth, my nightmares have ceased and I now enjoy peace of mind that I have not felt since the incident. Given my progress since first coming here, I respectfully request my release from Yale Psychiatric Institute, contingent upon follow-up appointments with Dr. Spinel in the future.

Sincerely,

John Ward

And raises several questions, such as:

If the failed exorcism took place in September, does this mean that John was within Yale Psychiatric from September to December?

Why was there a release form authorized in October 1986 by Dr. Spinel?

John states, "It has been thirty days since the beginning of my treatment […]". Does this mean that there was a second admission period between October and December?

If there was, when did that occur? Was he brought back in during the last weeks of October? In November?

My personal belief is that John was institutionalized twice. Once immediately following the failed exorcism, and once more after due to a relapse (hence the specification "[…] contingent upon follow-up appointments with Dr. Spinel in the future."). John, by this point, is aware of his mental health concerns and acknowledges that he needs more in regard to his treatment. Here, he's showing a clear capacity to establish and (hopefully) follow a community treatment regiment.

And this is where a bibically-accurate, canonical analysis, would end. A bit of insight into what happened, why it happened, and the ramifications (albeit brief). But here's the thing:

I believe there's more to John's case, since I believe in the blending of two prominent theories (everything is real versus everything is imagined). Personally, based on these notes and a few key dialogs within Chapter 3, I believe that John (in addition to the Anxiety) experiences Psychosis brought on by Paranoid Schizophrenia. In context of the game's plot, he experiences Persecutory and Grandiose Religious Delusions.

Let me explain.

There are several types of delusions, and the severity of these delusions can vary from individual to individual. More on the specifics (as well as recommended treatment modalities) can be found in this PDF.

Generally speaking, though, the types of delusions I mentioned are described as follows:

Grandiose: An individual experiences an exaggerated sense of importance, power, knowledge, or identity, that may have some type of theme.

Persecutory: An individual is fixated on the prospect of being attacked, harassed, persecuted, or conspired against.

Sounds familiar, yeah? Let's break it down:

Grandiose: Exhibited in all chapters. John is of the belief that he is a destined savior to Amy Martin. That he is the only one who can save her from the demon(s) plaguing her because he is the only one with the power and ability to do so. He, in the Super Miriam boss fight, also claims to have God's power directly within him. That he, in a way, is God (at least, in that moment).

Persecutory: Exhibited in all chapters, prominent in Chapter 3. In Chapter 1, there's "The Offering" Ending. John is (or perceives to be) stopped in the middle of the road home by Gary and his cult. Then, in Chapter 3, the entire arc around Gary's cult centers around the idea of John being persecuted (targeted by the cult for his attempts to save Amy).

But I feel like this expansion on John's psyche is supported within the canon itself, even if not explicit. Let's look more at the dialog cues from other characters.

One thing that slates me toward this conclusion is the brief mention of John's mother, Meredith. Amy's demon taunts John by asking him "What about Meredith? Did she get better?" and says how he couldn't save her. And based on the delivery of this line, it's clear that some sort of illness was what killed Meredith. Given that Schizophrenia in of itself typically doesn't cause death (though symptoms can contribute to other factors, such as poor physical health, risk-taking behaviors, higher risks of suicide), we have to look beyond the mental health aspect for a brief moment.

According to fairly recent research, there have been connections made between an individual's Schizophrenia diagnosis and their likelihood for developing Alzheimer's Disease. Kochunov et al. (2020) state:

"Schizophrenia (SZ) is a severe psychiatric illness associated with an elevated risk for developing Alzheimer’s disease (AD). Both SZ and AD have white matter abnormalities and cognitive deficits as core disease features. […] SZ and AD have diverse etiologies and clinical courses; our findings suggest that white matter deficits may represent a key intersecting point for these 2 otherwise distinct diseases. Identifying mechanisms underlying this white matter deficit pattern may yield preventative and treatment targets for cognitive deficits in both SZ and AD patients."

Now, as a personal note, I have seen and experienced what Alzheimer's can do to people and how long of a process it is. My maternal grandfather, tragically, passed due to the illness in 2020. I still cannot discuss the symptomatology and progression in full as a result of the grief, but I can direct attention to the Alzheimer's Association and their article on the stages of progression:

Returning to the psychoanalytical aspect, mental illness can be hereditary and passed down, in addition to being individually developed (through whatever means, which are often referred to as the biopsychosocial factors of development). Such is true with the case of Schizophrenia.

Additionally, there does seem to be evidence suggesting that John's perception of events is questionable. Of course, I must note here that every character in this story is an unreliable narrator. Every character has their motives in the information they share and how they share it. This is in no way, shape, or form, me saying that other characters are objectively right in their perceptions. Especially Gary.

Gary is a cult leader. Even if the cult is not as dramatized as they appear to be (e.g., they are not, in fact, kidnapping babies and sacrificing people)… he is still running a cult. He is still capable of being manipulative regardless. I can absolutely delve into the psychology and structure of cults, but this post is long enough as is.

So instead, let's look at what it is Gary says to contradict John's point of view. The primary dialog that I believe points us to a faulty perception is Gary's recollection of the Martin twins:

"Oh, John… deep down, you always knew the twins were an illusion. But you could not resist chasing after lost (hurt) souls. I suppose you wished they were real, just like the late Mrs. Martin. That is how I knew you would come to me."

The popular analysis among the fandom is that Mrs. Martin miscarried the twins, and experienced a rough patch of grief surrounding the event. Again, I have seen similar experiences in my personal life, so I can sympathize with and affirm how rough this process can be. This is why Mrs. Martin had put effort into the belief that they were still expected/born, with the room being set up for them and the crib being discarded in the Martin's basement (as well as the birthday party and clown aspect).

John knew this at the time of exorcising Amy, but his own mental break altered his perception of events and made him believe in the same narrative that Mrs. Martin presented: The twins were alive. The difference here is that John tied the twins into his perception of the game's events, and came to the conclusion that Gary (and his cult) kidnapped them for ritualistic reasons.

Likewise, a lot of Gary's dialog has key words switched out. A list of these words is as follows, with their substitutions in parentheses:

enter (abuse)

lost (hurt) souls

Vessel (Victim)

journey (despair)

Again, this could be a simple nod to Gary's capacity for manipulation as a cult leader. But that doesn't exclude it from also pointing out John's perception of the series' events. In fact, this could be John's psyche interjecting and affirming itself.

So, if John does have this diagnosis, what would a thorough treatment modality look like if they'd pinpointed it back then? If he was institutionalized a third time, after stopping the Profane Sabbath?

The answer to that is either Insulin Shock Therapy (IST)/Insulin Coma Therapy (ICT), or Chlorpromazine (a strong antipsychotic medication).

It's important to note here that IST/ICT fell out of favor in the 1960s, like most shock therapies (with the exception of electroconvulsive therapy). Jones (2000) details the history and modality of ICT, stating:

"Comas were induced on five or six mornings a week. Typically, the third dose of insulin was 10±15 units with a daily increase of 5±10 units until the patient showed severe hypoglycemia. Treatment continued until there was a satisfactory psychiatric response or until 50±60 comas had been induced. Experienced therapists let patients spend up to 15 minutes in 'deep coma' with hypotonia and absent corneal and pupillary reflexes. Clinicians noted gross variation between individuals in response to a given dose of insulin. Also, in the course of treatment a patient could show day-to-day variation in his reaction. Further there was an uncertain relationship between clinical signs and the blood glucose level. The hypoglycemia made patients extremely restless and liable to major convulsions. Comas were terminated by administration of glucose via a nasal tube or intravenously."

If any of this sounds vaguely familiar, it's because the treatment modality was highlighted in the story of John Nash, a fundamental American mathematician with Schizophrenia.

The 2001 film A Beautiful Mind showcases Nash's story, including the usage of ICT. Attached is a video clip from the film, which contains content that may be triggering/disturbing. Watching it is not vital to this analysis, as it's to illustrate the paragraph above:

youtube

Ultimately, the takeaway is this:

Mental illness plays a huge role in the game's overarching narrative, even if not considered a major plot element in of itself. The Satanic Panic was a moral panic used by fundamentalist Christians to excuse abuse within their churches, excuse the discrimination of BIPOC and queer folk, and dismiss rising concerns regarding mental health advocacy. This, alongside simply targeting youth subcultures to preserve the nuclear family imagery that arose during the previous generations.

John Ward is easily one of the most fascinating characters to exist, in my opinion, because of how his character is linked to this idea. John Ward is a beacon (for a lack of better term) for this message within the game. He exhibits mental health issues canonically (re: the official diagnoses) and can be analyzed as having a deeper, more expansive diagnosis.

Everything I have said is interpretation, and is not entirely canon in the bibically-accurate sense. This is just a topic that's been in my mind since the release of Chapter 2's demo. You can feel free to agree or disagree with literally anything I have said, and I love hearing others' interpretations as well! The theories scattered around the fandom, whether posted on the Fandom Wiki or hidden in the tags on Tumblr, are just… so good. So I wanted to help contribute in some way!

And for those that read this far... Thank you <3

#txt #faith the unholy trinity #faith chapter 3 #john ward #tw psychiatric abuse #cw medical #meta post #meta analysis #my writing #gary miller #amy martin #meredith ward

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toxickeyboard · 3 months

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Guys. Guys. Guys.

#someone’s probably already posted about this.#at first I thought it was Cindy.#a lot of people are saying it might be Meredith?#I don’t think it is. but maybe.#idk.#faith the unholy trinity

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slugs-at-midnight · 6 months

Text

the mother (meredith ward)

#slugs art #faith game #faith the unholy trinity #meredith ward

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starkiddreamcasting · 1 year

Text

Starkid Hamilton (April Fools)

You guys have been asking for it for years so I finally decided to bite the bullet and bring it to you: The Starkif Hamilton dreamcast! I think this my magum opus and everybody fits their parts perfectly, so please no criticism of any kind! There’s no use delaying it any longer so I hope you all enjoy what you’ve been waiting for!

1. Alexander Hamilton as Joey Richter 2. George Washington as Dylan Saunders 3. Thomas Jefferson as Lauren Lopez 4. Benjamin Franklin as Joe Walker 5. John Adams as Jaime Lyn Beatty 6. James Madison as Meredith Stepien 7. Thomas Paine as Curt Mega 8. John Jay as Brian Holden 9. Samuel Adams as Mariah Rose Faith 10. James Monroe as Jon Matteson 11. John Hancock as Britney Coleman 12. Roger Sherman as Brian Rosenthal 13. James Wilson as Kim Whalen 14. Edmund Rutledge as Corey Dorris 15. John Dickinson as AJ Holmes 16. George Mason as Bryce Charles 17. Robert Morris as Rachael Soglin 18. Paul Revere as Jeff Blim 19. Patrick Henry as Denise Donovan 20. Benedict Arnold as Robert Manion

Make sure to leave any show suggestions or any questions on my casting choices so I can explain them.

(And April Fools!)

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jomiddlemarch · 15 days

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That it alone is high fantastical

“Oh, Mother, you’ll never guess! You’ll never guess in century of guessing!” Rilla cried out, sounding so much as she had as a little girl, for a moment, Anne could convince herself the War had never happened and that somewhere in Rainbow Valley, Walter sat writing a crown of sonnets in his leather-bound journal, his face dappled by the light, back braced against the bole of a birch tree, his grey eyes unfocused as he searched for his next word.

There was still a white stone in the graveyard. Shirley was in Toronto, having refused (albeit politely) to return to Glen St. Mary, much to Susan’s dismay, and Jem walked with a pronounced limp, his uneven gait announcing him as much as Mary’s voice.

There was a mystery there, Jem and Mary Vance, but Anne couldn’t see any way through it and Gilbert, lying beside her in bed, both of them tired but sleepless, told her not to try. Jem had seemed less removed, less falsely cheerful lately, and had begun talking about the medical course again, perhaps a specialty in obstetrics, a hospital practice. As far away from men dying in battle as he can get, Gilbert had observed and Anne had recalled Joyce’s little face, white as a mayflower blossom, and held her tongue.

Rilla, remarkably, given her exuberant entrance, had done the same in the absence of Anne’s response. Miss Oliver had left Ingleside some weeks ago, so there was no one to suggest Rilla either elaborate or calm herself, as her likeness to a whistling copper tea-kettle was increasingly pronounced.

“If I’ll never guess, dear, you must tell me,” Anne said. It was a relief that Rilla could still be the young girl she ought to be, for all that she wore Ken Ford’s diamond ring on her finger and was capable of a brisk, warm matronliness when it came to raising Jims, now reserved for the writing of letters to his new British stepmother and clucking over the missives she received.

“Faith Meredith has eloped!”

Anne did admit to herself she would never have guessed that, because for all her imagination, she wouldn’t have guessed something impossible.

“But, Rilla, Jem is with your father today, doing the Lowbridge rounds. Susan and I packed a lunch with plenty of pie for Dad and some of that flapjack Jem took to after being in England,” Anne said. He’d been in hospital in England, recovering from the injuries he’d sustained at the Front, in the prison camp, during his escape, none of which was spoken of. Only flapjack and stewed tea and how no cook in England was a patch on Susan and that you may tie to, uttered with some semblance of his old roguish humor.

“I didn’t say she married Jem, Mother!” Rilla exclaimed. Her cheeks were pink and her eyes were bright. She had a look of Gilbert at his most delighted about him, an expression Anne remembered from their childhood. Anne opened her mouth to speak but Rilla interrupted.

“It’s Bertie Shakespeare Drew! Faith Meredith is Mrs. Bertie Shakespeare!” Rilla said.

If Anne hadn’t already been sitting down, she would have, suddenly and gracelessly. As it was, the shirt she’d been mending fell from her lap.

“That’s—why, Rilla, are you sure?”

“I heard it directly from Mary Vance,” Rilla said, lifting a hand to stop Anne from speaking. “And Miss Cornelia Bryant. You know Miss Cornelia has no taste for gossip. Miss Cornelia’d heard it from Mrs. Meredith—”

“Poor Rosemary,” Anne said, before she could stop herself.

“Why poor Rosemary? I suppose they thought Faith and Jem would make a go of it, at least, perhaps Reverend Meredith and Mrs. Meredith did, but the War’s done funny things to people and Faith and Jem, they just didn’t fit any longer,” Rilla said. Sometimes, Anne felt Rilla reminded her of someone she couldn’t name and realized her youngest daughter spoke with the wisdom Anne’s own mother might have had. Plenty of folks in the Glen would find such a thought eerie, but Anne was comforted, for all that she ought to be the one offering a thoughtful explanation rather than receiving it.

“I suppose I meant the surprise, an elopement—”

“They must not have wanted to wait. Or were afraid someone would try to talk them out of it. Bertie’s mother maybe,” Rilla said.

Rosemary or her father, Anne thought. Jem, if he’d been given the chance, perhaps. Perhaps not, if Rilla was correct.

“Bertie Shakespeare Drew,” Anne said. “I remember when he was born. He’s just Jem’s age.”

“He’s not much like you remember him, Mother. He’s all tall and stalwart now and they say he’s going in for engineering, that he learned quite a bit in France, found he had a talent for that sort of thing. And his ears don’t stick out quite so much anymore,” Rilla said.

“There’re more things on heav’n and earth,” Anne said, mangling the quote a bit, fairly certain Rilla would not correct her. “D’you suppose Faith calls him Bertie? Or his full name—it’s quite a mouthful.”

Queenly Faith Meredith, the undisputed beauty of Glen St. Mary, who had a sense of humor but also a sense of herself as beyond any teasing, now to be Mrs. Bertie Shakespeare Drew. Anne smiled to herself and thought how Mary Vance would find a way to make Jem grin over it all. She’s lucky to get him, Mary would say, reversing the order the Glen would have assumed, and Mary, canny and unexpectedly kind, would have the right of it, perhaps.

Susan would be quite outraged and the pastry of her next pie might suffer for it, but Gilbert had always taken an unchristian glee in Susan’s outrage and wouldn’t mind the pastry being a bit heavier. It was still the best piecrust on Prince Edward Island, now that Mrs. Rachel Lynde was no longer living to give Susan a run for her money.

“Miss Cornelia said Faith was heard to call him Will, when she spoke to her parents. It’s after Shakespeare of course, and because he was so determined they marry,” Rilla said.

“And because Faith wanted to,” Anne said. She wasn’t sure if she meant the elopement or the name, but it was all of a piece.

“Miss Cornelia said they’d gone to New York for their honeymoon and she hoped Faith didn’t come back with a bunch of silly Yankee airs but Mary and I didn’t think that was likely,” Rilla said, sitting down beside Anne, picking up the shirt and starting to sew.

“She didn’t come back from England any different, after all,” Rilla said.

“Except that she didn’t marry your brother,” Anne replied.

“D’you know, Mother, even without the War, I don’t think they’d ever have gone through with it, Faith and Jem,” Rilla said. “It was, how shall I put it, like a childhood fairy tale, the honorable knight and the maiden fair, all sorts of adventures they had in Rainbow Valley. They were always going to grow up. We all were.”

Not Walter, Anne’s heart said. Not Joyce.

“I’m glad of Ken’s name, anyway. And don’t worry, I wouldn’t elope for anything. I want our families around us, as many as we can get, even if we have to wait. We’re rather good at that,” Rilla said. She’d finished the one shirt and picked up another. She peered at it, frowned. “I can’t think what Dad does to his clothes—”

“I’ve made up a thousand stories to try to explain that and I still don’t think I’ve figured it out,” Anne said. “Some things, my darling girl, are beyond explanation.”

This one's for @freyafrida because I didn't manage to squeeze Faith/Bertie Shakespeare into my Jem/Mary fic...

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