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Eurus: God of the East Wind

Apart from Eurus being the name of the God of the East Wind, the two other interesting things about the name that I have found whilst pootling about on Google are:

1. In Hans Christian Andersen's "The Garden of Paradise", Eurus is the wind who takes the Prince to the Garden, where he commits Adam's sin by kissing the fairy of the garden and is marked by Death who says:

"I will come some time. When he least expects me, I shall come back, lay him in a black coffin, put it on my head, and fly to the skies. The Garden of Paradise blooms there too, and if he is good and holy he shall enter into it; but if his thoughts are wicked and his heart still full of sin, he will sink deeper in his coffin than Paradise sank, and I shall only go once in every thousand years to see if he is to sink deeper or to rise to the stars, the twinkling stars up there."

2. In Milton's Paradise Lost, Book X, are the following stanzas:

Forth rush the Levant and the Ponent winds, Eurus and Zephyr, with their lateral noise, Sirocco and Libecchio. Thus began Outrage from lifeless things; but Discord first, Daughter of Sin, among the irrational Death introduced, through fierce antipathy:

Make of them what you will!

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There I was, drawing the evening away, on white paper for a change, and i’m doing the hair, minding my own business, when suddenly

Dr Strange feels all over my page!!! AHHHHHHH

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GREEN EGGS AND HAMLET

(With my deepest apologies to Shakespeare and Dr. Seuss)

Can I kill my Uncle Claude? Yes, I can, I can, by God! I will kill my Uncle Claude!

Should I kill him in the house? Should I kill him while he’s soused? I could kill him here or there I could kill him anywhere Would I, could I, while he prays? Kill him! Kill him! Wherefore stay? I would not, could not, while he prays!

Not in the house, not when he’s soused, Not with his sister, now his spouse! Not while he prays, not while he feasts, O, incestuous, adulterate beast! I do not like my Uncle Claude, I do not like that bloody bawd!

Say! In the dark? Here in the dark! Would I, could I, in the dark?

Should I kill him in his bed? Should I there strike off his head? Kill him with his nightcap on? Kill him when the churchyards yawn? Should I kill him where he lies? I will kill him, by and by! I do not like my Uncle Claude, I’ll kill him, i’ th’ name of God!

The play! The play! The play’s the thing! The thing wherein I’ll catch the king! No more ‘to be or not to be,’ I will kill him, you will see!

Kill him while he wears his crown Kill him while his guard is down Kill him with some poisoned wine Kill him with this sword of mine O, is the point envenomed, too? I’m dead–Horatio, adieu! But tell them, tell them, more or less, Who it was that made this mess!

I did not like my Uncle Claude, I killed him in the name of God! Good friend, report my cause aright– And now, goodnight goodnight goodnight!

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I’m not dead. I’m just immersed in studying! I will be back - well sort of, I’m going to try and keep my fandom time to a minimum whilst I work on some personal goals - mid April. But I have missed you all so much. Especially @ladyprydian @azriona @mrsmarymorstan @thecircusofme @dreamerofbakerst @youarebeingshaggedbyarareparrot @provocatrixxx @dancinggrimm @auntiesuze @jaradel and everyone else I’ve completely forgotten to tag.  Hugs to you all!

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why do almost all your harry potter reblogs show harry and hermoine as black? what did I miss?

I’m glad you asked.

First off, let me get out of the way that it is not explicitly stated anywhere in the books that Harry or Hermione are people of color. However it is also not stated ANYWHERE IN THE BOOKS that they are white, and both of them are coded much more as people of color than they are as white, yet people always assume that white is default and the movies made them white, and therefore pretty much everyone assumes they are meant to be white. 

Hermione more than Harry, is fairly undeniably a black woman. It’s pretty difficult to deny it without your reasoning being racist, when one of her main physical features referenced repeatedly in the books is her big bushy curly hair, AND the only descriptor for her skin tone in the entire series is this quote:

“They were there, both of them, sitting outside Florean Fortescue’s Ice Cream Parlor — Ron looking incredibly freckly, Hermione very brown, both waving frantically at him.” [x, x]

[EDIT: a friend is doing a reread through the series and found a couple descriptors of her that describe her as pale/white to convey emotion: horror, shock, fear conveyed through “going pale” and that sort of thing– so it’s more debatable than I’d thought, but even if JKR had said “she’s white” that wouldn’t make headcanoning her as black invalid or without merit or value]

and JKR herself has favorited that article on Twitter as well as at least one piece of fanart involving Hermione being black (I did a quick skim through of her favorites and found zero fanart of Hermione being white, but I did find this): 

Hermione’s blood status in the books is used as a lens through which the young target audience of the HP series gets to see racism for what it is: horrible, unfounded, bigotry. Having Hermione be white while telling a story of racism is actually pretty shitty, since it implies that white people can only understand and relate to the plight of PoC if it’s shown to them through the lens of a white character– which is to say, it actually further enforces racism by othering PoC. 

It doesn’t actually teach white kids to empathize with brown kids, it teaches them to empathize with less well-off white kids. Many kids will make the mental jump, but they honestly shouldn’t have to. So having Hermione be white does a disservice to white kids and kids of color alike.

Representation is unbelievably important, ESPECIALLY for marginalized groups. This link is to a post about the importance of diversity in writing, with a ton of great links if you’d like more information on the subject.

As for Harry, I’ve got a bunch of posts [here, here, here, and here] addressing why him being specifically black or otherwise being a character of color is a great headcanon and why various people love it. Important details from those links include (but are not limited to):

“the fact that he was never mistaken for an actual relative of the Dursley’s in public”

“His black uncontrollable hair that his white family had NO IDEA how to deal with”

“Harry and James both have canonically jet-black untidy hair but no canon ethnicity” and the only descriptor in the books for Harry’s skin is that he has “great skin”

Harry having mixed blood status AND being mixed race makes for a very interesting literary parallel

“racism would/could have influenced people’s perceptions of him and his actions” growing up, explaining why no one stepped in to protect him from the Dursley’s

And beyond all of that, it’s taken me a while to realize that I’ve ALWAYS imagined Harry with brown skin. When I’ve drawn him I’ve always colored his skin darker than I did the characters around him, and when I didn’t he looked weird to me. Now, subtle racism made child me think “he’s tan :)” instead of “white isn’t default, Harry Potter isn’t necessarily white :)” but in hindsight I always thought of him as having darker skin and just hadn’t made the mental leap, which means he always READ as a character of color to me, and I was just too much of an oblivious white kid to register.

My personal favorite headcanon for Harry is that the Potter family is originally from India. This came about because I’ve spent hours upon hours looking at actors and models and performers from all over the world trying to find someone who looked at least sort of like my mental image of Harry Potter (so I could use someone as a reference for when I draw him) and the person I finally landed on is THIS adorable dork:

who’s name is Indraneil Senguptas. This is what I think Harry Potter would look like as an adult. This is also pretty much exactly how I imagine James.

The actress I landed on for Hermione (though this would be how she’d look as a young teen) is Amandla Stenberg:

And adult Hermione would have some Jessica Sula, Gina Torrez, and Antonia Thomas influences.

While I’m talking about Harry Potter characters of color, I’m just going to take this opportunity to add a link to this post, detailing why Beauxbatons is probably primarily a Muslim wizarding school.

And one more link to some cool art, and some discussion about how the movies shape our perceptions of characters, even when they probably shouldn’t.

The bottom line is that there’s nothing canon saying that they’re NOT people of color… but even if there WERE, there’s nothing wrong with headcanoning them as people of color. There are plenty of reasons to do so, from a need for representation, to a thirst for more diversity and fewer white-bread cardboard-cut-out characters, to finding literary parallels and significance in a CoC that aren’t there with white characters, to just plain feeling like it. There’s no good reason NOT to and there’s plenty of good reasons TO racebend the heck out of your favorite media.

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He’s fucking that salute up royally - look at that thumb!

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In Memoriam

a “Performance in a Leading Role” ficlet

John got up from his laptop, feeling numb. 

Well, so far 2016′s doing a bang-up job of sucking really hard, he thought. He stood by his chair for a moment, reeling.

Sherlock was downstairs in the kitchen, or at least he had been when John had ventured out for coffee an hour ago. He’d been sitting at the kitchen table, typing madly on his laptop, two nicotine patches on his forearm. He was hip-deep in pre-production on his directorial debut, an intense three-character film about the dissolution of a marriage during the aftermath of a dinner party. Molly had written the script. John loved it, and so did Sherlock, but that didn’t mean there wasn’t rewriting to be done.

This news was going to throw him right off his game.

Maybe I shouldn’t tell him. He won’t hear for hours on his own. Let him get some work done while he’s on a roll.

No, he’ll find out that I knew and didn’t say anything and he’ll be furious and that’ll throw him off even more.

He sighed and went downstairs. He could hear the machine-gun clacking of Sherlock’s keyboard as he approached.

He stood in the doorway for a moment, just looking at him. The sunlight was angling in and highlighting the streaks of gray that were just starting to come in at his temples. His own hair was lightening by the day, it seemed, as his dishwater blonde was overtaken with silver. They were both getting older. He was now on the wrong side of forty, and Sherlock wasn’t far behind him.

“Sherlock.”

“Hmm?” He didn’t look up, still typing. John didn’t say anything. After a moment, Sherlock glanced at him, then did a double-take. He stopped typing and sat back. “What is it, John? What’s happened?”

He walked forward and stood at Sherlock’s side, then put a hand on his shoulder. “Sweetheart, Alan died.”

Sherlock blinked. “Alan, who’s…” His eyes widened as he realized who John meant. “No.”

“I’m afraid so.”

He flapped a hand. “No, it’s one of those Internet hoaxes. Where’d you see that, on Facebook?”

“I wish it were. His family has released a statement.”

Sherlock went very still. He stared blankly at his laptop screen. “No,” he murmured.

John rubbed his shoulder. “I’m so sorry. I know you were friends.”

“He…died? When?”

“Today. He had cancer. Did you know he was sick?”

“I knew he’d been in hospital some time ago. I didn’t know he had cancer.” Sherlock leaned forward, his elbows on the table, and rubbed his hands over his face. “My God, Alan. I can’t believe it. He was…how old was he? He couldn’t have been 70 yet.”

“He was sixty-nine.”

Sherlock stood up and went to the window. John followed, keeping a bit of a distance. He’d been married to this man for four years, he knew that he’d reach out if he wanted comfort. “I should…send something. Call Rima. Maybe Emma will put something together for him, that’s her wheelhouse.” He raked a hand through his hair. “You know, we never worked together. It was always next year, next season, after this next project, we should talk about it, yes, let’s do that.” He took a deep breath. “Eventually, we all run out of ‘next season’s.” He turned and looked at John. “This must be upsetting for you, too. I know you were a fan.”

“It’s hard to imagine anyone not being. I never met him, but yeah. A big fan.” He went to Sherlock’s side and put his arm around his back. Sherlock pulled him close at once. John felt him tremble on his exhale and held him tighter. 

Sherlock bowed his face down to John’s hair. “Promise me you’ll never die,” he murmured.

John smiled. “I promise. If you’ll promise the same.” He felt Sherlock nod.

After a few moments, he drew away and went to the wine fridge. He pulled out a bottle of something and two glasses. “We’ll drink to a man whose talents we were privileged to witness,” he said, uncorking the wine.

John nodded. “First David Bowie, now this. I can’t believe it.”

 “It’s strange,” Sherlock said. “We know that we are mortal, and yet we are always surprised when that fact is brought home to us by a death.”

“The people we admire are supposed to be immortal,” John said. 

Sherlock handed him a full wineglass. His eyes were wet, but he was smiling a little. “If we continue to admire them, then they are.”

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This. If you don’t like what’s on your dash then change what makes up your dash. It really is that simple.

Hey remember when the Sherlock fandom all over yr dash meant acknowledgement in words and pictures that there are other characters on the show aside from John and Sherlock? And other actors besides Bendy and Marty?

I love them, they’re gorgeous, I hope Johnlock get married if that’s something they feel validated by (but no wedding please) and have/adopt zero babies or pets because they are pitifully ill-suited to family life but would do OK just the two of them, just barely, BUT this tunnel-vision on my dash is deathly boring.

Remember those pix of Loo with her nips showing? Una Stubbs in her jazzercise outfit? I’m not even talking shipping, I’m just saying, there are other faces on Sherlock and among them they must have close to 200 years in the industry, could we maybe take our blinders off?

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If I’d had a child at 13 and then my child had a child at 13 then that child had a child at thirteen ... no, not quite old enough to have a thirteen year old great grandchild but not that far off. 

I now feel very, very old. And very glad I wasn’t a teen mum.

To prove a point to yahoo, reblog if you are over the age of thirteen.

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I’m ill and on a Merlin kick again. So there is much sniffling from both cold and emotion in my house right now.

Arthur and Merlin willing to sacrifice their lives for the other

Requested by and Dedicated To allonsyemrys!

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This makes me happy. I’m presuming @atlinmerrick has heard this, but just in case :)

Sherlock and John having sex.

This..I can’t..how…I just.

I DID THIS WITH MY LOKI BLOG SO MUCH TIME AGO, I DIDN’T EVEN SHIP JOHNLOCK YET

@johnblogsstuff have you listened to this?!

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In 1994 I, an 11-year-old idiot, walked into a rehearsal room in the Old Athenaeum in Glasgow and was welcomed by the fucking Sheriff of Nottingham in a voice which made the room tremble. We sat down and my audition started, reading straight off the page dialogue so unavoidably brilliant that all you needed to do was read it straight off the page. I did not get the part. I was too young. I did, however, receive a long, hand-written letter from Joyce Nettles, the casting director, thanking me for auditioning and expressing regret that it hadn’t worked out. The only time this has ever happened. I think Alan may have had something to do with that. Two years later he was back, looking to cast the same parts in the film version of the same play. Now I was not too young and in the Winter of 1996 I spent two months (off school!) in the beautiful East Neuk of Fife, making a goddamn movie directed by Alan Rickman, written by Sharman MacDonald starring Emma Thompson, shot by Seamus McGarvey etc etc etc, working with all manner of brilliant people, some of whom are close friends and occasionally colleagues to this day. Just sickeningly lucky. When I left school and wanted to try and do this sort of thing for a living, Alan arranged a meeting with his agent. The first audition that agent got me was for Harry Potter. When I arrived at Leavesden Studios for the first time and met David Heyman for the first time, he told me he’d just had a call from Alan telling him how wonderful I was and that he’d be mad not to hire me. He hired me. When we got on set, (That set. That fucking glorious world of Jo Rowling’s mind brought to life so that we could walk around in it and touch it and be part of showing it to the entire world.) Alan introduced me to practically every great British actor I’d ever heard of. Telling them, “this is my boy.” When I told him how much I’d enjoyed the production of Private Lives he was in, he invited me and my best mate to New York to stay with him for a weekend and see it again. He booked shows for us to see every night, he took us on boat rides, he showed us the Big Apple. When my friend Donny wrote a play that he wanted me to be in, I sent it to Alan, hoping for some advice on where we might get it put on. He received it when he was stepping on a plane. When he landed he emailed me back, having read the whole thing and loved it. Two days later we received a printed copy of the play with mountains of suggested edits, cuts and thoughts scrawled across it in his handwriting, and a two page letter with praise for Donny and advice on who to take it to. He did the same for the next four drafts. This. Never. Stopped. In twenty years, all my experience of Alan was like this. He’d be on a mad press trip round the world, having just finished a broadway show and be about to start shooting a film - with several other projects as an actor, director, writer, board member, mentor bubbling away in the background - and if I needed anything he would immediately spend hours of his time helping me. AND, amazingly, I know of at least a dozen other people who had this same relationship with him. He was our fairy Godfather. He was the whisper in the right ear at the right time. He was the reassuring message when he sensed, always correctly, that we needed it most. He was new head shots or carpets or travel money when times were tough. How he found the time, let alone the will for all this is a mystery to me. He was the most generous, wise, supportive, talented, charismatic, empathetic person I think I’ve ever known. The last time I saw Alan he had, unbeknownst to me, been in hospital for the previous ten days. He got out that morning…and kept our theatre date. In a strange way I’m glad of that frightening episode, as it made me realise that even he was a mortal of flesh and blood and a certain age and he might not always be there. That evening when we parted, I hugged him and told him I loved him and I’m very glad of that now. On monday morning I will start rehearsals for a new play. It will be the first time since I was thirteen years old that I have engaged in such a project without being able to call on Alan for advice and support and I am utterly terrified. I can only hope that enough has rubbed off that I’ll be able to take it from here. I’m honestly not so sure… Goodnight, Alan. I will miss you every day.

Sean Biggerstaff (via severusnapers)

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Yes, this. Exactly why my tumblr is named what it is :)

edit anthology 207 (benedict’s heterochromatic eye) last image is art courtesy of inferno92

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I was tagged in a writing meme!

by the lovely @provocatrixxx - to go to page 7 of a WIP, go seven sentences down, share the next seven sentences and then tag seven other people.

Since I haven’t been writing much at all and I have no WIPs with proper sentences past the third page I’ve cheated a but. What you’ve got is seven sentences from the last story I worked on a few months ago. It’s a Merlin one and, I suspect, not remotely as interesting as people would hope! Although given it’s a story I abandoned in 2012 because of all the shit I was getting for it at the time, it might also make one or two people happy to know that I’ve tried to pick it back up again and return to righting the wrongs of Series 4 & 5 :)

‘Where is this village?’ Arthur didn’t feel the need to ask Agravaine if he thought the report were true, the state of him was proof enough of that. 

‘South East of Camelot on the edge of the Forest of Balor.  It is nearly two days hard ride on a swift horse.’ Agravaine looked up at his nephew, hope naked in his eyes.  ‘They can’t have reached the Valley of the Fallen Kings yet, not with a cart and moving off road.  Can you spare a patrol?’

‘I can do better than that, Uncle,’ Arthur reached out, clasping the older man’s forearms and giving him a reassuring smile, ‘I’ll go myself.’ 

I’m tagging @dreamerofbakerst @dancinggrimm @thecircusofme @atlinmerrick @mrsmarymorstan @azriona, @ladyprydian and anyone else who wishes to do it!

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Helena Bonham Carter and Judi Dench in A Room with a View

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