#chocksawaychaps

COLOUR PALETTE MEME

3. Funniest historical kerfuffle?

I don’t know XD There’s probably something I’m forgetting, but my mind’s blank atm

6. Opinion on the presidential assassinations and their impact on America?

Needless to say, I don’t support the assassination attempts, but I totally see where they come from and why people find them interesting. The Curse of Tippecanoe is a fairly interesting topic, too. I would say that those assassinations certainly have some significant impact on America, politically and psychologically. 

Also, I kinda hate how US-centric this question is (assassinations and attempts at killing heads of state/monarchs have happened in many other countries as well), but I guess they’ve had the most presidential assassinations?

8. Favorite tv show based on historical events, but not really faithful to real life?

“The Tudors” has a lot of historical inaccuracies but is a nicely crafted drama. “The Crown” takes a lot of artistic liberties, but it’s a great show. I would also say “Vikings”, but this series went to shit after a while, so... 

14. Favorite female monarch?

Jadwiga, queen of Poland (fun fact: my personal patron saint), Catherine II of Russia (really interesting figure), Elizabeth II (kinda got used to her xD)

29. Rant about your favorite topic.

Alfred👏Dreyfus👏deserved👏better👏and👏was👏not👏a👏boring👏historical👏figure👏!!!!

Also: calling the battle of the Somme a complete failure is a myth and a complete disservice to those who fought and sacrificed their lives during that battle.

61. Favorite ancient civilization?

Ancient Egypt!

oh boy a ship I hate that most ppl like…i don’t want any of you all to take this the wrong way but I cannot stand frank/karen from daredevil for a lot of reasons, all which have to do with the way karen is written and takes up space in the narrative as opposed to characters like elektra and claire, and the lack of psychological nuance in the ship regarding frank’s issues. ppl are always surprised bc this is the kind of relationship im usually into but if it’s not done right (imo), “broken people gravitate towards broken people” can be cringeworthy. I won’t lambast it bc I know a lot of you all love it and I’ve literally never talked abt it but there you go lol

my favorite headcanon for tulipcass…hmmm…it’s crazy how s2 brought a lot of my analysis of their relationship (which I wanted to believe was correct but very easily could’ve been headcanon if things had gone differently) into canon! that’s never happened to me before, at least not to the extent it did here. I guess my fav headcanon is that if they’d gone off to Bimini without Tulip dying, things would’ve been surprisingly good and they would’ve reconnected with Jesse eventually, but they’d take care of each other in the meantime and have some fulfilling adventures together. 

my favorite AU ideas for tulipcass oh boy!!! well there’s always been the vampire Tulip idea that now the show itself made possible at the end of last season - that’s a great one. and there’s the idea that Tulip being brought back could allow her to be a sort of substitute reaper now that the original seems (?) to have been killed ( @undercover-coward came up with that one). There’s the wild west AU I want to write in which Tulip is a sort of Kissin’ Kate Barlow figure - I will definitely be bringing that into reality eventually, one way or another. The idea is that our heroes would be in the original Annville - Ratwater - with much else the same in terms of plot direction, just with lots of attention to period details but with the same wild irreverence, heightened reality, and magical realism of the original setting.

Rules: Tag 9 people you want to know better or just because you feel like it.

Relationship status: Engaged 

Favorite color: Greens of all sorts, silver, aqua tones

Lipstick or chapstick: I prefer chopsticks over both ^^

Last song I listened to: Oh dear....I’m an Albatraoz . So silly, but fun.

Last movie I watched: ......I haven’t watched a movie in ages. Ah! Tulip Fever, actually.

Top 3 TV Shows: Current Faves: Poldark, Broadchurch, Wolf Hall                               Newer ones that I love: Almighty Johnsons, Being Human                                    UK, Love/Hate                               Old classics: Black Adder, Fawlty Towers, Waiting for God

Top 3 Characters: George Warleggan, Loki, Kili & Fili (they count as one!)

Top 3 Bands: I don’t really have favourite bands. I listen to a lot of different songs from different artists / people. I think I don’t even have one complete album by any artist. Well, but AC/DC is certainly a fave that would count as a ‘band’ in the classcial sense, I guess. And...Metallica? Um. It’s difficult....

Books I’m reading: Glennie Kindred - Letting in the wild edges | Mary Renault - The Persian Boy | Philippa Bowers - The secrets of the cave 

Thanks for the ask! This first one’s from my vampire couple AU, some various bits and bobs of which can be found here.

“You shouldn’t be so close to the window at sunrise, sir,” came a voice from behind him, familiar enough that, though he stirred at the sound of it, he did not turn around to greet the intruder into his solitude. “The light will burn you if you aren’t careful.”

“I am always careful, Tankard" he returned dully, barely twitching as he saw the man in question come to stand at his side through the corner of his eye. Mr Tankard, his attorney, looked the same as ever – dressed from head to toe in black, skin white as a sheet against his dark hair and eyes, unblinking and intense as they ever were. His words did little to reassure the other man, however, and with a short, sharp sigh, George reached over and pointedly pulled the drapes fully together so that no light could pass through them at all. In response, Tankard sent him a small nod and offered him one of the two glasses clasped in his bony hands, filled with a viscous red liquid which George could tell from the smell was not wine.

“With the compliments of Tom Harry.”

George raised an eyebrow at him, lips pinched in a thin line. He did not take the offered glass.

“That is human blood,” he said, his tone stern. “What has he done this time?”

Tankard had the grace to look a little sheepish.

“A gang of men attempted to rob and murder him on the road,” he said. “Completely ineffective, of course, but...well, we are both well acquainted with Tom and his...temper. He got a little carried away.”

George’s eyebrows travelled even further up his forehead.

“And his intentions in presenting us with this...essence of unwashed brigand was meant to achieve what, exactly?”

“Perhaps he didn’t want to waste a good meal?” replied Tankard with a shrug, making no move to withdraw the offer. George snorted decisively.

“I’m not sure I would describe it as ‘good,'" he retorted, his tone scathing, but nevertheless he plucked the glass from his hand and took a reluctant sip. He forced down a shudder as the coppery tang hit his tongue – no matter how many centuries passed, there would always be a small part of him that would be repulsed by this.

“It is human, sir,” Tankard pointed out carefully – he was, after all, well-acquainted with his employer's slight squeamishness in that regard, no matter what benefits human blood offered to their kind over animal. “And it is a long time since you last fed. Or, for that matter, rested.”

“I have no need of rest,” George replied with a frown; he and Tankard were well acquainted enough that he might almost have considered him a friend under different circumstances, but nevertheless his bizarre attempts to mother him irritated him. By now, he was several centuries too old for such treatment, for all that the man seemed to forget it on occasions. “There is much which requires my attention. And besides, I can’t see that it would do me much harm. I am already dead, after all.”

“Undead,” corrected Tankard cautiously. “But that doesn’t mean you are invincible.”

And this one is from the soulmate AU from the month of AUs which I’ve completely forgotten about and has, true to form, been ending up far, far longer than I was trying to make it.

A while passed—perhaps half an hour; she was not entirely sure—before she heard the light tap of boots approaching her along the floor of the hallway, and she turned about to see who it was. George Warleggan, neat and prim as ever and dressed elegantly, though not exuberantly, for the occasion, sent her a small, tentative smile from where he lingered in the doorway, waiting for her acknowledgement. There was in his expression, as there had been all evening, a slight whisper of embarrassment, an awareness of his intrusion into their midst that the other members of his party had failed to notice upon inviting themselves to dinner. Just as when they first arrived, the look on his face told her he would quite easily depart if she requested of him to be alone, but after a little time of solitude to compose herself, she found she no longer wished it. She smiled back at him, and he took it as a cue to approach, coming to stand beside her at the hearth.

“You played beautifully tonight, Elizabeth” he said. There was such earnestness in his voice that it might have taken her breath away had she not been so familiar with it. His affection for her always seemed to shine through at its greatest when he complimented her, but really, even if he had deigned to talk to her of nothing but interest rates, it would have taken a blind man to have remained ignorant of it for long. His austere face had a way of lighting up when he saw her, which she, unlike her husband, had not failed to notice—indeed, it was a wonder Francis remained so ignorant of his friend’s feelings, or else he might have been inclined to be doubly jealous.

“You’re very kind, George,” she thanked him demurely. Though she took care never to encourage his attentions, she had never been discomfited by them. He was never too forward—indeed, she wasn’t entirely sure he realised the obviousness with which he displayed his affections; George was a very private man but, in this, he rather wore his heart on his sleeve. In many ways, it made him rather agreeable company—particularly as an attentive listener. She had always been rather fond of him in her own way, even prickly and awkward and aloof as he could sometimes be, and now, when she didn’t think she could bear to see Francis or Ross, he was a welcome change. “Nevertheless, I think some praise must go to Mistress Demelza. She was in very fine voice this evening.”

She had no idea why she had brought up Demelza when her very purpose of coming here had been to forget about the whole situation. But then, it would have seemed ungracious not to acknowledge her new cousin’s skill, no matter how it made her feel.

“I suppose she was.” George tilted his head in polite agreement, but there was no real interest in Demelza or her singing in his voice. At that, Elizabeth felt a strange measure of relief, though why, she could not possibly have said. “Though it was perhaps a little intimate for mixed company. But then, that is often the way with soulmates.”

Elizabeth blinked.

“You believe them to be soulmates?” she asked. From what she knew of George’s opinion of Ross, she would have expected him to subscribe to the other school of thought concerning the gossip surrounding his and Demelza’s marriage.

“It is not a matter of believing, unless Francis has been telling lies,” George replied. “Though that I somehow doubt. He never could keep a straight face to save his life. Or, more pertinently, his dignity.”

Despite the lie—or rather, the unspoken truth—that was surrounding her own marriage, Elizabeth allowed herself a small laugh. From what she had heard of his schooldays, Francis’ antics would not have left him a great deal of dignity to cling to had each of them been discovered, and she told him as much with a slight smile.

“But what has Francis to do with the matter?,” she added, for the brief flicker of amusement had done little to quell her confusion. “Has he said something about it?”

“Well, he mentioned to me that he had seen…” George trailed off, a little frown marring his brow. “Forgive me, but has he not told you?”

It was Elizabeth’s turn to frown.

“Told me what?” she asked.

George had the grace to look a little awkward.

“About Ross’ soulmark,” he said, slightly bashful. “Like I said, he mentioned in passing that he had seen it.”

Ross had a soulmark. A soulmark which bore the name of his scullery maid turned wife. It was what she had half hoped, half dreaded, what she had known to be true the moment the pair had stepped through the door, but hearing it confirmed, no matter how prepared she had thought herself for the news, hit her squarely and unexpectedly. She barely knew what to think. And Francis. Why had he thought to tell his friend of the fact before he told his wife?

“How does Francis know?,” she asked instead—after all, she knew exactly why he had chosen not to tell her of his discovery, deep down. “Did Ross show him?”

George shrugged elegantly.

“I don’t think so,” he replied. “It was only mentioned briefly in the course of the—ah—conversation.” From the way he spoke, Elizabeth suspected that the main subject of the conversation had been one not meant for her ears. “By the sounds of it, he simply happened to notice it.”

“Notice it?” Elizabeth’s eyebrows shot up. If it were anywhere it might be conventionally ‘noticed’, surely she would have also spotted it that evening. So where…?

“Well, to be fair, I suspect, come summer, the entire population of Sawle will have noticed it as well,” George replied drily. “Ross does rather have a habit of parading about the clifftops half-clothed by all accounts.”

There was a slight note of irritation in his voice that he could never quite conceal whilst on the subject of Ross. Elizabeth did not know what had happened between the two men to make them dislike one another so thoroughly—indeed, she had thought Francis had been exaggerating when he had described their mutual loathing, before she had seen the pair interact. The barely contained enmity between Ross and George, however, was not what was on her mind. What she was thinking of, once again, was the way Ross had looked at Demelza, and the way Demelza had looked at Ross, how intimate and private it had been, and George saying how it was often the way with soulmates, calm and knowing, as if the fact of the matter couldn’t possibly be questioned.

“Yes,” she said, before she quite realised how abruptly the words came into the conversation. “Yes, I suppose it is that way with soulmates.”

It was half an admission of what she and Francis were very much not—after all, what experience had she of the way the bond manifested itself? George was shrewd enough to spot the implication, but she doubted he would need to. Francis did rather have a habit of telling him anything and everything, up to and including things which he would better have kept to himself.

“Indeed” George said, looking at her askance in slight bemusement, and Elizabeth felt a sudden urge to turn the conversation away from the slightly odd moment. She searched about in vain for a new topic.

“Were your parents soulmates?” she settled on. It was not an entirely polite thing to ask of a general acquaintance, but considering he was the godfather of her child, she felt that asking George could not be considered too unseemly. Nevertheless, the look he sent her was distinctly surprised.

“As a matter of fact, they were” he replied with a frown, though he did not expand upon the admission. He looked a little uncomfortable, she thought. She didn’t know much about Nicholas and Mary Warleggan, beyond what she had seen of their portraits at Cardew, and the ages their son had been when they had, respectively, died. His father had survived his mother by less than a decade, she remembered hearing. Perhaps it had been a broken heart as much as anything else that had served to have him join her in the grave.

“My parents never bore each other’s names,” she said, attempting once more to steer the conversation away from an unpleasant topic—if her thoughts on the matter had been grim, she was sure that George’s would be doubly so, and she’d no wish to upset him. “I don’t think either of them had a mark at all. My mother certainly doesn’t.”

They had been singularly ill-suited, her mother and her father, with his kind heart and her shrewish nature. Indeed, she could not help but feel that it been her mother’s constant sniping which had sent him to his grave in the end. Though she said none of this, some of it must have shown upon her face, for George sent her a look which had a decidedly sympathetic quality to it.

“I imagine that is quite common,” he said, with one of those brisk little nods of his. “It must happen that way often, especially if one places status and breeding above affection in a marriage.”

Elizabeth couldn’t help but recognise the truth in his words, but something about them made her turn to face him fully, a frown on her face. It occurred to her as she gazed at him that he may well find himself in just such a marriage one day. He’d no need to marry into money, but for status, well that was another thing altogether. Perhaps, some time in the future, he might marry some well-bred girl with a name and connexions, but whether she would love and respect him… Considering his seemingly endless uphill struggle in gaining the acknowledgement and respect of his peers, she worried not.

“Do you think you might ever marry your soulmate?” she asked, him, before she could quite consider whether it was wise. He looked at her oddly, his vivid blue gaze searching, almost wary. There was something there in his eyes, something loaded and full of a meaning that she could not quite put her finger on. Eventually, he spoke.

“No,” he said. “No, I daresay I shan’t.”

Aww, thank you! Right back at you! :D Xx

Elizabeth’s outfit from Jack’s attempted hanging scene in Curse of the Black Pearl

Hi, thanks for the ask! I hope you like it! :D