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fullkingdomphilosopher · 4 years ago

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Moriarty is not dead (yet)

Hello and a warm welcome to the three people who have somehow lost their way here. You are in for a ride. (Hope you read to the end.) :)

Because today I feel the need to waste my time by sharing my thoughts about a fictional character into the void of the internet to get it out off my mind. It might get a little long and unstructured at points so please bare with me. But you have been warned. So without further ado let us discuss why (BBC Sherlock’s) Moriarty is in fact. not. dead. (I have read many illogical theories about this topic so I am not claiming in any way to have come up with everything myself. The following will be a mixture of canon facts, my own thoughts and other people ideas. Irrelevant/not so convincing information will be stated in brackets or I will probably leave most of it out. Get comfortable and enjoy.)

Let us begin at the beginning by first taking a look at the information we get about Moriarty throughout the series. Please keep this general information in mind for later. (Here I will only comment if at all very superficially. Most are only general impressions I not necessarily agree with.)

(1) One can simply summarise season ones information about Moriarty the following way:

1. Moriarty is a criminal mastermind (consulting criminal)

2. He is bored, insane, intelligent, rich and powerfull

3. Sherlock-fanboy

4. Has not too much will to live

(2) So now let us take a more or less objective look at season two or more precisely some parts of »The Reichenbach fall«.

•Near the end Moriarty sits at the edge of the roof playing “stayin‘ alive” which he then upon Sherlocks‘ arrival comments by saying: “ (...)The Final Problem. “Staying Alive”. So boring, isn’t it? It’s just… staying.(...)”.

This tells us the following (does it?) :

1. Moriarty is bored of living and wants to die

2. Moriarty has planned for Sherlock to die now

3. Both

•Later while convincing Sherlock to jump he makes the mistake to say: “ (Your death is the only thing that’s going to call off the killers.) I’m certainly not going to do it.” which leads to the conclusion that Moriarty needs to die to make Sherlock jump. And by no means do I deny that Moriarty is mad enough to go as far as to kill himself only to win against Sherlock. (If he could have been completly sure to win he definitely would do so without hesitation.) He IS insane after all.

•Before shooting his brain out while talking to Sherlock he seems very...emotional. Since he is (very quickly) convinced now that Sherlock is not an ordinary person moreover he even is HIM (Moriarty) he can/has to die now peacefully (because he doesn‘t feel alone anymore) forcing Sherlock to jump.

Okay so now let us be a little more sceptical. You are telling me that we fully accept Sherlock beeing able to fake his death with Mycrofts help and even with a list of different plans but for the guy whose LITERAL job it is to fake deaths and who has an equally high IQ (or even higher) than Sherlock, it seems unlikely? (Keep in mind Moriarty is actually the superior one in this scene. We will discuss this later.) Moriarty didn‘t even care where the two of them would meet. It‘s like you can almost hear him say: “Wherever faking your death is easier for you darling. I will win anyway.” He actually wanted Sherlock to survive because he has bigger plans for him. Just think about it: if you were a psychopath and bored your whole live and then finally miraculously you find an interesting fragile toy, would you break it quickly or rather carefully play with it for as long as it still gives you joy? Also faking ones death by a shot in the head seems possible at almost any location. Just saying. (This one is a little far stretched but if Moriarty IS Sherlock wouldn't he do exactly the same thing? Faking his death, disappearing for a while and then amazingly coming back from the dead? But let's not digress.) He wants Sherlock to survive so badly he actually helps him by giving him hints (thats what the bored kind of criminal does). Did you notice how Moriarty after saying “I’m certainly not going to do it.” (You really think he would make such a dumb mistake while not even being pressured by anything?) turns his head back and expectedly looks at Sherlock?And he doesn't do so to watch him jump. If that was the case I believe he would give him his whole attention instead of shortly looking over his shoulder, no he waits for Sherlock to get it, to react. But let‘s continue with what happens before Moriarty “spontaneously” decides to kill himself. After their dramatic chat Moriarty shakes Sherlocks hand (which confuses Sherlock) and only lets go when he shoots himself. This might be a sign for his men/snipers for scenario “fake death” so they can shoot somewhere near him or anything like that. He could have faked his death by blood pakets in his coat, drugs, sleeping spray you name it. I don't really care how he did it (it‘s pointless to spectaculate about this) but I am quite sure if someone would find a way to do this it would be him.(Another thing is that while Moriarty drops dead to the ground he doesn't let go of the gun which is rather strange...and the blood only streamed from his head instead of splattering. But let us just write this off as a movie mistake. After all everybody makes mistakes. Also things on TV probably can't be too gory.)

(3) Season three. I think this is the most confusing season regarding the information about Moriarty. First of all we indirectly get to know from Anderson (yes I know very reliable source) that Moriarty‘s body wasn't found since his theory regarding Sherlock‘s death indicates that Moriarty‘s dead body with a sherlock mask on his face was used as Sherlock‘s dead body on the pavement. And while yes this is very ridiculous I think it is strange how Lestrade didn‘t correct him on the fact that it couldn‘t be Moriarty‘s body since it was found on the roof. (But admittedly this doesn't need to mean anything. Maybe Lestrade was just too fed up with him already.) However the confusing part just starts here. If we assume no body was found then how do they know Moriarty is dead? Who gave them this information? If you take a closer look it seems only people somehow related to Sherlock seem to know about Moriarty‘s death. But on TV they NEVER mention anything about it. They only report about how Moriarty supposedly was only an actor named Richard Brook paid by Sherlock to seem smart and about Sherlock falling or jumping to his death. Okay so they probably have got this information from Kitty but wouldn‘t it be very strange if Richard Brook committed suicide on this same roof before Sherlock jumped? Why would he do that? Also while still “playing” Moriarty since he didn't wear Brook‘s clothes? Nothing I can think of makes any sense how you could explain to the public why Richard Brook decided to commit suicide there. But then again even the papers only write about the death of the “fraudulent detective“ not mentioning anything about Moriarty or Richard Brooks death. Why not? Wouldn't this cause even more drama? “Fraudulent Detective kills” (or forces man to commit suicide). More drama means more readers/viewers so why not mention anything about it? Unless there is nothing to report about it since no body was found. Good you might say maybe Moriarty‘s men just took the body after Sherlock jumped but then how did Lestrade and Anderson knew he was dead? (Or was it just a ridiculous assumption of Anderson that Moriarty was dead? Well that would be a big coincidence.) Or maybe Mycroft‘s men took it and told Scotland Yard but why not make it public then? Or maybe really noone (except for Sherlock and Mycroft) knew about his death at this point? (Wouldn't Mycroft check for Richard Brook then?) Wouldn't the reporters wanna interview Brook then? About this traumatic event he got pulled in? Drama is good not only for the press but also for an actor. Brook would love to get attention in this case wouldn't he? Wouldn't...you know Kitty notice Richard was gone and report on that if he was really dead? Wouldn't it be strange that Brook suddenly stops acting? Well we don't really get any information so from this (admitted mess) I just conclude that simply no body was found. (If you can explain this situation otherwise you are very welcomed to do so.) And you know this is really funny because a certain someone himself said that it can only mean one thing in a detective show when there is no body (looking at you Mr. Moffat) namely that the victim survived. (I suppose you could also explain everything if it indeed was twins this way: Moriarty is dead and Brook is with Kitty. But I personally am not really convinced by this. Not because Sherlock said it‘s never twins but think about it: How big is the probability for both of them beeing amazing actors? This theory that Moriarty has a twin brother is quite popular. A main argument for this is how Moriarty is left handed while Brook appears to be right handed. Well First of all he can just be ambidextrous and second Jim from IT also mainly used his right hand in the scene he was in. And the creators stated first it was planned for Moriarty to only appear in this scene as Jim from IT so it definitely is Moriarty. Or do you think Moriarty would want his twin brother to meet Sherlock? That would miss the point. Moriarty is fascinated or rather obsessed with Sherlock that‘s why he wanted to meet him. Also if you watch closely you can see how he grins when leaving turning away from Molly. His (probably nonexsistent) twin brother wouldn't have any reason to do so. So we know he is quite good at acting/manipulating. Also if you think about it it is the exact same strategy: He finds a person that is useful to him, wins their trust and gets into a relationship with them to be able to get what he wants with their help. The exact same thing he did with Molly he now did with Kitty. So that underlines that it indeed was him and not a twin brother. Also wouldn‘t a twin brother...you know...ruin the joke of the name “Richard Brook”? Anyway after faking his death he probably just stayed with Kitty and then broke up with her/left her after the situation calmed down again.)

(4) Ah yes now on to my favourite part: Season four. What do we get to know in season four? Right! EVERYTHING WAS PLANNED! So Moriarty knew(/hoped) Sherlock wouldn't die there and he also probably knew he had to fake his death because otherwise Sherlock couldn't fake his. So he had way more than enough time to plan how he is going to do it. Why don't we deal with why Moriarty killed himself now. The obvious answer in season two is that he kills himself so Sherlock has to jump and Moriarty beats him this way. Some may say he hadn't any other choice which I don't agree with. If there was a code to stop the killers then there also was one to make the killers shoot the victims immediately. Moriarty could have just counted from 5 downward and if Sherlock didn't jump in that time he would just give the command to kill John, Mrs. Hudson and Lestrade. I mean what did he had to be afraid of? Beeing killed by Sherlock? Now that wouldn't make any sense would it if he decided to kill himself instead anyway? (Also it totally makes a lot of sense for Moriarty to squeak afraid when Sherlock holds him over the edge. That totally is what a person indifferent of life or without any future plans would do.) So you might be asking yourself why he would go as far as to make Sherlock believe he is dead especially when he knew Sherlock would survive the fall anyway? Why the struggle? Well that‘s simple. (That‘s the final problem: Staying alive.) He is playing a game. In case you didn't notice Sherlock played dumb/clueless in season 2 episode 3 with not only Moriarty but everyone around him since he couldn't be sure when Moriarty listens and wanted to have the upper hand in their little game. But everything Moriarty said on the rooftop was an act as well and if that is really the case he is not simply a good but a BRILLIANT actor.He had the upper hand all the time no matter what Sherlock did but he wanted Sherlock to believe that he is dead so Sherlock would feel he was superior over Moriarty. Great minds think alike. Also while yes of course Moriarty would be crazy enough to kill himself you can not tell me he wouldn't want to see Sherlock play with his sister, to see him struggle and fail. I mean his whole life purpose since he found Sherlock was to beat him so you're telling me he wouldn't wanna be there when what he has worked for finally happens? (I mean come on: he even paid over 30 million pounds in season one just to get Sherlock OUT to play and now he is fine with not seeing the ending? Why not watching Sherlock ‘fall‘? It is no secret he is OBSESSED with Sherlock.). He could still have killed himself afterwards. Also does he really trust Eurus THAT much? Okay so now you might ask why he didn't show himself in season four then. (No rush.) Patience is key my friend. (One last not very convincing thing in season four I just want to throw in: In one of Moriarty‘s recordings in Sherrinford in which he immitates a clock he stops after Sherlock screams. I guess it could be a coincidence but regarding none of the other recordings stopped showing only a quietly at the camera starring Moriarty it must be a gigantic one.)

So now if you think I am done then think again and get ready for the unstructured part of my little essay. (Yes even more unstructured than everything before.) Here follows other short information about Moriarty and clues why he is still alive from the whole show in no special order:

(- I will start with one not very convincing one you might actually have already known since you are on tumblr. The lyrics of the song “Who you really are” which plays at the end of episode three of season four repeatedly states: “Moriarty is alive”. While I believe it probably somehow is possible to change the lyrics for anyone I don't really get why anyone would wanna do this unless it is official or someone is just trolling. Or both.)

-Moriarty is soo changeable

-Moriarty is a good hacker

(-What is this strange “Surprise, you didn't think I'd just dissappear did you?”-clip that was played after season three I believe? If it is supposed to be just one of the clips Moriarty filmed for Eurus why is the background different? I think there are actually clips of him with three different backgrounds? Why? Too much to shoot in one day? If you have any thoughts on this please let me now.)

-Contrary to some others I don't believe Moriarty is just Eurus puppet. I don't see any need for that. Eurus is just Moriartys client like many others on the show. They both have the same goal. Eurus actually was so interested in him because she noticed his interest in Sherlock so it is not that everything from the beginning was Eurus‘ brilliant puppet show. If any then it was him who used her but I don't want to dive into this topic now.

-Moriarty‘s problem is that he is supposedly the best and everyone else around him is boring and can't get to him. He is lonely and depressed. But why would he still want to kill himself after meeting Eurus? Isn't she interesting enough? Or did he still think Sherlock would beat her too? But wouldn't there then again be a point in living to beat Sherlock or kill him like he promised in season one?

-In the special “The abominable bride” I think Sherlock isn't looking after the answer to the question how Moriarty killed himself rather than why he did it. And the Moriarty in his head turns around showing him the hole in his head asking something like if it was very obvious and saying maybe he just needs a Good back comb. Back comb. Comeback. Sherlock concludes in this moment that Moriarty faked killing himself to have a good comeback. So he actually does know now that Moriarty isn't dead.

-Moriarty IS the main villain/antagonist of the show. Even after his supposed death in season 2 he still reappears or gets mentioned in most of the other episodes and even at the end with Eurus. Why would a writer do that if it was pointless? I don't think they would want degrade him if Andrew Scott‘s amazing performance even made them rewrite the script to have more Moriarty. Mister Gatiss and Mister Moffat are the real Moriarty fanboys here. They just build up tension very slowly while also getting the attention mostly off him for now. Moriarty is Sherlock‘s equal. His shadow. So he SHOULD be endgame. It is simply impossible to create a bigger villain now since he reappeared in all the seasons until now. Unless the writers plan to write at least 5 more seasons of course.

-In season four Eurus tells Sherlock Moriarty wasn't interested in living but in the impact he would have by dying. But does he really trusts her so much? Is he really okay with gifting her his favourite toy? Or is he maybe just using her as he does with everybody else? Maybe she isn't lying but simply doesn't know he is still alive.

-You might say: “But Sherlock clearly says that Moriarty is dead. Especially after the special.” Well yes he does. But (1.) he was on drugs. (2.) he really needs to believe (or rather not really Sherlock but the audience) that Moriarty is dead. Otherwise his (anticipated) comeback would be too predictable and boring. (3.) Sherlock isn't always right but I admit he is most of the time so most importantly (4.) he still keeps playing. The game isn't over yet and he needs to play safe. He keeps on playing dumb/clueless like he did in “The Reichenbachfall” where he even lied to John about Moriarty not touching or writing anything so Moriarty feels superior. We never get the IOU conclusion he worked on all the time. He kept everybody including us clueless just as he does now in season 4 to have the upper hand again or at least not to be in disadvantage.

-Then you also might say something like: “But this isn't like in the Canon.” Ah yes. The Canon. (1.) Remind me again where does it say this in the Canon? Before the secret, psycho genius sister held captive in a maximum security prison on a secluded island or after?...You get the point? (2.) Originally even Sherlock should be dead in the Canon (Which I actually think might happen in season five). (3.) It isn't even against the Canon since in the Canon Moriarty dies in “The final problem” and not in “The Reichenbach Falls”. Him dying in season two would actually be more against the Canon.

(-Since Mycroft was with Eurus alone before and isn't really on her side maybe he actually is controlled by her too without knowing so? Maybe he unknowingly even helped Moriarty? But this seems rather unrealistic. Just a thought.)

-Now something I don't really get: Eurus said apparently she was Moriarty‘s revenge on Sherlock. His revenge for what? Killing himself for no real reason? That seems not very smart. Beeing his distraction in the big boring world? Or maybe they have a history we don't know of? It seems quite possible. If Sherlock was able to delete Eurus from his mind why couldn't he have done the same thing with Moriarty?

-Why does Eurus mention Moriarty has a brother who was a station master? Why was he jealous of him? Why WAS he a station master? Is he dead now or does he just got a different job if he isn't one anymore? Why is there all this train imagery in Moriarty‘s clips? Why is that important at all? Is this foreshadowing, simple taunting or am I missing something completely? (The last thing at the end of season four we see is Sherlock and John running out of a train station but I don't know if that has really anything to do with that.)

-Fight me on this one but the ending is too perfect. I didn't buy it for one second. I mean character development and friends bla bla but you want to tell me Sherlock suddenly wouldn't be bored without Moriarty? Sure the normal cases will keep him occupied for some time but eventually sooner or later they will just bore him again, don't you agree? You can't “cure” a sociopath. And without the right stimulation he might become the “bad” guy himself or simply die of boredom.

-Moriarty WANTS Sherlock dead. Just in a slow fun way. On John‘s blog Moriarty even wonders how Sherlock‘s skull would look like on his wall. He is obsessed obviously.

-Don't get me wrong I am not sad or mad about the fact Moriarty is supposedly dead. But rather on HOW he died. His death should be something big something grandiose. I am talking a whole city exploding why fireworks spell out his name -grandious. (Well maybe not that extra but you get the point.) I refuse to believe he would be fine dying in such a simple way without the world even knowing his name. Come on. It‘s “I-dance-while-stealing-the-crown-jewels-Moriarty” not “Jim-from-IT”. If he is still alive I am sure he will die in the last season but in a more exciting way.

(-While trying to get out the information if he really has a sister out of Mycroft Sherlock let's one if them say: “Nothing is impossible.”)

-Let‘s talk about my favourite clue at the end now because I am tired. Do you remember a certain little conversation Sherlock and Moriarty had when evil queen Moriarty came to visit and dishonored Sherlock‘s apple? Let me remind you:

JIM: You know when he was on his death bed, Bach, he heard his son at the piano playing one of his pieces. The boy stopped before he got to the end ... SHERLOCK: ... and the dying man jumped out of his bed, ran straight to the piano and finished it. JIM: Couldn’t cope with an unfinished melody. SHERLOCK: Neither can you. That’s why you’ve come.

Does any bell ring with you? Sherlock is playing Moriarty‘s game: The death of Sherlock. But he doesn't play it to the end. So Moriarty will return to finish it. After all as Sherlock says Moriarty can't cope with an unfinished melody so he wouldn't die before finishing it.

All that beeing said I still also wouldn't be surprised (just disappointed because I feel Moriarty is the only one who is a match for Sherlock and could do so much more entertaining things.) if he really was dead. Because after all this is only fiction. In fiction there are often many logical explanation for events but only the ones the writers decided on will be the truth. (Unless you guys are up to rioting. Anyone has their adresses? Just kidding of course for legal reasons. I think they do a really good job with the show and while I must say I hate liars I respect artists. Imagine they would just tell us everything that would happen from the beginning. That would be boring. Looking forward to season five. I am sure we will get it before 2050. :))

So thanks to coming to my TED-talk. If you have any other helpful information I have missed, questions, opinions on this, criticism or anything else feel free to write me. And please tell me if you have really read to the end. I am curious if anyone has. :)

(Sorry for grammar mistakes and such. It has been a while since I wrote this much in English.)

#moriarty theory #moriarty #sherlock #moriarty is alive #sherlock season 5

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littlestarofthewest · 4 years ago

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Title: Matthew’s Monster Mystery | Words: 2759 | Rating: Mature

Pairing: Gen | (past John x Abigail) | Tags: monster AU, modern AU, WIP

Credit: inspired by @veradia‘s art | with input from @fangirl-ramblings and @sad-sweet-cowboah

Summary: When John insists on going to a Halloween party, Abigail worries that people might catch on that she and her friends aren't just dressed up as monsters. If only she knew that the night would take a turn for the worse.

Arthur hears voices the second he opens the apartment door, meaning that his three roomies are home, and judging from the sound of it, they're arguing.

"Come on, Abby. It's a party, not a matter of life and death."

"John, you're literally dead," Abigail counters, making Arthur huff a laugh.

He checks the mail on the counter while the argument continues in the other room.

"So? Doesn't mean I have to act like it," John says. "Back me up here, Sadie."

"He has a point," Sadie says, and Arthur enters the room right as Abigail scuffs at her in disbelief.

"What's going on here?" Arthur asks, and when both John and Abigail attempt to answer, he points at Sadie. "I'd rather hear it from her."

John leans back against the couch like a sulking child while Abigail crosses her arms and glares at Arthur.

"John brought home this flyer for a Halloween party he wants to go to," Sadie says, nodding to a piece of paper on the table. "Guess what Abigail has to say about that."

"I can imagine," Arthur says, and Abigail huffs.

"And you know I'm right."

It's one of those times Arthur wonders why exactly he lives with these quarrelers, but as a werewolf, he can't exactly be picky. After all, he's lucky that they want to live with him. If only they left him out of these disputes.

To stall, Arthur picks up the flyer and reads through it, feeling everybody's eyes on himself.

"I understand your concerns, Abigail," Arthur begins, only to be interrupted by John, who jumps up from the sofa.

"Oh, come on. Not you, too!"

"But," Arthur continues, emphasizing the word as he looks at John, "I don't see the harm."

John slaps his hands together, throwing a triumphant "Ha!" at Abigail. She only rolls her eyes at him before turning to Arthur.

"You can't be serious," she says. "Us? At a party? I thought we agreed to fly under the radar. After all, we're not exactly the fitting in kind."

"In this case, we are," Arthur says, holding up the flyer. "Everybody's going to be in costume. I wouldn't have to worry about any teeth or fur showing, and John could go out without having to hide the fact that he's nothing but a rotting corpse for once."

"Appreciate the support, brother," John throws in with a sarcastic tone.

Arthur grins at him before Sadie snatches the flyer from his hand to read through it as well. "Look, Abigail, it's not even a Halloween party. It's tonight, not tomorrow. And it takes place in an abandoned factory. The area is huge, and nobody's going to look at us twice. And if they do, we'll just claw their eyes out and eat their hearts."

"Not. Funny," Abigail says, looking like she's about to claw Sadie's eyes out. She might have done so if it wasn't for the fact that Sadie could just pop them back in without harm.

"You could use a day off yourself," Arthur says, trying to set Abigail at ease. "You might not have the physical problems we have, but we know you're struggling with hiding all the time."

"Yeah," John throws in before Abigail can disagree once more. "Imagine a night out. Putting on a nice dress, dusting off the pointy hat. And if you throw some sparks, people will think it's a cool party trick."

"I don't know," Abigail says, the fight leaving her.

"Come on," John says. He walks over to Abigail and takes her hands. "Let me see those sparkling eyes."

Abigail tries her best to hide it, but a smile creeps onto her face. It's moments like these that make Arthur wonder why the two of them are not a couple anymore. They'd be great if they could just stop with the constant fighting.

"Show us, Abby," Sadie says, and when Abigail shakes her head, Arthur chimes in as well.

"You know you want to."

"Fine." Abigail takes a deep breath, closing her eyes. When she opens them, they're glowing with golden spots. "Let's go to the party."

--------

Arthur shoulders his way through the crowd to get back to their table. The gang turned him into their personal waiter since he has the best assets to get through the dancing people.

"Coming through," he growls, and a steampunk Sherlock jumps to the side, dragging a person in a full-body fox costume with them to make room.

Climbing the stairs to the upper level, Arthur has the same effect on a few more people. Although they must think that it's a costume, they still seem mighty impressed. To celebrate the occasion, Arthur didn't bother to even put on a shirt, his fur and general body heat enough to keep him warm. The only thing he's holding back at the moment is the claws. It's kind of hard to carry drinks with them.

At the table, Arthur hands Sadie a beer before putting down two bottles of whiskey. Abigail's still nipping on her first cocktail, her eyes growing big at the sight.

"What are you doing? I thought we were at least trying to be inconspicuous."

"We are," John says before grabbing one of the bottles. "Nobody's even looking at us."

He takes a drag from his joint, and Abigail rolls her eyes. "Why would you risk getting in trouble with that? You can't get high anyway."

"I just like the taste," John says before opening the whiskey bottle and drinking from it as if it was water.

He's clearly baiting Abigail, but she doesn't lay into him for once, looking at Arthur instead. "Why do you always indulge him?"

"Maybe I just want to see how much his body can take before it falls apart."

Sadie laughs when John makes a face, and even Abigail fights a smile. Arthur pulls up his glass and pours himself a drink before pushing it over to Abigail.

"Think you can give it a little kick?"

Just like John, Arthur can't get drunk from alcohol alone, but being roommates with a witch has its perks. It didn't take them long to figure out that Abigail's magic can spice things up a little.

Abigail looks around as if to make sure that nobody's watching. Arthur's convinced that even if somebody does, they wouldn't care. Most people here are drunk, high, or otherwise engaged. Abigail shrugs before holding out her fist over Arthur's glass. She opens it up and then moves her finger in a circle. The liquid in the glass glows and moves with her finger, then a small puff of smoke goes up in the air.

"Thank you kindly," Arthur says, and Abigail smiles.

"I guess it's really pretty safe."

"Told you," John chimes in before pushing his bottle over to Abigail. "Now do mine."

Abigail frowns at him, venom in her voice when she speaks. "John Marston, when the hell will you finally learn some manners?"

"What? You did it for Arthur."

"He asked," Abigail spits, but before she can say more, Sadie jumps up.

"That's it, you two are killing my vibe. I need something to do. You coming, Arthur?"

The chances of John and Abigail getting into another fight is pretty high, so Arthur gets to his feet. "Right behind you."

They make their way downstairs, and Sadie keeps looking around as if she's searching for something in particular.

"You got a plan?" Arthur asks, and Sadie smiles.

"I think I do."

A few minutes later, they're standing beside a table that's filled with cups. Sadie found a few "easy boys" as she called them, and challenged them to a game of beer pong. While she's playing, Arthur stands to the side and enjoys the show.

Since Sadie doesn't even have a bloodstream the alcohol could get into, it's no trouble for her to have a drink or two. Not that it really comes to that. All of her balls hit their targets, and the "easy boys" don't stand a chance.

A few people come closer to the table, watching as Sadie's opponents do their best to beat her, one of them swaying dangerously from one side to the other. They didn't stand a chance from the start, but the drunker they get, the funnier it is to watch them try. After a while, even Arthur begins to feel his pumped up drink and cheers for Sadie. At least until a small figure appears next to him.

"Hey, big boy," the woman says, smiling at him.

She's wearing a tight black dress, her hair falling in waves over her shoulder. Arthur's eyes are drawn to her blood-red lips and then to her nails when she trails them along his arm.

"That is such a great costume. The fur looks so real."

"It is," Arthur says, regretting it a second later.

The red lady doesn't seem to care, though. She keeps touching him and looks up to him through her fake lashes. "I wish I would have dressed as Red Riding Hood. You could have been my big bad wolf."

A shiver runs down Arthur's spine, something he rarely gets to feel. "I- uhm," he starts while drawing a complete blank for what to say next.

"Told you, I'll win, honey," a familiar voice says, and Sadie grabs Arthur's arm before dragging him down to plant a kiss on his cheek. "Let's head back."

She doesn't give the red lady a second glance and pulls Arthur along. When they're out of earshot, Arthur sighs. "Thank you."

"You looked like you were about to pass out."

"I'm not even sure what she wanted."

Sadie laughs. "Climb you like a tree would be my guess."

"But why?"

"One of these days, we'll get you a nice box of self-esteem, and then you'll see." Sadie leans in, putting her lips right by Arthur's ear. "Big bad wolf."

"Just keep walking," Arthur grunts and maneuvers Sadie up the stairs.

Surprisingly enough, they find John and Abigail sitting on the same side of the table. Judging by Abigail's rosy cheeks, they buried the hatchet and gave John's bottle a little kick after all.

"You seem chipper," Sadie says, and Abigail shrugs.

"When you can't fight them, join them. Right?" Abigail says, looking back and forth between Arthur and Sadie. "What have you been up to."

"Sadie dragged some guys," Arthur says, and John and Abigail both laugh.

"They had it coming," Sadie says, waving her hand dismissively. "Way more important - Arthur got hit on."

"By who?" Abigail asks.

"Sexy vampire lady," Sadie says with a grin.

John leans back in his chair with an expression on his face like Christmas came early. "Bet you loved that."

"Just shut up," Arthur grunts before emptying his glass and reaching for his bottle to fill it right up again.

Abigail pats his arm. "She probably wasn't the one. Doesn't mean we can't keep looking."

"How about her?" John asks, nodding to a small group next to them. "The fairy. What do you think, Arthur?"

The woman in question is about Sadie's height, with long silvery hair. She's wearing a dress that looks like the wind blew up some leaves, and she walked away with the ones that got stuck.

"That I'd snap her like a twig."

"No, don't say that," Abigail says, and Sadie leans over the table to get a better look.

"You think she's the real deal? That doesn't look like a wig, and she sure has the physique for a fairy."

They all stare at the woman now, but it's hard to tell if someone is a monster or not. After all, they might be pretty good at hiding, just like the four of them are.

"Bet you 5 bucks she's real," John says, and Arthur takes another look at her.

It's been a while that he ran into someone like them. To him, the fairy looks as real as the vampire lady.

"Fine, you're on."

"I say fake, too," Abigail says. "From what I can tell, there's no magic on her."

"You might be right, but I still bet on her being real," Sadie says, leaning around Arthur for a better view. "I wouldn't mind a little magic from her."

"Let's find out then," John says, and before Abigail can hold him back, he already stumbles over to the poor woman.

They don't understand what John's saying, but while the woman smiles at first, her expression quickly changes, and she slaps John before storming off.

Despite the harsh treatment, John comes over with a smile. "Guess I was wrong. She's no fairy."

He throws money on the table, and Arthur pockets it while Abigail studies John's face.

"You just got slapped, and you lost the bet. What are you smiling about?" she asks.

"Fake fairy was very excited when I asked about her number for the pretty blonde at my table," John says, winking at Sadie. "She only slapped me when I asked if I could watch."

"You're an idiot," Abigail says, but Sadie jumps to her feet.

"You're a genius," she says, clapping John's shoulder before disappearing into the crowd.

John sits down and takes a swig from his bottle. "One down, one to go. So, vampire lady, huh?"

Arthur only shakes his head. The last time John tried to set him up didn't end well, and Arthur has no desire to try again.

"Why one to go?" Abigail asks. "What about me?"

"Oh, I know who you're going home with," John says, and by the way he looks at her, she and Arthur can tell what he means.

"No way," Abigail laughs, but Arthur has seen those signs before.

"I'll get another drink," he says, getting up from his chair.

Abigail shakes her head at John, who's still giving her what he might think are bedroom eyes before turning to Arthur. "Your bottle is practically full."

"You two take that one," Arthur says.

He doesn't want to stick around. Either John and Abigail are going to fight again or they'll get along way better than Arthur cares to see. Although he's not that interested in going on the prowl, he'll rather take his chances in the crowd. Maybe he can find somebody nice after all. Everything, as long as it's not a vampire.

-------

When they leave two hours later, Arthur's just tired, Sadie has fake fairy's phone number in her pocket, and John and Abigail whisper and laugh with each other about things only they find funny.

Therefore, Arthur's happy when his phone lights up with an incoming video call.

"Hey guys, look," he says, waving the other's over before answering the call. "Hey, Hosea."

Their friend and somewhat father figure waves back at them. "Hello, Arthur. How are you doing?"

"We're just walking home from a party."

"Party, huh? That's smart. Blending in with the Halloween crowd."

Both John and Abigail break into fits of laughter, and Sadie huffs. It's funny to hear Hosea call John smart of all people.

"What are you up to this late?" Arthur says, trying his best to focus on Hosea.

"I'm meeting a friend, we're-"

Hosea trails off, and Arthur can see him look around.

"You're alright, Hosea?"

"Yeah, I just thought I-" Hosea starts, but then he looks away from his phone again, his eyes growing big. "Hey, what are you-"

The picture shakes, Hosea disappearing out of the frame. "Let me go," he grunts, then the image goes dark.

"Hosea," Arthur shouts, but his phone switches the screen, showing him that the call has ended.

"What the hell was that?" Sadie says, and John and Abigail both stare at Arthur, all happiness drained from their faces.

"I think someone attacked him," Arthur says, his whole body tingling at the words.

He looks down at his phone and finally has the sense to call Hosea back. It rings again and again, but nobody answers.

"What now?" John asks. "We should do something, right?"

"Find him, of course," Abigail says.

"Was he in the park?" Sadie asks. "I think I saw that ugly fountain in the background."

The picture of what they just saw comes up in Arthur's mind. "You're right, we should go. Maybe whoever he was about to meet wasn't a friend after all."

They quickly make their way along the street towards the nearby park. Another shiver runs down Arthur's spine, giving him a bad feeling. He'd never admit it out loud, but he doesn't believe that they'll find Hosea so easily.

Something is very, very wrong.

#rdr2 fanfiction #cara's halloween au #my writing

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romioneficfest · 5 years ago

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Halloween at the Burrow

Title: Halloween at the Burrow

Prompt/Day: Day 8 · Skirt

Tumblr name:

Rating: K

Brief summary: Halloween has been a yearly affair at the Burrow ever since Teddy Lupin declared it was his favorite holiday, and this year is no exception. Harry and Ron, with little Rose in tow, are convinced they have the best costume this year— but their wives may give them some competition.

“It’s perfect,” Ron snickered under his breath, slowly pulling on the black skirt over his gangly legs. “Oh, Harry, this is bloody genius, they’ll never see this coming.”

“Keep it down, Ron,” said Harry, though he was also trying his hardest to stifle a giggle as he struggled to pull on the tight khaki Quidditch pants. “Last thing we need is for them to come snooping ‘round and find out before it’s time.”

“It’s bloody brilliant, I tell you,” said Ron enthusiastically, now shaking on a black top. “Blimey, I think this is the most excited I’ve been for Halloween in a while.”

Halloween at the Burrow had become a yearly affair ever since Teddy Lupin, in a shock of bright blue hair, declared it was his favorite holiday because it was the only day of the year he could freely Metamorph without earning some weird looks his way. Of course, Ron thought fondly, it may just also be the only day of the year the bugger knows he can outdo us all: having grown up between magic, Teddy whined constantly about not being able to do with his wand what he saw his family do, and telling him that he’d be able to do it when he went to Hogwarts seemed to be of little comfort. This was the one are where he knew he could do something not even Aunt Hermione’s strongest Disillusionment charms could measure up to.

So the greatest event of the night was always seeing what Teddy had chosen to Metamorph into. Last year, he’d appeared as a porky, greasy short boy with a piggy nose and a nasty shock of blond hair, inspired —as he’d told them— by how “Uncle Harry always tells me about that mean boy from when he was my age”, and Harry had had to leave the room wheezing at how well Teddy had incarnated Dudley. This year, Ron thought, he’d do something less revolting: he’d noticed him staring at Victoire, whose usual fairy attire accentuated her long silver-blond hair, and he thought this year he may go for impressing her.

Arthur and Molly always paired up and went as a variety of Muggle character duos, which Hermione happily kept supplying when they looked for new ideas: Archie (which paired nicely with the hair) and Betty, Gomez and Morticia Addams, Sherlock Holmes and Watson, Fred and Velma Flintstone… They didn’t always get them 100% right, which was understandable, and Harry and Hermione didn’t have the heart to tell them they highly doubted Bonnie and Clyde would’ve approved of Molly’s bonnet.

Fleur, in an attempt to improve her English, had once purchased a thick book on the history of the United Kingdom, and had pulled images from it to dress like a new English royal every Halloween. The most notable one was where she dressed like Anne Boleyn and Bill (who always went as a rockstar, given all he had to do was wear a different band tee under his usual clothes) joked all dinner about how he was losing his head over how great she looked.

In a similar move, Hermione was partial to dressing like Jane Austen heroines, and she once had gotten Ron to don tails and a top hat to accompany her (which he’d sworn, gasping and pulling at the tight collar, he’d never do again), and she’d likely be going as one tonight. Ron found ways to dress up as every snack available at Honeydukes: a giant cardboard box became a carton of Every-Flavored Beans, a small Hover charm and some tulle made him a convincing Fizzing Whizzbee… His costume was usually Teddy’s favorite, since he was too small to understand some of the adult’s references, but candy? Oh, candy he knew. Ginny picked a different Hogwarts professor to embody every year, and so far, her McGonagall had been the most convincing, though her Flitwick had been funniest. Harry usually just wore jeans and a blue T-shirt and, to anyone who asked what he was supposed to be, he’d amusingly pull out his own Chocolate Frog card (where he was wearing the same outfit) and would say, in a mock insufferable voice, “I’m the Boy Who Lived, haven’t you heard?”

But tonight, he and Ron were switching it up. They’d gone into town and made off with a couple of wigs, some dark black women’s clothing, a Gryffindor scarf, and Quidditch robes they’d gotten at a fan store: in short, everything they needed to turn into their wives. As a two-year-old James whizzed around their legs, knocking into their ankles with the handle of a toy broom and dressed as a Hippogriff, Ron adjusted the bushy chestnut wig on his head and kept fussing with it, saying in awe, “Blimey, how does she manage with all this hair?”

“Beats me,” said Harry as he struggled to button the tight pants that’d go under the emerald robes with WEASLEY in gold on the back. “How Ginny can fit into these and still look incredible, now, that’s the real question…”

“Oi, mate, that’s my sister you’re talking about,” said Ron in faux offense, tossing a box of hairpins at him, which he caught easily.

“Also my wife,” Harry smiled, looking down at James as he made his way around them, hooting gleefully. “Say, Ron, how does it feel to be in the clothes of the brightest witch our age?”

“I wouldn’t know, just last week the instructions to building a couch stumped her,” said Ron, now draping the Gryffindor scarf around his neck. “I told her we were gonna do it with magic, but no, she said it had to be the Muggle way— granted, I almost impaled Rose last time I tried to charm a screwdriver…” he said, gesturing vaguely to Rose, who was bumbling contentedly on the bed. To complete the Hermione Granger look, her rosy toddler face was shrouded in ginger fur, part of the Crookshanks costume they’d gotten her into. “How about you, Harry? What’s it like to be the youngest player ever signed by the Holyhead Harpies?”

In response, Harry merely did a whirl to send the tail of his uniform and the tips of his long orange-red wig flying, and attempted to pose defiantly, but lost his balance and tripped back onto the bed.

“Mate,” announced Ron as he pulled Harry to his feet again, “let’s hope to Merlin she’s not that clumsy on the field, otherwise the Harpies have lost the season already.”

Giving the last finishing touches to their costumes, Ron picked up Rose and held her in the crook of his hip, bouncing her lightly: “We’re gonna give Mummy a surprise, aren’t we, Rosie? She’ll never see it coming… You ready?” he said, turning to Harry.

Harry nodded, his face split in a giddy grin, and opened the door slightly to let James whizz out on the broom— a herald of their eventual descent. Then, Rose in her father’s arms and Harry clutching a broom, they tiptoed down the stairs stealthily, careful not to send any boards creaking so their appearance could remain a surprise, containing their snickering as they imagined the look on their wives’ faces.

When, finally, they reached the landing, Ron turned for one last knowing look at Harry, cleared his throat, and put on a mock high-pitched voice as they swung into the kitchen: “Oh, Molly, do you happen to know whether Ron and Harry have come—”

He and Harry stopped cold in their tracks when they saw the sight that met them: Hermione bore a shock of red hair and an almost-exact replica of the dreadful dress robes Ron had once worn to the Yule Ball, while Ginny had appropriated Harry’s usual blue tee and jeans, drawn a lightning scar across her forehead and placed glasses on her nose, and carried baby Albus —who was lost, just like Rose was, in a sea of white feathers, the Hedwig to Ginny’s Harry— in the crook of one arm. Shocked, the two men looked at their wives with their mouths ajar, disbelieving the triumphant looks on their faces. Silence pervaded for a few more instants as the two couples (Harry and Ron in shock, Hermione and Ginny in victory) examined one another— and then shattered as they both broke out laughing at the same time.

#Romione FicFest 2020 #Fic Post #Romione #Ron Weasley #Hermione Granger #Submission #Queue Up for the Dragon #Rated K #Ace Safe

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glam-apollo · 4 years ago

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Title: Mr. Yellow Dies

Fandom: Dirk Gently’s Holistic Detective Agency

Summary: When Jane Oliver approaches Dirk Gently's Holistic Agency about a murder she thinks might have happened years ago without any clues, evidence, or even a victim, the agency quickly agrees to take the case. Dirk, Farah, and Todd find themselves at the Oliver family's Halloween party while investigating and have to participate in the family's Halloween tradition: the murder mystery party game. Will solving this fictional murder help them uncover anything about the real crime they're investigating, or is just a distraction from the actual case? And who died, anyways?

Written for the Halloween @dghdabigbang! @browneyes-asiandragon made some lovely artwork accompanying the story so please go check it out! It’s really amazing!

I’ve included the fic on here but you can also read it on ao3 if preferred.

Mr. Yellow Dies

Knock! Knock! Knockity-Knock!

There was a pause before the sound of footsteps could be heard coming from inside the house. The front door creaked open. The man opening the front door was tall, well-built, with dark hair that flopped nicely over his forehead. He smiled at the trio that stood on his doorstep but his eyes betrayed confusion. "Can I help you? You seem a bit old for trick or treating."

Todd Brotzman looked at the man standing next to him out of the corner of his eyes. What were the three of them doing there? They certainly were an odd trio--Holmes, Watson, and a Care Bear, all a good fifteen years too old to be ringing doorbells asking for candy. What was his plan? He'd been vague as ever on the way over, assuring Todd that it was a party, a party for the case, and everyone loved parties, now, didn't they? So come along!

The whole ordeal had started with a simple statement. “I’ve been invited to a party twice,” Dirk Gently announced to his friends proudly in their agency’s office. “And, as much as I’d like to think this shows I’ve come far in my social standing, I’m afraid there will be no possible way for me to attend this party twice at the same time.”

"Two invites?" Farah Black said. “You got two invites to the Olivers' Halloween party?”

“Indeed I did, Farah!” Dirk said.

Todd set down the files he had been sifting thru. “How’d you manage that?”

“My natural charms and talents, of course,” Dirk said, pretending to be offended. “Geez, Todd.”

"What’s the plan, then? I don’t want to sit around, waiting for a report of two party-crashers getting shot." Farah pursed her lip. “No offense.”

“None taken,” Todd said. “I’ll stay back.”

"Au, contraire!" Dirk said. "Farah will be accepting my invitation from Jane. I will be going with my invite from Lenny. And Todd will be going as my date."

"Right, okay," Farah shrugged.

"What?" Todd said.

That had been five days ago. Since then it had been a flurry of finding costumes, Dirk obsessively dragging Todd and Farah into any Halloween themed store he could find, arguing he hardly ever went to parties, much less costume parties, so they should indulge him. Todd secretly thought that it was very likely Dirk had a long streak of elaborate costume parties from his days back in England, but he held his tongue. Seeing Dirk delighted by styrofoam coffins and confused by slutty fireman costumes was worth keeping his own suspicions withheld.

In the end, Dirk had somehow managed to convince Todd that a Sherlock-Watson duo costume was a good idea. “You see,” he pointed out, “no one would suspect actual detectives to dress as detectives for Halloween! That would be absurd.” Todd agreed that, yes, it would be absurd. Dirk bought him a bowler hat anyways.

Farah had been quietly indecisive about her costume all month. Todd hadn’t been sure what she’d go as--she’d shown interest in a variety of things, from a champion scuba diver she said was a childhood hero to the main character of the action novels she’d been obsessively reading during downtime in the office. In the end, she ended up with a Care Bears onesie Tina had lent her after, from what Todd understood, a very long phone call about how stressful Halloween was and a subsequent long drive to Bergsberg on the 30th.

Back at the front door, Dirk smiled at the man questioning them. The man was quite handsome, with a square jaw and tough cheekbones. Almost too classically handsome, Todd thought to himself. But it worked with his costume--some variation on Dracula--which became apparent when he opened his mouth and showed off his tiny fangs.

"Max Oliver?" Dirk asked confidently.

"Yes," the man said, eyebrows raised, fangs revealed in the O his mouth formed. "And you are?"

"Dirk Gently," he said, pushing the front of his deerstalker cap out of his face. "I was invited by Lenny. This is my date, Todd, and this is the lovely Farah Black, who was invited by Jane."

"I've never seen any of you before in my life," Max admitted. "I didn't know guests could invite guests, either."

"It would be a bit awkward to send Todd home now, wouldn't it?" Dirk said pointedly.

"Dirk," Todd groaned.

"No, I mean, I didn't realize Lenny could invite guests," Max said, shaking his head. "Although, I suppose he's never really been one to follow our family's ideals."

"Is that so!" Dirk said, giving his friends a pointed look.

Max nodded. "It isn't my place, of course, but I consider him an outsider to our family." Max stared up and down at the three of them, as if to make a point that they were even more outsiders than Lenny. After a beat, he sighed and opened the door for them. "You might as well come in. I’ll at least give Mother the final call on you three."

Dirk smiled and gave his companions a thumbs up before walking into the house after Max. Todd and Farah followed, Todd already regretting his itchy costume, Farah already regretting her lack of weaponry.

Max led them into a lounge where five other people sat around in couches and chairs, chatting quietly to themselves. Todd only recognized one of them--Jane Oliver, their client. She was the reason they were here in the first place, the reason the case had been opened. She was small both in size and presence, the youngest of the three Oliver siblings, still in her teens. She was wearing a mostly plain, long red dress, which Todd assumed must be some sort of Princess--Princess Bride? Cinderella? Sleeping Beauty? He hadn't the slightest clue.

Jane was sitting next to an older woman, presumably her mother, the infamous Cordelia Oliver. Cordelia was the owner of the local community theater and a force to be reckoned with. She had lost some of her dazzle with the passing of her husband, Jules. Jules Oliver had been her partner in the theater, her partner in their home, her partner on the stage. Losing him meant she had lost love. Yet none of her fierceness faded; if anything, it grew into a strong and steady resentment towards the world and life itself.

Dirk smiled at two men sitting on the couch opposite Cordelia and Jane. "Lenny! Daniel!" he said. Daniel Oliver was the middle child of the family. College-aged and somewhat unmotivated, he was a stand out in his family of determined extroverts. His boyfriend, Lenny Anderson, seemed to represent everything the rest of the family couldn't stand about Daniel and worse. His lazy nature, lack of care for anything, inability to make and hold commitments annoyed the Olivers on the best of days. Lenny couldn’t keep a job, stay on a major, anything. At least he made Daniel happy.

Max flocked to a woman standing alone by the bookshelf. Adrianna Waye. She was the star in most of the local theater productions and Max's fiancé. She was gorgeous, elegant, and, by all accounts, extremely unpleasant to be around. Cordelia loved her.

Farah and Dirk had been doing most of the research on the family, while Todd had been going back and tracing old case files, trying to find a crime or a missing person or an unsolved murder that would otherwise connect with the case. He hadn't found anything, not anything they could confirm at least. Todd reflected on how this had all started. Jane Oliver had stumbled into the agency one day, clutching a yellowed composition notebook and trembling a bit, explaining that she had seen a crime, a murder, as a child. She had blacked it out and forgotten it until now, but going back through her diaries, she had found her recounting of the crime. It was dark, she explained, so she couldn't really tell them who or what. She thought it was a man--or maybe a boy. It was someone with a small build, and they were attacking another person brutally. She couldn't remember what happened after that, just terror, sheer terror.

They had a murder to solve. With no evidence of the murder having actually happened besides a child's diary. No suspects, no victims, nothing. Dirk Gently's Holistic Detective Agency gladly took the case.

The crime had taken place in the backyard of this family property, Halloween ten years ago, when Jane was only six. At least, she said, according to her diary. Her memories of that Halloween were all jumbled--something about her family, lots of yelling, some sort of dispute. And the crime, the attack that she could only remember that she forgot.

"Max?" Cordelia asked. "Who are our other new guests?"

"I don't know, Mother," Max answered evenly. "Why don't you ask Lenny? Or Jane?"

Cordelia narrowed her eyes and focused her gaze on Lenny. "Leonard?"

"Geezy, m'am," Lenny sighed. "I invited Dirk here as a plus one."

"You're already a plus one!" she shrieked. "And what about these other two?"

"Todd is my plus-one!" Dirk chirped.

"A plus one can't invite another plus one who invites his own plus one!"

"Ah," Dirk said quickly, "but wouldn't me having invited my own plus one make us our own set of guests?"

"Daniel, do you know these men?" Cordelia demanded.

"A bit," Daniel said without looking up from his phone.

"And what about this woman? Who the hell is she?"

"Ah," Jane said softly. "Mother, I invited her." After Dirk had determined who was accepting what invitation, they had reached out to Jane to tell her about Farah, not wanting there to be any mix up. They had decided on a brief backstory and that was that.

"Who is she?" Cordelia demanded.

"She's a school tutor. She tutors me and some of my friends in the library," Jane answered evenly. Todd wondered if they should at all be concerned about what ease and grace their client was able to lie through their teeth. But really, he thought, that was what they were all doing. They had no reason to be at that party.

Cordelia Oliver knew that.

She was a queen surveying her kingdom, and she was not pleased with what she saw. Todd felt himself holding his breath, ready to be kicked out at any second. To his surprise, she sighed, deciding this battle was not worth fighting today. "Fine," she said. "You can stay. You're lucky the party kit I bought comes with extra characters."

"Party Kit?" Todd said, feeling any ounce of relief of not being kicked out dissipate.

The Olivers had a tradition, a tradition that went back for at least the last eight years, maybe more. They would every Halloween have a murder mystery themed party. They would purchase a "party kit," either from an online retailer, or, some years when they felt particularly excited, commissioned from a friend. The kit would give each guest at the party a character and a few clues. In the course of three rounds they would develop their characters, discover and investigate a "murder," and have the murderer finally revealed in the third and final round. It was truly perfect for a family of actors, though as the kids grew up and her husband passed away, it was something Cordelia clung onto more than anyone else. The schitick was getting old. But she wouldn't let go.

Cordelia started passing out envelopes with character names on them. "You all know how the game goes," she said, a stage voice taking over, complete with pause for dramatic effect. "Tonight, one of us will die. Tonight, one of us will kill. Tonight, we will all solve a murder." Jane looked white as a sheet hearing her mother's words and looked to Dirk. Dirk smiled back at her reassuredly.

"We have a few extra guests tonight," Cordelia continued, handing an envelope to Adrianna and another one to Max. "Let us hope they survive the night."

"God, Mother," Daniel said, continuing to focus on Candy Crush rather than the manila envelope he'd been slipped. "There's no need to be so melodramatic."

Cordelia paused and looked at him with stony eyes. "Tonight," she said, "we are all actors. Whether we like it or not." Lenny smiled at his boyfriend encouragingly, reminding him it wouldn't be too bad. Daniel glared back at him. He knew this tradition far too well and was not pleased to put on a performance for his mother’s sake.

"Great!" Dirk said, happily accepting his envelope. "So, how does the game work exactly?"

"There are three rounds," Max said, walking away from the wall to behind the sofa his mother sat at. "Round one, we all open our envelope and look at our character and the clues we are given. We mingle as the characters, deciding whether or not we want to share our clues with the others."

"Round two!" Cordelia jut in. "Someone will have instructions telling them they will 'die.' After their 'death' occurs we will have another round in which to mingle and see if we can discover which of us might've had the motive to 'kill.'"

"I feel as though we've grown out of this, mother," Daniel said. "It's just glorified Mafia. When will you give it up already?"

"I find it very fun, Daniel," Cordelia snapped. "It's the least you could do for your poor mother."

Daniel sighed.

"And what about the third round?" Farah asked lightly.

"Third round, we open this envelope," Cordelia said, holding up an envelope that. Unlike the manila ones she had handed out, was a deep red. "It has the answers in it. Then we will find out who was right and who was wrong and who was the killer."

"What a dreadful and yet surprisingly delightful game!" Dirk enthused. Cordelia narrowed her eyes at him.

"Quite," she said. "Now, let the games begin."

Everyone began opening their envelopes. Todd ripped the top off of his, wondering how this was in any way going to help them solve the case. Had Dirk known they were going to play this game? He gave Farah a look, who seemed just as lost as him. She shrugged and went back to reviewing the papers from in her envelope.

Todd reviewed his envelope. He was playing as a character called “Mr. Red,” an older gentleman who was a banker. The only clues he was given was that he suspected Mr. Yellow, one of his bank’s employees, of fraud, and that his character saw Madame Orange and Mrs. Indigo discussing something in hushed voices on his way home from work one day. Todd grimaced. They were really about to play live-action Clue.

"Todd." Todd jumped up in surprise as Dirk slipped up next to him. "You know I'm not one for a classical approach," Dirk said, keeping his voice hushed, "but I must admit this situation compels oneself to do some very non-holistic detecting."

"Wouldn't the fact that the situation has arisen at all make it holistic?" Todd pointed out.

"Ah! Great assisting, Todd, or should I say," Dirk looked down at Todd's papers and then back up at him with a pleasant smile, "Mr. Red."

"You're excited for this, aren't you?"

"Quite! But seriously, Todd. Please consider trying to use this as an opportunity to ask key questions that seem like they're about the game but are actually about our investigation."

"Dirk, we still barely have any idea of what we're investigating," Todd sighed.

"Having time set aside to mingle and interrogate should help then!" he replied before disappearing into the room.

"Let round one," announced Cordelia Oliver, "begin!"

Todd sighed, feeling out of his depth. He looked around the room, seeing that people had already begun to talk quietly and exchange clues amongst themselves. The one person left by themselves besides Todd at this point was Daniel Oliver.

Todd sat down next to him. "Sherlock abandoned you, ey, Watson?" Daniel asked, raising an eyebrow but looking otherwise completely disinterested in the appearance of a new person in his vicinity.

Todd laughed nervously. "Dirk? Ah. Well. He's playing the game, same as all of us." He swallowed. "So... what's your character?"

"Mr. Maroon," Daniel said with a slight roll of his eyes.

"I'm Mr. Red," Todd said.

"Practically the same names," Daniel complained. "I know there aren't that many colors in the rainbow, but they could've come up with a better theme. Colors? Mysteries? Incredibly overdone, if you ask me."

"You'd know better than myself," Todd said.

Daniel snorted. "I know far too well. Do you want my clues?"

"Sure," Todd said. "Are you just supposed to give them to people like that?"

"Not if you want the game to be harder," Daniel said. "But I'd rather this be done as quickly as possible. So my character doesn't trust Mr. Yellow or Mrs. Grey."

"I also suspect Mr. Yellow," Todd admitted.

"And it's supposed to be a mystery." Daniel shook his head.

"You've done a lot of these, then?" Todd said.

"Every year. Since what feels like forever. Mother has gotten persistently more annoying about it since Dad died." Daniel looked resentful. "She can't let go of it."

"That must be hard for your family," Todd said.

"Maybe for them," Daniel replied evenly. "I'm glad he's dead."

“Oh.” Todd said. "You don't feel like you're one of them, then?"

"No. I don't want to act. I don't want to be the center of attention. All of them are hardworking attention whores. I truly feel like this tradition is the pinnacle of that. It makes me feel sick."

Todd felt his stomach curl in an uncomfortable way. "You should be careful," he said.

Daniel rolled his eyes. "What, are you going to impart some wise-wisdom on me? I don't care. I don't even know you."

"You're right," Todd said, trying to ignore the feeling that he needed to get Daniel off of the track he was on, lest he fall into the same self-destructive hole of lies that Todd did when he was his age.

"I'm sure you think I'm ungrateful and selfish. But they're cruel to me. And they don't like Lenny either."

"No?"

"No. They hate him even more than me. If I'm a black sheep, he's an entirely different animal to them."

"Five more minutes of round one!" Cordelia shouted from across the room.

Todd stood up from the couch awkwardly. "I should talk to some more people," he said. "Nice to see you, Mr. Maroon."

Daniel rolled his eyes.

Todd wandered around the room, trying to find someone else to talk to, and eventually ended up tapping the shoulder of Adriana Waye, who had been standing by herself in the corner of the room. She flinched and then turned around, her bright green eyes first looking a bit surprised and then totally disengaged.

"I'm Ms. Grey," she said. "I'm Madame Orange’s maid, working for her and her daughter, Mrs. Indigo, and her son-in-law, Mr. Yellow. And you?"

"I'm Mr. Red," he replied. "Uh... I'm a banker."

"The bank owner?" she said quickly. "The man who owns the bank Mr. Yellow works at?"

"I think so," he said.

"Hmm," she said, and Todd got a very distinct feeling that she did not like him at all, although he could not tell if the impression came from her acting or real judgement she was imparting on him.

"I, uh... I think Mr. Yellow is committing bank fraud," Todd said lamely, looking at his notes.

"Would you kill him if he was?" she said, her blue eyes hard and intense.

"What?" Todd said, shrinking back.

"In the game,” she said, her gaze softening slightly. “Obviously.”

"Oh," Todd said. "Wouldn't it be strange for me to suspect myself? I mean, wouldn't that kind of defeat the point?" He paused. "And we don't know Mr. Yellow is going to be the one to die, yet!"

Adrianna looked across the room at Max. "Mr. Yellow is certainly going to be the one to die," she said. "You’ll see."

"How do you know?"

"It's the way these games always work," she said. "God, who invited you again? Have you really never done this before?" Todd shook his head and Adrianna looked exasperated. "Cordelia should've kicked you out."

Todd didn't have a good argument for that. He coughed nervously, feeling weirdly squeamish looking at her dark grey eyes. "So what are your clues?"

She looked absolutely done with him. "You cannot ask me for my clues as yourself. You need to discuss the situation with Ms. Grey as Mr. Red."

"I guess I misunderstood," he said. "You really enjoy the acting part of this, huh?"

"It's a good thing I do," she said. "I'm our theater's biggest star for a reason."

"Cordelia likes you a lot, then?"

Adrianna shrugged. "She likes me. And she loves Max. And Max loves me. It all works out."

"One minute left!" Cordelia shouted.

Adrianna looked irritated. "I really spent some of my time talking with you, huh?" she said, stalking off before Todd could answer.

Todd slouched, taking a deep breath, looking around the room before making eye contact with Farah and meeting her across the room. "I'm Dr. Violet," Farah explained. "I’m Madame Orange’s physician. And you?"

"Mr. Red," he said. "They seem like an awfully happy family, don't they?"

"Mr. Yellow and Mrs. Indigo? Or the Olivers?"

"The latter. Although the former might be true, too, I'm having a hard time keeping up."

She nodded. "Fictionally and factually miserable in both cases. I have a good feeling about our case, though."

"Yeah?"

"I was talking to Jane. She's sweet, you know? And I think we're very close to cracking the case."

"She didn't do it, though. Right?"

"Oh--no. No. But I think someone here did."

"That doesn't exactly make me feel incredibly comfortable being a party crasher here."

"That's the end of round one!" Cordelia shouted.

Dirk noticed Farah and Todd talking together and walked over to them enthusiastically. "Well!" he announced. "I'm not sure what I just learned, but I definitely learned something, which will definitely help solve one, if not two, cases! It's true one has a bit more importance to it, but I'd like to think that in solving our fictional case we'll solve--"

Dirk was cut off by a loud scream from across the room. Max Oliver let out another large cry, holding his hand to his chest, before having his knees buckle underneath him, falling down on his knees, letting out a final sob before collapsing on the floor.

"Oh my god," Farah said.

Cordelia walked over to where her son lay sprawled across the floor and then looked up across the others in the room. "A murder," she said. "Has been committed. Mr. Yellow is dead." Adrianna gave Todd a pointed looking from across the room, her hazel eyes piercing. Todd looked away.

"How ghastly," Dirk said with some enthusiasm. "What a wonderful performance."

Max sat up from his place on the floor and beamed. "Thank you," he said, fangs sticking out.

"Now, for round two," Cordelia announced. "Max will not be able to participate. You must talk amongst yourselves and try to discover which one of you is the killer. We will have ten minutes. Let round two... begin!"

"Alright," Todd said. "I suppose we should get back to mingling..." He looked over to see Dirk's eyebrows furrowed, deep in thought. "Dirk?"

"Todd," he said quietly. "Farah. I have the strangest feeling the case of Mr. Yellow is much more tied to our case than we'd thought."

"How so?" Farah asked.

"I'm not quite sure," he said. "Let us try and discover who killed Mr. Yellow. And perhaps that will reveal it to us."

The three nodded and scattered across the room.

Todd found himself in the unfortunate position of being under the immediate scrutiny of Cordelia Oliver.

"I," she announced, "am Madame Orange. I'm afraid we've never had the chance of meeting before."

"Mr. Red," he said shortly. "Banker, Mr. Yellow's boss, I think."

"Ah, yes," she said, face sorrow clouding his face. "My son-in-law’s employer. Isn’t it tragic what has happened to Mr. Yellow?"

Actors, Todd thought, are insane.

"Right," Todd said. "Erm, do you have any idea who... killed him?"

His willingness to play along seemed to please Cordelia. She raised an eyebrow playfully. "I have some idea," she said. "He had a few enemies. I heard," she leaned in, her voice taking on a conspiratorial tone, "he owed some people money. Would you know anything about that? As the banker?"

"Oh," Todd said, trying to remember if he did. "Uh, no. I don't think I knew that. Although I..." he paused, grabbing his notes and looking them over. "I suspected him of committing some sort of fraud."

"Hmm!" she said. "Fraud at the bank isn't a good look for you. Do you think that could stir yourself to kill?"

"Uh--no?" Todd frowned. "I guess I don't know. Am I supposed to defend myself?"

Cordelia seemed disappointed at his breaking character. "It's up to you," she said tightly. "But if you've killed someone, we'll find out in the end, when we open the envelope with the answers to the case."

"Oh," he said. "Well--I guess I don't think Mr. Red, er, me, did it." He paused a beat. "And... why didn't you do it?" he asked, knowing giving Cordelia an excuse to talk should lighten her up.

"Mr. Yellow was my daughter Indigo’s husband! I loved him as if he were my own son. I wouldn’t lay a hand on him unless he did something to hurt my daughter.”

"But what if he did?” Todd pointed out. He looked at his notes. “I saw you discussing something with Mrs. Indigo the day before his death. That doesn’t look particularly good for you, Madame Orange."

"You don't look unsuspicious yourself, Mr. Red. Although I don't think you killed Mr. Yellow."

"No?"

"No. You don't have it in you."

Cordelia turned on her heel and went away to talk to someone else, and Todd felt weirdly stung by her harsh assessment of his fictional banker self.

He wandered across the room, trying to find someone to talk to. He walked past Max and Adrianna who were talking in hushed tones in a language that didn't sound familiar to him. He decided not to interrupt them and turned around, nearly running into Jane Oliver.

"Oh dear," she said. "I am very sorry, Mr. Todd."

"It's okay!" he reassured her. "And tonight, I'm Mr. Red."

She nodded. "I'm Mrs. Indigo." She sighed. "I'm Mr. Yellow's wife, apparently. A bit awkward, I think, for several reasons."

Todd smiled. "Fair enough. I am--or was?--his employer at the bank. I suspected him of fraud. Would you know anything about that?"

"The only way Mr. Yellow was ever a fraud or a phoney was in real life, Mr. Red," she sighed, playing into her character lightly. "I do believe he was having the most awful affair with Mrs. Grey."

"I suppose that made your character--you, I mean--pretty upset."

"Yes." She sighed. "I think it's likely I did it. Or--Mr.s Grey’s husband, Mr. Maroon."

"It's kind of funny suspecting yourself."

"I think it makes the most sense," she said evenly, then in a lower voice, "thank you, by the way. Dirk said you and Farah have been invaluable in helping with..." She looked around. "...with a case."

Had he been helpful? Had any of them been helpful? Todd felt as though he was getting nowhere, stuck in a sludge of clues and names and characters and confusing bits in the middle. He wasn't sure he had done anything effective to help Jane Oliver. He thought about denying her claim, telling her to take it back, telling her that her impression wasn't true. But he swallowed it in his throat. Be nice, Todd.

"You're welcome," he said. "We're trying our best. To solve..." he paused, and added, feeling kind of silly, "...Mr. Yellow's murder." That made the girl laugh, which pleased him.

"Speaking of Dirk," Adrianna said, "here comes Mr. Green." Dirk approached the two of them, grinning brightly.

"Todd! Jane!" he addressed them both with enthusiasm. "I've got half a mind that this is going somewhere!"

"I sure hope so," Todd said.

"I'm glad you think that," Jane said with her shy smile. "I think I'm going to go try to talk to Adrianna." She made a face. "Tell me what you find, later?" she asked Dirk.

"Of course," he promised, waving at her as she made her way across the room. "Todd!" he turned to Todd, his deerstalker hat flopping in front of his eyes. He pushed up the rim. "I think I've found out my motive for killing Mr. Yellow!"

"That's great, Dirk, but.... what? Do you think your character killed him?"

"Oh, no," he said quickly. "I'm Mr. Green, by the way, if I hadn't mentioned it to you. And I don't think it's awfully likely I am the killer, but I love my brother Mr. Maroon a lot, and his wife Mrs. Grey cheated on him with her employer Mr. Yellow!" Dirk sounded enthralled. "The way this game is played is absolutely fascinating, wouldn't you say? I think we should definitely buy one of these for the office during holidays."

"Dirk," Todd said, "there are three of us who work in the office. And... Mona sometimes. I don't think that's enough people."

Dirk frowned. "I guess not."

"Do you have any idea who actually killed Mr. Yellow? Or... about the other thing?"

"No," Dirk admitted. "Well, maybe. There's so many different threads in this game. And it's not exactly... how I do detecting. I think you or Farah would have a better idea, quite honestly. I’ve had a very fun time getting into character and developing Mr. Green, though. I wasn't given much, so I gave him a new profession! I've decided he works for the secret--"

"Dirk," Todd cut him off. "We need to focus. Right?"

Dirk looked a bit put out. "Can't hurt to have a bit of fun, too."

Todd backtracked. "Sure, of course, but I think we're running out of time to investigate--"

"End of round three!" Cordelia announced loudly. The chattering continued. "End! Of round three!" she holler. This time, a hush fell across the room.

"Everyone," she said, her voice commanding the space, "let's gather round in a circle and discuss our theories of who killed Mr. Yellow." She stood behind where Max sat on the couch and put her hands on his shoulders protectively. The party goers made their way to the couches and chairs situated in a nice circle around the coffee table. Once everyone had settled down, Cordelia smiled, although she continued to stand behind Max instead of sitting in the circle herself.

"If someone can say who killed Mr. Yellow and why, with certain accuracy, they win the game." Cordelia held up a bright magenta envelope. "Once everyone has given their input, we'll open the envelope and see who was really the killer. If you are accused of being the murderer, you may defend yourself if you think someone else has done it. Now who would like to start?"

Todd felt Dirk beside him tense in excitement. He wondered if this did have any connection to the case they were here to solve, or if it was a red herring, a detour that would eventually lead them somewhere completely different in order to actually solve the case.

"I'll start," said Adrianna. "I think Mrs. Indigo did it."

Jane frowned. “My character? I guess I don’t think it’s entirely impossible I did…”

“You found out Mr. Yellow was hiding some things from you,” Adrianna said. “Including his affair… with me, Mrs. Grey. So you killed him.”

“Jane?” Cordelia asked. “Do you have someone else you think could’ve done it?”

“I think Mr. Maroon would’ve had half a motive, for the same reason as I.”

“Leave me out of it,” Daniel groaned. “I think it was… uh…” He looked around the room, seemingly trying to pick someone else to become the scrutiny of the conversation. “Madame Orange. She found out Yellow cheated on her daughter.” He shrugged. “She’d be as mad as anyone else.”

Cordelia pursed her lips. “That’s assuming I even knew about the affair. Perhaps I didn't even know until he died! How would you know?”

“Everyone wanted to kill Mr. Yellow,” Dirk muttered to Todd.

“Madame Orange was angry after her check up with Dr. Violet before the murder happened,” Farah pointed out. “Although she didn’t say why. It could’ve been about the affair.”

“Everyone wanted to kill Mr. Yellow!” Dirk said again, sounding surprised. Todd looked at him and he grinned back.

“I was upset because my gardener, Mr. Turquoise, had quit in a huff.”

“You fired me!” Lenny butted in. Todd realized he’d barely spoken to half of the people playing the game, feeling suddenly like he’d shown up for a test he hadn’t studied for. “And I certainly didn’t kill Mr. Yellow!”

“Alright,” said Cordelia. “But I deny that I did. I still find Mr. Maroon awfully suspicious.”

Daniel glowered at his mother. “If you won’t admit it, I’ll accuse someone else. Like….” He looked around the room. “...my brother. Mr. Green.”

Dirk smiled. “It could have been me,” he said. “I love my brother, Mr. Maroon. I found out Mr. Yellow was having an affair with his wife. And I felt this was an affront to my family. But I think we are focused much too narrowly on the what and the why. In fact,” he said. “I think we are far too focused on this game.”

“Too focused on the game?” Lenny said. “Isn’t that the point of the final round?”

“The point of the final round,” Dirk said confidently, “is to find out who killed Mr. Yellow and Max Oliver.”

“Oh,” Todd said softly. Dirk had solved it.

“I am Mr. Yellow,” Max said.

"Exactly! So the question we have to answer," Dirk continued, "is who killed Max Oliver. I, of course, have my own theories, but I would like to share last. Mrs. Cordelia. I still find you a bit suspect. Why don't you tell us again why you aren't the killer?"

Cordelia stiffened in offense. "Why am I not the killer? You must be kidding me! I just went over this. I wouldn’t hurt my own son!"

"Ah, but perhaps Max wasn't the child you wanted. And neither was Daniel. And neither was Jane. You wanted a child who was a star, Mrs. Oliver. And you knew you'd never get that if you didn't intervene yourself."

Adrianna narrowed her eyes. "He knows this is a game, right? We aren’t our characters."

Dirk's eyes lit up. "Ah! And Adrianna Waye. What an interesting piece of this puzzle you are."

Adrianna shifted uncomfortably. "Don’t even bother accusing me of killing him. I was the one who was having an affair with him. I was one of his only allies. It wouldn’t make sense."

"No, you're right," Dirk agreed. "It wouldn’t make sense. Besides that, a lady such as yourself seems unlikely to get her hands dirty with murder." He paused. "She'd make someone else do it."

Adrianna turned to Max and laughed. "What is he talking about? This isn't connected to the game at all."

"You know what it's about--"

"Ah!" Farah cut in. "I have a theory. Did Lenny's character actually do it? Mr. Turquoise was Madame Orange’s gardener, so maybe he saw something at the house, like the affair. Blackmail gone wrong type situation."

Dirk nodded. "Lenny seems a bit suspicious, doesn't he?" He looped around the living room, ending behind Lenny's chair. "Lenny, what do you have to say to that?"

"I don't know,” Lenny said. “I don't think my character ever actually interacted Max, though, did he?"

"Exactly," Dirk said. "Lenny is too much of an outsider. He might not like Max, but there was no reason he would want to kill him. He wasn't even present at the crime scene. Now, Daniel, however..."

"Wouldn't it be my luck to pick the character who's the killer three years in a row?" Daniel sulked, shooting his mother a look.

"Of course Daniel could have been jealous of Max. Jealous of how his mother adored him and doted on him. But... that doesn't explain why he would kill him." Dirk turned to Jane. "Do you understand what I'm getting at, Miss Jane?"

Jane's eyes widened. "But I still don't understand! Who--who did I see die on that night?"

“Who did you see die on what night?” Cordelia turned to her daughter, her eyes narrowed. “Jane, is there something you’re not telling me?”

“Sorry, mother,” Jane whispered softly. “But yes. Ten years ago, I saw a murder.” Dirk gave Farah a small nod and Farah quietly moved to block the one door that led out of the study. Todd moved towards the window, having a strong feeling that any possible exit was soon going to quickly need to be blocked. Jane continued, “These people have been trying to help me solve the murder, mother. But… But I don’t know who did it, or who even died…” She trailed off, looking small and lost in her big velvet chair.

“You’re detectives?” Cordelia demanded.

"Indeed,” Dirk said. “Quite a good disguise, right? Now, Jane, the person you saw being murdered on that night was your brother, Max."

"But that's absurd!" Cordelia burst out. "Max is right here!" Max stood behind his mother, his expression stony.

"That," Dirk pointed to Max, "is certainly someone going by the name Max and living his life as if he were Max Oliver. But that is not your biological son, Max Oliver. He was killed on this day, ten years ago, in your back garden."

"Don't be absurd," Max cut in, his voice cold and stiff. "You've been talking nonsense all night."

"Have you ever," Dirk said, "met an actor who was so incredible that sometimes you didn't even know they were acting?" Todd got the very distinct feeling Dirk was thinking of Mona. "I have. And I will tell you this much. When someone who is talented enough chooses to not be found, they won't be."

"You're crazy," Max said. "You have no proof."

"Alright," Dirk said. "Maybe I'm wrong. Then answer me this. How come you and Adrianna talk in a language no one has ever heard when you think you're alone?"

"What?"

“Oh!” Todd cut in. "And is that why Adrianna’s eye color shifts so dramatically? I wasn’t imagining that?"

"People's eye color can shift--"

"Not from light blue to deep brown they can't,” Dirk said, nodding at Todd.

Max snorted. "Just because you're dressed as a detective doesn't mean you can say whatever you'd like and expect it to go over."

"Alright," Dirk said. "Let me read from this journal," Dirk said, reaching into his trenchcoat and pulling out a copy of Jane's diary that they had photocopied and brought along. Todd hadn't realized Dirk’s intentions in bringing the copy along--but he wasn’t sure Dirk had known until this exact moment, either.

"’October 31st, 2008,’" Dirk read aloud. "’Dear Diary, Today I saw something very frightening. It was during the Halloween party, I went out in the back garden to get a bit of fresh air and because everyone was very loud. When I was out there, I thought I heard someone screaming. I thought maybe it was one of my brothers, and so I ran. I saw a figure in the dark standing over someone else, but when I got to where I saw their silhouettes across the garden, they were gone. I saw something I thought could've been blood or beer or water but it was too dark to see. I'll go and see if it's still there tomorrow. I don't know what I saw. I went inside and told mama and papa about it. Papa joked that I'd seen a ghost on Halloween. I don't know. Love, Jane.’"

"I know who Jane saw that night," said Dirk. He pointed at Max. "She saw you. And she saw her brother, Max."

"I am her brother Max," Max replied evenly.

"Oh please," Dirk said. "Will you give that up already? You may live as Maxwell Oliver but you were at least not born that way. You weren't born in this town, or, quite frankly, even this planet."

"What're you going to do about it?" Adrianna said, rising to her feet.

"Adrianna," Max snapped. "Sit down."

"I'm going to..." Dirk said confidently, and then stopped. "Well, I hadn't really thought of that."

“It’s true,” Jane said softly. Cordelia had stepped away from Max and was now standing behind her daughter. She placed a hand on Jane’s shoulder, looking tense. Jane looked up at Cordelia. “It’s true, mother. It was Max I saw on that night. It must’ve been…”

Max frowned. “Are you really going to believe this, Mother? Believe all this slander about your favorite son?” His eyes narrowed. “I’ve been so good to you… an absolute star, in fact. Don’t tell me you believe some sort of alien-murder plot thought up by a stranger over the word of your own son?”

Cordelia Oliver's eyes clouded over. "I'm not sure, Max."

"I cannot believe this," Max said. Adrianna fidgeted in her chair uncomfortably. "Do you know everything I've given for this family? Everything me and Adrianna have given for you, Mother?"

"What are you?" Dirk asked curiously. "You must be something quite interesting. And..." He paused, his nose bunched up. "...and either undetectable or fifteen years new to this planet."

"We were undetectable," Adrianna said.

"Adrianna!" Max barked. "Will you shut up?"

"Oh, give it up, Max," she said irritably. "He's caught us in our game. Might as well admit it." She turned to Dirk. "You wouldn't really believe it if we were from a different planet."

"I certainly would," he said. "I've come across a fair few extraterrestrials in my time. I don't suppose you communicate through music on your planet?"

"What?" she snapped. "No. Don't be stupid. You were right, we communicate in our own language. And these weren't our original forms." Max glared at her, his lips pursed in determined silence. "But there's no way for you to prove that, you know? That's the best thing about what we are."

"Oh god," Cordelia said, holding her hand over her mouth.

"And what is that?" Dirk asked.

"Can't pronounce it in your language. In fact, you numbskulls hardly have the language to describe it. Leech? Reincarnate? Phoenix?" Adrianna seemed almost pleased by this, as if the fact that she was somewhat undefinable was a final act of rebellion against whatever separated her from them. "The point is," she said, "we take on different forms over our lives. We essentially could live forever--as long as we kill before our vessel dies. When that happens, we take on the form of whatever we last killed."

"Woah," Dirk said.

"What happens to the body?" Farah said, eyeing Max and Adrianna nervously while still guarding the door.

"We become the body," Adrianna said as though it were obvious. "The last vessel we occupied turns to dust once we leave it for good, once there's no use for it anymore."

"And you killed Max and took his body," Jane said softly, looking Max straight in the eyes. Max frowned and looked away.

"What--what now?" Daniel asked nervously, looking between Max and Adrianna. The room was filled with a tense air.

Max sighed, breaking the silence. "This is truly awful," he said, his tone almost bored, "I never wanted it to come to this, and I am very sorry. I did love you, Mother," he said to Cordelia. "Unfortunately..." He reached into his coat pocket, pulling something small and metallic out, "...the two of us will have to kill all of you now that you've discovered our secret."

Max Oliver had a gun. The room broke out into hectic noise. Cordelia screamed, Daniel let out a large stream of profanities, Todd started to argue with Max, and Dirk shouted something about everyone needing to talk this out, please, and not have so much killing all the time. Everyone was on their feet in a few seconds. Todd and Farah exchanged a look, guarding the door and window respectively, not sure if they should run or stand their guard. The only person who remained sitting was Max Oliver.

"No one move!" he barked. "Shut up!" And he was pointing the gun, and the room quickly fell silent. "You see," he said. "You all have made this so hard for me and my dear EtTew0si." He stood up from where he sat and went to the bookshelf, grabbing a candlestick. He handed it to Adrianna who smiled at him and kissed his cheek.

"Now who's first?" Max said, sounding almost bored. Todd gave a sideways glance to Farah and mouthed the word "gun." She shook her head, mouthing back a long sentence. He had forgotten he couldn't read lips.

"Oh Jane," Max said. "Why not you? This whole dilemma is your fault, now, isn't it?"

"It's not my fault," Jane said, trembling but holding her voice steady. "None of this would've happened if you hadn't hurt Max."

Max pursed his lips, ignoring her comment. "Come here, and we'll make this quick and painless," he said.

"No," she said, holding her ground.

Adrianna shoved her forward from behind, pushing her with the end of the candlestick. "Do what he says!" she said.

Jane opened her mouth to make a retort but decided against it. She looked back at the other people in the room, staring hopelessly.

"My dear sister," Max said, pointing the gun at her head. Adrianna stayed behind her, holding the candlestick up. "I am sorry it had to come to this."

"No, you're not," she said, tears forming in her eyes.

"You're right," he laughed. "I'm not."

The next few seconds were a whirlwind. Farah leapt up from her place by the door to in front of Max, grabbing Jane out of the line of fire as Max pulled the trigger. Adrianna, not realizing what had happened before it was too late, didn't dodge and instead was hit squarely in the head with the bullet Max had fired. Adrianna barely had a second to let out a cry of pain before her body turned to dust, drifting down to the floor, lifeless. Max whirled around, still holding his gun, pointing it at Farah and Jane where they sat on the floor.

"You think you're real smart, huh?" he demanded. "What--"

A bang fired in the room.

Max stopped talking.

Max stopped breathing.

Max fell over onto the floor, fading into a pile of dust.

Across the room, Cordelia Oliver held up her pearl handled pocket purse pistol, smoke still drifting off the tip of the weapon, tears streaking her face.

The next week, Jane Oliver visited Dirk Gently's Holistic Detective agency. She knocked lightly before walking into the office. "Hello!" she said.

"Jane Oliver!" Dirk said, his entire face lighting up. He jumped up from his desk. "How are you doing?"

She smiled sadly. "This whole ordeal has been a lot for my family... but I think we are better for it. We've all been trying to understand, of course. But it's brought us closer too."

"I'm glad to hear that," Farah smiled, looking up from her desk. "Thank you for visiting, Jane."

Jane nodded. "I’m to give you these." She passed two envelopes to Dirk.

He looked at her, confused. "What?"

"For the case," she said softly.

"Ms. Jane, I was under the distinct impression that we were not taking payment from you," he said. He passed the envelopes back to her. "In fact, I insist on it. I don't want to take money from you."

She laughed. "It's not from me. It's from my mother. She's going through a lot, as we all are, but she's extremely grateful to you guys." She shrugged. "She didn't actually tell me what was in those. Just to deliver it to you three."

"Well, thank you," Dirk said, surprised, taking the envelopes back from her.

"Yes!" she said. "And thank you guys... for everything. The truth is hard, but I'm glad I know it. And..." she turned to Farah, "thank you for saving my life."

Farah smiled awkwardly. "I mean, yes. Of course. That is... yes. You're welcome."

She beamed at them. "I'll be sure to recommend you guys, although I don't know how many other sixteen year olds have use of a detective agency."

Dirk smiled. "Thank you Jane."

She nodded once more. "Goodbye!" They waved and wished her well and then she was on her way.

"I wonder what Cordelia sent," Todd said.

"Let us see!" Dirk said. “This first envelope is addressed to ‘Dirk Gently & Co.’ Fancy!” He tore the envelope open, pulling it out and looking it over. His eyes widened.

"What?" Farah said.

"Yeah, what is it?"

"I don't think we'll have to worry about agency finances for a while," Dirk said, eyes wide. He passed Farah the check from inside the card.

She raised her eyebrows. “Oh-kay!” she said. “Well. We should definitely send a thank you note.”

“She wrote a note, too,” Dirk said. He read aloud, “‘Dear Dirk and Company, I never did like Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson. However, the three of you I found quite tolerable. To think I would’ve lived with and loved an imposter my whole life if not for your agency. Much thanks. Sincerely, Cordelia Oliver.’”

“I guess she’s got a heart under her mean exterior after all,” Todd said.

“‘P.S.,’” Dirk read. “‘I am assuming you will be quiet about the disappearance of my ‘son’ Max. I hope this check more than manages that.’”

“Oh,” Todd said, and Farah laughed.

“Well!” Dirk said, setting down the card. He smiled at his two friends. “I think that’s another case solved with arguable efficiency.”

“What’s the other envelope?” asked Todd.

“I don’t know…” Dirk looked at it. “She wrote something on the front... ‘I couldn’t be bothered to open this after what happened. but I thought one of you care want to know more than I. Sincerely, Cordelia.’”

“Oh!” Farah said. “It’s the envelope from the game--the one that has the killer in it.”

“I didn’t even realize we never revealed the fake killer,” Todd said.

“I did,” said Farah. “Open it?”

Dirk nodded, pushing a pencil thru the top, ungracefully breaking the seal. He popped the envelope open and looked inside before pulling out a tiny slip of paper.

“Oh God,” he said, sounding exasperated. “Of bloody course it had to be.”

Farah raised her eyebrows and he passed her the paper. She looked at it and frowned. “Crazy coincidence, that’s all.”

“Let me see that,” Todd grabbed the paper.

“Farah, nothing ever ends up being mere ‘coincidence’ with me,” Dirk said pointedly. “Ever.”

“Alright, that’s weird,” Todd said, tossing the paper back onto the desk in front of Dirk. The three of them started at the paper for a moment, saying nothing.

“I say we break early for lunch,” Farah broke the silence. “My treat.”

“Avoidance,” Todd said. “I like it.”

“Burgers?” Dirk chimed in. “I love it.”

The three of them stood up and cleared out of the office, turning off the lights and locking the doors to the office. In the now quiet office lay the small slip of tangerine paper on a desk. It read, in plain cursive, Madame Orange is the killer.

End

#dirk gently's holistic detective agency #case fic #dghda #dghda halloween mini bang 2020 #fanfiction #dirk gently fanfiction #my art

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haberdashing · 4 years ago

Text

i want you to straighten out my tomorrow (1/?)

The last thing Jon remembers is working into the night in the Archives in early 2016. Now he’s in a cabin in the middle of nowhere, Scotland, with Martin Blackwood as his only companion. Obviously Jon’s missed something along the way here...

Inspired by beloved of jon, though it can be read separately.

on AO3

The first thing Jon noticed when he woke up was how soft the surface he was laying on was. The last thing he remembered was wrapping up some research on the Moira Kelly case while working at his desk, so if he’d conked out from lack of sleep, as seemed the most logical conclusion given that he was clearly waking up despite not remembering having fallen asleep in the first place, he should have still been at his desk, which he knew from experience to be a hard and uncomfortable sleeping surface, but obviously that wasn’t the case.

Jon wondered, briefly, if Martin--or somebody else, perhaps, but it seemed like the sort of thing that Martin specifically would do--had noticed that he’d fallen asleep at his desk and brought him to the break room couch, which would explain how he’d ended up laying horizontally on a surface significantly softer than his desk, but no, that wasn’t right either. The light in the area around him was dim as he opened his eyes, but even without seeing his surroundings Jon could tell that this wasn’t the break room couch, with its lumpy cushions and that one broken spring that seemed to always be in the most inconvenient position possible.

No, he was in a bed, a proper bed at that, with a mattress that was only slightly too firm for his tastes and half-tucked sheets covering it, the sheets thin but clearly there as he idly ran his hand up and down the surface, and a thick, warm blanket on top of him, slightly scratchy but still soft to the touch. The blanket wasn’t a familiar one, and the mattress and sheets didn’t ring any bells either, so clearly it wasn’t his bed.

How the hell had he gone from working in the Archives to sleeping in a bed that wasn’t his own?

Jon pushed the blanket off of him and sat up, shaking his head as though doing so would help clear his mind enough to make any of this make sense, and only then did he see the lump on the other side of the bed that was too big to be anything other than another person.

As the lump that must be a person shifted positions slightly, Jon considered the implications of this, and his stomach sank. It didn’t make sense, not based on burning the midnight oil in the Archives being the last thing he could remember, but despite appearances, Jon was not entirely unaware of pop culture and media tropes, and he knew from that if from nothing else what waking up in somebody else’s bed generally meant.

The thought of it made Jon want to gargle a bottle of mouthwash and shower for hours just to feel clean again.

He knew those impulses weren’t entirely logical, but he had swung his feet onto the side of the bed, determined to find the nearest bathroom so he could at least wash his hands or splash water onto his face or, or do something, anything, when he heard a voice calling out from behind him.

“Jon?”

The voice sounded familiar, but Jon couldn’t quite place it, though he did catch a note of confusion or care or perhaps both in the speaker’s tone, something that didn’t quite fit the mental picture he’d started to develop for how the night must have unfolded past what he could remember.

Jon didn’t turn around. He didn’t want to look the other occupant of this bed in the eye; right now, all he wanted to do was get his feet firmly planted on the ground.

It took a moment of trial and error, given that he still couldn’t see the room around him clearly, but soon enough Jon’s feet went from hovering above the bed to gently brushing the floor to pressed against a smooth cold surface, with him preparing to stand up when the voice called out again.

“Where are you going, Jon? Is everything alright?”

Jon recognized the voice this time, and everything in him froze as quickly and certainly as if his blood had instantaneously been replaced with ice water.

He wasn’t in bed with some stranger who he’d likely never see again after sneaking out of their place and doing the walk of shame back to his flat. He was in bed with Martin fucking Blackwood.

(Bad choice of words there. Shouldn’t think about fucking. Shouldn’t think about what the night he couldn’t remember must have been like, how radically things must have changed overnight for him to end up here. Shouldn’t think about how his desire to break out every cleaning supply he could find and use it on himself had diminished slightly upon realizing who, exactly, he was sharing a bed with. Shouldn’t think about how awkward the rest of their time in the Archives was inevitably going to be after this.

...too late.)

The words came out of Jon’s mouth before he’d entirely thought them through, in a desperate attempt to divert his train of thought, to break the silence that had fallen after he froze in place.

“What the hell?”

“J-jon?” Martin’s voice was softer now. “Are you- did you have a nightmare or...?” Martin let out a long breath before adding, “S-sorry, stupid question, I know...”

Jon considered this for a moment--not that he was waking up from a nightmare, although sorting through Gertrude’s mess in the Archives did seem like a waking nightmare sometimes, but that he was currently within one, that this was all a bad dream that would fade away any minute now. He wasn’t usually this lucid in dreams, true, but there was always a first time for everything, wasn’t there?

Jon pinched himself, and it hurt, which didn’t really come as a surprise, much as he would have liked to believe otherwise. What did come as a surprise was that some of the pain came not from the area pinched, but from the hand that did the pinching.

“It’s alright, Jon. I don’t know what you... what all this is about, but it’s going to be alright, I promise.”

Jon just let out a sharp, bitter laugh in response, because if Martin was seriously saying that all of this was “alright,” either Martin hadn’t realized the ramifications this was going to have yet, or...

Or somehow he’d orchestrated all of this.

Which didn’t seem like the Martin Jon knew, true, but what was the old Sherlock Holmes quote about ruling out the impossible and then believing the improbable that remained? Jon didn’t remember drinking at all that night, certainly not to the point of memory loss, but it was possible that Martin had slipped something in the tea he insisted on making Jon--improbable, yes, but possible. That or he’d somehow been coaxed into drinking so much that he’d forgotten the drinking itself, let alone the aftermath.

Jon shook his head again, partially in the rapidly-dwindling hopes of clearing it and making the world make sense again, partially as a response to what Martin had said, because no, it was not alright, thank you very much.

“Jon, talk to me, will you?”

A cool hand brushed against Jon’s shoulder, and Jon flinched, instinctively retreating where Martin’s skin had touched his own.

“Don’t touch me!” Jon considered the relative merits of curling up into a ball (less surface area, body language clearly showing his displeasure) and standing up (more grounding, able to walk away from the scene of the crime) before settling on combining the two by hugging his knees as his feet remained firmly on the ground. “Don’t... just don’t.”

Jon wondered idly if this was the first time he’d ever brushed against Martin--he hadn’t expected the man to feel so cold to the touch. Jon felt his face heat up as he realized that he could in fact distinctly recall several other times in which everyday work in the Archives had led to Martin brushing against him, and no, he definitely hadn’t felt so cold before. Jon realized that his mental inventory of times Martin had touched him was clearly missing some rather important entries at the moment.

“Fine, fine, no touching. Is talking still on the table, at least?”

Jon considered it for a moment before answering. If this were some random stranger, perhaps he’d be content to slip out without discussing the matter further, but he’d have to talk to Martin about this one way or another, so might as well get it over with.

“...sure.”

“Here, let me turn the light on. If- if that’s alright. Let me know if it’s not.”

The soft sound of a lamp’s chain being pulled, and the room lit up with light. Jon wasn’t sure what he’d have expected Martin’s bedroom to look like, but this wasn’t quite it. The size of it perhaps he’d have guessed--it was on the cozy side, and that much at least seemed accurate, from what little Jon knew of Martin’s personal life. The decorations, such as they were, were a bit gaudy, a bit thrown-together, but perhaps that was just what Martin’s taste was like; it wasn’t as if they’d had much of a chance to discuss their respective tastes in interior design. Even the piles of clothes on the floor could be explained away, except that there were two distinct piles, one closer to Martin and one closer to Jon, and the one closer to Jon looked to be filled with clothes he himself would wear in a pinch...

Either Martin had been preparing for this, though whether the preparation came before it happened or while Jon was asleep he didn’t know, or... or the full picture was even stranger than what Jon had already surmised.

Jon didn’t beat around the bush.

“What happened last night?”

Martin blinked a few times and stifled a yawn, his face contorted in confusion, or else a convincing facade thereof. “Nothing that unusual. I beat you at gin rummy, we made some progress on that jigsaw puzzle, went to bed a bit on the early side... why?”

Nothing that unusual. Nothing that unusual.

Jon didn’t know whether to laugh or cry or scream.

(Some distant part of Jon’s brain noted that, in addition to the obvious, apparently Martin considered gin rummy and puzzles activities that counted as “nothing that unusual,” even when it was Jon of all people he was doing them with.)

Jon took a deep breath in and let it out slowly, and as he did he noticed that there was a white streak in Martin’s hair--thick, prominent, and definitely just the one streak, unless others were hiding on the back of Martin’s head where Jon couldn’t see them. Jon was no stranger from prematurely graying hair himself, far from it, but that pattern looked... unnatural.

Out of the millions of questions that were fighting in Jon’s mind, the one he ended up actually asking, with a shaky laugh sneaking into his voice, was, “What happened to your hair? Just a bad dye job, or...?”

Jon hadn’t noticed the weight of Martin’s gaze upon him until it was suddenly lifted, until Martin suddenly found the sheets (which were light and floral-patterned) the most interesting thing in the world and focused his gaze on them and them alone.

“You- you don’t remember, then?”

Jon blinked in confusion. Surely he hadn’t played a part in whatever debacle had done that to Martin’s hair, had he? “Remember what?”

Martin let out a long breath before responding, one hand clutching those flowery sheets as if holding on for dear life. “Is- is that what this is about? Some sort of, of memory thing?”

Jon’s first instinct was to argue, but-

But he was clearly missing some chunk of memory, at least, if as far as he could remember he’d gone from working in the Archives to apparently sleeping in Martin’s bed, with Martin having a thick white streak in his hair that definitely hadn’t been there before.

But the Archives were strange, Jon knew that, much as he liked to play the skeptic when at work there, and it wasn’t impossible that something there had messed with his memories. Some sort of supernatural accident made more sense than Martin purposely making Jon forget a night out, really.

But when Jon thought about it, really thought about it, he felt like he was missing something, though he didn’t know the details and trying to mentally investigate further just made his head hurt.

Jon didn’t answer Martin’s question in words, but his silence and decision to curl his legs back onto the bed while also closely examining those floral sheets (were those supposed to be lilies?) was something of an answer in and of itself.

“What do you remember, then? Do- do you remember me?” Martin sounded so concerned when he asked that last question, and Jon couldn’t help but think that he probably wouldn’t have nearly as much emotion apparent in his voice if the tables were turned. Jon wasn’t sure which was better given the circumstances, the open book of sentiment that was Martin Blackwood or the calm rationality he himself would have tried to provide.

Jon nodded numbly, though he couldn’t bring himself to look back up at Martin when he did so. “You’re Martin Blackwood. You, you work in the Archives with me--well, under me, really; I’m the head archivist, and you’re one of my assistants. Elias assigned you to join me there.” Jon barely managed to keep himself from adding “for some reason” to that last sentence; he didn’t need to be cruel, even if Martin had proven to be the least capable of his assistants, had established that much practically the moment they met.

“That’s- that’s good.” Martin let out a soft sigh of relief. “That much you’ve got right, at least.”

“Doesn’t explain how the hell I ended up here, wherever here even is-”

Jon saw movement out of the corner of his eye, looked up just enough to see that Martin was shaking his head gently. “One thing at a time. What’s the last thing you remember?”

“I was working on the Moira Kelly case in the Archives after everybody else had gone home.” Jon looked up a bit more, saw that Martin looked confused at the reference, so he explained himself, trying not to show his frustration in the meantime. (He had no trouble keeping track of which statement was which, so why should Martin struggle with the same thing?) “That’s the mother of disappeared Robert Kelly, the former skydiver--at least according to her statement, though then again it also claims the sky-”

“-Ate him?” Martin’s face was awfully pale now. “I- I know the case you’re talking about now, but... that’s the last thing you remember?”

“Yes?” That sounded less sure than Jon wanted it to, so he brought his chin up, looked Martin straight in the eye when he repeated it, tried to sound more confident this time. “Yes, that’s the last thing I remember. Why?”

“Jon, that... that was two- two and a half years ago. At least that’s when I remember you working on the Kelly case, back in March of 2016, I think? But it’s October now. October 2018.”

Jon looked into Martin’s eyes, searching for some sign of insincerity, for out-of-place levity. Martin didn’t seem the type to pull pranks like this, but maybe Tim had talked him into it somehow... but no, all Jon saw in those eyes was genuine concern and confusion, not even a hint of laughter at Jon’s expense.

“...no it’s not.” Jon couldn’t even summon up the certainty to make his voice sound filled with conviction, despite the argument apparent in his words.

“It is, though, it... Christ.” Martin dragged one hand across his face. “Do you even know where we are?”

“Your bedroom?” Jon could feel his face heat up as he suddenly realized how much less sure of that conclusion he was now than he had been a few short minutes ago, and how awkward his guess might be if it were to be proven incorrect.

“What? No, it’s not, it’s... it’s Daisy’s safehouse... wait, d’you know who Daisy is?”

Jon shook his head silently.

“Shit. Right.” Martin stopped to rub his eyes before continuing speaking. “Well, Daisy’s... she works at the Institute, she, she’s a friend of ours...” Martin’s voice wavered a bit as he spoke, though whether that was due to uncertainty or emotion Jon couldn’t say. “The Institute’s not safe for us at the moment, so we... borrowed this place from her, to stay until it’s safe to come back.”

“Why isn’t the Institute safe?” Jon asked the question without hesitation, though he could easily have asked a dozen others in its place: How did Daisy end up close enough to lend us a place to stay when I don’t even know who she is? When will it be safe to go back? Where, exactly, is this safehouse I’ve apparently woken up in? Are we the only ones in it, or just the only ones currently in this bedroom? How does some safety issue at the Institute connect to us sleeping in the same bed?

“It’s...” Martin grabbed the sheets in a fist again. “It’s a long story.”

Jon raised an eyebrow. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Jon attempted to emulate Martin’s gesture with his own hand, but when he went to gather the sheets in a fist he found that the gesture hurt for some reason, that he didn’t have quite the strength in his hand that he expected, that the feeling of the blanket against his hand was coarse and strange. Jon abandoned the attempt and instead looked more closely at his hand, saw that it was covered in scars that he definitely didn’t remember being there.

“Is this long story at all connected to whatever did this to my hand, then?” Jon held up the hand in question, brought it closer to the light and to Martin in turn, though if he was telling the truth about all this, he has to know what it looks like already...

Martin scrunched up his nose a little. “I mean, not really? Not unless you start getting into how everything’s connected in the grand scheme of things--I’m sure you could draw some lines between the two if you really tried--but no, that was a different, er, incident, that happened a little over a year ago.”

“What the hell did I do, then, stick my hand in the middle of a burning fireplace?”

“Sort of, actually, yeah.”

“Sort of?”

Jon pressed his good hand, the one that wasn’t scarred--or wasn’t as scarred, anyway, as closer examination revealed that it too was covered in small scars, though they didn’t hurt or impair his movement in the same way--against his temple.

“Can you stop- stop dancing around things and actually give me some straight answers?”

Martin let out a long, deep breath before responding.

“Yeah, yeah, that’s fair. Should’ve known, really. I just don’t... don’t know where to start...” The last word was punctuated by Martin covering his mouth as he let out an impressive yawn.

Jon wanted answers, wanted to know what was going on, wanted to know how he had gone from there to here, and the desire for knowledge burned within him, but...

But Martin’s eyelids kept fluttering downwards, and his own felt heavy as well, and Jon soon matched Martin’s yawn with one of his own that was almost as long, and he could feel exhaustion wearing away at his thoughts...

“Perhaps we should start by getting some more sleep. You can think on your explanation, give it to me straight in the morning.” Jon paused, hesitated, before adding, “Does this, this safehouse have another bed, or...?”

Martin shook his head. “No, just the one, does...” His voice trailed off as he looked over Jon’s face, seemed to connect the dots. “Oh, right. I can take the couch if, if you’d prefer.”

“I can take the couch, I’ve slept worse places before-”

Martin held a hand up, a hint of shaky laughter sneaking into his voice as he spoke up. “You’ve lost years of memories, Jon. I think you deserve to take the bed for the night. I imagine spending one night on the couch is nothing compared to that.”

Jon considered this for a moment before nodding. “Alright then. Thank you, Martin.”

Martin’s face turned slightly pink as he turned away. “The least I can do, really.”

Martin turned the lamp off again before leaving the room, apparently familiar enough with the place to navigate without needing the light’s aid.

And then Jon was left alone with his thoughts. His thoughts that kept circling back to the same few questions. What was going on? How had he lost his memory? What had he missed in those two and a half years he couldn’t remember? Was it going to happen again? Was there a way to get those memories back?

The more he thought about it, the more his head ached, but he couldn’t very well not think about it, couldn’t just ignore the fact that he’d been thrown into an unfamiliar environment with no warning, couldn’t just accept that his mind had been manipulated somehow, that he’d lost two and a half years of memories overnight, seemingly with no warning or clear reason...

Sleep didn’t come easily to Jon that night.

#tma #tma au #tma fic #tma fanfic #the magnus archives #the magnus archives au #the magnus archives fic #the magnus archives fanfic #personal #my writing #dubcon mention cw #drugging mention cw

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ao3porcelainstorm · 4 years ago

Text

poison ivy & stinging nettles 25

On Ao3

Masterlist

Pairing: Sherlock/OFC

Rated: M

Warnings: eventual violence, torture, swears, adult themes (no explicit smut)

Chapter 24 - Chapter 26

Chapter 25- Sunflower

“I understand that this is a good idea for the long term,” Amelia said. “I really do, but I think we should have started with something simpler.”

She, Sherlock, and John were in her bedroom, with John carefully wrapping the potentially broken ankle she had managed during that day’s “training”.

“You need to be careful with this ankle,” John scolded. “You’re too old to keep injuring the same spots over and over.”

“That was months ago,” Amelia protested, but paled when John pressed a finger into a particularly tender spot. “I’m not old. I’m young compared to the two of you grumpy old men.”

“I don’t understand what was so difficult about the instructions,” Sherlock complained, lounging in Amelia’s chair by her fireplace. “I warned you to jump.”

“And then you pushed me over!” she insisted. “That’s not a jump, that’s a dodge or move out of the way.”

“I was trying to surprise you,” he explained. “A real threat isn’t going to announce what you need to do.”

“It’s been a month, I can barely throw a punch,” she replied.

“The bruise on his shoulder suggests otherwise,” John supplied quietly, tying off the wrap. “You should be all set. I’ll see if we can get you in for X-rays in the morning.”

“It didn’t take me this long to learn self-defense,” Sherlock continued, tossing a bundle of hair scrunchies in the air above him.

“I’m incredibly out of shape, and have noodles for limps,” Amelia added. “I’m not even attempting to attack this at the level you would have. I’d die.”

“I think you’re doing great,” John assured her. “You’re getting faster and your reflexes are getting better.”

“John’s my new head coach,” she high fived the doctor.

“John’s in charge of firearms,” Sherlock turned to face them. “We’ve been over this.”

“There was that nice Judo guy who wanted to show me something,” Amelia reminded him. “You just get mad when anyone else touches me.”

“That’s not true, I’m fine when you hug John,” he stated.

“Hug,” Amelia repeated with a laugh toward John. “He’s fine when we hug.”

“You’re too casually affectionate in general, but as long as it’s directed toward our friends, that’s tolerable,” he clarified.

“I’ll keep that in mind for my afternoon shag with Judo guy,” she retorted.

He looked to John for support, but the doctor did what he did best when the pair disagreed- held his hands up and backed out of the room.

“Not my fight,” he replied. “I’m going to shower.”

“I’m not casually affectionate,” she paused. “Just to you guys. And Mrs. Hudson. And Molly of course.”

“You touch everyone and everything at all times,” he raised a brow. “You’re very open with your feelings.”

“Oh,” she replied, voice dropping. “That’s not ideal, is it?”

If she was going to play detective with him and John, it probably was not in anyone’s best interest to show what she was truly thinking at a crime scene.

“Do you need to conceal your true thoughts on anything?” he asked.

She considered the question. If she was being frank, the answer was no. Most of her time was spent around those she cared for and loved. If she was happy, she was happy. If not, she certainly was not the type to try and hide it for very long.

“Am I a bad liar?” she asked.

“You have a tell,” he replied, leaning forward with a hint of amusement in his eyes.

“What is it?”

“You laugh,” he answered. “When you’re nervous, when you’re being sarcastic, and when you’re lying. Anytime you’re being disingenuous, you laugh.”

“That’s not too bad,” she considered, biting down a chuckle that threatened to rise. He just raised a brow and she sighed in defeat. “I’ll work on it.”

“Just like you’d work on beating me in Cluedo?” he challenged, standing up from the chair.

“Rematch, tonight,” she stood to meet his eye line, poking him defiantly in the chest. “We’ll have John play too, even the playing field a bit.”

“You’re going to lose.”

“You’re-,” she stopped, thinking about her reaction, pulling back the scowl that emerged. “Nope. I’m going to win.”

“I know you’ve been looking up strategies online, and they aren’t going to help you,” he looked down. “Because I’m the best there is, and you especially can’t fool me.”

“Maybe,” she hummed back. “But I can distract you.”

She moved to kiss him by stepping on her tiptoes, but having forgotten her ankle, ended up crashing forward when it collapsed under the shift in weight.

In a mass of momentum, they crashed to the ground, Sherlock buffing the fall with an arm, and dropping his head back when she landed on top of him.

“That could have been so much cuter if we’d landed on the bed,” she noted, peeking down at him. “Are you okay?”

“How did you make it to adulthood in one piece?” he asked. “There was no way you should have made it past infancy with how clumsy you are.”

“Recently I’ve had handsome gentlemen catching me, it’s been pretty nice,” she smirked. “I mean, look at this view.”

They were face to face, Amelia grinning over him, while Sherlock’s eyes traced every inch of her face.

He pulled her toward him, devouring her in a passionate kiss. Hands threaded through her hair; her arms wrapped around his shoulders.

Amelia shifted for a better angle when her foot kicked a pile of canvas tucked next to her bed.

The artwork tumbled free, and she peeked up to see what had caused the commotion.

“Oh,” she turned and grabbed one of the pieces, a small painting of one of Mrs. Hudson’s teacups. “I forgot about that one.”

Ignoring Sherlock’s drawn-out sigh, she busied herself with replacing the knocked over pictures, pausing when she came to the last one.

“I never showed you the painting I meant to send to Brooklyn,” she realized, staring forward at the painting in question.

He sat up, realizing the moment was lost and tilted his head in her direction.

“You never sent it?”

“Never had the chance,” she replied, turning, and holding the large piece up.

The silhouette was familiar, a lithe man standing in a room covered top to bottom in books. He held a violin, his back to the viewer. In the foreground was a pile of sheet music with a single bookmark stuffed between piles of pages. On the bookmark was a delicately drawn sunflower.

It was painted with darker shades than most of Amelia’s other works, less floral and more warmth. Sherlock could picture the living room of Baker Street perfectly. The sound of fire crackling, the smell of leather bookbinding.

This was what she saw. It was comfortable, a little mysterious, but familiar. An old friend.

An adored lover.

“Does my hair really look like that from behind?” he asked, earning a snort from his companion. “I like it. The bookmark is a sentimental touch. What did you call it?”

“Faith,” she replied. “It’s one of the many meanings behind a sunflower. I thought it was appropriate.”

“How so?”

She looked at him, genuinely bewildered by the question.

How did he not know?

“You inspire people,” she answered, looking back at the details in the portrait. “You give people hope in a way. People believe in you.”

It was difficult to explain out loud- hence the portrait (she was an artist after all)- but Sherlock didn’t seem convinced at her explanation.

“Do you believe in me?” he asked simply.

“I painted you a portrait,” she laughed lightly. “I still live here after everything, and we spent the last five minutes making out on my floor. I’ll always believe in you.”

He seemed content with that answer, his hands snaking around her waist and encouraging her to replace the picture and pick up where they’d left off.

~~~

“This was a bad idea,” John voiced for the third or fourth time since the game started.

Amelia was wrapped up in Sherlock’s robe, fingers drumming on her chin while she studied the Cluedo board. She lifted her notecard, lowered it, and continued gazing at the board.

“She’s under this delusion that she can beat me,” Sherlock scoffed, twirling a pen between his fingers, leg jittering under the table.

“I will, this is it,” she announced, moving her piece. “Colonel Mustard, with the wrench, in the observatory.”

She motioned for John to open the packet; brows knitted in focus.

Even Sherlock leaned forward, watching their friend with interest.

“That’s right,” John held up the three cards. “You got it.”

Amelia threw down her cards and grinned, jumping up victoriously.

“I actually did it!” she looked to Sherlock, hands squeezed at her sides in excitement. “I beat you at Cluedo.”

“Impossible,” he grabbed her cards and notes, reading through everything. “How did you know I had the garden?”

“You showed John,” she replied excitedly. “I saw him scribble it down.”

“That’s cheating!” Sherlock snapped back.

“That’s deduction, my dear Mr. Holmes,” she smirked. “I thought all was fair in a game of Cluedo? Those were your rules.”

“I didn’t expect them to turn on me,” he huffed.

“I’m texting Lestrade,” John announced, phone pulled out. “He’s not going to believe this.”

“Don’t you-,” he whirled around at Amelia who was rapidly typing something into her own phone. “Who are you texting?”

“Mycroft,” she answered quickly. “He owes me twenty pounds.”

“You bet against this game?” he scowled, glaring back down at the board. “You must have cheated. John? Did you tell her anything?”

“You would have noticed if we’d been conspiring against you,” the doctor replied. “You lost. Accept defeat.”

“Unacceptable,” Sherlock paced out of the room toward the kitchen, returning with his finger pointed toward Amelia accusatorially. “You distracted me.”

“What?” she blinked up at him innocently.

“In your room, you threw yourself at me and threw my focus off,” he replied tersely. “You knew you could get the upper hand.”

“That sounds like a personal problem to me,” she smirked. “Besides, I’ve never distracted you before.”

“Are you naked under that bathrobe?” he demanded, stepping toward her.

“Jesus Sherlock,” John stood up. “She’s wearing pajamas, you can see them.”

“What did you do?” Sherlock pulled open the robe to reveal an old band shirt and a pair of plaid pajama pants. “You tricked me.”

“I outsmarted you,” she laughed. “Without being totally naked. I’m the superior detective. Dr. Watson, mark the date that I ascended to alpha detective within Baker Street.”

Sherlock’s face fell into a mix of horror, confusion, awe, and shock.

Without another word, he grabbed Amelia by the waist and threw her over his shoulder, trussing back to his room.

“John, find something to do that isn’t here,” he called over his shoulder before slamming his door shut.

Sherlock’s scramble to get Amelia undressed was met with her own quick hands tugging his belt free.

Frenzied hands up and down, pulling at buttons, running through one another’s hair, with hungry kisses, with Sherlock hiding her backward toward the bed.

“Are you sure?” he asked when she was down to a bra and underwear. She was ethereal. Her chest was flushed, her cheeks a mix of blush and freckles, curly hair astray-

“I’ve been waiting much longer than you have,” she purred, pulling him forward and meeting him with her lips.

John was partially out the door when he heard the ruckus upstairs. Mrs. Hudson peeked her head out of her flat, looking up and exchanging a knowing look with the doctor.

“About time,” she sighed, a bit of relief. She cringed when something crashed above them. “I hope that wasn’t the china.”

“I’d put those headphones Sherlock got you for Christmas on,” he advised dryly. “I think we’re in for a long night.”

Chapter 26

#sherlock #sherlock holmes #sherlock bbc #fanfiction #fanfic #sherlock fanfiction #sherlock fanfic #sherlock/ofc #sherlock/oc #sherlock/reader #reader #writing #sherlock writing #john watson #OFC #OC #watson

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possiblyimbiassed · 5 years ago

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John Watson and The Abominable Bride

After reading this brilliant analysis and the following interesting discussion about gay subtext in Conan Doyle’s Sherlock Holmes, also commented by @thepersianslipper, I felt inspired to explore a bit further what Mofftiss might have made of Holmes’ and Watson’s relationship in the episode The Abominable Bride - TAB - of BBC Sherlock. TAB, which is supposed to mainly take place in 1895 (albeit inside Sherlock’s head), seems to be focused on Mofftiss’ take on the Victorian original of their work. In particular I wanted to explore the role of John Watson in this episode, which I suspect is a commentary on ACD himself. I interpret TAB’s Watson as ACD’s alter ego in this context, since he’s (supposedly) the storyteller. What kind of stories did ACD actually write, what did he put in, what did he leave out and what did he leave obvious only to people approaching the story with ‘queer’ glasses?

TAB raises some questions that I think aren’t found - or at least aren’t that very obvious - in the rest of the show. There are similarities, of course, but I think TAB is a rather different display, and not only because the story seems to be re-told from a 19th century perspective. TAB has lines that seem to refer directly to literary criticism of ACD’s work, rather than being meaningful elements of the plot line in Mofftiss’ adaptation. It’s all disguised as Watson talking about his published works in The Strand, which was actually ACD’s own publisher IRL. But I think that’s a bit different from modern John publishing entries on his own blog, which is not Mofftiss’ principal channel of publishing, even if they’ve made it accessible to all viewers who have Internet.

So how is Watson depicted in TAB? For one thing, he starts out clean-shaven by the time he first meets Holmes, but as soon as we see him married, he wears a mustache. Not like the dull, ill-fitting one from TEH, but a ‘virile’, Victorian version which is far more similar to ACD’s own mustache (X).

But in TAB Watson also appears like a man attempting (but failing) to keep up a ‘manly’ facade by trying to lord over the other sex. His treatment of his wife is one example, which gets more contradicted and opposed by Mary the more the episode advances. Watson is rather condescending when she asks him - as opposed to her behaviour in canon - not to leave her behind, and he responds by basically telling her to go back to the kitchen.

MRS WATSON: And am I just to sit here? WATSON: Not at all, my dear. We’ll be hungry later!

Then he runs off with Holmes as usual.

Watson wonders why on earth Mary is trying to be a client. But in ACD’s stories, Watson’s wife has only a role to play as long as she is a client. After that, she’s reduced to some kind of silent support-base for Watson’s relationship with Holmes, who repeatedly encourages her husband to rather spend time with his dear friend Holmes than with her. Not very convincing if you ask me. ;)

An example from FIVE: “My wife was on a visit to her mother’s, and for a few days I was a dweller once more in my old quarters at Baker Street”. (At this point ACD conveniently ‘forgets’ that Mary Morstan is an orphan in the earlier story The Sign of Four (SIGN)). And why would her journey mean that her husband automatically should sleep at 221 B anyway? ;))

Another example from The Naval Treaty (NAVA): “My wife agreed with me that not a moment should be lost in laying the matter before him, and so within an hour of breakfast-time I found myself back once more in the old rooms in Baker Street.” This was supposedly in the month that immediately followed on their wedding. Hmm...

ACD literally wrote Mary out of the story by marrying her with Watson, rather than doing the opposite, which would have seemed more logical to me. Why create a character whose interesting story we’re allowed to know, only to push her out of sight as soon as she marries one of the protagonists? To me this seems almost too wasteful, even with Victorian (sexist) standards of depicting women. Even when Mary is dead and gone, Watson’s ‘wife’ is still referred to every now and then, but without offering her even a name. Which leaves it pretty obvious, in my opinion, that this wife is merely a facade - but apparently important as such.

Mary in both HLV, TAB and TST seems reluctant to accept this role (except when Sherlock reveals her as a facade by projecting her picture on a real, empty facade), but in TLD ghost!Mary encourages John to go and solve crimes together with Sherlock: “make him wear the hat”. In other words, John and Sherlock are allowed to spend most of their lives together, but only as long as the ghost of Watson’s wife still hangs over them as a heterosexual alibi, and as long as the Work can be used as an excuse. This comes directly from Doyle, as far as I can see.

In the case of TAB’s Mrs Hudson, she has very few lines; all she does is serving breakfast or tea, and the literary critic’s perspective is even spelled out by ACD Watson: “Well, within the narrative, that is – broadly speaking – your function“. Which is later, when the character refuses to talk at all, backed up by Holmes: “I fear she’s branched into literary criticism by means of satire. It is a distressing trend in the modern landlady”. And to be honest, I can’t think of many lines from Mrs Hudson in canon, in spite of her being Holmes’ landlady for a very long time. She must certainly have seen a lot of ‘these gentlemen’. :) In the rest of BBC Sherlock she plays a far more important part, to the point that I believe even her more off-hand remarks are actually significant to the story.

Watson’s housemaid in TAB is also treated badly: he rants at her, and when she observes (probably to really rub it in for the audience) that his marriage doesn’t seem to be very happy and fulfilling, and then asks why she is never mentioned in the stories, he orders her out of the room, and then immediately goes running after Holmes.

(Isn’t it interesting, by the way, that the greenish tiles in Watson’s fireplace are so similar to those at modern 221B? ;) This scene is confirmed to happen inside Sherlock’s head, but very similar tiles also appear in the drug den of HLV...)

As for [Molly] Hooper (a John mirror, I believe, created specifically for BBC Sherlock), there’s the morgue scene where her appearance is very similar to Watson’s; the colour scheme, the clothes and even the ACD-style mustache is there.

And that’s exactly when Watson starts talking about a possible ‘secret twin’ in the murder case.

But if Watson and Hooper are metaphorical twins here, one of them is the one who otherwise in the show has made it quite obvious that they’re in love with Sherlock Holmes, while the other one tries (but hopelessly fails) to hide this fact. I also think it’s significant that for the first time in BBC Sherlock, Molly Hooper is recognised as a doctor (a pathologist) in charge of the morgue, rather than any kind of assistant working at a lab. But then Watson ‘outs’ Hooper as a woman, taking his hat off for her while still being dismissive. Is it his own bisexuality he’s dismissing?

Just one more reflection upon Watson and the women in TAB. Lady Carmichael, whose husband Eustace is mocking her and looking down on her, is called Louisa. ACD’s first wife was also named Louisa. They married after knowing each other only for a few months, which is even less than the time between John meeting Mary and their marriage in BBC Sherlock. Louisa died of consumption (chronic tuberculosis) at the age of 49. Watson states in the morgue scene of TAB that Emelia Ricoletti, the ’Abominable Bride’, was already dying from consumption when she committed suicide.

Ghosts are a recurring theme in TAB (as well as in TLD). Holmes makes it clear that they don’t exist - ”save those we make for ourselves” - and that ’the abominable bride’ as a vengeful ghost is created by trickery.

But Watson in TAB is also more superstitious than John ever gives us reason to think he is in the modern show. And according to several sources, ACD was a fervent believer in the spiritual world and life after death (X, X, X).

Speaking of vengeful ghosts, I think one of the names Holmes suggests for this case, before Watson decides to call it “The Abominable Bride”, is quite interesting: The League of Furies. The furies in Greek mythology were vengeful goddesses. One of their explicit purposes was punishing oath breakers and marital infidelity - they were jealousy personified. It’s hard to see the logics in TAB of this cult of women seeking revenge by murder, for crimes that are not actually specified. Or committing suicide merely to prove a point. Vengeance seems more apt in the case of the victims of Charles Augustus Milverton’s blackmail (CHAS), but in TAB the crimes aren’t revealed. All they tell us about Emelia’s husband, for example, is that he “had his way with her”. But since this is all happening inside Sherlock’s mind palace, I think it makes far more sense (as someone has suggested - was it @ebaeschnbliah? @raggedyblue? Sorry for my bad memory) that what we’re actually seeing is Sherlock beating himself over the head with metaphors for emotions. It’s not about the actual women of the show, but rather about the fury of neglected emotions. The vengeful ‘furies’ are over him and John and their mirrors, for having been repressed for such a long time.

Another interesting topic in TAB is the five orange pips that Eustace Carmichael receives, apparently from the women of the cult (who bear pointy hoods like the KKK). Eustace is terrified by the threat and believes that his old sins are coming back to him, while still trying to keep up a brave facade, outwardly blaming his wife for being hysteric. But soon he’s stabbed to death. While the five ‘pips’ also appears as ‘Greenwich pips’ already in TGG (which some brilliant people have pointed out resembles a five-act play, where S5 might be the unresolved final ‘pip’), these real pips are from ACD’s The Five Orange Pips (FIVE).

Doyle’s story is about a rather unpleasant uncle of Holmes’ client, who was a racist and member of the KKK in the States. Following his escape back to Europe after the civil war, the remnants of the Klan seek him out and threaten him with orange pips as a signal, and later kills him. When the client visits Holmes and Watson, the following dialogue occurs, which is exactly the same as the conversation between Louisa Carmichael and Holmes in TAB:

“I have come for advice.” “That is easily got.” “And help.” “That is not always so easy.”

The same threat and killing happens also to the client’s father and eventually to the client himself (who is named John, by the way). Holmes figures out who the culprits are, but by then their sailing ship has already left London. The story ends with Holmes and Watson being reached by the news that parts of the wrecked ship have been found drifting in the Atlantic, but the destiny of the crew is unknown. Un unsolved case by ACD that is still waiting for its solution in Series 5?

Transcripts from Ariane De Vere (X). Screen-caps (partly) from here.

@sarahthecoat @gosherlocked

#BBC Sherlock and ACD Canon #the five orange pips #the league of furies #the abominable bride

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deltaengineering · 5 years ago

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Fall Anime 2019 Part 4: also, he has a gun for a head

Beastars

So here’s the CG anime that everyone for some reason decided way in advance would be the best show of the season, more or less by default. I was very skeptical of this for a multitude of reasons. First of all, that is a bad name for a show and you can’t convince me otherwise. It’s actually even worse because you’re supposed to write it in all caps, but I refuse. Second, it has a terribly on the nose conceit in which all sorts of animals live together in a high school setting and it’s all metaphorical ‘n shit. The main character is a wolf but get this, he’s actually all sensitive and quiet! Yeah, this is definitely rated D for Deep. And finally it’s by Orange, the CG studio that got an inordinate amount of acclaim for making Houseki no Kuni, the show that everyone thinks looks great and finally made CG anime worthwhile (actual real fact: HnK does not look great most of the time and CG anime was worthwhile well before it).

But enough about my preconceptions since Beastars is... pretty good, actually. If you ignore the setting, which is indeed terribly on the nose. And there’s not much else to say about the story so far besides it. However, it looks significantly better than Houseki no Kuni because it actually has really good character animation throughout instead of a one-minute action scene with flashy spinny camera tricks every other episode. The directing’s strong too, even if the show conspicuously mainly consists of obvious manga panels. I’m still not too hot on the animal stuff but the general writing seems to be sufficiently competent it would work simply on a character level. So I don’t love it, but it seems solid enough to see if it goes somewhere with its “Zootopia but also Beverly Hills 90210 but also they eat each other sometimes″ plot.

Rifle is Beautiful

Remember the whole “anime about some assorted anime girls joining a club doing an oddly specific activity” thing? This is another one of those, and now it’s about air rifle sports shooting. Except it’s not about air rifle sports shooting because that’s apparently way too violent, so they use rifles that look like exactly like air rifles but are actually based on lasers or really bright flashlights (they can’t keep their bullshit straight between scenes, sorry) instead. I just don’t think “girls doing activities” anime should blatantly misrepresent their subject matter like that, you know? With the possible exception of idol anime that is, ain’t nobody who wants to hear about that shit. Apart from that it’s nothing special, so if you are really into air rifles and wish to watch an anime that’s not about those, knock yourself out. It goes through a whole “club needs 5 members” arc in the first half of the first episode, so I really can’t say where it goes next. Nowhere much, I would guess.

Oh right, there’s one more thing: They frequently render the bodies in CG and the heads in traditional drawings, and they do it every time when they’d actually have to draw a rifle otherwise. It’s a weird effect that I think I haven’t seen anywhere else before, and it’s not great but also not terrible. And it’s the most interesting thing about the entire show.

Kabukicho Sherlock

“Let’s take a bunch of public domain characters and put them into a hip modern setting” seems to be its own genre at the moment, and not only because the BBC did that with S. Holmes, Esq. already. Obviously this show is influenced by that (besides other public domain namedroppers like Bungou Stray Dogs), mostly in Watson and his relationship with Sherlock, but Sherlock-san is rather different here; he’s neither the classic Victorian bohemian nor the abrasive sociopath of the BBC version, and tends more towards a bumbling 90s pop culture version of autism and/or general wackiness here. These two are surrounded by a bunch of campy transvestites for some reason, and I’m not quite sure whether I’m supposed to find this particular stereotype offensive or empowering this week, but it sure is annoying. And it has the same character designer as Joker Game, so if you like chiseled, angular anime men, you’re in for a treat here - even if they tend to wear a lot of makeup and dresses sometimes. I don’t know man, it seems sort of okay-ish for the most part but it’s neither as funny as they think, nor as weird as they think, nor is the murder of the week intriguing at all. Oh yeah, he’s hunting noted public domain character Jack the Ripper. Because of course he is.

Shin Chuuka Ichiban!

I am told this is the sequel to episode 19 of a 52-episode anime TV show from 1997. Okay. I am also told to not dare watch this without the important setup therein, which makes me think I should pay less attention to what I’m told because understanding Shin Chuuka Ichiban and its backstory is not hard at all. Kid is superawesome cooking champion in ancient China and goes around clowning on lesser cooks, got it. It’s not a complicated setup and it’s not a complicated genre either: This seems to be mostly about sick shounen cooking duels. Besides the setting, the main difference between this and Shokugeki no Soma seems to be that SnS goes for ridiculous and Chuuka Ichiban goes for epic - which is to say that it fancies itself emotional as well. Apart from that it’s what you’d expect from a cooking shounen, big moves, big reactions, huge twists and so on. One notable thing is that this show looks really, really nice. Production I.G seems to be establishing a sideline in taking stuff from the 90s and updating it with smoother animation and shinier lighting, while keeping the overall look intact; They did it for Mahoujin Guru Guru, and this looks much the same. Still, I’m just fundamentally not really interested in what appears to be a very straightforward cooking shounen from the 90s.

Assassins Pride

Straight from the Department of Chuuni, we have this light novel masterpiece about a cool as fuck teenage assassin who teleports behind u and nothin personells fools all day. He then meets a princess he’s supposed to off but just kinda decides not to, probably because she seems to be smitten by his m’lady act. Now he has to use his sick skillz to keep them both alive. It’s awful and terrible and no good and also kind of adorable. This truly is the most 13 AND A HALF MOM years old anime in a while, and it’s not even isekai! The writing’s just so amateurish and corny you can’t help but smile when princesses exposit their backstory for no reason while being accosted by pumpkin monsters (without knowing that Awessassin McCooldude happens to be listening in, which is certainly convenient). Or when the episode ends with the man just reading the synopsis of the show out again, in case you were too fascinated by this plot to pay attention to what it’s about. Yeah I’m not going to watch this in a thousand years, but it sure made me chuckle. Your mileage may vary.

Mugen no Juunin - Immortal

Speaking of 𝔱𝔥𝔞𝔱 𝔫𝔦𝔫𝔢𝔱𝔦𝔢𝔰 𝔢𝔡𝔤𝔢, another anime adaptation of Blade of the Immortal appeared! You know, the manga for the cultured and historically minded guro fan. The first episode of Blade of the Immortal runs with this and is an arthouse production that someone most definitely directed the shit out of. I don’t think I’ve seen this much directing since, well, Sarazanmai, but “Ikuhara amounts of directing” is pretty much the idea here. And most of the time it even works! The quickly edited, disorienting style gives episode 1 a feeling closer to horror than to a cool swordmen action show, and that really brings out the best in the material, which is grotesque splatter bordering on the comical - It’s somehow a better Junji Ito anime than the actual Junji Ito anime. I think it tries too hard in a few places, but at least it does try.

But then I watched the second episode and that one’s a fairly conventional splatter-comedy swordin’ anime. I am not at all pleased with this development. The third episode was better again and seemed to split the difference between 1 and 2, even if it mostly uses the tricky editing to save on effort in the action – I would much prefer actually readable fights and the wacky mannerisms in the more psychological stuff, thank you very much. Based on episode 1 I thought we might have something special here, but as of episode 3 I’d already merely call it pretty decent. I guess I’ll still stick with it but man, that’s a real bummer.

No Guns Life

No Guns Life is a neo-noir thriller about a guy who has a gun for a head. That’s fuckin rad and exactly the kind of silliness I am totally down for. He also has a gun for a hand, and there’s also some battle nun’s who carry revolvers with two cylinders, so in short I think the title is false advertising. This sounds very wacky (and it is), but it also takes its noir very seriously, down to details more wannabe neo-noirs tend to neglect (like being set right after a big war). The look and feel is pretty excellent, with sharp design and high-contrast artwork, and the music goes all in on the moody saxophone as you’d expect. And there’s some really adorable “look mom, I’m writing” stuff about how Man With Gun For A Head really “needs someone to pull his trigger” and so on (which is, as the astute reader might remember, at the back of his head). It feels like a throwback but then I can’t really think of many 80s/90s shows like this, so it’s actually more like the sort of faux-retro idea Trigger/Imaishi would come up with on a lark. Trigger/Imaishi would, of course, make a far worse anime out of it, so it’s all good. Well, it has some pacing problems and as always it’s a fine line between amusingly camp and not so amusingly camp anymore, but No Guns Life seems to have enough real qualities that it can probably stand on its own even when its conceptual gimmick eventually doesn’t suffice anymore. I give it a two gun’s up.

Hoshiai no Sora / Stars Align

And finally, here’s an anime about middle schooler softboys playing a tennis just as soft as themselves, while being henpecked by the elites on the girl’s team. This is not an “actual” sports anime though: for starters, it’s not based on some shounen manga and is an anime original with quite some staff pedigree instead. It’s also more of a character drama that already goes to some surprisingly real places by the end of episode 1, reminiscent of the recent and quite good Run with the Wind. Furthermore, it looks delicious, with minimalist but distinctive and varied character designs and animation that’s both extremely detailed for a TV anime and also not trying to shove that fact into your face with flashy stunt cuts. In short, this show seems very simple at first glance but every aspect of it just oozes quality. If nothing else, it’s already worth watching just for the excellent ending sequence where the characters show off their “best” dance moves and the chunky student council president dunks on everyone. This one caught me by surprise and it’s an easy pick for most promising show of the season.

#anime #impressions #Beastars #Rifle is Beautiful #Kabukicho Sherlock #Shin Chuuka Ichiban!#Assassins Pride #Mugen no Juunin - Immortal #No Guns Life #Hoshiai no Sora #stars align

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bluerosesburnblue · 5 years ago

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Your Jacob’s Character by @hufflepunk-asfrick and (spiritually) MC Character Challenge by @cptaincarswell (neither of whom will actually be tagged because the ship sailed on these months ago and I don’t want to clutter their notifications)

Rules: Make a collage of characters that summarize what you headcanon your MC’s brother, Jacob to be like! Tag who you want to see do this

and

Rules: Choose five characters (movie or tv show) that represent your MC/ MC’s different layers.

So uhhhhhhhhhh... here’s the thing. I was tagged in the Jacob Character Challenge by @wilhelminafujita and indirectly by @batgirl-87 a long ass time ago. I was also tagged by @batgirl-87 in the MC Character Challenge but I don’t... watch enough TV or movies to actually do that one all the way! So I’ve gone ahead and merged the two challenges into just a collage of five characters for both of them

Explanations for the choices below!

We’re going clockwise from the top of each collage

Jacob Caradoc Dwyn

Ephemer (Kingdom Hearts series)

I made a direct comparison a long time ago, but tell me if this is familiar: an overly curious boy goes missing while investigating a huge conspiracy and you spend most of the prequel mobile game he stars in hunting his ghosting ass down while he occasionally sends you vision messages

The similarities go way beyond just their roles, though. Ephemer is a big conspiracy theorist who hates not knowing things and will do whatever it takes to hunt down the truth

Most people thought he was absolutely crazy, as you do when someone tells you that they think you’re all secretly being sent into holographic simulations when you go on missions (but he was also totally right)

He’s also notoriously overconfident in combat. You meet Ephemer because he decided to take on a monster way stronger than he was and got seriously hurt. But at least he’s self-aware enough to admit it (but also... is really gung-ho about fighting things in the current arc...)

He’s a genuinely nice guy but not above needling people to get the information he wants from them

Loyal as hell to the people he cares about and protective of them. Like, he really doesn’t know your Avatar all that well but still rushes out onto a battlefield to save you and volunteers himself to go on a potentially deadly mission with you just so that you won’t have to go alone

...buuuuuuut he’s not above going off on his own without telling anyone in an attempt to keep them “safe” and then getting into serious trouble for it

Is currently having a panic attack because he was placed in charge of a gang of teenagers and has to be The Responsible One™ but clearly hates it, which is what I imagine Jacob would do if you ever made him a leader in any capacity

Messy hair and an adorable smile

Honestly it’d be easier to list the things that Jacob and Ephemer don’t have in common. I didn’t intentionally base Jacob off of him but I won’t deny that a lot of Ephemer probably influenced Jacob’s character

Sokka (Avatar the Last Airbender)

Sokka’s on here mostly due to his relationship with his little sister, Katara. Jacob’s relationship with Seren is a very strong mirror to the Southern Water Tribe siblings

He’s really smart, but because he’s also very goofy a lot of people tend to overlook just how much creativity and ingenuity he brings to the table

No, Sokka’s seriously one of the smartest members of the cast. There’s a reason they call him “the ideas guy.” He knows when to get serious and break out the logic and reason. It’s never stopped him from being a loud, boisterous goofball, though

Cursed by the universe to a lifetime of misfortune

Sokka is very loyal and protective to his younger sister, but because she’s generally more emotionally measured it comes across like she’s taking care of him. And he knows that and really loves her for it, but it just makes him want to take care of her more, since that should be his job

They bicker a lot, but in the end they’re completely inseparable

Ellie (Up)

A bit of an unorthodox choice, but Ellie really is the physical embodiment of Jacob’s excitement to travel and Hufflepuff hard-working nature in a lot of ways

Ellie has huge dreams of exploring distant lands and she goes at it with such gusto that it’s completely infectious

Some people would argue that it’s overwhelming, but Ellie doesn’t really care about their opinion. She’s doing it for her own satisfaction!

When she falls in love with Carl, her goal changes to having both of them go on the trip together in much the same way that Jacob would really prefer traveling with his precious little sister, Seren, than by himself because they’re a team

She saves up her whole life for this trip. She never once gives up on it entirely. Despite the setbacks, despite the fact that she passed away before ever even accomplishing her goal, she was always working towards that great adventure

Sherlock Holmes (Ace Attorney Series - The Great Ace Attorney/Dai Gyakuten Saiban)

I am... so glad that I didn’t make this until after the fan translation for DGS came out because hoooooooo boy does Ace Attorney Sherlock give me mad Jacob Dwyn vibes

(I was always going to make Jacob a huge Sherlock Holmes fan so this worked out way too perfectly)

Ace Attorney Sherlock is legitimately very perceptive and good at picking up on minute details, but because he’s so overzealous about his detective work he has a tendency to jump to conclusions a little too fast and usually ends up having to be redirected by his more calm partner

Once you get him on the right track, though, he’s an unstoppable crime-solving machine (with the bonus ability of being really damn good at sleight-of-hand stuff)

He’s also hugely eccentric. Would Jacob Dwyn just hang from the wall by a hook while wearing an expensive tiara for the hell of it during an investigation? Ooooooh yes

Jacob’s a lot less wildly inaccurate, though, because he does genuinely want to solve the crimes to the best of his ability

I am absolutely certain that Jacob wouldn’t hesitate to tell everyone he knows about all of the mysteries he’s solved with his sister because guys. Guys it was so cool. Yes, I am THE Jacob Dwyn of the Dwyn Detective Agency please pay attention to my cool job

Sherlock is a Good Dad and Jacob is a Good Brother. Case Closed.

Ant-Man/Scott Lang (Marvel Cinematic Universe - Ant Man)

By this point you should be seeing a pattern. Smart, creative guy who’s also pretty goofy who has a younger female character that he loves greatly

Scott, though, isn’t above doing a lot of really sneaky stuff and taking unscrupulous jobs to get to his (admittedly pretty noble) goals. He adds that slight bit of moral edge we were missing from the Jacob equation. Not much, but some

Like I just think of the scene where Scott uses a bunch of creative methods to break into Pym’s house. Methods that require a lot of knowledge of security systems and science

He also does not let the rules stop him from doing what he thinks is right. It’s how he ended up in prison in the first place

Jacob Dwyn would unironically get very excited about a “Time Heist” and you can’t convince me otherwise

Also, the snark and quips. Can’t forget that Jacob’s an incorrigible sarcastic doofus

What can I say? Scott’s undying loyalty to his daughter matches Jacob’s undying loyalty for his sister perfectly

(We are all very lucky that Jacob wants to solve crimes because he would be way too good at doing crimes)

Seren Aisling Dwyn

Saoirse (Song of the Sea)

It wouldn’t have been right to make this list without including one of the characters that inspired Jacob and Seren in the first place and Seren fit Saoirse better than Jacob fit her brother, Ben

Song of the Sea is an Irish film about the two kids of a Selkie mother and a human father, who hides their heritage from them when their mother disappears (note: Jacob and Seren’s mom does not disappear). This hidden heritage causes Saoirse a lot of physical problems (i.e. rendering her mute, making her physically grow weaker the longer she’s apart from her seal’s coat), just like Seren’s hidden Siren heritage causes her to completely fail to address her additional needs that leads to a lot of unintentional illness in her Hogwarts years

Ben and Saoirse have to try and get back home so that Saoirse can sing the Song of the Sea and sent the Fair Folk home. That’s where I got the idea for Jacob and Seren to go wandering off alone as kids and encountering a bunch of magical creatures during their adventures from

Ben totally hated Saoirse until later in the movie, which inspired Jacob hating Seren after she’s born but warming up to her in a few months

Personality-wise, Saoirse may look sweet and quiet, but she’s a huge ball of sass. It’s just easy to miss because she only conveys it in her facial expressions, which is something that Seren’s always done, too

She also doesn’t follow their grandmother’s rules well. She’ll go along with things to a point, but the second she doesn’t agree she’ll strike off on her own and get it done by herself despite how tiny she is

(A lot of younger!Seren was inspired by Saoirse)

When given the opportunity to leave with the Faeries and her mother, she chooses to stay behind with her brother and father because she loves them, and while Seren isn’t fond of either of her parents, she would stay behind for Jacob

Yew Geneolgia (Bravely Second)

Okay... look, I promise that I didn’t just base Seren off of Yew because I made her before finishing Bravely Second but...

Playing Bravely Second was an experience after making Seren

So my boy Yew Geneolgia is the youngest member of a noble and prestigious house, was never expecting to inherit it because he had an older (half-)brother so he went to magic school and ended up being, like, the smartest student there, to the point where they had to give him a secret special ranking on the school ranking system because he was tooooo smart at magic (*cough* Seren singlehandedly winning the House Cup every year *cough*)

Of course their father doesn’t want to let Yew’s brother inherit anything because he’s not a pureblood noble (and the Dwyn siblings aren’t pureblood wizards). Yew’s brother disappears hunting down a sword in order to earn his way back into the family

Yew goes hunting the sword down to try and bring his brother home and surprise surprise it’s CURSED

(The Geneolgia siblings are not a perfect match to the Dwyn siblings but there are a LOT of similar elements there)

After his brother goes missing again after finding Yew with the cursed sword, Yew decides that he’s just going to try and be his older brother by taking up his place as a swordsman despite sucking at it. In Year 4, Seren decides that everyone just wants Jacob and not her, so she starts modeling herself after him more until she can’t keep it up anymore in late Year 5

So a small, young magic nerd who’s extremely awkward in social situations whose story revolves around a missing older brother that they attempt to emulate, unsuccessfully

Also, Yew is the one making all of the Bestiary entries. He’s clearly got an interest in Zoological stuff and he’s a very good artist since he does all of the illustrations in there, too

Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III (How to Train Your Dragon Series)

Hey speaking of Zoology did you know that Seren was into Magizoology and is very good at befriending creatures? It’s true!

Seren in her early years at Hogwarts is very similar to Hiccup from the first film. She’s shy, but undeniably witty and sarcastic. Her self-confidence is extremely low because she keeps getting compared to more successful family members. Her strengths come from her intelligence and being able to look at things from angles others might not, like extending empathy to creatures that most would hate

She’d never be able to hurt a dragon like Toothless come on. He’s too cute. Too sweet

As she gets older she still matches up with Hiccup, though. He finds himself being thrust into a leadership position and having to adjust, but doing so gracefully and with emotional maturity in much the same way that Seren steps up to lead the Cursed Vault crew when she needs to

You have to be pretty fearless to step up to a dragon that could bite your head off and then learn to fly on it, and when it comes down to it Seren is just as fearless in anything that is not a social interaction

I’m sorry, did I just hear SELF-SACRIFICIAL TENDENCIES? Why yes, yes I do believe that I did

And Hiccup will never, ever give up on Toothless no matter what. No matter what the dragon does (or is forced to do in the second film). Just like Seren will never give up on Jacob. No matter the cost

Ema Skye (Ace Attorney Series - Apollo Justice)

I know that Ema was in Spirit of Justice, too, but I don’t know anything about that one so I’m only covering her appearances chronologically up to Apollo Justice

I didn’t realize until watching someone’s blind playthrough of Apollo Justice recently just how much Seren was like Ema

So Ema starts off strong already as A Very Devoted Little Sister who absolutely refuses to believe that her older sister is guilty of a crime despite her sister confessing to it

(She ended up being right and her sister was blackmailed into covering it up which was honestly my default situation for the Dwyn siblings before the Portrait Vault chapter came out. Ema’s sister was being blackmailed with evidence that could implicate Ema with murder, Jacob would have been blackmailed with Seren’s safety. Which is still true, I suppose, but we’ll see how this holds up later)

She’s very passionate about forensic science in the same way that I imagine Seren can be in her own interests like Magizoology and later on the development of forensic magic

Almost a decade later, though, and Ema is... super jaded and grouchy. She’s sarcastic and kinda rude, but lights up again if you get her talking about her interests

She also doesn’t have her dream job but is instead... a detective. though Seren’s a lot more content as a detective than Ema is because she’s got Jacob and a license to do creature-related cases

But just the progression from the innocent kid to the jaded adult detective is... such a good match that I just had to put Ema in here

Katara (Avatar the Last Airbender)

And just like Jacob had Sokka, Seren gets Katara to round it off

There might be something to be said about the Southern Water Tribe siblings and the Dwyn Siblings both being linked to water as an element

I already covered a lot of this in Jacob’s section, but they have a similar dynamic

Katara is a Mom Friend extraordinaire who obsessively takes care of everyone in the group, even when it’s not her place to. A lot of them find it overbearing sometimes

While she’s generally fairly mature and level-headed, when she gets mad she gets absolutely furious and cannot be stopped until she’s satisfied

“You can’t knock me down!” is such an iconic line and very much embodies Seren’s stubbornness and determination to get back up and keep trying no matter what

She loves her brother. She’s not above criticizing him or the occasional jab, but she also knows when to give him credit for the incredibly smart things that he does. Nobody will defend him quite as hard as she will when she has to

The lovable, goofy, intelligent, protective older brother and the equally intelligent, mature, caring, stubborn younger sister. There’s no better way to describe the Dwyn Siblings than that

#harry potter series #harry potter hogwarts mystery #hogwarts mystery #hphm #hphm jacob #jacob's sibling #jacob dwyn #seren dwyn #my god i'm so sorry this took so long i really wanted to do it #but i also REALLY wanted to finish the picture of them as detectives to use IN it #and well... we can all see how well that one went

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shooting-the-walls · 5 years ago

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OKAY SO I watched abominable bride for the first time in while. These are the notes I made throughout it

• The whole montage

• ThE thEME tUNe

• Benedict's posher accent

• MRS HUDSON: WE STAN A QUEEN

• The way John says "Holmes": synonymous with "watch it bitch"

• "...abandoned you for an unsavoury companion of dubious morals": SHERLOCK SWEETIE NO

• Mary: ONCE AGAIN WE STAN A QUEEN

• Lestrade needing a fucking drink is such a mood

• Parts of it sound so scripted (e.g the scene in the morgue with Holmes and Watson's first meeting): evidence early on of it being in his mind palace? Sherlock knows it has to go in a certain way, not quite sure how to go about creating such a vivid image? Gets more natural as the episode goes on

• The way Sherlock stops playing the violin so abruptly when John and Mary are arguing: HE'S SUCH A SWEETIE JESUS CHRIST I CAN'T TAKE IT

• "Needs must where the devil drives, Watson"

• "Votes for Women!" "For or against?" "GET OUT." SUCH A QUEEEEEEEN

• "What friend?" "ENGLAND." "....Well that's not very specific" XD

• "Stranger things have happened." "*sigh* Such as?" ".....stranger.... things..?"

• Molly Hooper getting ahead in life YES

• Sherlock being so unaware of how he acts

• *clicks* "COULD IT BE TWINS" (p1)

• "A secret twin?" (p2)

• "IT's nEvER tWiNS"

• "Now that's daddy's gone": OI OI SHERLOCK YOU KINKY LITTLE SHIT

• Sherlock panic-cramming about the Obliquity of the Ecliptic because he wants to impress Mycroft is such a mood

• "Didn't Doctor Watson move out a few months ago"......"That chair is definitely empty" "*sadness* It is isn't it?": SHERLOCK WHYYYYYYY HE LOVES YOU SO MUCH AND YOU DON'T EVEN KNOW IT

• "I shall have a word with my wife to have a word with you": why do I get a feeling that Mary will just high five the servant girl like "Yas queen"

• "We are on our way to see someone cleverer than you" "Shut up"

• THE WHOLE SIGNING SCENE OMG

• THE ELBOW IN THE SIDE XD

• "I am glad you liked my potato" XD

• "Sorry wot" *thumbs up*

• FATCROFT

• Pretty sure this is what Sherlock wants to be able to do with Mycroft in real life: so much banter but he's still such a bitch XD

• *on the enemies": "socialists?" "Anarchists?" "The French?" "Suffragists?" "The Scots?" "Ooo, sounds Serbian"

• Mycroft: "Are there any large body of people you aren't concerned about?"

Watson: NEVER

• I swear to God Watson is all of Holmes' self control XD

• I would have hated being a woman in 1895: imagine wearing a full fucking dress at breakfast!?!?!?!?!?

• I mean talk about low budget creepy horror movie vibes with Lady Carmichael's narrative lol

• Pretty sure the Bride when she's moving is an old Weeping Angel prop from Doctor Who XD

• "Should probably-" "DEFINITELY" "Definitely avoid that"

• Mary being a double agent for Mycroft

• The comments on the train about Watson convincing the world: SHERLOCK WE NEED TO TALK ABOUT YOUR SELF ESTEEM

• "There are no ghosts in this world: save the one we make for ourselves"

• SHERLOCK STANDING UP FOR LADY CARMICHAEL YAAAAS

• I'm sorry but Sherlock stop giving shade to the man whose life you were supposed to be saving XD

• IN THE GLASS GREENHOUSE OMG THE TAAAAAAAAALK

• "Have patience, Watson": HAH SAYS YOU SHERLOCK

• Sherlock basically saying "dude you're the one who knows about girls I'm gay as fuck"

• HANG ON the fact that he uses the modern picture of Irene Adler???? Sherlock your mind palace is starting to slip again.

• "You waited until I was asleep and looked at it" ".....I did" WATSON YOU LITTLE SNEAK

• "Under no competition whatsoever": OH SHERL YOUR SELF ESTEEM DUDE

• I love Sherlock's two sides represented by Holmes and Watson arguing with each other. Like it's the perfect representation of the conflict Sherlock must go through with his emotions

• "I made me.... Redbeard?" OH GOD HE'S REMEMBERING IT SOMEONE SEND HELP

• AND THE FACT HE DISTRACTS HIMSELF BY MAKING THE GHOST APPEAR

• Lady Carmichael totally represents Sherlock's guilt. Nobody can convince me otherwise. "You promised to keep him safe, you promised...." why can I see him saying that to himself after everything that happened with Mary? Like he promised himself that he'd keep John safe, and that's why he jumped and ran off for two years, and then he completely overlooks the fact John's wife was an assassin and then she shot him and everything and Sherlock felt guilty

• And he blames HIMSELF (note how Holmes and Watson represent Sherlock's two sides) for Sir Eustace's death: could Sir Eustace represent someone else?? Another murder or situation perhaps??

• OMG MORIARTY'S NOOOOOOOOTE: Sherlock is so shooketh when he sees that

• AND it's after that that the cracks start to appear. Modern phrases, the "hhhhhow", reminded himself of the list: he managed to shake himself up so much with just the MEMORY of Moriarty that he begins to lose his already tenuous grip on the reality he's created for himself

• "Pure reason topped by sheer melodrama, your life in a nutshell": SO TRUE

• OMG HE REMINDS HIMSELF OF THE LIST HE'S SO PRECIOUS

• "I haven't finished yet": SHERLOCK WHAT HAVE YOU DONE

• With the reporters: "why do you make them tea?" "I don't know. I just sort of do": LINK to 'The Sign of Three' and the morning tea

• "....The devil. I wouldn't be surprised, we get all sorts round here"

• OKAY GUYS MORIARTY'S HERE EVERYONE STAY CALM

• The dressing gown comment XD

• Andrew Scott is such a fucking queen and he makes such a creepy Moriarty and I FUCKING LOVE IT

• I love how creepy Moriarty is in Sherlock's mind palace. Like this is Sherlock's true perception of Moriarty as an enemy

• "We don't needs toys to kill each other where's the intimacy in that" OI OI BOYS

• THE SHAAAAAAAKING

• Can we just talk about how beautifully the transitions are? Like how they show the turbulence and Sherlock's own mind trying to drag him out of his mind palace but Sherlock stubbornly holds on because he needs to know

• HE JUST WANTS TO KNOW WHAT HAPPENED I FEEL SO SORRY FOR HIM SUCH A SWEETIE

• THE CRAAAAAaaaater talk about the CGI

• "Maybe I could backcomb": DUDE THE BACK OF YOUR FUCKING HEAD WAS BLOWN OFF

• "It's not the fall that kills you Sherlock. It's not the fall, never the fall. It's the landing!"

• BOOM BACK TO MODERN DAY

• EYY CURLY HAIR IS BACK

• The fact that Mycroft knows immediately what's going on: it's so sad but it's so poignant that he's clearly been through this before

• HE WAS READING JOHN'S BLOG. JOHNLOCK FOREVER

• "Did you make a list?"

• And the fact he tries to avoid it but he knows he can't: JOHN'S FACE WHEN HE READS THE LIST. What was on that thing???

• REQUEST FOR SEASON 5: what the fuck was "that day"? The fact there's a whole agreement?? I WANNA KNOW

• "I'm not an addict, I'm a user. I allievate boredom and occasionally heighten my thought processes"

• SHERLOCK AND MYCROFT ARE SO SARCY WITH EACH OTHER: "listen to me" "nope. It only encourages you"

• OH GOD NO NOW THERE'S BROTHERY FEELS MYC STOP

• "I should have realised. "Realised what?" "That for you solitary confinement is locking you up with your own worst enemy" JESUS THE FEELS

• Then straight back to Victorian. THE TRANSITIONS ARE SO SEAMLESS AND BEAUTIFUL

• The fact he reminds himself in his mind palace that he's an addict. Literally two minutes ago he was saying he wasn't an addict. SUCH LIIIIIEEEEEEES

• And he tells himself off so much and I love him but he just needs such a hug

• "For Mary always. Never that": the fact he's so willing to do anything for Mary just because John loves her, regardless of what Sherlock feels towards her. IF THAT ISN'T TRUE LOVE I DON'T KNOW WHAT IS

• "You're Sherlock Holmes wear the damn hat"

• "Sherlock, tell me where my bloody wife is you pompous prick or I'll punch your lights out!": AGAIN showing the fragility of his mind palace

• "No not him, the clever one": AWWW HE REALLY DOES LOVE MYC

• "I was talking to Mary": NO YOU WEREN'T WATSON SHUT UP

• "Die to prove a point?": *ahem* Moriarty *ahem*

• OOO THE REVELATION OF HOOPER

• I feel so sorry for all of the women and how they've been marginalised

• OH HEY JANINE WHY ARE YOU HERE

• I mean I love what these women are doing but c'mon, killing them? Really? I totally agree cos they're bloody brutes but you could've tried not to break the law

• HE'S SO CONFIDENT GODDAMN BUT HE'S SO WRONG

• Moriarty once again reminding him (in a dress this time) that it's in his heaaaaaad

• "Speaking as a criminal mastermind we don't really have gongs"

• HEYYYY WE'RE BACK TO MODERN AGAIN

• I have a feeling that despite being completely under, Sherlock refused to let anyone but John touch him which was why John was checking him out despite the GMC discouraging doctors treating their friends/family

• He's talking so fast he's definitely still high

• "NO everyone always lets you do whatever you want, that's how you got in this state" damn that got hella real hella quick

• "He's right, you know." "So what if he's right, he's always right!" SHERLOCK YOUR LOVE FOR JOHN IS SHOWING

• *Mycroft standing with a torch watching them work hard" "I'm HELPING"

• The look Mycroft and Lestrade share: like "wtf have we gotten ourselves into" MYSTRADE

• "Still not awake, am I?" HE KNOWS YOU SEE

• We're at reichenbach: Sherlock's worst nightmare basically

• Moriarty even describes himself as a "virus" in a hard drive: Sherlock right there is admitting that Moriarty IS his weakness, that Moriarty stops him from being able to function at full capacity

• And then the fight: the fact Sherlock is losing so miserably

• "At the end it's always just you and me"

• WATSON YES THIS WAS WHEN YOU NEEDED TO ROCK UP

• "Pretty damn smart" AWWWW SHERL

• "Ugh why don't you two just elope already": I'm sorry but Moriarty is basically the fandom here XD

• "Actually, would you mind" "not at all" *dies from fangirl*

• "It was my turn": John just wanted to push Moriarty off of something XD

• John watching Sherlock jump off: "DO A FLIP!"

• "You probably just ODed?" "NO TIME"

• SHERLOCK HE CARES ABOUT YOU STOP BEING A BITCH

• "Look after him... please?": You see, Mycroft KNOWS. Up until 4-5 years ago, that was Mycroft's job, and you can just tell that he's not used to not being there. He's been caring for Sherlock for all of those years and he pretends to be so distant ("The Ice Man") but Sherlock is his weakness. Sherlock will always be his weakness. He obviously loves him (BROTHERLY WAY) so much and it HURTS how Sherlock just brushes him off

• The last little bit in Victorian London: still Sherlock's mind palace and coming down off the drugs still?? The fact that it's modern London outside of the window suggests that he's still in the mind palace where some of the hallucination (?) he'd been having is still lingering.

#sherlock #abominable bride #sherlocks3 #johnlock #analysis #brain dump #long reads #my feels

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elizadoolittlethings · 5 years ago

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MG - The Man Behind The Genius

(via Get Ready to Love Mark Gatiss)

“Can we just sit here and watch this Spider-Man cartoon?” Mark Gatiss smiles slyly but it’s not clear if he’s completely kidding. We’re sitting on a couch in The Museum of the Moving Image in Queens, New York where a small retro-TV is playing an appropriately retro episode of Spider-Man and His Amazing Friends. “I love cartoons,” Gatiss tells me. “Did you ever see the old Star Trek cartoon? It’s brilliant. It’s basically like season four.”

The guy sitting next to me might look like Mycroft Holmes, but he barely sounds like him at all. This guy is softer, more childlike, more down to talk about whatever, so long as those things are James Bond, Sherlock Holmes, Doctor Who, superheroes, Star Trek… In short, if you meet Mark Gatiss, you want to be best friends with him instantly.

For the uninitiated: Mark Gatiss is the co-creator (with Steven Moffat) of Sherlock. He’s also an actor IN Sherlock as Mycroft Holmes, Sherlock’s snippy, brilliant older brother. He’s written for Doctor Who numerous times, including last season’s “Robots of Sherwood,” as well as the classic Dickens 2005 episode “The Unquiet Dead.” He’s got a recurring role on Game of Thrones as Tycho Nestoris of the Iron Bank, but has roots in the famous British comedy The League of Gentlemen. In short: he’s done some things that are beyond impressive.

Our chat is talking place two hours ahead of The Museum of the Moving Image’s special screening of the Doctor Who episode “Sleep No More,” which is the one Mark wrote for this season. And yes, I can call him Mark, because he told me to. Glancing over at my open-notebook, full of my chicken-scratch questions, he spies the word “Gatiss,” at the top of the page complete with a frantic double underline. “Don’t say ‘Moffat’ or ‘Gatiss,’” he coos. “Say ‘Mark.’”

To say Mark Gatiss is disarming would be an understatement similar to saying Sherlock Holmes is smart. It’s not that Mark is disarming, it’s like you and he have been exchanging dog-eared paperbacks for years and this conversation about the animated Star Trek from the 70s is old hat. After we talk about how great the writing is on that cartoon Trek, I ask him if he’d ever want to write for Star Trek.

“The new series?!!“I love Star Trek, so yeah, I wouldn’t say no. Simon Pegg’s writing the new one [Star Trek Beyond]. So yeah. You never know!”

Is there anything else—any other established universe—Mark Gatiss would like to write for other than Star Trek?

“Nooo…No. I want to do something new. But it’s so hard to get it off the ground. I’ve said this many times, and it’s absolutely true. That there is a reason why people revisit brands that are so familiar; it’s because they’re so familiar! And it’s getting harder and harder to try and convince people to take a punt at something new. So, that is absolutely vital. Otherwise, there’s no blood in it—and I say this knowing that I’m associated with two of the biggest reboots in history—and people will always revisit Sherlock Holmes. And I think that now that Doctor Who has really returned after its absence, Doctor Who is imperishable. It will probably stop again one day and then come back again, because that’s what it does. Like anything. But, I would love to do something that people look back on fondly, because it was a brand new thing. But it’s terribly difficult—A. to think of it! B. To get it off the ground. What is the new thing! Sherlock Holmes himself said there is nothing new under the sun!”

What if Steven Moffat left Doctor Who? Would Mark still write for Doctor Who?

“Of course I’d still write for Doctor Who! If they’d have me! It’s a continuing honor and thrill! I would say that unlike Russell [Davies] saying ‘that’s me, done,’ I think that if Steven were to leave, he’d still come back after a few years and do another one. Because he loves it. I mean, Russell loves it too! But, I think Russell saw it as his take on it and that was it. Which is a very grown-up way of moving on. But I can’t resist the urge.”

When you’re hanging with Mark Gatiss, who wants to be a grown up anyway?

Would Mark want to be the showrunner of Doctor Who if Steven Moffat left?

“The truth is I know how incredibly demanding it is. And one of things that makes it very difficult to see is the sort of casual attacks Steven has had to put up with over the past few years. It’s incredibly hard work and they care so much. It’s a 24 hour job. And when people say ‘why can’t you make more episodes!?’ I mean, the episode we’re watching tonight: I was sent the final effect shot the day before I left for New York. That episode is just complete and it’s on this Saturday. There are so many things to consider. But to answer your question, I know how hugely demanding [showrunning] is, but also how hugely rewarding it would be. It’s a huge, life-changing decision. I’m an actor and a writer. I couldn’t act if I did it. Because I wouldn’t have time. The only thing I could act in would possibly be Doctor Who. WAIT A MINUTE! I’ll DO IT!”

At this, Mark begins giggling like a madman, throwing his head back and repeating “I’ll do it! This will effect my whole life? HA HA HA HA! I’LL DO IT!!”

The comedian, the sketch-comedy writer version of Mark Gatiss has emerged! Fittingly, we switch our conversation to the importance of humor in his writing. How and why is he just so damn funny? Is Doctor Who and Sherlock nothing without humor?

“Humor is fundamental. I couldn’t agree with you more. There’s a fundamental misunderstanding of why we love these shows. Essentially from slightly humorless people who thinks it needs to be po-faced all the time. The man who created the Daleks—Terry Nation—was Tony Hancok’s writer. He was a very, very funny man who could also write great science fiction. That’s what Russell is. That’s what Steven is. What I am. Lots of people. Humor is bound-up in the DNA of [Doctor Who]. ‘Robots of Sherwood,’ for instance, is a straightforward romp. But, you should no more criticize a show for being too funny—what’s wrong with too funny, anyway? You hear that a lot. Someone says ‘it’s too funny.’ WHAT? Too funny? Would your prefer it was moderately funny? I’d go for much too funny any day. That doesn’t mean you’re messing with the format, that you’re spoiling it. And if you look back at the history of the show, that’s what it’s always been at its best. It doesn’t get much grimmer than “Genesis of the Daleks.” But of course there’s humor. Of course there is. It might be pitch black, but it’s there. And sometimes the level is pitched one way and sometimes the other. But to me, it’s absolutely quintessential to Doctor Who, it’s a fun show.”

Though I would have loved to talk to Mark for hours only about Sherlock Holmes and his favorite stories and which movies are his personally, secret preferences, I decide that since we’re already best friends, we’ve had that conversation in some alternate world. Instead, I’m interested in continuity. Sir Arthur Conan Doyle flippantly didn’t care about continuity. Does Mark Gatiss care about continuity?

“Because we live in such an overly-examined age, in which everything is easily consumed and spat-out, everything has taken on a ludicrous level of importance. If Conan Doyle hadn’t had his famously lax attitude toward continuity, we wouldn’t be able to have the fun we have. From speculating on the strange fact that Professor Moriarty and his brother have the same Christian name, that Watson’s war-wound moves about, that Mary calls John “James”! I’m sure people did write to [Doyle] and complain, because there were always fans! But the thing is, it’s fine. My attitude is this: get it right if you can because if you’re perversely getting it wrong, it looks careless. But. Absolutely frankly: if someone came up with an idea for Doctor Who that flatly contradicted something that happened in 1967, fuck it. Of course fuck it! Someone once said to me ‘six months ago is ancient history,’ in terms of television. That’s true, because you’re talking about the general audience and not the fan audience. AND if you flatly contradicted something that happened in 1967, the fans would find a way of explaining it. I remember—in talking about Star Trek—someone telling me that reason William Shatner has so much eye shadow on in “Journey to Babel”—more than ever—is because Star Fleet officers are allowed to wear a certain amount of make-up during formal ceremonies! WHAT?!! I mean you don’t have to explain it! The Master was a snake at one point!”

Looking smooth, and talking smooth are something Mark Gatiss knows how to do, and that’s partially because he’s a big Bond fan. Could secret government mastermind Mycroft exist in the Bond universe?

“He does exist in the Bond universe! We made an explicit reference. In ‘His Last Vow,’ I say ‘As my esteemed colleague is fond of pointing out, what the country needs sometimes is a blunt instrument. Which is M! From the books! And of course I’d love to write a Bond film. It’s the one that’s eluded me. Me and Steven we both wanted to do Bond. I did From Russian With Love on radio!”

As our time comes creeping up on us, and the Spider-Man cartoon winds down, I ask Mark if there’s a world for a gay Bond? What about a straight Sherlock? The last one gets a guttural laugh from him, and we launch into the territory of diversity among established characters and fandoms.

“The point is to me, none of these things should be done because anyone feels pressure to tick a box. A show like Doctor Who has brilliantly celebrated gay people, incidentally, which to me is proper progress. But I think personally, there should absolutely be a female Doctor, a black Doctor, an Asian Doctor, but it’s because someone comes along who is absolutely indisputably the person for the job. With James Bond, it’s a literary antecedent. If you were for reasons of box-ticking made James Bond gay, that’s not James Bond. By all means have a gay spy! I’ve written about one myself! [Mark’s Lucifer Box novels] If you want to do a gay British Spy, adapt my books! That’s my advice. Do a franchise based on my books!”

Will Mark Gatiss fulfill his dreams of creating the next “new” thing that we will all love and obsess over? What is the future for our beloved Doctor Who/Sherlock writer? In addition to a film, more Doctor Who and the three new Sherlocks, that is. What is Mark’s secret project he hasn’t talked about yet?

At this he narrows his eyes, pats my leg and says with a Mycroft twinkle and almost a sneer:

“Can’t talk about it.”

Mark’s Doctor Who episode “Sleep No More” airs this Saturday.

#MG #mark gatiss #interview #all things MG

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toomanyfeelings5 · 6 years ago

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the definitive ranking of pulp! the classics covers and summaries, from worst to best

(Note: Pride and Prejudice was not included in this list, as there were only poster and greeting card options for the work, and not an actual book or summary. Had a book and summary been provided, it would have ranked lowest for unoriginality. It’s literally just 1995 Colin Firth staring moodily at you. The caption is “Lock Up Your Daughters...Darcy’s in Town!” which is just unfortunate, frankly, and honestly laughable.)

16. Wuthering Heights by Emily Bronte

You take a novel that’s positively overflowing with drama and give it THIS cover? THIS summary? Absolutely uninspired.

Here’s looking at you Cathy...

Childhood sweethearts turned star-crossed lovers, fuelled by bitter jealousy and dark revenge. She’s pretty and posh, he’s a moody brooding bastard. Heartbreak, alcoholism and plenty of illegitimate kids – it’s a perfect Northern drama.

Where is the feeling? The screaming violins playing as we read? The moors? The time skips? A hint of the positively bonkers plot that only a Bronte could compose?

15. The Picture of Dorian Gray by Oscar Wilde

Oh, the heterosexuality of it all. On an Oscar Wilde novel, no less.

Hey girl...I’d sell my soul for you!”

Dorian Gray might be as pretty as a picture, but he's paid a devilishly high price for it. He'll stay drop-dead gorgeous, but there's something nasty festering in the attic...

Pretty as a picture and still lusting after ladies? Please. Pulp! Classics, you can do better.

14. The Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald

Again, we must speak the ancient chant: Oh, the heterosexuality of it all.

When it came to loving...He knew which Daisy to pick!

Sorry old sport, but Gatsby has a bigger house than you, prettier friends than you and a Rolls Royce to cart them all round in. To a backdrop of popping champagne corks and orchestral jazz, our hero bids to buyout his old adversary, perennial jock, Tom Buchanan and reclaim Daisy, his favourite bit of High Society totty.

Nick Carraway gets not one mention, which is odd given that he’s the narrator, the protagonist, and Gatsby’s most ardent love interest. Also strange is the cover’s insistence that Jordan Baker, known lesbian, would swoon over Gatsby. Doubly strange is how tiny the women are in comparison to Gatsby’s massive frame. What is, again, bamboozling, is how the slogan on the cover seems to imply that Gatsby knows how to pick a woman. He doesn’t know how to choose anyone, let alone love them. All Gatsby truly knows is the desperate pursuit of a fruitless dream.

13. Romeo and Juliet by William Shakespeare

Romeo looks like he could be Juliet’s father. Juliet looks like an Upper East Side Widow, not at all like the tween girl she really is.

Too wild to live...too young to die!

Romeo, Romeo, wherefore art thou…. Oh wait, he’s hanging around in the garden again. Will young Romeo and his Juliet ever be able to express their raging hormones? Or will their feuding families make this romance blossom into a poisoned flower? Either way, both their houses are totally plagued!

“Wherefore” means “why,” not “where,” though I do have to award points to the summary for placing the blame squarely on the feud and not on these doomed young lovers. Though again, young isn’t the operative word I’d use to describe this version of Romeo and Juliet.

12. Robinson Crusoe by Daniel Defoe

This is what one would expect upon seeing a pulp cover of a classic novel. Not much originality or flair is present, but at least some sense of the story is conveyed.

Solitude was driving him nuts!

Cannibals! Captives! Coconuts!

One man’s love of the sea leaves him stranded on a desert island with nothing but a few goats, a bible and a parrot for company.

Will he ever escape? Will his new pal Friday learn to efficiently press a goatskin jerkin? Or will solitude send him totally barmy?

WILL Friday learn to efficiently press a goatskin jerkin? One must read to find out, I suppose...

11. Tess of the D'urbervilles

Marilyn Monroe?????

She’s...no angel.

The original Wessex girl!

Tess is just a humble milkmaid when the local landowner has his wicked way. Her new beau, the smarmy Angel Clare, is none too pleased when he finds out she’s already been deflowered. What is a girl to do? Bloody revenge of course, and an ending to touch the hardest of hearts.

At least the summary blames the terrible men in Tess’s life rather than Tess herself, unlike the tagline on the cover. And while Marilyn Monroe seductively lounging about with a drink doesn’t recall the faintest essence of Hardy’s novel, one would like to imagine Tess relaxing in whatever clothes she pleased, a straw dangling out of her drink, a smile on her face as she answers to no one and spends her quiet evening in solitude.

10. Three Men in a Boat by Jerome K. Jerome

An innocuous cover; the men’s faces hint at the comedic nature of this novel, and yet...something nags the brain upon looking at this.

To say nothing of the dog...

Incompetence, embarrassment and general disaster - no it’s not PMQs, it’s a trip down the Thames! Three hapless fellows and a world weary dog decide they need a holiday from their exhausting hypochondria. Hilarious mayhem ensues.

To say nothing of the dog indeed: Why does the dog on the cover have a human face?

9. The Metamorphosis by Franz Kafka

All one can say upon viewing this cover is: Jeff Goldblum, is that you?

Change really BUGGED him!

Poor old Gregor. One day he's depressed about his dreary travelling salesman gig, the next, he's roaching around the apartment and disgusting his family. All that's left is creeping the walls and eating garbage. How's his sis ever going to find a sugar daddy with her grotty bro in tow?

Gregor isn’t grotty, he’s our six-legged hero in this tragic tale.

And yet in the end, the question that haunts us all echoes in our minds in an unceasing echo: is that Jeff Goldblum?

8. Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland

Alice as a hippie is eye-catching, but not particularly creative.

This cupcake was off her head!

What HAS happened to little Alice? Taking 'shrooms, hanging out with hookah smoking ne'er-do-wells and being dragged to court. That's gonna be one hell of a hangover!

As much as I’m intrigued by Alice wearing heart-shaped sunglasses and a peace sign necklace, the summary and the cover consist of one joke and one joke only.

7. The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde

I just like how Dr. Jekyll in this cover looks equally as fucked up as Mr. Hyde.

No more Mr. Nice Guy... There’s a sinister man about London town with something of the night about him. Mr Hyde is mad, bad and has a penchant for bumping off MPs and other kindly innocents. Will his friend Dr Jekyll be able to stop him? Or is there something more to their relationship than meets the eye…? Only the intrepid Utterson can get to the bottom of this mystery, but what will he find in Dr Jekyll’s lab?

Points to this summary for including Mr. Utterson, and for insinuating that Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde may be clandestine lovers.

6. A Christmas Carol by Charles Dickens

Ladies, gentlemen, and otherwise, don’t we love it when a greedy rich man gets bludgeoned by a mace into being more generous and kindly towards others?

This cat was a drag....’til a midnight wake-up call...

Christmas?! What a load of Humbug. Mistletoe and Wine just don't do it for Scrooge; he's a workaholic miser with an attitude problem. If he doesn't change his ways, he'll end up with no friends and Tiny Tim won't last the year. Let's hope some spooky night-time visitors can put the jingle back in his bells!

Ring-a-ling-a-ling, Mr. Scrooge. The mace is raised and the bells are ringing.

5. Heart of Darkness by Joseph Conrad

The tag-line made me, as the youths say, laugh out loud.

Whoops! Apocalypse....

The horror! The horror!

Kurtz might be the apple of every brutish imperialist’s eye, but his God complex is getting wildly out of hand in the depths of the jungle. What on earth will Marlow find when he finally gets downriver? Devil worship? Savages? Heads on sticks? Or just another nutty white man with his knickers in a twist?

Surprisingly anti-racist summary made this jump to the higher echelons of this esteemed list, though of course that doesn’t excuse this novel’s abhorrent and embarrassing fake-deep racism. It also must be noted that the tag-line should have been “Whoops! White supremacy!” and the text of the novel should have entirely consisted of Chinua Achebe’s essay on the work.

4. The Hounds of Baskerville by Arthur Conan Doyle

The cover alone is a winner. A rabid chihuahua out for blood? Inspired.

Murder...Mystery...Walkies!

A desolate moor, a diabolical dog in need of a muzzle and some inbred locals; Sherlock Holmes is really up against it. With the help of his trusty sidekick Dr. Watson, Holmes pieces together a mystery that has captured the imagination of readers across the decades. All whilst practising a serious coffee and cocaine habit.

The tag-line is fun and catchy, but sadly this summary must be admonished for insisting that Dr. Watson is merely a “trusty sidekick” to Sherlock Holmes. Heterosexuality strikes again, reducing the impact of the striking cover design.

3. Dubliners by James Joyce

Finally! Some style, some panache, some flair to accompany these short stories about being sad and horny in Ireland.

Stuck in the Liffey with you...

Booze, Sex and Hot Floury Potatoes… Those Dubliners are at it again!

Liars, thieves, whores and priests… James Joyce sure knew how to throw a party! This relentlessly downbeat collection explores the very worst aspects of human nature, and doesn’t leave out the juicy bits. It might not be in the best possible taste, but who doesn’t want to get down and dirty in Dublin?

The summary and cover work in tandem to wholeheartedly convince me that Dubliners is an action-packed, slick collection of stories detailing the wild escapades of a motley cast of ragamuffins, and I gotta hand it to the folks over at Pulp! Classics for injecting some bonafide vintage cool into Joyce’s work.

2. Othello by William Shakespeare

I have so many thoughts on this. Mr. T. as Othello is fascinating, as is the tagline, “Some kind of Bard...aaaaasss.” Is this a commentary on blaxploitation media? One can’t help but recall Mr. T.’s reasoning behind his mohawk, his gold chains, to honor his ancestors and assert his living, unshakable humanity in a racist society. Is this is a genuine effort on the part of Pulp! Classics to imply that a blaxploitation-influenced adaptation of Othello could reveal deeper truths to the play that we have had yet to glimpse?

Some kind of Bard... aaaasss

He’s a bardass brother with the love of a fine woman. That is until some cloven hoofed honky starts talking crazy about variously hued sheep tupping the hell outta each other! You gotta pity the fool who gets shafted by the green eyed monster. Let’s hope Othello can work out who to trust before it’s too late…

The fast-paced alliterative language of the summary harkens to Shakespeare’s own wit-fueled dialogue and penchant for creative language. The summary also calls Iago a devil, which is apt, and implicitly criticizes his racism, hinting at the play’s greater tragedies to come. The cover and summary also work in tandem to emphasize Othello’s jealousy and destruction: the “green-eyed monster” is mentioned, and the cover itself is a putrid green. An excellent example of what a vintage cover and summary can achieve.

1. Frankenstein by Mary Shelly

You all knew this was coming.

This kid was born on the wrong side of the lab...

Frankenstein’s monster is on the rampage; terrorising the locals, unleashing murderous hell… and reading novels in his spare time. Can his petrified creator stop this reign of horror before his girlfriend gets the chop?

A James Dean-inspired creature, thereby making them a queer icon? Masterful. The creature being “born on the wrong side of the lab?” A stroke of genius; that they’re called a kid puts the poignancy of the monster’s plight into even greater relief, while simultaneously emphasizing their tragic charm. The clear distinction between Frankenstein and the creature? Reader, I exhaled in a cathartic release of tension. The loving detail that the creature reads novels in their spare time, like any other leather-jacket wearing, motorcycle-riding ruffian with a heart of gold? Beautiful.

Truly, the obvious queer energy of this cover and summary highlights an overlooked dimension of Shelly’s great work while also paying homage to what draws us to this Modern Prometheus time after time. Do we care about the petrified creator in this summary? Not at all. He’s not on the cover, appearing both rebellious and gentle. We are here for the creature, in their leather jacket, on their motorcycle, novel sticking out of a back pocket on their jeans, ready to whisk us away to a place where even monsters like us can find solace, and be at peace, and commune with each other. We need only take their outstretched hand, and be willing to leave the mundane world for something better, for the chance to no longer be alone.

#books #art #classic works #i'm going to purchase a copy of that frankenstein cover and no one will stop me

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