#she forces you to figure out the murder mysteries around the lower city and present ur case in the murder tribunal

[swordmaid]

tav shri’iia is THE canon for me obvi but I also really like the idea of tav wren with yves still being part of the dead three as bhaal’s chosen. the thing with wren is that he was yves’ childhood friend who was pursuing his bard career and severely flopping. one night when he was supposed to escort yves home from the graveyard he chose to perform in some tavern instead, and that night is when the bhaalists came and killed her. for him, one of his closest friends just went missing the night he was supposed to look after her, and when she returns 2 weeks later all beaten up and bloody with no memory of herself ofc he felt guilty….! and he couldn’t even bear to look at her because it’s all his fault u know … if only he didn’t ditched her maybe this wouldn’t have happened so one night he just decides to leave bc he couldn’t take it anymore. it’s always been his dream to be a travelling bard anyway and maybe his career will pick up in some other city than baldur’s gate, so he leaves her and his home and sets out to salvage what he can of his career. and in the most part he was mildly successful. he also ends up making a pact with some fae and they help with his bard career too lol but the guilt of yves is still in his mind- he just got better at ignoring it.

SO. imagine his surprise when he gets tadpoled and goes to moonrise to find a cure and he sees his friend - the girl that’s been haunting his dreams and the source of his guilt and shame - a part of the evil cult that’s been enslaving people with parasites. and now he’s meant to kill her? but how could he when he’s the one who left her behind and maybe it’s his fault that she turned out like this … but anyway I love the idea of wren being like noooo that’s NOT yves she would never do that!! and they’re just like girl ur delusional ur friend is literally chopping people up forcing us to find the parts like some treasure hunt

#but durge era yves is so similar to glados to me where she is so mild about everything and instead of forcing you to test #she forces you to figure out the murder mysteries around the lower city and present ur case in the murder tribunal #like as she says. the only thing better than murder is getting away with it and what’s more fun than to watch someone figure out the puzzle #you set for them u kno 🤭🤭 #and her proposition to ally w her is that she wants u to figure out the whole absolute ploy and how it started and what role she plays #and the only way to get those answers is to break in gortash’s place which betrays his trust … so it’s like a fun whodunit for her..!! #also i think wren finds out what actually happens to her that night .. learning that his real friend died and got replaced with this other o #other one who’s essentially just wearing her skin … reconciling with the truth that if he was with her she would’ve lived … killing this #yves for his friend so she can have some peace finally .. etc etc. it’s really about ween #wren*s survivor’s guilt bc I like to imagine they had another friend who he left with to look after yves #and when he finally returned after how many years he learns that friend has been dead (bc yves killed him) and allegedly yves’ mental #health went downhill when their friend died so she had to be sent away #which in truth she just left for the bhaal temple lol #anyway just thinking abt this three.. def wanna do a wren playthrough one day ..!! #also their other friend’s name is pan (full name xaphan) and they’re a tiefling but idk abt their appearance yet #making them a tiefling so yves’ first kill post lobotomy links back to her og friends where - if #it’s alfira she’s a bard like wren and tiefling like pan … but honestly pan could be Dragonborn too if she ends up killing quill lol #shut up about bg3. #bg3

[cheetahsprints]

Beyond the Surface

Words: 2822 Summary: Cisco couldn’t stand Harrison Wells. Crossing his path in an unexpected place would change that view permanently. Rating: Gen A/N: Title inspired by Fly Down - Stephen

Cisco tapped his pen on his mouth. He checked over his grocery list to be sure he got everything. It was just general foodstuff. He added some extra items.

- That new conditioner I heard about - All the bath bombs - Try the candle Caitlin suggested that smells like my kinda man called “Mechanical grease and Angst” - A recorder to piss off my grumpy neighbor. Tell him it's for a hipster band. - Dog food. - One of those big fake owls. It might freak out neighbors cats

Cisco always left without dog food. He underlined it three times. He chuckled at the recorder addition, picturing the constipated expression his neighbor would make. It wasn’t a challenge to antagonize him. Cisco was constantly finding new and creative ways to accomplish his mission.

His neighbor was also his professor. He was the unrelenting Harrison Wells. He cursed the day he incidentally moved to his floor, beside him to boot. The man was intelligent, handsome, and mysterious. Under most circumstances, Cisco would have a crush the size of Alaska. Unfortunately, Harrison Wells needed a personality transplant. He was an infuriating jackass. He gave not an inch, and he enjoyed pushing people over the edge.

Every day he passed the man’s giant door poster. It was a picture of the Grinch (cartoon version) that said: Don't bother me after 8 p.m. or I'll steal YOUR Christmas. The building supervisor had referred to him as only Mr. Grinch, due to this decor.

Cisco was willing to bet it was custom-made. Rumor had it that Professor Wells was a man of many talents. Cisco’s complaints also fell on deaf ears. Because no one else lived on this floor to corroborate his stories. Cisco didn't blame people for moving. On the bright side, he had to pay lower rent for this shit apartment location. The apartment itself was nice, with a big bathtub, walk-in closet, and balcony. It was worth Wells knocking on his door to tell him his party was too loud. Wells threatened to call the cops, but he never did. He knew Cisco would have it cleaned and shut down before they got halfway there.

His cats meowed all hours of the night. Cisco didn't know how he could hear them running around at night. Especially since one was a stick. One had also snuck into his apartment and shredded his stuffed Rocky the flying squirrel. It had been a present from his ex, Lisa. On one hand, technically kind of a good thing. On the other, he had liked that squirrel.

Cisco perked when he heard his six month old brown-and-white shih tzu mix yapping. He strolled out to the balcony. Sure enough, there they were. Wells’ stringy black and white oriental shorthair and tabby maine coon. The maine coon was the chillest animal on the planet, asleep to the tune of barking dog. That was the one that murdered his squirrel. Everytime Cisco left his apartment, the oriental starting yowling from behind Wells’ door. Then his puppy barked her head off.

Stevie, his brindle greyhound, appeared to investigate. He nudged Cisco curiously. He patted his service dog on the head absently. Cisco was prone to seizures. They were mostly random, but could sometimes be caused by distress. He grabbed a squeaky toy to distract Buttercup. He closed the balcony doors. He packed up and got Stevie in his work outfit. He expected to run into the Professor’s dumb face when he opened the door. He always complained about Buttercup’s barking even though he could just bring in his cats. Cisco had nothing against cats as a whole. He had everything against Wells’ disregard for the effects his cats had on others. Cisco was relieved when he was miraculously not there. He either decided to keep to himself or went out. Cisco saw enough of him in class, it just figured he would end up living beside him.

On a positive note, pissing him off was the most entertaining thing. He even drove him crazy in class. On the first day, Professor Wells had began by saying, “Science fact: The world around you is made up of protons, neutrons, morons, and electrons.”

When he said “morons” he had looked directly at Cisco. He wasn’t sure if Wells was presumptuous, if it was an accident, or if the man was prejudiced. Wells hadn’t eased up on him. He had called on Cisco to answer the toughest questions, contradicted all of his answers. Cisco wasn’t a special case, Wells was mean to other students, but they were slackers or whatever. He did have the potential for kindness, immediately helping anyone who seriously required it.

Either way, Cisco went out of his way to make his teaching aspect of life a bit of a nightmare. He pretended to be incredibly dumb in class, forcing Wells to cater to him. He would ace his tests and grin like a little shit.

He would ask the stupidest most basic questions, eyelashes fluttering like an infatuated schoolgirl. Wells was that “hot silver fox professor” as the women, and even some men, all of whom had no self respect, referred to him. They fawned over him. It was revolting. Cisco made them upset too by imitating their behavior. Wells always apparently lost his train of thought. He would sort of freeze on the spot, mouth open. He stuttered over his next words. It took everything Cisco had to hold in his laughter.

He kept the irritation to the minimum at home. Needless to say, but the airheads in his class didn’t believe Wells played the most obnoxious music at four in the morning. They didn’t believe he had a psychic connection to his cats and bid them to drive Cisco up the wall. They didn’t believe Wells pounded on the wall when Cisco played Christmas music. They didn’t believe he would sit on his balcony and throw things onto Cisco’s. Those objects had included: a wrench, a stupid singing toy from a dollar-per-item store, and even a rather large dildo. He had the supernatural ability to know when Cisco was studying. His hobby of throwing random shit would always scare the daylights out of Cisco.

For some reason, they did believe when he told them about the time Cisco had returned to his apartment shirtless. Some wiseass at he dog park had knocked him into a puddle of mud. At least, he hoped it was mud. He had thrown his shirt away and stormed home in a huff. Wells had seemed to choke on his own saliva when he saw Cisco. His blushing and stuttering was adorable. It was like he had never seen another man shirtless. 

Cisco figured he might’ve been offended by the tattoo, curling around his nipple and over his shoulder. Cisco had experienced a bit of a phase in his first semester of college. He lost a bet which required him to get the tats. They were pretty, and he luckily didn’t end up regretting his decision. He went through a bit of a ‘only get away with being young and dumb once’ phase. He cleared his less that stellar ideas and urges from his system, to pave the way for responsible adulting. He would have a lot of stories for his kids, if he ever felt like having any. Maybe he would tell the stories to Barry’s or Caitlin’s.

Stevie walked easily beside him in the Starling-Central City Shopping Center. He whistled a jaunty tune. He was having a pretty good day. He had satisfied with his level of studying for the upcoming exams and wasn’t exhausted. His new puppy hadn’t peed on the carpet this week. He hadn’t seen Wells’ annoying face yet.

He spoke too soon. He saw Wells, browsing in the assorted candles and incense. He glared at his turned back. He couldn’t believe the man chose this day to enter society and be shopping for something Cisco was looking to purchase. He tentatively stepped into the section, footsteps light. He hoped Wells wouldn’t see him.

He heard someone scoff and stage-whisper, “Do you see that rat he has in his cart? Like anyone believes that’s a real service dog.”

His girlfriend cackled. “What an asshole.”

Cisco’s gaze riveted on Wells’ little dog. She was a chihuahua-corgi mix named Rocket. Wells was secretive as hell. The only things Cisco knew was that he had a daughter and pets. That was due to the photos on his desk of a young girl in braces, a calm Chorgi with its tongue hanging out, next to the 85 % legs oriental shorthair (same pic) and one of the fluffy Maine coon. And there was a final faded, worn one of a German Shepherd/Dalmation in a doggie wheelchair next to an urn simply engraved Sam - Never Forget. Cisco had asked the little dog’s name, and gotten such a gruff reply that he didn’t inquire further.

It was simple to assume his professor was not much beyond a grumpy old jerk. His humanity seemed to be buried deep. He was robotic, functional enough to take care of pets and teach a class, that was all. Cisco would have to rethink that. Rocket was even cuter in person. Wells had obviously heard and he winced. He picked up Rocket, cradling her close. He marched up to the couple.

“Hey what is your deal? His dog is well-behaved, and he did nothing to you!” Cisco crossed his arms, raising his chin. The boyfriend attempted to tower over him, but he was no match for Cisco’s sheer force of will.

“Back off asshole,” The girlfriend butted in. “No one asked you.”

“I’m the asshole? It’s pretty rude to go around assuming things about someone’s life. For all you know, he nearly lost his life fighting in a war.”

“For all I know, you’re a phony too. Look at that - that thing you have. Is it imported from Africa or something?” The Dude narrowed his eyes at Stevie. And that was the end for Cisco.

“Listen here,” he said dangerously, voice flat. “Judgey tools like you is why we can’t have nice things. You can get that stick out of your ass and -”

Dude started making offended noises. The Girlfriend looked ready to jump on Cisco and tear his hair out. He braced himself. Let them try. A distinct high-pitched bark interrupted his tirade. His mouth shut with an audible click, and he whirled around. Rocket was back in the cart, whining, trying to get to Harrison Wells. He was crouched on the floor, all six feet of him. His hand was covering his eyes. The other hand was braced on the shelves. He was rocking back and forth, making breathy noises.

Cisco rushed over, argument forgotten. He wasn’t sure if he’d go to hell for it, but he gently picked up Rocket and placed her on the floor. He certainly lost his mind whenever someone tried to touch his well-trained greyhound on duty. But this seemed like an emergency. Rocket whined again and snuffled on Wells cheek. He sighed and pulled her close, taking deep breaths. Cisco shifted. He glanced over his shoulder to see that the couple had wandered off. Confrontation wasn’t always the best idea. Sometimes, his anger got the better of him. Stevie watched calmly. He looked a bit twitchy. He was always wary whenever Cisco got himself into tense situations.

Wells gained control of himself. His eyes were glazed for a moment, then it faded. His hands were shaking. Rocket was pressed close, licking at his face. He picked her up and stood, clutching her to his chest. He stared at Cisco with wide, bleary eyes. He had never seen Wells looking so spooked.

“Hey buddy. You good or do you need to call someone?”

“Did - did I hurt anyone? When episodes strike, I black out,” Wells explained at Cisco’s confused look. “I can be prone to violence because I think I’m. Back there.”

His voice was at such a low pitch. Cisco was stiff as a board. He shook out his hands, trying to loosen his muscles. He wasn’t afraid. He just wasn’t sure how to tread here.

“No it’s fine. You were kinda on the floor. Was that my fault?”

“They started it, you were only trying to defend me, thank you,” Wells replied.

He was surprisingly relaxed, for all that they didn’t get along. Cisco felt like a veil had been torn from in front of his eyes. He saw everything in front of him anew. He should really take some of his own advice.

“Well, it got a little out of hand ‘cause I don’t know when to shut my mouth and walk away sometimes. Can I - can I buy you some ice cream or something, Professor Wells?”

Wells blinked. Then he laughed, heartily. “You can call me Harry, Mr. Ramon.”

“Cisco!” He continued, mostly to himself, “Big Belly Burger sounds damn good right now.”

Harry nodded in agreement. Cisco indicated his cart. Harry began to pile his stuff inside. It was more efficient to take one cart. His eyes widened at the Star Wars paraphernalia. So, he was a fellow nerd too. There was probably so much Cisco didn’t know about him. These recent discoveries only scratched the surface. He suddenly had an overwhelmingly urgent desire to know everything that Harry would give him.

On the way to the in-store restaurant, Cisco said casually, “I have seizures. Stevie here, he’ll sit and howl when he senses one coming, so I can find a safe place. He stays by my side and helps me out. Completely necessary just like yours.”

“Some people think they’re smart. The reality being they know nothing at all,” Harry replied.

“I know that all I know is that I do not know anything,” Cisco said and snorted. “That guy didn’t even know how to remove the stick in his ass.”

“There’s no proof of that phrase, but the spirit of it is true.”

They finished their meals, bought separately, and Harry paid for their ice cream. Cisco opened his mouth to protest. He was silenced by Harry’s glare.

“I’m sorry I act empty-headed in your class,” Cisco confessed.

Harry nodded and lapped at his ice cream. He smiled as he scooped some with two fingers and fed it to Rocket. Absurdly, Cisco’s stomach started doing acrobatics. He couldn’t pinpoint the cause. He scratched Stevie’s ears, who made a dog-sigh of content.

“I’m sorry for being a difficult neighbor,” Harry offered. “Let’s promise to be at least civil to one another for now on?”

“Agreed. Life will be much easier. And we’re totally having a Star Wars marathon.”

Harry grinned. He rubbed at his lips with a finger. Cisco gnawed on his cone and watched him for a moment. He felt a stab of guilt. He had despised Harry for his behavior. He was a hypocrite. He saw now he had acted the exact same way and judged him. He knew next to nothing about his private life, because he presumed that he did not have one. What did he think? That Harry went home and hooked himself up to a charger?

The man probably had dreams, hobbies, as many likes as dislikes. Hell, Cisco had known he had a family he must care about, from the picture of his daughter on his desk. Cisco distantly noticed Harry had no wedding ring. Somewhere, under all that brain and bluster, Cisco was beginning to see his heart.

The best restart would be to address the root of the problem. Then they could clear the air. He licked his lips nervously. He locked his fingers in his lap and leaned forward. Harry folded his arms on the table, chin lifting in preparation.

Cisco kept his voice soft and not accusing. “Why did you single me out the first day of class?”

“Are you kidding? I heard you were practically wunderkind,” Harry answered in an incredulous tone. “I was very impressed with your records.”

“Seriously? I grew up in the most obscure town.”

“I’m in the habit of keeping an eye on talent. Finding out you were in my class made my entire week, which isn’t saying much, but still. You are the most brilliant and creative person I’ve met, aside from my daughter.”

Cisco internally preened, a flush of pleasure coming over him. He had a weakness for direct compliments of his talents. He realized that also meant Harry had believed in exactly none of his bullshit. Harry pointed at his own face and raised his eyebrows. Cisco squinted at him. Harry spread his hand and made circles. Cisco scrambled in embarrassment to wipe his face off. He found it wasn’t as bad as Harry indicated. He scowled.

“You say such sweet things. But you’re still a dick.”

“Did you really expect anything else?”

#harrisco #pre-slash #my fic #Harry and Cisco have service dogs #Harry: PTSD (implied) #Cisco: Seizures (mentioned) #Professor Wells #college student Cisco #Bad Neighbors Harrisco #Swearing #tw: panic attack #no detailed class scenes sadly #I would not be able to pace a whole detailed story #So have a snippet type thing

[something-wicked-sims]

What if? Sims OC Tag

Chosen OC: Laney Kerrigan

You can find the story here: Life and Times | Pastel Pink | Charcoal Grey

I was tagged by @dinaswimmer and @lovelychooser three years ago, and pestered by @pixeltrashcan. This is the only Laney you’re getting for a LONG time heaux.

WHAT

What is your character’s favorite memory?: Okay, one, you can not have a favorite memory, come on. This question is terrible. Anyways, I would say that the thing she loves most about growing up was how incredibly close her family was (her mom, dad, and her). They would spend the summers at the family cabin, and so she learned to like being on the water. She liked those trips the most, making pie iron pies with her mom and listening to her dad tell her stories he ripped off Unsolved Mysteries about Big Foot and Skunkape. 

Who and what would your character give their life for?: She would sacrifice a lot for anybody she cares about, even though she’s never really been tested. So, I think the list would be long. Laney does a lot of hurting people childishly, but if she could look past her own selfishness she’d realize how much those people mean to her. So, her parents, Scotti, Klein, Isla :) 

What is your character’s greatest fear?: Being alone. And, coincidentally, being in charge of her own life, because she is afraid of responsibility. 

What is your character’s proudest accomplishment?: To date, getting a publishing contract for her first manuscript. 

What is your character’s #1 insecurity?: Her lack of self-confidence, which in turns makes her fear every decision she has to make. She’s constantly afraid that she’s making the wrong move, or saying the wrong thing. 

What will/can break your character completely?: Oh, I mean, a lot of things? She just doesn’t fucking know it yet? Her first big break came when she realized how her poor decision making came to hurt other people. It totally destroyed her confidence. I wouldn’t say that her confidence is gone, per se, it’s just kind of laying dormant, and she doesn’t remember how to wake it up (or she’s too afraid to). Right now, she would get pretty broken if a certain someone were to leave her completely, but for all the wrong reasons. 

What would your character make a scene in public about?: Generally anything. The high price of cupcakes, lack of Toaster Strudels at Kroger, Peter Pan Peanut Butter Alerts, Pixar Same-Facing. You know, worldly problems. 

What can drive your character to do criminal acts?: I don’t know. I think her moral compass is too overclocked right now. 

What Pet (mythical or not) would your character want to have?: Unicorn. Mermaid. Probably the unicorn though, because she’d want to ride it. But maybe the mermaid, because those seem pretty self-sufficient, but I think maybe that’s also called slavery. So, we’ll go with the unicorn. 

What is the cutest thing your character has ever done?: Um? This is Laney. How about the LEAST CUTEST THING SHE’S EVER DONE. We all know what that fucking was.  

HOW

How does your character feel about sexual intercourse?: I’ve always thought that Laney spent the majority of her adult life snickering behind her hand at the mention of human genitalia, and using sex scenes in movies as prime opportunities to refill her snacks. Laney in a relationship was actually pretty gung ho about it, but that has mostly changed. Now it’s something she does but doesn’t talk about. 

How close is your character with family and friends?: Super close. Uber close. Her parents are her biggest support system, and she loves her best friends more than anything. 

How does your character react to pressure?: Quite literally emotionally collapses. 

How religious is your character (if they believe)?: She doesn’t think too much about it. She’s not religious, but she is spiritual in the sense that she believes there’s someone watching over us, she’s just not sure who or what and she doesn’t mind, but she does find comfort in them. 

How does your character’s personality change when someone gets uncomfortably close (relationship wise)?: She thinks she’s figured this problem out by keeping relationships in boxes, and only poking enough holes so that they can breathe, but very much is forcing that relationship to behave the way she wants it to, and when that doesn’t work out, she gets really anxious. I’d say her personality changes big time. She’s pretty smothering, and kind of like one of those mean neighborhood kids that stands at one end of a garden hose and makes a big kink, and just waits for some unsuspecting creature to come along to fall for her trick. 

How does your character’s living space correlate with their personality?: I think it’s a pretty good reflection of who she is deep down, when it’s not covered up with noxious behaviors and self-loathing. It’s cluttered, kind of dusty, and cute, but mostly it’s a giant collective of all the things she loves and all the experiences she’s gathered. 

How well does your character act around with unknown and different people?: She’s fine, mostly. Her social awkwardness covers up the fact that she gets uncomfortable, because she’s pretty good at making other people just as uncomfortable as her. 

How much does your character value money?: She doesn’t, really. 

How would this character cope with losing someone extremely close to them? I would really hate to see this. I think Laney is at a point in her life where if something like that happened, she could never come back from it. 

How long does it take for your character to trust others? That depends. If it’s like a business or professional setting, then it’s a much lower threshold. I still think she’s too trusting in general. 

SCENARIOS

If your character could change one thing about themselves, what would they want to change?: Her inner strength. I think she does really want to get back to a place where she’s okay relying on herself. She’s always looked up to her mother and Scotti, and women who are sort of “one woman armies”. There was a time she thought she was like that, but it wasn’t the person she was meant to be. Now she’d be happy with being a quarter of that.

If your character could go back in time at any point in their life, what would they do to change the present?: I think the single most important moment for her, was when she started working at the Weekly. It symbolizes when she stopped doing things for herself, and lost control of her life. If she could go back in time, she would have skipped the whole city living chapter and gone straight for following her heart, and done the Sims of San Myshuno project straight out of college. 

If your character was given a chance at fulfilling their dream, can they drop everything they have now to go pursue it?: Yeah, she did that already.

If your character’s current spouse or partner cheated, would they try to make it work or leave forever?: Right now, she forgives her “current partner” for a lot of things. They’re non-exclusive, so I guess the cheating part is just emotional, but I’m pretty sure Klein could commit murder and she’d still wash the blood off his knuckles. Desperation is very motivating. In a hypothetical future sense where she was in a healthy relationship? Yeah. She’d probably try to work it out, only because she was the one to cheat, once, and she has to believe that cheaters can be forgiven, and also because a small part of her would think she deserved it.

If a zombie apocalypse begun in the town your character currently lives in, what would they act like?: She’d go to the Winchester, have a nice cold pint, and wait for it all to blow over.

What if your character suddenly woke up to an unfamiliar place, and realize the life they lived was all a dream. Their family, friends, home.. all gone but still crazily vivid in their head. How would they react?: Well, she’d be really sad? I have no idea LOL. How could anyone react to this. She’d put on a fucking trench coat and find the nearest operator. 

If your character was thrown in jail, what would they be guilty of?: Creating a public disturbance. 

Rewind 10 years from now, what is your character currently doing?: Finally comfortable with herself after years of bullying in school, she’s just managed to eek out of her awkward phase, lose the braces, embrace the glasses, and fashion, and will soon be graduating top of her senior class. 

Your character is in the movie SAW, facing their worst fear. What is that fear, and how does he/she react?: She’s in a room full of shelves filled with those unsightly Victorian porcelain dolls and they all have voice boxes. Cue The Joker-esque transformation.

We regret to inform you that your character is dead. Where do they end up? Heaven? Hell? And how the heck do they react?: She’s stuck somewhere in regretful purgatory where she gets to sit, confused, drifting between hysterical laughter and uncontrollable sobbing for the rest of eternity. 

I’m tagging no one because this meme is super old and I don’t even know. It took me like an hour so I’m not going to submit others to this torture. I hope you’re happy, Nicole. You better read every fucking word, too. I’ll know if you’re lying. Pop quiz at 8PM sharp.

#tag #jade babbles #saviorhide #long text post #text post #laney

[zayrickyear2jh]

13/12/19 BA2a Research: Session 4 The nightmare city and the urban laboratory

Plot Summary: Chapter 3

We meet Dr Jekyll at last. A large, well made smooth-faced man of fifty, although

In this chapter - Jekyll reassures Utterson he can be free of Mr Hyde whenever he wants. He says it’s a private matter and he asks Utterson to let is sleep. He calls Dr Lanyon hide bound, meaning narrow minded.

Plot summary:The Carew Murder Case Chapter 4

Nearly a year passes peacefully.

The Hyde commits murder. HIs victim is Sir Danvers Carew, a respected member of parliament.

The events witnessed and somewhat strongly described

Consider the careful setup

Before the coming of the ever-present fog, the night was cloudless and brilliant lit by a full moon. Why might the full moon be important to mention?

Stevenson writes in rapturous terms:

The maid servant sat at her window and fell into a dream of musing.

Carew appears to her as an aged and beautiful gentleman with white hair and a very pretty manner of politeness

The moon shone on his face as he spoke

Such an innocent and old world

Hyde

A great flame of anger

Broke out of all bounds

Ape like fury

Why do you think Stevenson sets up the murder scene in such a romantic way? Its the contrast between the elements of good but evil. The scene represents tduality in action.

The association of Carew with innocent and beauty makes the violence more shocking by contrast.

It has the effect of turning Carew into a martyr-like figure. His death can be seen as symbolic.

Utterson exhibits his usual self-control (ego; reality principle)

He is ever the gentleman: refusing to draw hasty conclusions.

Uttterson travels through the chocolate-coloured fog towers Soho, accompanied by the police, to Mr Hyde’s lodgings the witness has identified him. It seems to Utterson like some city in a nightmare.

Mt Hyde has done a runner but the policeman is optimistic. Several thousand pound are found in Hyde’s bank account: surely the man will call to collect  it. All they have to do is lie in wait for him.

So the chapter ends on a cliff-hanger with a clear hook to chapter 5.

Carew ‘accosts’ Hyde with ‘a very pretty manner of politeness’

What might Stevenson be hinting at here?

Elaine Showalter calls the novella a fable of findesiecle homosexual panic. She notes that working class men of the ear were sometimes seen as erotic object by their aristatic superiors.

Hyde is classless rather than working class this itself would have been disturbing and bewildering.

‘Blackmaile’s Charter’

-Known as the Blackmailer’s Charter’s this was the piece of legislation that led to arrest of Oscar Wilde in 1895.

Urannian- The word homosexual wasn’t used in English til 1892 in a translation of a German sexology manual Psychopathia Sexualis. Victorian mainly used the word Uranian for them, this actually meant having a female psyche in a male body. Ironically the 1885 act helped create the concept of a homosexual identity.

The duality of Rober Louis Stevenson

Stevenson himself was a man of contradiction

Effeminate but straight

Wealthy but dressed down )stuffy with bad teeth)

Born to strictly religious parents but lived a bohemian life as an adult.

Played at being lower class but exploited upper class connection.

Not conventionally handsome, he was said to have mesmirizing eyes and drew many male admirers including folklorist Andrew Lang and novelist Henry James. Stevenson appeared to enjoy the attention of his male admirers. And, whether he intended it or not, Uranian men of the era did find sympathetic undertones in his work. To use mourned parlance, could this be a type of queer baiting?

There is no biographical evidence that Stevenson himself experienced any same sex attraction, but Claire Harman suggest.

Social Taboos in Gothic horror

Jekyll and Hyde: The Gothic revival.

Stiles notes the Gothic conventions of Stevenson’s novella: the nocturnal settling, the theme.

The birth of Gothic horror

Horace Walpole’s dream Castel of Qtranto

Place and time

Power/Sexual power

Note how Walple’s The castle of otranto was also inspired by dream.

Key features of the Gothic

Wild landscapes vs improsonment. The re-emergece of the past within the rest.

Fascination with obscene patriarchal figures figures

Explores the limits of what is is to be human: internal desires or forces outside your control.

full of perverse weird and dangerous kinds of sexuality.

The vulnerability of women in the 19th century

The Gothic genre had scope to explore the lives of the 19th century woman.

The genre often depicts the triumph of young women over seemingly impossible forces.

If you’ve your story female protagonist you may like to explore the tropes of Gothic horror in your critical analysis.

The Uncanny

Gothic horror is all od uncanny moments.

Figures that are not quite human such as dolls, waxworks, automat

Strange, mysterious, unsettling, unnerving, unearthy

Meaning Un heimlich means un-homely

Therefore we don’t feet at home with the uncanny or the home is somehow transformed or changed.

No one can ever quite describe Mr Hyde. A prolonged state of uncertainty.

J and H was fascinated with clockwork autumata. Could be a potential

Tip: If you’re writing a horror film, try making it personal: use your own fears and phobias to make the terror.

And harness the power of the uncanny by focusing on dread and apprehension rather than outright horror.

main it unhomely: unsettle the viewer with sinister hints a radio that turns on by itself a child’s toy that is not where you left it, a writhing maggot in a piece of fruit.

Make it un-secret: show us something that shouldn’t be shown.

Give the view time to feel the fear: You have to allow the sense of underlying unease to intensify over time.

Birth of the city/the urban Gothic

Jekyll and Hyde is seen as the first Urban Gothic novel.

In the mid 1800s huge numbers of people left the country for an excited new life in the city. But many had to live in slums with no sanitation. Disease was rife. Young children worked in factories or cleaning chimneys.

London was the largest city in the world, totalling 4 million inhabitants in the 1880s’. Stevenson chose it as the setting for his ‘urban gothic’ tale but some critics argue it’s real settling is Edinburgh, where Stevenson grew up.

The evil within..

In the tale 19thC Gothic novel the threat is no longer some external force. Instead the evil is sinuously curled around the very heart of the respectable middle-class norm’ This made it more frightening because it made the evil inescapable.

Middle-Class Victorian had a great fear that sexual depravity and other kinds of moral decay would pass from the nocturnal world to the safe space of the home.

Like a district id time city in a night mare ( The Carew Murder Case)

They grew less interested in the wild landscapes of traditional Gothic, and focused instead on the new landscape of the city: an equally appropriate source of desolation and menace.

By identifying and exploring that obsession through art and literature, they sought to control and contain it.

This fear is made visual in Jekyll and Hyde through symbolic use darkness and fog.

The urban labaratory and the strange science of the mind.

The primary figure at the heart of most Victorian fin de siecle texts is the scientist and during the fin de siecle what the scientist tends more and more to dabble.

Questioning boundaries: science, pseudo-science, and the occult.

The greatest pace of advance and change in the fields of science and medicine led Victorians to necessarily suspend disbelief: unlikely things might easily turn out to be true.

As a result the gap between science and the occult was much narrower in Victorian Britain than today.

The dual brain

we’ve already seen that hypnosis suggested the possibility of a hidden self. This concept was reinforced by the victorian theory.

Left brain is seat of logic and reason

Right brain is emotions

Women and savages were strong in the right brain. Hyde is describe as ape-like

Sergeant F: the uncanny quality of the double

In 1875 the Cornhill magazine published the case study of a brain damaged French soldier Soldier F.

Sergeant F was male, and his condition was caused by a wound the battlefield. But the dual or multiple personality was almost overwhelmingly a female condition and still is today its known as Dissociative Identity.

Stles theories that small, puny, right brained Hyde has something of the victorian feminine about him: emotionally unstable.

Victorians also believed that your personality could be read in the shape of your skull.

The Victorian era saw a huge divide between rich and poor, and in essence these types of belief enabled upper class Victorians to feel okay about their unequal wealth.

Phrenology

Developed by Franz Joseph Gall in 1796, this pseudo-science made the claim that your personality and character could be recognised by the shape of your skull.

The Profession Sickist

In letter he described himself as a professional sickest. As a result, much of his work was written in bed.

Strange case of Jekyll and Hyde

The Lancet = medical journal

Jekyll is both physician and patient, call into question the legitimacy and objectivity of scaentific case studies.

As a professional sickest its likely the Steenson experienced it.

Film to watch - The burke and Hare murders

[narrownarrative]

Family Is Everything

Section 2

Edward Peverell; 6:13 am; January 4th, 2017; Lincoln City Station

Questioning goes on till the morning sun is high overhead and birds start their day at work.

“Edward”

Snapping back to the officer (I learned their name as officer Whitman around 3 am or so) reflex to my own name.

“ Edward, your mother is here to pick you up”, it feels odd. They called my mother. I've been an adult for a few years now as a twenty-three-year-old. Following down a busy hallway full of bustling police and witnesses like me before stopping at the entrance to the main office. Straight in front of a modern-looking glass doors but lined with old wood paneling you would expect from old distant great-uncle, my mother was waiting. 

My mother with a thick golden halo of curls frames the soft heart shaped face, passed down to me, and rosy cheeks slathered with light freckles. Cupids bow lips, also given to me, surround a soft-spoken voice and a sparkle of life in her lungs. Hands were perfectly manicured (the only thing I've ever seen her do so religiously) in constant pink and white french tips and a marred, golden wedding band. I'm not sure where she had acquired the band and why. I always wondered as mother had never married. Past her was the dark blue, inconspicuous Audi.

“Oh Edward”, she choked out. Mother proceeding to smother me an embrace of family love.

“Hello mother”, my voice muffled by her hair.

“Come Eddie”

I hate when she calls me that. James used to call me that when we were young. James my brother, that is. Ducking my head and further hunching down my shoulders, I lift up my left leg and after, my other. The worn, tan leather seats strained and creaked as I lowered myself upon them.

“They said you were not a suspect”, her tone so matter-of-fact, so unlike her. Was there was something wrong? Did she suspect me involved? She's wearing a weird look and using a delicate tone. Like I am getting picked up from the office, from the nurse in school again, crying my eyes out. As is I would crack with the slightest harshness. As if I was a porcelain doll.

Turning my head Carrie Caldwell is being taken out of a police car, cuffed at the wrist and head hug. I always disliked Mr. Caldwell his watery, clear squinted eyes and sweaty, putty figure has always put me off. (Reminded me of Peter Pettigrew from Harry Potter. Not the kind of person you should trust) His odd twitching only contributed to the downtrodden but, seemingly distrustful impression. A familiar band around his pudgy, short fingers caught my eye. It was identical to the one mother has! How did he possibly have an exact match of my mother's mysterious wedding band? Could just be a coincidence, my have just been mass-produced.

Turning,“Mother Mr.Caldwell has the same ring as you?” she took a sharp breath, shoulders tight and gave a horse smile. In a second it passed and she was once again soft and gentle, rounded and curved with a small almost sad smile.

“How interesting, I wonder why?”

No, you don't. Blue and green trees and cars obstructing my view of the Columbia but, we were by the 7th Fred Meyer already so we could only be 10 minutes away from our house. Sure enough the clock strikes and we are pulling up this short, steep gravel driveway into a small cottage community. The sign of the Blind Onion Pizza restaurant (we went to lunch with James third grade teacher there once) and the honey yellow, cute Sunnyville Market sign visible over our landlords pale, blue rectangle Cottage surrounded by young granny smith apple trees barely bloomed. Like little clouds together protecting and watching, falling gently in the breeze. To the right of our own the Bumblebee yellow cottage was a metal, rusted trailer hooked up to nothing. Our own little home was surrounded by gold and ruby tulips, to the right is our community yard. It could be seen ways away. Millions of tiny stalks of corn and wheat sprouted up. Years ago when were all small Tom, James, and I were to running though, unable to see over the heads. As I turn back, mother is now turning the rusted brass knob on the dark purple door. The grass green walls bring simple, silent sadness rather than the sharp hurt I expected. You see in the past Tom was our neighbor as well as Mr. Caldwell and his son, Hadrian. We had all painted our interior walls the same shades of moss green. Mr. Caldwell had never appreciated this or any other shenanigans we have come up with. My own mother Andy had at first as well but, she liked the fact that Mr. Caldwell did not. Settling down on the lumpy, multi color thread love seat my maternal grandfather was dearly loved I am called.

“Hey Eddie”, his tone teasing. Standing in the doorway was my brother Captain. Well… James Morgan Bay but, we called him Captain. From when we were children, we had made up a game about pirates revolving around a scary story my cousin told  me. (I, of course reiterated said tale to Cap, Tom, and Harry) Looking at a much bigger but still bubbly James, I'm greeted by the 6-foot 200-pound brick wall that was my little 17 year old brother. Or, well,  half-brother. As it's quite obvious. His pin straight, chocolate brown bed head to my wheat coloured, curled catastrophe and his heavy lidded sunken, honey eyes are widely regarded quite lovely while my own pale, moss green eyes don't quite compare. His lips, narrow and cracked, allow for his squared jaw to standout. While mine only soften the heart shaped, dimpled structure, with a prominent Cupid's bow and full but cracked lips, completely washing out the freckled, scarred, angular cheeks my mother had once thought quite cute. My mother still thinks James doughy, clear, pink cheeks the epitome of perfection. The only similarity between us is our height, coloration, and hands. Both of us are 6 foot, but I am much more willowed and gangly than James has ever been. Taking after our fathers rather than our mother we both are more copper than our mothers rosy porcelain but, we do have our mothers elegant, calloused hands. Though mine are ink stained from years of pursuing a career in art, only to join the Air Force. Scarred as well. My brother has one thin miniature knife scar from peeling carrots and being distracted by his our bubbly, booming, animated voice, while mine are blanketed in years of layered clumsiness, fights, accidents, not caring, and a supposedly “bad” habit of trying to raise wild animals. They were hurt though! So that justifies all. Of course James wouldn't agree. Which is probably why his only pet is a rock with googly eyes. He named it “Rocky”. He was 16.

“Have you heard?” Clear and mournful.

“Heard what?” With eyebrows narrowed in confusion, I ask.

Caps lips thinned and eyes hard, making them appear sharp and black.

“Caldwell has been arrested for tom's murder. Rightful so” his fists were balled, tears welled up a self righteous streak of light settled in his eyes, as though he was born for the look. His breathing hitched, making me suddenly realize he was going to cry. Oh god. Of course he's going to cry, toms his best friend. Pushing from my comfort, I brave across the room stiffly, cautiously wrapping my arms around him pulling Jamie close. Despite what Cap said Mr. Caldwell murdering Tom didn't add up. It didn't set right. He had never given sign of hate or even dislike. Any indication of a motive was not present. There was no money or hatred, he even had encouraged his son, Hadrian, and Thomas to date. Why would he do such a horrendous act? How did the police find out?

Gasping, “The footprints!”

“What?”

Oops. Said that out loud. Grimacing, I divert my eyes to Richard, a hanging ivy plant in the hallway.

Wiping away tears, “What do you mean footprints?” James asks.

“When I was there I -”

“You were there!?” He screeched.

Glaring, “Yes, now don’t scream in my ear” rubbing it. Taking a deep breath. Sighing.

“Yes. While I was out I was just passing by -”

“Sure you were”, with a fond smile and sad eyes.

Blushing, just a tad, I continue, “While I was by the Osborn Laboratories”, I start.

Immediately James gives a disappointing, almost hurtful sigh and shake of his head. His hair softly bouncing.

Sharply intaking, “I heard a yell” I continue, “it had been Tom”. Breathing quickly but sporadically hitching, with welled, blurred vision. “I found him, he - there was so much blood”, my voice squeaking, I recalled every detail I had found.“God, there wasn't a mark on him”. Everything is clouded. “I saw footprint in all of it, covering the entire flooring. It went to the door, to the hall but”, eyes on the stained, carpeted floor, “they just stopped”, my brows furrowing. That looked odd, like -

“What?” Confusion evident in Cap’s voice.

“Where did this stain come from?”

“I don't know but. It kinda looks like -”

“Blood” I finish, deep and final.

“C'mon”

Following James, I purposefully stepping over the stain. Entering through the doorway, indented with pencil markings of out heights. From three to when I left home a few years ago.

With a half smile,

“Just as messy as usual” I say with a soft huff of a chuckle.

The yellow light of early morning slates through his broken and bent plastic Crete coloured blinds onto the worn, wooden wicket bed. Covered by hand knitted brown and maroon Blanket throws and ruffled, fluffed feather pillows. Directly to the left, pushed against his golden walls that were covered with posters of planets, blueberries, and a particularly large periodic table was a light brown Douglas Fir writing desk. The one he had left. On the desk, Cap was grabbing his test kit from the same science club he met Tom at.

“So you do this and I'll go and find Mr. Caldwell's shoes?”

“Alright, as long as you bring them back”, He responded immediately.

“ Of course”, I comply softly.

Turning back I rushed out the door, straight to the window of Mr. Caldwell's bedroom. Reaching my fingertips I start slowly placing force onto the sides of the screen. Pop! The screen goes loudly falling off, clashing to the dark hardwood floor. A bout of anxiety hits me as I begin to start up. Embarrassedly, straining I pull myself up and over the molded, antique white window seal. Crouching at my knees and rolling into my heels, allowing me to fall softly. Looking around I immediately find a quite dirty version of the same shoes my mother owns. Chuckling I realize they wear the same size. Pulling them up between my forefingers, i am hit by a small bout of remembrance. Running past his unmade bed and scattered dirted dishes I (attempt to) leap through the window. Stumbling, I regain my balance and run over the gravel path to our own cottage. Taking in the shoes, they were clean. Well, obviously they haven't been in a while but there's no blood. Running past the kitchen to the short hall I burst into our room.

“Why Edward?” was quietly asked as soon as I entered. The door still swinging.

“What is it?” I ask in confusion.

Hunched over the desk, shoulders tense at work (or was he crying?) as words of his own discoveries slip out.

“It’s Tom's blood!” Sweeping his arms across the face causing them to crash into the carpets, swiveling around .

“Edward. What did you do?”

“What you think you think I did this? To Tom!” and just as quickly he strongly states his response.

“I do not know what to believe the only other person who could have possibly... the only person who could have possibly was mom”, he trailed off. His voice losing its edge. (Edgy™)

“Why don't I just go and ask her”, humoring him.

“No!” Only a sliver of panic gleemed.

But I was already out the door.

“Mom!” I call searching the house.

“Sweetie?”She says, appearing behind me.

“I was wondering if you knew anything about what happened to Tom?”

Expecting a cheerful hugs and asking about my feelings instead I got, well not that.

“Honey you shouldn't have asked that”, a cold, metal barrel pressed against my cheek.

“Now darling you can't tell anyone, okay?”

“Promise you won't tell anyone”.

I can't help but stutter, “Al- all r-r-right-t”, what was I to do? Bang!

“Put your hands up!” it was the same blue clad officer who took me as a witness before. “Lower your weapon!”

Later that night I talked to James again...

He called as soon as I left.