#florid frost

[colorful-horses]

florid frost

[bipolar-ramblings]

@colorful-horses your boy Florid is so pretty ;-;

[wannabelaika]

Saw this dude on @colorful-horses page and was possessed with the intense desire to draw the pretty pony :3

[ocean-blue-orchids]

Pocky Panic pt 2!

This is a continuation of the “what if Yuu introduced the pocky game to NRC and it caught like wildfire” prompt from @the-fab-fox ! I took some of the pairings he suggested and wrote some of them! And snuck my own oc in too because :3 I can :3

Gay chicken and tooth rotting fluff ahead‼️

Pairings are: Trey x Vil, Riddle x Floyd (this one has a short drabble too!), Azul x Cater, Jade x Ruggie x Jamil, Leona x Silver, n2squad (aka Jamil x Leona x Vil, named and basically created by @mellosdrawings), Jade x Finn x Trey (Finn being @the-fab-fox’s oc, hope I did him justice!), and Wiro x Sebek (Wiro being my own silly little guy oc bebo)

This is all mostly off the top of my head and absolutely not beta read lol. I hope people enjoy!

Trey x Vil

-going back to the “vil wont participate because of the sugar content in Pocky” thing…we know Trey has baked healthier sweets for Vil before and by GOD does he have some extra motivation to do it now

-A giant variety all in Vil’s favorite flavors (which based on his favorite food of smoothies, is probably fruity flavors), and he bundles them up in a bag and puts a nutrition label on it and Trey you aren’t beating the mom friend allegations ever

-But yes this does indeed work and Vil has to try to keep cool and act like this very romantic act that’s tailored directly to him doesn’t make him want to giggle into a pillow like a teenage girl.

-That’s hard to do when he’s also like an inch from Trey’s face but. Well. It’s fine he’s fine

Riddle x Floyd pt 2 eelectric boogalo aka “Candi somehow convinces themselves to super ship FloRid after years of not really caring for the ship just by writing some fluff”

-Hm yeah I can say more on this topic. Because Riddle could literally collar Floyd and he would STILL be begging to play this with him

-I mean, it’s Goldfishie! Every reaction Riddle has is like Floyd’s favorite personal react channel. He needs to see how this would go

-But after being collared twice and almost getting hit by a flying cauldron once (thanks Deuce) he is completely lost for ideas

-He complains about this during a basketball club meeting…and maybe Ace is annoyed with Riddle for one reason or another, and he mentions the fact that rule #267 is that any new sweets that are to be presented at an unbirthday party must be thoroughly taste tested by the Queen first!

-And there’s a taste testing day coming up soon…

-Cut to Floyd baking up a STORM in the Mostro Lounge kitchen (which Azul is typically fine with, since he gets to add new things to the menu). Floyd gets the hang of making pocky pretty fast and bakes a bunch. And then maybe he breaks into Heartslaybul to plant the pocky in with the other sweets. And then also he hides in the room with the sweets overnight

-I mean he is an ambush predator so-

-And woagh! The plan works and now Riddle is shouting because Floyd jumpscared him when he went to inspect the pile of sweets

-oh my god I’m writing a snippet AGAIN? Man we’re only two ships in but the voices. The voices!!!

—————

Riddle instinctively tossed the first thing in his hands at the intruder-a frosted sugar cookie. Floyd caught it in his mouth with minimal effort.

“Mmh. Dish ish good stuff, Goldfishie~”

Riddle’s face moved on from pale shock into a pinkish red as he realized who he was dealing with. He should have expected this-who else would bury themselves in the Heartslaybul pantry like some sort of raccoon?!

“But not as good as your face right now~! Man, you really should get a portable mirror, you’re missing out on yourself.”

“This is absolutely UNACCEPTABLE! I know you like to cause chaos, Floyd, but this is a new level of ridiculousness! When I tell Azul that you’ve been snooping around the Heartslaybul pastry storage, he’ll-“

“Eh…why’dya think I’d care if you told ‘zul? Not like he’s my dad or somethin…”

Floyd stood up from where he had been hiding all night, his body making slightly unnatural clicking sounds as he stretched.

“Besides, don’tcha have a bunch of taste testin to do now? Why waste your time yelling at me?”

Riddle’s face was currently at tomato red, working its way up to beet-but he paused to think about what Floyd was saying. He scanned the pile of containers and counted at least fifteen new sweets to taste test…and he had a study session in an hour, and it absolutely wouldn’t do to be late-!

“…you’re right. For once. Now get out of here so I can get to work! You have ten seconds before I collar you and send you back to Azul with your tail between your-or-your legs between…uh…TEN, NINE, EIGHT-“

“Aw, come on!”

“-SEVEN, SIX, FIVE, FOUR-“

“I’m here to help youuuu…”

“-THREE, TWO-“

“You can’t follow your rules without my help!”

“-..? What are you talking about?”

“That rule you gotta follow says that you have to give a thorough examination of the sweets.”

Floyd approached Riddle, leaning down slightly to lift a container filled with the sweets that had been the bane of Riddle’s existence for the past week. He shook it slightly for emphasis.

“How did you know about that rule-no, that’s not important. There’s nothing about those dreadful fad sweets that I need your help with.”

“Oh yeah? You don’t think you gotta put it through a pocky game stress test? Seems pretty neglectful of you to ignore that…”

Riddle took a moment to run that absolutely insane logic through his head…and the conclusion he came to made him let out a small huff. He snatched the container out of Floyd’s hand, opened it, and took out a pocky, pointing it at the eel.

“Very well. Your logic is…somewhat sound. And I’m on a time crunch as is. So you get one. Game.”

Floyd’s eyes widened like a dog being shown a new treat. He grinned, his face now a mix of sinister satisfaction and childish glee.

“Yaaaay~! Ok, ok, Floydie’s going first!

He eagerly leaned down slightly and bit his end of the pocky. It was raspberry flavored, and sure enough it was delicious. The ball was now in Riddle’s court.

Riddle was glad he was in his dorm uniform, his heels gave him the hight to reach his end of the pocky.

It’s just some candy. Just a silly little game.

Riddle bit down, not looking at Floyd-who was keenly looking at Riddle’s face.

Floyd took a surprisingly small bite. They weren’t too close now…maybe this wouldn’t be so bad.

Riddle took a similarly small bite.

Then Floyd followed by halving the length of the treat-Riddle was so close that he could swear he had heard a second pair of teeth crunch down on it.

For once, his face was turning red for a different reason.

Floyd grinned, almost giggling like a child at the sight.

Two more bites later, and the pair were almost out of pocky. Riddle looked at the pocky, then at Floyd. That was a mistake-Floyd was still looking right at him! The eye contact startled him and kept his face matching the pink hue of the pocky in their mouths.

Riddle had never willingly been this close to Floyd, and any time he had gotten this close before, he would quickly blast Floyd away. But now that he was so close…

Had Floyd always looked at him so intensely?

If Riddle didn’t know better, he could almost see a look of admiration on Floyd’s face.

No, no. That’s silly. It’s just entertainment. Maybe…this could still work out in Riddle’s favor. Floyd was just a childish eel, after all, and the best way to handle him would be just giving him the funny experience he wanted so bad. Just a peck on the lips, and he would probably finally get bored and move on to pestering someone else.

Riddle bit down on the last section of pocky. If Floyd didn’t chicken out, which was unlikely, the next bite would be a collision. Their lips were so close, he was surprised they weren’t already touching. It almost felt like they were.

Floyd wasted almost no time once the ball was in his court. He snatched up the last bit of pocky, and kissed Riddle.

It was an awkward kiss, their lips adjusting from holding the candy to a proper peck on the lips. It didn’t help that both of their eyes were open. Despite the butterflies in his stomach (which he was willfully ignoring), Riddle hoped this would be over soon so that Floyd stopped looking at him with that dumb look on his face.

That stupid smile totally screamed “haha, I won!”, didn’t it?

And the way he was leaning forward was clearly to try and knock Riddle off of his balance since he was already feeling lightheaded-which was only because of the strange situation, of course!

And the look in Floyd’s eyes…

Was…

The look in Floyd’s eyes was one that Riddle hadn’t gotten a good glimpse of before. He had thought he had seen the look once or twice, but whenever he saw it, it swiftly disappeared. Now he finally had a chance to see that Floyd was looking at him with…

No, it couldn’t be. Floyd couldn’t be looking at him with adoration. That had to be wrong-this was just him playing a little game with his favorite toy! So he should look like he’s proud of himself, or he should have that dumb sweet face he makes when he’s just told a funny joke, or-

The kiss was over now. Floyd had ended it, to Riddle’s surprise.

But Floyd didn’t move far away. He just…kept looking at Riddle. Scanning his whole face with that same strange expression, as if Riddle’s face were a precious gemstone glittering and reflecting onto Floyd.

His eyes were fixed on Riddle.

Floyd was always calling Riddle “entertaining”. Riddle was accustomed to taking that as yet another insult from someone who viewed him as nothing more than a passing interest. He was entertaining in the same way a cheap toy was. That had to be it.

But Floyd wasn’t looking at him like a toy.

He was looking at him like the sun.

He wanted to see that look more.

He wanted to…do that more.

So he did.

This time Floyd’s expression had a hint of surprise on it-that quickly melted into elation as he wrapped an arm around Riddle to support the second kiss.

——————

HAHA WHOOPS THAT GOT OUT OF HAND UHHH NEXT COUPLE QUICK GO GO GO G

Azul x Cater

-See…these two are idiots

-They’re talking about the game all the time. After all, they both watch trends as a part of the their passions; Azul keeps the lounge updated with themed foods, Cater’s posts stay on trend.

-So of course Azul comes to Cater to talk about the new trend and scheme I MEAN…plan out some new business ventures

-And despite these two being all happy and cute and down bad for each other I firmly believe neither has the romantic confidence to ask the other to play the game with them

-So naturally Jade and Floyd see this happening while Cater and Azul talk in the lounge and their solution is to quietly shut down the lounge for the night, dim the lights, serve up the food Cater ordered and the pocky special…and lock all of the exit doors (Jade pickpocketed Azul’s master key)

-They send Azul a text letting him know he’s not leaving their romantic setup until he mer-mans up and plays with Cater

-Pucker up fish boy (Cater tries to play it cool when Azul asks to play with him especially because Azul is trying to sound suave and completely failing-Cater can tell when he’s nervous by now)

-Something something shalalala don’t be scared

Jade x Ruggie x Jamil

-And if I said that this instantly becomes a “who can spoil Ruggie the most” competition

-His tail WAGS. When you give him SWEETS

-This is an almost everyday thing for Jade and Jamil, trying to beat the other to the punch on playing the game with Ruggie

-One time Jade finds an excuse to be at the Savanaclaw dorm at the crack of dawn to gift Ruggie more pocky and play with him (Leona sees this and thinks it’s pathetic-)

-Meanwhile Jamil is using that hypothetical excess stock from Kalim’s overbuying to try and one up Jade on quantity

-Competitions like this are probably a form of flirting for Jade and Jamil. Which means eventually one of their play arguments ends when Ruggie lifts a pocky stick in between them

-They mellow out a little bit after that. Only a little though

Leona x Silver

-honestly these two kinda stumped me at first but then I locked in and opened my mind fr

-Neither of them seem very keen to follow trends, they seem like a couple that goes on casual dates and often naps together

-But I’m sure that Lillia keeps his son updated on trends, and Leona has head or it by association with seeing his underclassmen doing it

-So I think that perhaps on one of their sleepy dates, Silver jumps into Leona’s dream as may be the usual for them by now

-And perhaps the ever so cool Leona is actually having a dream about playing the pocky game with his darling. Little lovesick lion

-So of course Silver does a quick change with his dream self and enjoys the game with Leona in his dream

-It’s so enjoyable that he goes out to get some pocky for them to play with in real life, and he swears he heard some purring when he gave the box to Leona

————

Ok and now for some self indulgent ocs and also n2 squad aka: “man I hope I get these dynamics right”

————

N2Squad (Jamil x Leona x Vil)

-Ok what if I said that this happens during the early “Jamil is feeling a little awkward around the pre established LeoVil couple” period in the relationship

-Kalim won’t shut up about the trend and Jamil has half a mind to offer to do it with Leona and Vil but what if it turns awkward? Any good planner thinks of all of the possible outcomes and all Jamil can think of are the worst, most embarrassing situations possible

-So when trend setter (and trend watcher) Vil comes over to Jamil and Leona with the pocky Jamil is extremely relieved that he didn’t have to make that move. Touched, even. Not that he’d say it.

-However his little reaction, the small widening of eyes that Leona notices and the way he sat up straighter that Vil caught, gives him away. Vil and Leona watch Jamil just as closely as he watches them, Jamil’s just been so preoccupied with his own low self worth to realize it.

-Leona and Vil don’t let onto this though. They play the game as usual, although I imagine they all play in different ways

-Leona intends to end every round with a kiss. He will get a surprising amount of the pocky in his mouth in one bite just to surprise whoever is on the other end with a kiss

-Vil on the other hand does enjoy the feeling of being desired. So if he deliberately bites his end in a way so that every round ends in the other player having to make the move to kiss him…wow, what a coincidence! Leona and Jamil clock this like three rounds in. Jamil still goes for the kiss. Leona starts messing with Vil and trying to stick him with the last move instead and now they’re somehow competing. At the pocky game. Good job boys

-As for Jamil…I don’t want to say “uncharacteristically flustered” but what else do I call it? I mean can you blame him? His boyfriends are cute, and they’re playing a game about kissing each other for sevens sake

-He actively chickens out the first few rounds, although he tries to play it off

-Eventually he cools off enough to beat Leona to the punch and take a big enough bite for them to kiss. It’s hard to tell if Leona is more satisfied about the kiss or about being outplayed. He gets Jamil back right away of course

-And Vil refuses to make the move for a kiss until Leona insinuates that perhaps Vil is the truly flustered one in this scenario, which Vil objects to fervently.

-TLDR they go through quite a few boxes that night, and for what it’s worth, Jamil feels a bit better about his place in the relationship by the end. It’s a start, at least. (Jamil turn around Jamil your boyfriends have more pocky to play with Jamil they’re behind you jAMI-)

Jade x Finn x Trey

-I know I play around with if the characters are dating or not in each of these so to clarify, this is in the cringefail flirting/pining stage of the ot3. Man I hope I got this close to right 🙏

-As the trend spread, it probably hit all three dorms at the same time. Jade was helping Azul develop a new pocky menu, Trey was seeing Adeuce being not subtle in the Heartslaybul lounge, and Finn probably helped Jamil transport all the pocky Kalim bought to a cooler when he saw poor Jamil lugging box after box through the halls

-So it was only a matter of time until someone made a move and of course Jade was the first to think of this

-His plan was likely to offer to play the game during a lunchtime study session in the courtyard. Good atmosphere, it’s lunch so they’re already eating, and most importantly, it would be just the two of them. No green haired competition to get in the way

-Of course Jade couldn’t account for Trey having baked some pocky of his own for Finn to try. How in the hells did he even know where to find them anyway?

-So while Jade and Trey are proooobably lowkey making some passive aggressive (emphasis on the passive, knowing these two) remarks to each other, they’re too focused on that to notice poor Finn’s temporary blue screen

-Pocky game? With Jade AND Trey? Right now??? At the same time????????????

-and I think it would be very funny rom com love triangle shenanigans if the only way the two are able to settle this is by playing the game themselves-whoever chickens out goes second

-At some point during this discussion Finn manages to squeak out an “ok” to the situation

-Watching Trey and Jade play probably doesn’t do anything to help him calm down

-And for what it’s worth Trey and Jade are making wayyyyy too much eye contact to be normal. Calls coming from inside the house you two

-Surprisingly Jade is the one to back out first? It’s…weird. Uncharacteristic of him. But Trey goes first with strawberry pocky

-Finn is probably just as red as the pocky at this point and he’s so obviously flustered as they play…poor Fox probably has to loose the round once Trey gets within an inch of his face. It’s not that he doesn’t want to kiss Trey, I just imagine that he’s probs flustered out of his mind

-Which is why Jade lost on purpose-he wanted to go in for the weakened prey I MEAN UHHH he wanted to swoop in after Trey went

-He uses some lavender pocky he got from the lounge, and he makes small bites at first unlike Trey’s medium ones

-So Finn is actually able to hold his own for a bit, it’s not too overwhelming!

-until Jade goes for a MASSIVE bite in true eel style and ambushes Finn, getting mere centimeters away, close enough to just close the gap by shifting his face

-He grabs Finn by the chin, thumb under his lips…

-…and pushes the sliver of pocky into Finn’s mouth, ending the game

-He didn’t want to be too brash, after all. He’s playing the long game here. So he lets Finn win the round, and makes quite the impression of course

-Oh and if that isn’t the passing period bell! Time to go to class-and Jade has to go to a different one than Finn and Trey, so he’s off~!

-Trey may have been a touch outwitted but he does get to walk a flustered Finn to class, and he gets to leave his baked goods in Finn’s bag (he slipped them in before they started walking)

-Poor Finn probably looks like a ghost when he gets back to the dormitory-Kalim probably asks if he needs to see the nurse

Wiro x Sebek

-Ok this is self indulgent lol I couldn’t help myself. I did restrain myself from doing the entire freshman polycule, that is my version of restraint

-But assuming Wiro and Sebek are still stubbornly fighting over dorm pride…there’s honestly no way they don’t end up playing this game of gay chicken

-Every argument they have is a game of gay chicken anyways so uhhhh what’s the difference lmao

-They do this during some meeting after school, treating it like it’s a duel when they’re literally playing a kissing game

-They do keep chickening out of it an equal amount, because who would want to kiss their enemy??!! Duh!!!!

-Until they’re at Sebek 6 Wiro 5 and Wiro can’t afford to loose the round

-Octavinelle dignity is on the line!!!!! He’s gotta do something!

-But no matter how close he gets and how warm Sebek’s face gets, Sebek isn’t backing down to Wiro’s frustration

-But Wiro isn’t planning to back down either…even as they get closer, and closer…

-And eventually he moves in for what could be best described as a collision

-It’s not exactly the most romantic kiss but it certainly leaves the two stunned for a moment

-And then they agree that it’s a tie

-Guess they’ll just

-Have to have a rematch

-Of course. That’s only logical

-(If the music club sees Wiro suddenly writing love songs for the club, no they DONT)

[wall-eye]

Friendly fire on @colorful-horses' Florid Frost

[clonerightsenthusiast]

cast a shadow on my soul (the stain remains)

[X-Men Comics, Gen, 5.7k words]

Frost found her outside of Shaw's study, propped up against the wall with her fingers pressed to the stinging flesh of her cheek and tears leaving black tracks of mascara down her face.

Tessa hadn't been undercover in the Hellfire Club for long, but she had very quickly come to recognize the distinctive sound of Emma Frost striding confidently down the hallways, and the brush of her mind like an icy breeze. Tessa had identified Emma Frost as the greatest threat within days of her arrival; there was nothing more dangerous to a spy, after all, than a telepath. Fortunately, Frost seemed to expect a certain amount of fear in those beneath her, and hadn't pried too closely. Yet.

(read on ao3)

The clicking of heels on wood came to a stop in front of her, and Tessa straightened up, clasping her hands in front of her and keeping her eyes lowered demurely. They weren't so far apart in Shaw's hierarchy, but Tessa had quickly determined that Frost was ambitious and vain and responded to deference.

"You're the new girl, aren't you?" Frost asked with cool detachment. The fake British accent was obvious to Tessa's ears. Another data point factoring in to her model of Emma Frost: a woman who would do–or be–anything to get ahead.

"Yes," she replied, bobbing her head without raising her eyes. Her face burned where Shaw's hand had connected. She knew, empirically, because a corner of her mind had already processed all the facts and thrown it back in her face, that it was impossible for Frost to fail to put together what had happened. She prayed silently that she would move on without further comment.

"Pull yourself together," Frost said coldly, dashing her hopes. "You're in public, darling, it's unseemly." Frost's cape swished away from her side as she turned to face Tessa and planted a hand on one hip, drumming her fingers against the bare skin there.

"Of course," Tessa said, biting her tongue. The back hallways of the manor were only open to residents and their guests, which hardly seemed public to her, but Frost said it to be hurtful, not accurate, and she'd run the numbers and her best chance for escaping the encounter quickly was to be as demure and deferential and say as little as possible.

Frost's weight shifted as she stood up taller and sighed, evidently coming to some decision. "You're embarrassing everyone," she said, tossing her hair over one shoulder. "You'll have to come with me."

She strode off down the hallway without waiting for a response, and Tessa hurried after her, her stomach sinking in anticipation of what fresh hell Frost had in store for her. Xavier had warned her this assignment would be dangerous; that the Hellfire Club was evil, and powerful, and would destroy her if they learned who she was (or, more importantly, who she was working for). What he hadn't prepared her for was the casual cruelty that seemed to permeate the building and everyone in it. In the short time she'd been here, working for Sebastian Shaw, she had witnessed things that made her sick to her stomach; and it had only been a matter of time until it was turned on her.

Frost didn't take her far; they were still in the residential area of the manor when she breezed through a door, leaving Tessa to slip inside before it shut after her. In the blink of an eye, she had scanned the room and put together the large canopy bed, imposing bureau, and glimpse of white through the cracked door of the wardrobe and put together that, for some reason, Frost had brought her to her own bedroom. Frost herself stopped beside the bureau and gestured impatiently for Tessa to join her.

Tessa did as she was bade, and Frost put a hand on her shoulder and pushed her forcefully down into the seat. She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror, skin pale except for the bruise blossoming in florid colors across half her face and black lines of mascara running down her cheeks, before Frost gripped her chin with icy fingers and turned her head towards her, tutting in clear disapproval as she inspected her.

"Shaw is an abominable brute, isn't he," she said in a low tone, almost to herself, clicking her tongue. With her free hand, Frost wiped her thumb across the bottom of Tessa's eye, pressing too hard, and came away with dark mascara, wet with tears, standing out against her pale skin.

Frost released her chin and turned to the bureau, digging through the drawers.

"He is what he is," Tessa said politically. She watched Frost intently, her mind racing as she focused the prodigious resources of her mutant mind to making her behavior make sense.

"Such glowing praise from his new favorite pet," Frost said, the corner of her mouth curling into a cold smile. She placed several small containers on the bureau and said, "Close your eyes."

Tessa obeyed, her shoulders tensing at the vulnerability. She flinched at something cold and wet touching her face. Frost tutted impatiently and gripped her chin again, holding her still as she wiped tears and smudged makeup away with firm strokes.

"If you intend to stick around," Frost said, beginning to dab at Tessa's bruise with something cold and soft, "You really ought to get these things for yourself. I can assure you this won't be the last time dear Sebastian takes a swing at you."

"I was… careless," Tessa said, swallowing around a lump in her throat as her mind jumped back to the incident.

It had been a newspaper discarded haphazardly on Shaw's desk. She'd been in the middle of reciting to Shaw his requested update on the state of his affairs when she'd noticed the article on the front page of the paper – or, perhaps more accurately, the picture: five young people, exhibiting mutant powers, in matching uniforms, with the headline emblazoned above declaring them UNCANNY X-MEN.

She zeroed in on the paper immediately, devoting more and more of her mutant ability to making sense of it, exploring the possible explanations. It was the X that gave it away, that damnable X – it screamed Xavier's handiwork, Xavier's research, Xavier's crusade. But who were these X-Men? Who were these mutants that he had gathered and outfitted like young Avengers and sent out to be the public face of his movement? And the real question, like a dagger in her chest – why wasn't she with them?

Tessa was so focused on thoughts of these X-Men, used to multitasking without effort, that she didn't even realize she'd stopped responding to Shaw until his backhand had sent her flying through a coffee table.

"You'll learn not to be quickly, if this wasn't lesson enough for you," Frost's voice cut through her thoughts, and Tessa breathed a sigh of relief that her psychic defenses were adequate to shield the storm of incriminating thoughts and emotions brewing in her mind. "But Shaw has always had a horrid temper and a tendency to take it out on the women around him. Open."

Tessa obediently opened her eyes, meeting Frost's icy blue gaze. It occurred to Tessa, suddenly, that Emma Frost was her age – or close enough. Surely, Xavier had been aware of her; a young mutant, and a powerful telepath at that – how could he not be? Had he approached her? Or had he simply left her to Hellfire? What had he seen in Emma Frost that had made him write her off?

Had he seen the same in her?

"Look up," Emma murmured, tipping Tessa's head back to apply new mascara to her lashes. "It's waterproof," she added. "If you're going to cry, do go out and get yourself some."

Tessa aborted a nod at Emma's disapproving noise, and instead held still as she applied the new makeup. She didn't bother trying to explain that it was the shock, more than anything, that had brought tears to her eyes – that she would be prepared, now, to better weather Shaw's temper. She took the advice, condescendingly given as it was, as kindness shown in the only way it could be in a place like this. When she was finally released, she turned to look at herself in the mirror and her breath caught in her throat.

There was no sign of the bruise; her face looked as if she'd never found herself on the wrong end of Shaw's mutant strength. She raised a hand and tentatively touched where she knew the bruise was, half-expecting it to have disappeared, and winced at the pain shooting across her cheek.

"You're lucky we have similar skin tones, darling," Emma said, busying herself with putting the makeup away. "It's best to cover them up quickly. Don't let anyone see you weak."

Tessa swallowed until she was sure her voice would come out steady, and then said, "Thank you. I know you don't… care for me."

"It's on all of us to keep up appearances," Emma hummed. She stepped away from the bureau and Tessa took her cue to stand up. Emma straightened her cape until it fell straight, clicking her tongue, then gave Tessa one last, long look.

"He underestimates us, you know," she said in a low voice, lingering with her hands on the hem of Tessa's cape. "Do make of yourself something more than he thinks, hm?"

Abruptly reaching her limit of humane connection, Emma whirled around and took a few steps away, clearing her throat. "As you were, Tessa," she said loudly.

"Good day, Emma," Tessa responded in kind, leaving the room with a businesslike stride, all the while wondering what it was about the two of them that Charles Xavier had seen fit to throw them to the likes of Sebastian Shaw.

–

On Krakoa, the Hellfire Club in many ways felt a world and a lifetime away – and in others, closer than ever. While monitoring the vast transit system, Sage used a portion of her brainpower to track the location at all times of Sebastian Shaw.

It often wasn't hard; Shaw had never been one to mingle with the common people, and when not sitting in session on the Quiet Council, was most often holed up in his habitat on Hellfire Bay, or back in New York rubbing shoulders with the human elite. Keeping track of him elsewhere on the island was difficult at best without help, but a few months into working with Black Tom, he'd picked up the habit of giving her a warning when their paths might cross.

Shaw had left for New York that morning, and Tom had only bade her a glassy-eyed farewell when she'd left the hub to make her way to the Green Lagoon, tired and aching for a drink, so she wasn't at all prepared when she'd walked past a gate on the way and it spat him out right into her path.

He seemed as surprised to see her as she was him, his expression shifting to momentary annoyance at having his path blocked before recognition and a gleeful cruelty sparked in his eyes.

"Tessa," he said smoothly, stepping into her space. His lips curled up into a mean smile. "How lovely to see you. It's been too long."

Sage held her ground, forcing her shoulders back and her chin up to meet his eyes, as far from demure Tessa's default posture as she could manage. He still wore the same overpowering cologne; her brain helpfully fetched a reel of memories, years of standing at his right hand breathing in the same scent as she bore witness to (or the brunt of) his cruelty. Not for the first time, she cursed her own perfect recall.

At the same time, another part of her mind was helpfully reminding her of the gun stashed inside her jacket, and her best odds of temporarily disabling Shaw long enough to escape if necessary. His mutant power made conventional weaponry and hand to hand combat both exceedingly dangerous; but Sage had spent a long time thinking about how to fight him if she had to.

"Sebastian," she said shortly. She took a mean pleasure in the way his nostrils flared at the familiar address. "I'm sure we've both been busy."

Shaw hummed. "Yes, quite," he said. His eyes flicked up and down, taking her in, and Sage resisted the urge to cross her arms defensively. "Stashed away in the transit hub, is it? Does Xavier know he's wasting you as a security guard?"

He raised a hand to her cheek. Sage registered the movement almost before it began and snapped a hand up to catch his wrist before he could touch her.

"Don't," she said shortly.

Shaw raised an eyebrow. Sage stared him down. After a moment, he withdrew his hand, and she let him go. "Well," he said, with a new edge to his voice. "I suppose you're also a part of McCoy's clandestine motley of brutes. Spying for Xavier, now… that is what you're good at, isn't it?" He gave her another once over, this time exaggerating the movement. "Though I must say, Tessa, your last assignment was much more becoming. You really have let yourself go since then."

Sage forced herself to keep a cool exterior while grinding her teeth. It wasn't that she gave a good goddamn about being attractive to Sebastian Shaw; it was the pettiness of it, and the knowledge that he clearly thought she should, that made her want to claw his eyes out.

"If that's all, Sebastian," she said, doing her best to sound bored instead of furious, "I have places to be."

Shaw didn't even have the grace to look disappointed at her lack of reaction. He took a half step back, gesturing broadly with one arm with the same smug smile on his face, and said, "Of course. I wouldn't dream of keeping you. I'm sure our paths will cross again soon."

"Naturally," Sage said. As long as Shaw remained on the Quiet Council, and she on X-Force, it was an inevitability.

How the hell had Charles allowed him to have that seat? And, more importantly, when the hell was Emma going to do something to have him removed?

Shaw's cologne hit her like a punch to the gut as she brushed past him. It was a good thing she was already headed for the Lagoon. Her need for a stiff drink had multiplied.

–

Sage scanned the Green Lagoon like a battle scene. The first order of business was taking note of who was behind the bar. Freddie, as always, but Freddie had expressed just yesterday a concern over her drinking habits, and she didn't have the patience for an intervention today. Not with the headache building at the back of her skull. Instead she used Avalanche as a cover to slide up to the other end of the bar where Anole was working. He was too intimidated by her to ask any questions.

True to form, Anole took one look at her hard stare and hopped to. Sage took her drink and removed herself to an empty table at the edge of the Lagoon, on the far end from the dreadful karaoke performance being put on by a group of teens on the main stage.

And she drank.

It was very loud, sometimes, having her power. Even without her telepathy turned outwards, her mutant mind was always working, always processing, always remembering. Sometimes she just wanted it to be quieter; to sand off the edges of her waking nightmares. When she was drinking, everything slowed down. Just a little. Just for a while. Dukes and Black Tom and Domino and Logan and everyone who was worried about her drinking didn't understand that it wasn't the drinking that was the problem; it was her. It was whatever dark and ugly thing inside her that led her to the Hellfire Club and to X-Force. That wouldn't let her come out of the shadows.

Hello, Sage.

The brush of foreign thoughts against her mind activated an instinctual psychic flinch, a defensive lockdown that she didn't have the wherewithal, after enough alcohol, to tamp down.

"My apologies," the voice said again, this time out loud. Sage looked up from her cup to see who else but Charles Xavier himself approaching, smiling warmly at her from beneath the Cerebro helmet. "I didn't mean to startle you; only to say hello."

"Hello, Professor," Sage said dutifully and then, in a glorious moment of not thinking, snorted loud enough for neighboring tables to hear.

Xavier cocked his head. "Is something funny…?" he asked, still with that smile on his face, just waiting to be let in on the joke.

Sage shook her head, snickering. "'S just," she said, gesturing vaguely with one hand, "your mutant name. 'Professor X'. 'S funny."

Xavier's smile turned indulgent and he folded himself into the seat opposite her. "I suppose it's rather dramatic," he said. "I thought it apropos at the time."

Sage shook her head again, more insistently. An old bitterness crawled up the back of her throat and soured her mood.

"'S not," she said, then swallowed and tried again, speaking slowly and forcing herself to enunciate. It was terribly important, suddenly, that he hear and understand what she had to say. "It's not. Professor X – like being a teacher is who you are, all the time. But you're not. You weren't."

Sage hiccuped and swallowed, staring intently at the bridge of Xavier's nose as his mouth pressed into a thin line. "You're the teacher of mutants – but not all of them. Not me. Not Emma Frost. Not the Hellions – you picked and chose your favorites. The worthy. The heroes. The rest of us you abandoned or found another use for."

Xavier turned his head slightly, and Sage, following the movement, realized with horror that she was talking far too loud, and now the rest of the Lagoon's patrons were openly staring at them.

"Sage," Xavier said in a low voice, "Perhaps we should continue this conversation elsewhere?"

"I–" Sage pushed away from the table, stumbling over her chair's legs. She threw back the rest of her drink to drown the embarrassment choking her. "I have to go."

"Sage–" Xavier reached out a hand towards her as she frantically backpedaled away from the table.

"Don't follow me. Please," she said, turning and running with her head down, pulling the collar of her jacket up to hide her face.

The speed with which she made it back to her habitat was evidence that she was not, in spite of it all, drunk enough. She fished out the bottle of whiskey she'd appropriated from Logan's last Marauders order and set about rectifying that.

What was that? How childish, how – petty, to air decade-old grievances when Xavier had only said hello. Here, in the heart of Krakoa, the whole damn country the man had founded to keep mutants safe. Hadn't she outgrown being angry with him for, what – not being an X-Man at first?

It was X-Force. X-Force, and seeing Shaw, and his petulant comments. It felt, in some ways, like she was back where she started. Doing Xavier's dirty work.

She put a serious dent in the whiskey, and by the time she dragged herself to bed, collapsing fully clothed on top of the covers, her head was swimming so much she could barely think and her mind was terribly, blessedly empty.

–

Sage woke up to a pounding headache, the smell of coffee, and instant regret. She would've rolled right back over and waited for death to take her, except that smell meant that somebody was in her kitchen and she had to make them leave. Her stomach heaved in protest as she rolled out of bed and tugged half-heartedly at her clothes to straighten them, but she managed not to hurl as she shuffled out into the kitchen.

Domino was rooting through her cabinets while the coffee machine on the counter worked away.

"Why do you have loads of coffee and no food?" she asked, balanced on her tiptoes with her head hidden behind a cupboard door.

"The coffee's from Lucas," Sage grumbled, "and I don't cook. Why are you in my house?"

Bishop spent more time off the island sailing with Kate Pryde's Marauders than he spent on it, these days. He made a point to bring her coffee from wherever they'd been last, which was sweet of him. She missed him; missed his friendship and, perhaps even more pressingly, missed having him to watch her back instead of the likes of Arkady Rossovitch.

"Me neither, but at least I have cereal," Domino said, dropping back to her feet and flipping the door closed. She pulled out a pair of mugs just as the coffee machine clicked off. "And I'm making coffee, obviously. What do you eat for breakfast?"

"I don't." Sage plopped into a seat at the island and stared blankly at Domino filling the mugs. "Why are you making coffee in my kitchen?"

"A little birdie told me you could use some."

She groaned and folded over, pressing her aching head to the cool countertop. She wished she could black out properly like normal people, instead of having the events of last night perfectly crystallized forever in her treacherous mutant brain. "Just get me one of the flowers that cures hangovers," she groaned. "Or a bullet."

"You're getting fancy imported coffee."

A mug clunked firmly onto the island beside her head, and chair legs scraped against the floor as Domino took a seat beside her. With a Herculean effort, Sage dragged her head up and pulled the mug towards her, breathing in the bitter fumes. Loathe as she was to admit it, it did make her feel a little better.

The effect was ruined when she glanced at Domino out of the corner of her eye and saw the expectant look on her face. Sage tipped her head back with a groan, closing her eyes. "So everybody knows."

"Mutants are notorious gossips," Domino said, not unsympathetically. "And you picked a fight with Charley Xavier in the middle of the Green Lagoon."

"It wasn't the middle," Sage groused. "And it wasn't a fight."

"The way I heard it, you almost started swinging at the old man." At Sage's glare, Domino put both hands up in front of her. "For the record, my money would've been on you."

Sage pinched the bridge of her nose. "Thank you for your support, Neena," she said through gritted teeth.

"Any time." Domino patted her on the shoulder while Sage begrudgingly sipped at her coffee. "So, you want to tell me why you got wasted and picked a fight with Professor X?"

"No," she said immediately, then sighed. "It's stupid."

Domino snorted. "You're a lot of things, Sage, but 'stupid' isn't one of 'em, and I know enough about Xavier to know plenty of people have plenty of reasons to be pissed at him." She bumped her shoulder into Sage's, jostling her. "So spill."

Sage took a long sip of coffee in the vain hope that Domino might simply evaporate by the time she finished. When that didn't work, she sighed again and reluctantly lowered her mug. "It was a long time ago," she hedged.

Domino only raised an eyebrow.

Sage raised her hands to rub at her temples. "I met Xavier when I was young. Just a kid, really. I saved his life from a cave-in, and he explained what I was – what a mutant was. And then, a few years later, I met him again. And he sent me undercover to spy on Hellfire Club."

She could remember it so clearly; she was young, alone in a cruel world and eager to latch on to the hope of the dream Xavier explained to her. He'd warned her it would be dangerous; what he hadn't gotten across was how degrading it would be, how that much time spent with the inner circle of the Hellfire Club seeped into your soul like a poison.

He also hadn't said there was an alternative.

Sage ran a finger around the rim of the mug. "What I didn't know was that around that time, he was gathering mutants to form the original team of X-Men."

Domino gave a low whistle. "So Chuck doesn't pick you for his team, and instead of spandex, you spend your teen years in lingerie and leather?"

Sage clenched a hand into a fist, staring at the skin stretched white across her knuckles. "I was Sebastian Shaw's personal assistant for years," she said. "Alone, surrounded by some of the worst both man and mutantkind had to offer. And I only got out because he left me for dead – worse than dead." With her free hand, she covered her eyes, taking a deep, shuddering breath. The memory of Bogan was like a scar in her mind – a glitch in her programming, making everything around it stutter and warp. "Storm found me, saved me, and brought me to join her team – they were functioning without Xavier's blessing at the time. They didn't know or trust me. Storm was the only one who knew what I had been doing."

She shook her head sharply. That wasn't the point. The X-Men had ultimately welcomed her. As alone as she'd been at the time, their distrust had hurt; but of course they couldn't have known. It would have endangered all their lives to have known.

She tried again, loosening her fist and instead clutching her mug for stability. "It… when I learned about the X-Men, I asked myself, why did he send me here, instead? What did he – this wise, old, man – what did he see that made him turn me away? What was wrong with me?"

She pressed the meat of her palms, hot from the mug, into her eyes, hard, as if she could push the tears welling up back into their ducts. "It's been years," she said, hoarse. "It doesn't matter anymore. Xavier just caught me at a… bad time."

Domino was quiet for a long moment, then said, "I'm no X-Man. God knows, that is not my gig." She laughed a little at the thought. "But thanks to Cable, I've known a lot of kids that grew up to be X-Men. I watched those kids go through hell and come out – well, to be honest, some of them are complete basket cases." She said it fondly, the corner of her lips curling up into a small smile. She shook her head, turning her attention back to Sage. "But they're still some of the finest young men and women I've ever known, because that's what it takes to be an X-Man."

Sage laughed bitterly. "If your point is that I shouldn't beat myself up because the standard is too high –"

"My point," Domino cut her off, taking one of Sage's wrists and pulling her hand away from her face, "is that those kids had help. They had guidance. Sure, it was mostly grizzled old mercenaries, but there were people looking out for them. You spent all that time in hell with just yourself to keep it together, and you came out the other side an X-Man." She squeezed her wrist. "My point is, it takes a hell of a person to do that. Maybe Xavier saw that in you. Maybe he knew you could handle it."

Sage breathed out and let herself consider what Domino was saying – that maybe, all those years ago, Charles had made a calculated gamble; that he hadn't been worried only with her capacity to carry out her mission, but to come out the other side relatively whole. It was – plausible. "Maybe," she said out loud for Domino's benefit.

Really, it meant more to hear her say it than whether or not it was true. X-Force was becoming a nightmare, another cruel turn in the cycle of her life, but she wasn't alone in it. More than anything the Hellfire Club had to throw at her, what had killed her was going through it on her own. But not here. Not since joining the X-Men.

She leaned over to bump her shoulder against Domino's and swallowed until she was sure her voice would come out even as she said, "Thank you. For the coffee."

Neena tapped their mugs together with a warm click. "Any time."

–

When Sage finally made it to the transport hub, carrying a thermos of more coffee and feeling much better thanks to some Krakoan medicine, there was a present waiting for her on her console. A single stark white rose in a narrow crystal vase. Sage smiled to herself as she traced a petal with one finger. Emma almost never acknowledged their shared history, unless it was to express her disdain for Shaw. Whatever she had seen from him yesterday must have moved her to reach out.

She thought about what Domino had said, about the kind of person to leave the Hellfire Club and join the X-Men. Maybe the two of us had the same thing inside us, after all, she mused, running her thumb over the blunt curve of a thorn.

"Sage?"

Sage went very still at the sound of Xavier's voice behind her. A rush of shame and humiliation nearly bowled her over as hearing him triggered the memory of last night – somewhere under that, though, she registered that he'd spoken aloud.

"I don't mean to disturb you, but I –"

"I'm sorry," Sage interrupted, whirling around to face him. She braced her hands behind her on the back of her chair. "For last night. It was… shameful."

"Water under the bridge, my dear," Xavier said, waving a hand. He paused for a moment, awkwardly clearing his throat. "In fact, I believe I owe you an apology. One long overdue."

He inclined his head slightly. "We never spoke about your original mission, after you took your place on the X-Men. Had I realized you harbored such… insecurities, I would have broached the topic much sooner."

She opened her mouth to object, to explain away last night's outburst, but he held up a hand to stay her.

"Please," he said. "Let me finish."

He didn't mean to condescend to her; Sage didn't know Xavier as well as many of the other X-Men, but she knew him well enough to know that. It still rankled. But she held her tongue.

Charles continued. "The road to Krakoa hasn't been an easy one, you know as well as I," he said. "But especially in those early days, it was a struggle. Mutantkind had so many enemies, and so few allies. Mutants themselves were still few and far between." He started pacing, a few short steps to either side. "We were fighting a hopeless war. I wanted students, but I needed soldiers. And I needed spies."

He turned on his heel to face her again. "You were right, Sage: I was not your professor. I was your general. I thought it was necessary; but whether history will prove my judgment wrong or right, it should not have been that way. And I am sorry."

Her younger self would have been moved to tears to hear that – to hear any acknowledgment of the injustice of her position from the man she'd pledged her future to. But here and now, the apology felt awkward and hollow. She realized abruptly that she didn't want one. Not from him.

Xavier, standing tall in a sleek bodysuit, with the shadow of the threshold slicing across his face, his eyes covered by Cerebro and his hands clasped behind his back, looked light-years away from the kindly old man in a wheelchair she'd met all those years ago. Or maybe it was the opposite – maybe he looked more like the man who'd sent her away than he ever had.

In another life, a little voice said in the back of Sage's mind, I would see this man as my father.

Maybe that was a gift he'd given her. The gift of clarity; of distance. When she was younger she had clung to the idea of him, the only person she could call an ally. The only one who might mourn her if she died undercover. But she wasn't that isolated child anymore. She could see him through clear eyes. He was not the beloved mentor to her that he was to so many mutants on Krakoa.

This man was not her father. She didn't need his approval.

Sage cleared her throat. "I appreciate the thought, Charles, but it's not necessary," she said in a clear, even voice. "You caught me at a bad time last night. I promise I don't spend all day resenting you for past sins." She said nothing of his present ones.

Xavier paused, perhaps put off by her flippancy, but nodded. "Of course. I'm glad to hear it. Well, I'll leave you to your work. If there's anything I can do–"

"Do better," Sage said, cutting him off. "For the next generation. They deserve better than to be used the way we were."

Xavier smiled a sad, tired smile, and gestured widely as if to encompass all of Krakoa. "That is the goal of all I do. Krakoa is both reward and promise – for our past struggles, and of a brighter future for all mutants."

Krakoa had enough dark secrets – even just that she knew of, and she had no doubt there was more that she didn't – that the thought didn't fill Sage with confidence. But she nodded and turned back to her console, a clear dismissal. After a moment, she heard Xavier's footsteps leaving the transit hub.

Krakoa wasn't perfect. Far from it. There was more hard, thankless work to be done to secure the future of mutantkind – work that, frankly, she didn't trust Xavier to oversee. But she would do it. It was the kind of work she was good at. She took a sip of coffee and looked at the white flower and her lips curled up into a small smile. And she wouldn't be doing it alone.

Sage cracked her knuckles and got to work.

[alchemisland]

THEKINGISDEAD980

Third day of Mucré, our King is in the forest A busy time to be a florist The mews and awnings like old prose florid To allergy sufferers abhorrent, torture ironical To the botanist, a much needed shot in the arm After a Winter boxed in, the gelidness like old sin Lingering long past its remit Frost scattered on the path during Summer’s zenith Ten years ago one would not have dreamed…

[sasa-chans-random-history]

January 08

[871] Battle of Ashdown: Ethelred I of Wessex and his brother Alfred the Great beat invading Danish army.

[1297] Monaco gains its independence.

[1310] The Great Frost: In London the Thames River froze so thickly bonfires were lit on it.

[1499] King Louis XII of France after papal divorce marries Anne, Duchess of Brittany to keep duchy for the crown.

[1806] Lewis and Clark find the skeleton of 105' blue whale in Oregon.

[1811] US Vice President John C. Calhoun (28) weds Floride Bonneau (19).

[1835] President Andrew Jackson achieves his goal of entirely paying off the United States' national debt. It was the only time in U.S. history that the national debt stood at zero, and it precipitated one of the worst financial crises in American history.

[1930] Belgium Princess Marie-Jose weds Italy's Crown Prince Umberto.

[1948] Queen Wilhelmina of Netherlands signs death sentence against Ans van Dijk for treason.

[1959] A triumphant Fidel Castro enters Havana, having deposed the American-backed regime of General Fulgencio Batista.

[1961] The French vote for Algerian independence from French rule in the wake of seven years of guerrilla war.

[1963] At the National Gallery of Art in Washington D.C., Leonardo da Vinci's masterpiece, the Mona Lisa, is exhibited for the first time in America.

[1978] Harvey Milk becomes the 1st openly gay person elected to public office in California.

[1998] Comedian and actress Roseanne Barr files for divorce from 3rd husband Ben Thomas.

[2001] The identities of 2 boys who murdered a toddler in 1993 will be kept secret, the High Court rules.

[2018] Puerto Rican singer and actor Ricky Martin (46) reveals he has wed Syrian-Swedish painter Jwan Yosef (33).

[2020] Duke and Duchess of Sussex announce they are stepping back as "senior" royals, will work towards becoming financially independent.

[2021] Twitter bans US President Donald Trump permanently "due to the risk of further incitement of violence".

[crinkly-spinkly]

Fuck it. Mengine scents.

This small perfume business has the widest array and most accurate scent descriptions I've ever experienced. I have a good handful of their collection, and here's what I think these seven idiots would smell like.

Edward

Aziraphale (of course) - marshmallow-topped hot cocoa, rice, wool, crêpes, leather-bound antique books, and old, wooden bookcases.

Wuthering Heights - lavender, vanilla, spectral musks, vetiver, tonka, jasmine, tea leaves, oakmoss.

Inspiration: Wuthering Heights (K. Bush)

A Deal With God - fougère accord, olibanum, vanillin, black tea, amber, bois d'encense, tonka, myrrh, benzoin, peru balsam, geosmin, patchouli.

Inspiration: Running Up That Hill (K. Bush)

Lavender London Fog - earl grey tea, steamed milk, vanilla, lavender simple syrup.

Sweet Dreams (Are Made of This) - an essential oil/naturals-only aromatherapy blend, also used in my Dream Balm: Roman chamomile, Bulgarian lavender, bergamot, petitgrain, black frankincense, cedarwood, palmarosa, Peru balsam, dark patchouli, sweet orange, neroli, lemon eucalyptus, ylang ylang, clary sage, mysore wood, German chamomile, benzoin, armoise, hops flower, red mandarin, rosewood, tangerine, white sage, cardamom, and jatamansi. (Not safe for those who are pregnant/nursing.)

Southern Hospitali-tea - sweet tea, marionberry scones, freshly-made strawberry preserves.

Tabula Rasa (essential oil blend) - lemongrass, lemon, bergamot, sage, citronella, gingergrass, palmarosa, clove, lavender, vetiver, white sage*, cinnamon leaf.

Honey-Buttered Crumpets - lightly toasted English muffins, slathered with homestyle creamed honey butter, a *light* smattering of baking spices, and a pinch of sea salt.

Morning Star - thick, rich golden orbs of amber, vanilla, whipped cream accord.

------

James

Fougère Accord - My prized, personal house-blended fougère (also used as part of the Wuthering Heights blend): Bulgarian lavender, silvanone, oakmoss absolute, vetiver, tonka, jasmine, cetalox, bergamot, vanillin.

Corpse Bride - black roses, white amber, damp earth, vanilla, tonka, musk.

Forbidden Fruit - fresh, crisp, unadulterated red delicious apple.

I ♥ the 80’s - a Lisa Frank-esque powerhouse: tuberose, orange blossom, white amber, bubblegum, suntan oil, Aquanet hairspray, gummy worms, & fruit-scented erasers.

Amor - white chocolate, raspberry cordial, rose petals.

Vice - lascivious crimson musk, crumpled velvet, leather, amberspice accord, animalic accord, suede, over-ripe figs, rum, raspberry, cognac, smeared red lipstick, tobacco, silken underpinnings, florid skin, cocaine accord, smoke.

Poivre Vanille - vanilla, pink peppercorn, black pepper, amber, cedar, conifers, clove.

Bomb Pop - cherry, lime, blue raspberry.

Bisou - smeared lipstick and warm, flushed skin: vanilla, orris root, violet, sugar, cetalox, skin musk, and safraleine.

Raspberry Rosemallow - marshmallow, buttercream, raspberry-rose compote.

------

Toby

Belsnickel - strong coffee, streusel coffee cake, nutmeg, brown sugar, toasted almonds.

Cuir - leather, suede, chamois accord.

Old Scratch - blackstrap molasses, bourbon, pumpkin pie, candied ginger.

Creaky Floorboards - old, weathered wood, aged dark patchouli.

Brightening The Daybreak - grass, clover, hay, sun-warmed cornfields, muguet, honeysuckle, acacia, ozone, meadow air, tree moss, oakmoss, fir balsam.

Coffin Nails - tobacco leaves, tobacco flower, whiskey, ginger, anise, coriander, clove, spices, fruitwood sap, juniper berry, hay, vetiver, benzoin, labdanum, vanilla pods, tonka bean, honey.

Dark Sided! - devil's food cake, cream cheese frosting, cardamom, pipe smoke.

Hand Me My Leather - premium leather/suede accord, vanilla, benzoin, tolu balsam, Peru balsam, olibanum, amber, black pepper, cedar, sandalwood, tonka, musk.

Torture Chamber - leather straps, metal chains, wooden paddles, earthen floor.

------

Thomas

Bohemian Rhapsberry - wild berries, aged dark patchouli, vanilla, pu'erh tea, ginger, black pepper, cardamom, tonka, cedar, sandalwood, artemisia, sage, bergamot, neroli, incense, pink pepper, benzoin. Contains natural raspberry isolates.

Oranjulius - the quintessential mall-smoothie of the 70's/80's: orange juice, milk, sugar syrup.

(allergen information: contains Valencia orange & red mandarin essential oils)

Blue Musk - clean, soapy, aquatic.

Middle Earth - chocolate, amber, nag champa, dark patchouli.

Blueberry Crème Soda - blueberry cordial and cream soda with an extra shot of vanilla.

Lucifer - white sage, blue musk, cedar, blackberry, black tea, bergamot, apple.

Doll Head - heliotrope, marshmallow, benzoin, long-forgotten cardboard boxes, plastic, attic wood, vanilla, Bulgarian rose.

Evening Star - golden orbs of amber, cognac absolute, booze accord, cacao absolute*. *the cacao absolute WILL separate in oil form which is totally normal. Due to the expense of ingredients in this blend, this is ONLY available in extrait perfume forms.

Stranger Things - Eggo waffles, chocolate pudding, and upside-down cake.

Amityville – pumpkin pecan waffles, pumpkin brûlée, marshmallow, sugar cookie, vanilla bean noel, salted caramel popcorn balls.

------

Percy

Alexandrite - incense, blackberry, raspberry, blueberry, plum, strawberry, dark patchouli, oudh.

Banana Milk - sweet milk, melted ice cream, vanilla pudding mix, banana.

Opalite - confetti angelcake, topped with lemon whipped cream and a melty scoop of birthday cake batter ice cream.

Elemental - lush green cloverfields, dampened soil, petrichor, sunwarmed moss, wet pavement, ozone, rain-soaked thunderheads.

Spirit Temple - vanilla bean pods, Spiritueuse Double Vanille, nag champa incense.

Dreamweaver - sweet pillowy marshmallow, lavender, mugwort.

Cereal Marshmallows - cronchy, sugary, delicious. Also terrible for you, but OH WELL.

(allergen information - contains natural strawberry and raspberry isolates)

Green Musk - clean, lime, soapy, verdant.

Space Cakes - chocolate brownies, ganache frosting, cannabis.

------

Gordon

Ambre Vanille - premium warm amber accord and a swirl of rich, elevated vanillas.

Kentucky Bourbon & Woodsmoke - rich Kentucky bourbon, vanilla musk, teakwood, mahogany and light woodsmoke.

Leopardite - Mysore sandalwood, golden sandalwood powder, vanilla husk, chamois accord, Alaskan cedarwood, tobacco leaf, black oak, cardamom, saffron threads, miel blanc.

Chocolate Orange - dark, rich chocolate, and sweet clementine.

Baltic Amber - thick rivulets of golden amber, pinus succinifera, cedarwood, jammy fir absolute, oakmoss absolute, tree moss, verdant musk, cardamom, balsam, lightning-scorched ancient boughs.

Rumrunner - rum-soaked Cuban cigars, pipe smoke, whiskey, bourbon cream, caramelized sugar, bonfire.

Unbaptism - aged bourbon, dark rum, pumpkin purée, frankincense, Daemonorops draco resin, smouldering firewood embers.

Noir - tonka bean, tobacco leaf, vanilla, black cherry, pipe tobacco, maraschino, frankincense, myrrh, labdanum, Peru balsam, benzoin, sandalwood, black pepper, pink peppercorn, clove.

------

Henry

Garden Tea Party - petits fours, rooibos tea, lemon curd, rose petals, orange blossom.

Bubblypop - lemon, cola, ginger beer.

Morphine - Steamed milk, lavender buds, honeyed apricots, chamomile tea, honey, white amber.

Candied Violets - sugared violet.

Fleurs Blanches - tuberose, iris, tiaré, paperwhite narcissus, night-blooming jasmine.

Tomate - leafy, vine-ripe, garden-fresh tomatoes.

Laundromat - laundry soap, fabric softener, ozone, and coin-op washing machines.

Cloudbusting - wet earth/soil, ozone, petrichor, light hints of grass.

Thanatos - desiccated leaves, hedgerow blossoms, charred pinyon, aged cedarwood boughs, petrified tree sap, crisp fall air, laurel, clove bud, smoke-tinged balsam, santalum, and graveyard dirt.

[klbmsw]

Yes! We Need More Young People In Politics.....

[colorful-horses]

Where is Florid's Boyfriend? Ùwú

florids boyfriend Debut. hes a little unicorn writer

(quill designed by my homie pinkponylemonade)

[darkpurpledawn]

There was a wedding in St. James Park one alarmingly perfect afternoon. The ceremony was festooned with hundreds of white roses, whose perfume fought valiantly with Pachelbel’s Canon in D for room in the spring air.

“Perfect orgy of monogamy,” Crowley drawled. “Lucky our sort don’t do this, eh?”

“I shudder to imagine a demon marrying anyone, poor soul,” Aziraphale replied. “Still, you’ve no cause to be so sour about the humans.”

"’M not sour. You just think I am because you’re so horribly sweet.”

“You have a dreadful habit of making compliments sound insulting, my dear.”

Crowley’s mouth quirked in fanged delight.

“Well you’ve got a lovely habit of making insults sound a bit too complimentary.”

“Shush, they’re getting to the vows, you horrid devil. Oh no, they’ve written them themselves, how perfectly awful.”

“See it’s exactly that ‘you horrid devil’ stuff I’m talking about. Better watch it with that kind of talk, you’ll scandalize the ducks.”

Aziraphale gave Crowley a withering look, as if in severe doubt of his ability to shock such worldly waterfowl.

They listened in lazy sunlit amusement to the amateur vows, florid and unending.

A table of desserts was being erected and filled with frosted intricacies. Aziraphale eyed the sugar-spun blooms on the cake with badly-concealed avarice. Crowley flicked his tongue when the caterers rushed by with flutes of champagne.

“They scrimped on the champagne,” Aziraphale whispered. “We’re not missing anything.”

“Yeah,” Crowley said, and there was something melancholy in his reptilian eyes as he turned back to the wedding party. “Not missing anything at all.”

The world began to end, but before it could finish ending things took a sharp and restorative left turn.

No matter how many times he’d been there, Aziraphale always felt out of place in Crowley’s foyer. He had the vague sense that the expensive furniture was casting him sidelong glances over its upholstered shoulders. Probably it found him awkward and tweedy.

“Angel, what have you got behind your back?” 

“Oh, ah, these are for you.” Aziraphale thrust a single pink rose and a gift-wrapped book into Crowley’s bewildered hands.

“What the—”

“I’ve always prided myself, you know, on collecting books of prophecy.”

The wrapping paper fell away from an old and rather lurid pulp novel, splattered in what was hopefully tea. Its cover bore a picture of a glamorous woman swooning into the arms of a horned devil. A jagged title exclaimed Help! I Married a Demon!

“I, well, I wanted to ask whether this one might prove prophetic as well.”

It was lucky that the rose’s petals were already blushing, because it would have been very flushed indeed as it beheld a rather long and spectacular kiss.

[fusiondesignvintage]

Caspers, années 1950. Bar Mecca, années 1950. Farrell’s années 1970. Drive-in années 1950. Drive-in, Los Angeles. Hody’s Coffee Shop and-Drive-in, 1961. Hollywood California Brown Derby restaurant, années 1950. Jack Frost, années 1950. Jour d'ouverture du 1000e Burger Chef, Treasure Island, Floride, août 1969. KFC, Kewanee, Illinois, 1975. 

Restaurants et voitures : à chaque époque son propre style ! 

Restaurants and cars: each era has its own style!

(Sources : TOM, ACN, ACN, ALM, www.art.com, TOM, www.hippostcard.com, https://i.pinimg.com, ACN, ACN)

[paradise-of-guilty-pleasures]

Shattered Reflections {21}

[Helsa RP- Fanfic]

Fandom: Frozen

Genre: Post-Frozen/ Canon Divergence

- Hurt/Comfort, Drama, Romance

Pairing(s): Hans/Elsa, Kristoff/Anna

Previous Chapter: 20. Boys’ Night A/N:

More Helsa heavy chapters to come

21. Nonchalant

The girls' night concluded after plenty more sisterly bonding after their tea party. The parlor which had been in a state of disarray, because of the construction of the pillow fort, was reverted back to its original state. It was put together rather quickly thanks to the help of Kristoff who had returned before bedtime like promised. Elsa was in charge of the last chore, returning the borrowed pillows and blankets, they'd offered to help her with that task, but assured them it was best if she did it herself since she knew exactly where to return the items. Elsa said she'd head to bed after finishing her errand so they all wished each other good night and were off in opposite directions. 

 Elsa had returned the other items rather quickly and now she hesitantly stood outside Hans' door firmly hugging the pillow across her chest. Maybe it had been a bad idea to take his pillow in the first place. She was starting to hope that room would be vacant once again, though she knew that would likely not be the case this time. Something about having her hair down made her extra anxious (even though Anna said it made her seem more relaxed), Kristoff had seen it of course, but that didn't bother her, he was already like a brother. She knew she couldn't stall forever; she had left a note after all. She held her breath as she opened the door. 

 When she entered she saw the next best thing she could hope for, which was Hans already laying down in bed asleep, in a rather strange position but in bed nonetheless. The breath finally escaped her lungs in relief, one less thing to worry about she thought. Now all she had to drop off the pillow by the bedside.

Hans was not a heavy sleeper. He had twelve brothers, he couldn't afford to be. But he was also a man of deception, so he remained still, and measured his breathing as she neared, listening. Footsteps too light to be a guard, so it had to be Elsa, only confirmed by the slight chill in the room. He opened an eye carefully, under his arm, with just enough gap to see her by. 

 "I never thought I'd live to see your hair down." He murmured, before he could stop himself. Maybe he'd had more than he thought, but surely it would have worn off by then. Sleep dulling his senses, perhaps? "I suppose now I can die happy." he added, entirely as a joke. He'd already alerted her that he was awake, may as well toss subtlety out the window and make it humor instead. He was good at that. Somehow referencing his depression and making a joke all at once seemed to be sort of a trend for him.

His voice resonating in the silence had completely startled her. She let out a yelp and before her mind could fully process his words, her body practically moved on it's own, tossing the pillow at his face out of pure reflex. 

 Elsa let out a nervous laugh. 

 "Oh, you're awake," her voice higher pitched than usual. "I'm so sorry!" she panically stated, realizing the pillow left her grasp. Good thing she'd thrown the pillow at him instead of ice, though it was possible the pillow was at the very least slightly frosted over.

Hans laughed at the pillow throw, downright giggly at the sudden pillow fight.

  "Well I can't say I didn't deserve that." He admitted through his fit of laughter. Maybe it was the drinking, or the evening before, but he found it easy to laugh that night. "No need to apologize, I startled you, and I should've known better. Perhaps I should be grateful you didn't hit me with a snowball." He proposed sweetly. He nonchalantly shifted down to reclaim the pillow (which had bounced off of him and flopped off the bed) and got back up to put it behind his head, though cringed a little. His wound was still a little sore. 

 "Today was a lovely day on my part, I hope yours was as well." He hummed, laying back again as nonchalant as ever. If not moreso. He had never been one to sit or lay while others stood, but her being there so frequently and him being so injured so often (and the drinking didn't help here), he didn't seem to mind it this time. Or maybe it was just to illustrate to her that she wasn't a bother to him.

Elsa's face was florid from the embarrassment of being caught by surprise, and with her mind finally settling and registering what Hans had murmured surely didn't help diminish the bloom of her cheeks. She definitely took notice that Hans seemed a bit more laid-back than usual (both figuratively and literally), but it was more than his posture that cued her in, the subtle difference of his laughter had also caught her attention. 

 "Yeah, so-," she caught herself from apologizing again. "I don't know if I can say the same about my day as a whole, being busy and all, but my evening was indeed a lovely one, spending some much needed time with Anna," she affirmed with a smile. She hadn't noticed but she was fidgeting with her hair. Holding and sliding a long lock of her hair in between the first three fingers of her alternating hands in a repetitive motion. Elsa normally didn't wear her hair down so it made sense that she'd subconsciously want to touch it in one of her anxious mannerisms. "I just came by to return your pillow like promised."

"Promised?" He hummed, seeming somewhat bewildered. "Ah, was that that scratching?" He reached behind his head and looked for whatever he had felt, before uncovering the paper. "I admit, I was tired and didn't think to care what I landed on. Rest assured, the pillow wasn't particularly missed." He assured, with an amused look. He almost seemed like a different person when he was smiling, to when he was sad. But he could change between the two so very quickly. 

 "I meant what I said, you know. Your hair is beautiful when it's down. It always is, but especially when it's down." He occupied himself reading the note, then idly folding it. He seemed to be doing it to some purpose, but not really for something grand. Just a thing to play with. He didn't know why he was telling her that, but it seemed so simple now. So easy. He would undoubtedly hate himself for saying it later, but why not take the chance while he didn't feel bad about it? 

 "The Captain of the Guard and I were drinking, don't pay me too much mind, I'm sure I'll make even more a fool of myself. But I suppose that's my official title these days." He hummed. He finished toying with the note over the course of a few moments, and presented her with the result: A little paper frog. Not perfectly folded, a bit wrinkled from being slept on and from his own failed folds (as he only half-remembered how it was supposed to be done), but it still had a little bit of spring in its feet, and could sort of haphazardly hop when pressed down to the table (even if it might typically fall on its back). Simple and silly.

"I-Uh...Thank you," she acknowledged rather shyly, the crimson continued to suffuse her cheeks at his repeated words of praise. So he'd been out drinking, that would explain a lot, inebriation (as well as drowsiness) were surely the reasoning behind his more mellow mood. Having a more airy Hans was far better than a somber one, even if it caused some awkwardness. She definitely wouldn't be able to easily ignore him even if it was just tipsy babbling. Elsa smiled at the paper frog, it was a cute little craft. She tried pressing down on it herself. 

 "It must have been nice to finally spend some time outside, instead of being confined to this room," she said. A slight shiver crossed her body as memory of her own confinement momentarily re-emerged, she quickly shook her head and got rid of it. "Hopefully your wounds didn't give you too much trouble today." Elsa showed concern about him like always, he had regained a lot of his mobility, but he wasn't completely out of the woods just yet he still had a bit of healing to do. "It sounds like you're already getting along quite well with the Captain, that's good to hear," she commented. Hans and the Captain would have together for a while with the training regimen, it was good that they were already becoming chummy enough to warrant going out for drinks.

"My wound hurt a little, but only because I did something stupid, as men are wont to do. I took it easy after that, rest assured. Training the men got more physical than I had intended, I think I'll try to stick to paperwork for a few more weeks, much as it pains me." He hummed. "I got to see Sitron at the stables, after drinks. I ran into Kristoff and Olaf, and Sven, and we had a fine time." He had to pause to remember the reindeer's name. "Sitron seems cared for, but he needs more riding time. If it's alright with you, I may take more time out with him." And there was the crux of it, 'if it's alright with you'. It wasn't bars or locks keeping him where he was, but her wants.

"Oh?" Hans' forthcoming was surprising, yes, but him willing to refrain from being stubborn and allowing himself to heal, was even more so. Maybe he finally discerned that if he was to remain patient for a little while longer, he'd be able to heal up much faster and no longer have to be shut up in his chamber for most the day. Elsa smiled at the fact that he was going to try to take it easy, for the time being, well at least as easy as Hans would allow himself to be. "Of course, I don't see why not. I'm sure Sitron misses you and he could really use the exercise," Elsa affirmed giving him a warm smile. Hans knew how to best care for him and she surely wasn't going to keep a man from his horse.

Hans smiled a bit at that. "He did. We were both excited to see each-other. I'm afraid I distracted all of us from our outing to go see my horse, and groom him. Sitron has always been a friend to me, and I do look out for my friends and allies." He hummed. "And, whatever we are." He glanced at her, a curious look in his eyes. "I still find it difficult to discern, to be honest. I don't think of you as an enemy. I never have. But I'm not sure you would appreciate me calling you a friend, either. Especially not while Anna still hates me -as she rightfully ought to, I suppose-. If anything, hers is the most sensible reaction I've seen from me. The guards murmured a bit, but I won them over quickly. Captain Johannes told me some still have doubts and that they haven't forgotten, I'll believe it when I see it." He felt it easier to talk to her that evening. It didn't feel like it was because of the alcohol, but maybe it was. It just felt like... he wanted to talk about it. It didn't feel like a bunch of secrets, it felt like things she must have already surmised. Like friends discussing a nuisance of one's day, not dissecting his character.

Elsa glimpsed back at him. She let a titter escape as she combed her hair atop her head with one of her fingers. "Yeah, it really is hard to know where exactly we stand, given the odd circumstances." Elsa concurred. "You know, I was also wondering about that myself, being able to consider you a friend, I mean. I wasn't sure if I could call you that, and not because of Anna or that I don't want us to be friends, I was just uncertain," Elsa expressed and paused biting her bottom lip a bit. "Because to tell you the truth, I don't have many friends, and I don't know if I can count Anna since she's my sister, so as you can imagine I'm not very good when it comes to that sort of thing," Elsa explained. "The Ice Queen, still having trouble warming up, big surprise. Thirteen years of isolation surely didn't help in that regard,"she huffed. "Though Anna seemed to have gotten the hang of it unlike me, but then again she's always been amiable, social and striving to connect with people," she recognized. She paused once again getting lost down memory lane. 

 "It's silly but, I didn't have a companion like Sitron or Sven, instead for the longest time, since I couldn't interact with Anna, I had a Sir Jorgenbjorgen, he was a little stuffed puffin doll I would talk to," she reminisced. "Had I known sooner that I had the ability to bring my creations to life, I might have tried to make myself a friend," Elsa considered, lost deeper in her thoughts. There was one last pause before she noticed. "Oh, sorry, I'm getting carried away." Elsa realized she had gotten a bit too caught up in the friend talk, maybe she was being too chatty herself, but since they were already opening up to each other, might as well just say what was on her mind, just because it felt right to do so. "Anyway, I don't know what else we could deem ourselves if not friends." She didn't address how others might feel about Hans, because it was pretty obvious how she felt herself, if she was considering him her friend.

Hans looked up at her, with perhaps a bit of hope in his eyes. "Do get carried away more, it's easier to converse when both sides are chatty." He pointed out with a little smile. "Friends, then?" He asked, almost wary. She may have been isolated for years, but Hans was familiar with backstabbing and attempts to be perfect. Elsa may have been slow-melting ice, but Hans was more of a doe, listening for trouble and leaping away at the first movement, even if it was from a future friend. "I like that your puffin was a sir. That's cute." He hummed. "I had my journals, why wouldn't you have a doll? I had to be wary of echoes, you had to be wary of living things. I can't imagine being afraid to touch life. I suppose we were both prisoners in our bedrooms in different ways. You to hide from yourself, and protect others; me to hide from others and protect myself. At least I could wander out, most times." He seemed less than comfortable thinking about it, not quite frowning, but not looking happy. "I'm glad you can still love your castle and kingdom. I can't." He would visit home if someone was dying; but he had no further desire to. He doubted they kept his things in his room. He was only a prince in name so he could visit the dying, because they knew his father wouldn't live long. "Ah, there I go, turning grim after we were having such a lovely day before. I didn't mean to bring us down." His tone was lighter and apologetic, to make up for his gloominess. Even though it may not have been him starting the gloom, he blamed himself and his mercurial moods.

"Yes, Friends," Elsa replied with smiling eyes. It felt good to finally have a bit more clarity on the relationship between them. "I'm sure it was my doing this time, I have a knack of turning things sour without wanting to," She assured, remembering how well the conversation with Anna went before the fun finally started. "Let's see if I can just as easily divert it back to being lovely again," Elsa affirmed, taking a moment to ponder. "Oh, I know! Aren't you the least bit curious as to know what the pressing matter that required me to borrow your pillow?" She asked. It was going to be a bit embarrassing to admit, but it got the conversation to revert back into something more pleasant. It didn't really matter.

Hans looked up at her curiously, and grinned playfully. "Missed me that much?" He proposed, with mock flattery and a playful smile. She looked ready to go to bed, with her hair down. He had to be careful not to think too much about that all at once. "Alright, I'll bite, why borrow my pillow?" He had guesses (after all, how many reasons could there be?) but he participated for the sake of the conversation. The longer it lasted, the more time he spent in her presence, and could admire her beauty while he thought she wouldn't notice.

She giggled a bit. Even though Hans himself was joking it technically wasn't far from the truth, she had indeed wished to see him, though she wouldn't actually admit it and she hadn't playfully denied it either. "Well, how else would we construct Arendelle's most extravagant pillow fort? " Elsa laughed followed by a sigh. "Childish I know, and most unbecoming of a Queen, but I must admit it was rather fun, doing things with Anna we never got the chance to do growing up."

Hans smiled a little, especially in his eyes, where crow's feet would form well before any other wrinkles made themselves prominent with age. "Now if we can't spend our adulthood being childish, whatever did we grow up for?" He joked easily. "We're both rather giggly tonight. I quite like it. And I'm glad to hear I'm not the only one with a penchant for childish behavior. Olaf got me to smile earlier with bad puns, and the time at the pub-- well I think the Captain thinks of me as the obnoxious young recruit more than a trainer to his troops, but he reminds me of the Captain of my ship, in spite of being much younger. I wouldn't have it any other way." He hummed. He sounded as if the day had overall been quite positive, even if -for a time- he had been quite melancholy. It seemed that was his natural state of being, and happy any time someone got him out of it.

"It is rather nice," Elsa agreed as a grin crossed her face. The two of them sharing a moment in good spirits was very pleasant. "I may not be able to indulge in acting childish often, but I won't deny it's enjoyable to do so," she laughed a bit more, the laughter sure seemed to be contagious tonight."I'm glad you were able to have a nice night out."

"Hmm, why not? Perhaps you simply need to take more time to be a child." He suggested, gesturing to the little paper frog he had made. "I learned to make those in Japan, then promptly forgot. With a little struggling I can get them almost like they're supposed to look. And that's one of the easy ones. Some people can make flapping birds,dogs, cats, all out of folded paper. It's a mystery to me, I guess I just don't have the mind for it. But I like the little hopping frog fold. Simple and cute."

Elsa smiled at the frog, poking it once again. "I don't think it would make the right impression if I was regarded as 'Elsa the Childish Ice Queen of Arendelle'," she jokingly remarked with a snort. "Actually, I've already planned to make more time, I promised Anna to try doing more fun things we didn't get to do together."

"Hmm, I try on titles and attitudes like most try shoes. Something different for any occasion, no need to let one define you. Why bother? Of course, I'm hardly the picture of mental health." He remained casual, leaning back, though he propped himself up a little more to converse with her. Maybe he just preferred there to be a power imbalance. It made him less of a threat. Especially with his sword still on the bureau. "My moods change faster than the tides, as does my personality and my behavior, if I could do anything else as fast, I'd be a much more productive human being. But it means I have the freedom to be a different person to everyone I meet, if I choose to be. I'd say it doesn't change who I am at heart, but I'm not convinced there's a layer deeper than that. I'm still a mirror, I am whatever others want or need me to be, and that's why I get all the titles. My favorite so far was Admiral, but my second-favorite is Fool. I suppose it's the only one I gave myself." He mused. He didn't really have a singular purpose to mention it, he just found it intriguing. "At any rate, you can have more time to be a child, and not be defined as childish. Even kings and queens must laugh."

Elsa didn't care too much what people thought of her, but then again she was a Queen and a big sister, two titles she felt didn't allow freedom to be carefree, responsibility seemed to have been engraved as a part of her personality from a young age. She might have seemed serious and resolute in remaining regal, but she didn't really mind being like that, actually she preferred it, it was essentially how she was in character, she could never be abundantly energetic like Anna that was way too draining. 

 "Adaptability isn't necessarily a bad attribute, sounds exhilarating having that freedom explore the infinite possibilities, instead of being set in stone." There was a part of Elsa wished she wasn't bound by the expectations (that she'd mostly placed on her own shoulders) and she could have the freedom to be that flexible. "I guess you're right, even I deserve some fun," she answered. 

 Elsa then pursed her lips and pondered. 

 "Do you think I'm too serious? I know I can be a bit of a stickler," she wondered. All this talk made it sound like she was normally no fun at all, and maybe that was true, she was rather duty driven. Perhaps what she was really trying to ask was what was his impression of her.

Hans considered her question a bit. "Seriousness is a necessary evil, especially as a royal. You need to be able to be serious when the time calls for it. But we can't stop enjoying life, else there's no reason to have it. I adventure and enjoy wordplay, that's how I enjoy life. You're dutiful, but I think you're serious for work, and very human otherwise. You laugh and smile and tease. Some military men seem like they hold onto their frowns and barked orders like a man holds to a life raft. Those types of men tend not to like me, because I refuse to take them seriously." Hans smiled to himself, ever the young rogue. "People like that tend to demand respect they haven't earned with me, or expect me to follow them because I'm young. Ah, but alas, I suppose I am a follower again. My highest rank now is 'Queen's Fool'." He smiled a little to himself just the same. As far as it was from 'prince', he still had an inordinate fondness for the title. At least in part because nobody really hired fools anymore. "Very human, hm?" she repeated in a murmur. She smiled, that really was a compliment to her, since she often tended to forget that. "That's quite the title, the highest ranking Fool in the land, a very rare achievement indeed, I can see why you are quite fond of it," Elsa playfully teased.

Hans laughed a little, smiling at her. "Well I can't think of a better kingdom to be a fool in. Careful, I might start asking for pay. Though, if I keep playing cards with the men I'm training, I might need one anyway." He laughed. "I wonder how the history books will write about me. 'The fool who trained the Queen's Guards, a failed treasoner and prince of a foreign land', I like the reverse-ordering. I'm sure they'll gloss over the admiralty, history books always seem to miss the important bits." He chuckled and shook his head. "Of course it's only by the treason I'd have made it in, anyway." He shrugged. "Glad it didn't work out, though. In spite of all my pains and injuries, I am glad life has brought me to where I am. I just wish it had taken a somewhat different path to get here."

Elsa smiled and laughed along with him, up until the treason talk. "I'm glad you're here too," she reassured softly. "It might not have been the preferable path, but life might not have granted the same possibilities any other way."

  "There're so many good things that might not have happened had we not gone down the paths we’d chosen."

"Just so." Hans hummed. She brought him a sense of peace, even though he felt somewhat trapped there in his room. Even healed, he tended not to explore the small space. 

 "Not the preferable path, indeed. If I'd have known about your powers, maybe we could have been friends. I certainly would have been a lot more careful." He thought about it a moment, then waved the thought off. "Best not to think about 'what ifs', they only lead to sadness, I find."

He seemed to be right, the unattainable 'what ifs' did indeed only tended to bring sorrow of how things might have been. She was melancholy for a moment as she let out a sigh. Then a strange concept crossed her mind.

  "That seems to be true, but what if," Elsa giggled a little at the way she started that statement. "Instead of thinking of the impossible 'what ifs' of the past, we think of the potential 'what ifs' of the present and the future." She suggested. "I think those are far less gloomy since they are still probable prospects." 

 "Like what if I did officially grant you the title of fool?" That part was of course just another joke, but certainly not out of the realm of possibility.

Hans chuckled. "Embarrassing, truly, yet charming. I imagine my family would never understand that I'd sooner be a fool in Arendelle than a prince in the Isles." He admitted idly. "Well then, what if my work here somehow encouraged the Isles to give back my titles? Then I would be a fool admiral and a fool prince. What a combination. One confusing hierarchy of titles. My mother would hate it, therefore I'm for it." He chuckled dryly.

Elsa wasn't sure if she should ask the next question, but the 'what if' of returning titles made her curious. After a brief hesitation she decided to ask. 

 "What if you were given the opportunity to sail again, would you?" She wondered, wringing her hands. Her crimson nails contrasting her porcelain skin. It was a bittersweet question even for a hypothetical, since she wouldn't want him to leave, yet she knew how much he loved the sea and adventure and was rather curious to find out if he would. She'd asked him a similar question before about why he'd returned to Arendelle instead of sailing away. She wondered if his answer would differ, given other circumstances, such as regaining his admiralty.

He thought about it a bit. "Of course, I do love adventure; but I must return to a friendly port now and then to rest and restock and call home. I would sooner that be here than the Isles, if Arendelle would have me. I daresay the Isles has no need for me now, if I'm no longer an Admiral, and not counted in the line of succession. I have nowhere I must be but where Her Majesty assigns me." He gestured to Elsa, not toward home. His mother was Queen Consort and had no true say in the running of the government.

His answer had put her mind at ease. Elsa smiled a bit. "But of course, if you are indeed considering yourself my fool it's only logical that Arendelle would be your home," she affirmed. It felt a little strange to call him her fool in the possessive especially out loud, but she was in fact the Queen and he was her fool. It did embarrass her a little to have said after the fact, even if it was only meant to be playful banter.

Hans smiled a little at the thought. He was welcomed there, even if it was only as a jester in her court. "I could always be considered the Guard Trainer or whatever official title that would be. In the Isles, we had the Swordmaster, who taught us boys to swing a sword, but that was a bit of a different job." He admitted, considering the thought.

Oh, right his real official title, she had practically forgotten about that and it made her fluster a bit more. 

 "Yes, definitely," she nodded."I'm not quite sure of the official name yet either, but we'll figure it out soon enough." She assured him. 

 "Hmm, what about Combat Consultant? It has a nice ring to it, but I don't know. Do you have any other ideas?" Elsa suggested and asked him for his input. "Oh, and before I forget since we're on the topic of training. Kristoff might be the one watching over us while you're training me." She informed him.

"Oh that does have a nice ring. 'Consultant' sounds a bit like desk work, though. There must be a term for the one who trains the guards, that isn't 'captain'. I'd hate to dethrone the captain we have, after all." He chuckled at the thought. He would absolutely tease the Captain about it if it happened, but he thought it might make a bit of a sore spot. "Ah, we'll figure it out." He shrugged. 

 "That's fine with me, Kristoff is a nice young man, dutiful and level-headed. Hell, he can join, if he likes. Give you someone to vent to when you both get tired of hearing me quote 'A Treatise on The Swordsmen of the Southern Isles' at you. It's not a common book, probably doesn't exist outside of the Isles. If it does exist in your library I'll be surprised, but feel free to read it in advance, if you do have it. It's a written explanation of the 'implied sword-culture' of the Isles, and goes into detail about why we give up swords, what it means, all sorts of minutia you might not care about. And some things that might actually help swordplay, occasionally." He chuckled a little. It was clearly a favorite read of his. One of those books, not read for entertainment, but guidance; as a man reads a bible.

"Yeah, we'll figure it out later,"she concurred. Elsa really didn't want to step on anyone's toes, by making Hans the new captain, so she hoped to come up with a suitable solution without having to resort to that. "Oh dear, are you going to make me regret acquiescing before we even begin?" She giggled. "I'll be sure to check the library, I doubt we have a copy, but you never know."

He chuckled a little and shrugged. "I have a fondness for my country's 'sword culture'. It's one of the few parts of it I like. But that's mostly fluff. Cultural details that won't necessarily apply to you, though you may gain an appreciation for how and when I carry mine. It's perhaps the political equivalent of a lady's fan-language, or perhaps that's an odd English trend. I never bothered to learn whether ladies truly bother with communicating with coquettish fanning. It seems a bit silly to me. I'd say I'm more straightforward than that, but you and I both know that's a lie." He laughed dryly. He was a man who chose his words carefully, most times. Still, he seemed to be learning how to be more casual with her-- for good or ill.

"I would actually like to try to understand that fondness, as well as the significance behind the swords, it honestly sounds like an interesting topic, besides I don't mind a history lesson," Elsa smilingly nodded. It was true, Hans seemed to take his sword culture seriously, and if it was something important to him she wanted to learn more about it to know why, believing that it might give her a better idea of who Hans was at heart. "As for fan-language I wouldn't know too much of that myself either, I never learned any of that, there was really no use for it, considering," Elsa did a quick demonstration of her magic, in the palm of her hand."Nor was I ever interested in that sort of thing, so it was for the best. I also think it's rather silly, though I'm fairly certain Anna knows how to do it, she's always liked things like that, and think I've seen her play around with a fan. Seems unnecessary complicated to me, just like a certain person I know," Elsa giggled, she was kidding of course, playing along with what he'd said before.

"All too complicated." He agreed with a smile. "If you can get a copy of the book out here, it's a thin one, if dense. If not, I'll likely cover most of it while I teach you, anyway. Just as soon as I can do that without injuring myself." He touched his old stab wound. It hardly needed bandages, but it was still scabbed and occasionally spotted blood. It would heal soon.

"I'll see if I can get my hands on one, though it might be better to just wait and hear it from you, your way with words is certainly a lot more vibrant than reading them from a book, that's for sure" she acknowledged. "Yes, please do heal up first, we wouldn't want to keep you trapped in here, because of yet another injury two is more than enough."

Hans chuckled a little. "Much as I've managed to enjoy my confinement, it will be nice to get out of this damned bed, at least." He admitted. "I don't mind being in a cell or a room, it's not being able to move around that bothers me. You never know how much you gesture when you talk until it hurts to move." It was strange, he still felt their relationship was nebulous. Friends, yes, and friendly. But... more, perhaps? Was it possible that they could be? Or was he just fond of her, and it was all one-sided? He could never admit it to ask, surely. "I'm at least dimly aware that Anna doesn't trust me, and I don't blame her in the slightest. Am I permitted to move about the castle, though? I'll accept any restrictions, or a no, but I am curious. I never bother to check outside my door for guards, I just assume they're posted." Because at heart, he thought of himself still as a treasoner. It had been as deeply ingrained into him as the scars across his back.

"Oh, there aren't any guards," she stated, shaking her head. "You're free to leave your room if you desire, though Anna probably wouldn't be too thrilled if she caught you roaming around. Hmm. I think this whole corridor is probably safe though, I'm sure she doesn't come this way at all, just to avoid bumping into you. There are some places that are likely to always be unoccupied because they mostly go unused, like the music room and ballroom for example. I think the only area of the castle that I would really consider off limits is the upstairs level, where our bedrooms are, I think Anna would be rather upset if she saw you around there, she'd likely see it as an invasion of her personal space. As for the other parts of the castle, are pretty much open to you, if you wish to visit, all I say is go at your own risk and can only suggest that you proceed with caution."

Hans nodded thoughtfully. "I'm uncertain how to feel about that." He admitted. "Ah, but I got stabbed defending the kingdom. The Captain tells me I should give myself some credit for that. Though I am about as eager to run into Anna as she is to run into me. I'm quite good at not being found when I don't want to be. She won't hear from me if I can help it, let alone see me." He had quite enough interaction with Anna for one lifetime. No man scared him, but he would sooner fight pirates than deal with Anna calling him useless again.

 "It didn't make sense to keep guards posted when you are no longer my prisoner," she expressed.

 Hans considered that thought. "I suppose not." He said, but didn't seem to quite believe the idea. "I suppose it would look bad if the man training your guards needed a guard presence, himself. So... if I'm to live in Arendelle, if I'm truly to be a citizen here, should I save for a home here? I imagine I probably won't be asked to stay here when Anna is so upset with me. And I don't exactly have family money anymore in the Isles. But I don't mind the idea of having a humble home here. As long as the people of Arendelle don't feel like lynching me in the night, anyway. Thankfully I seem to be winning people over easily enough." Though he wasn't sure if that was truly a good thing.

Elsa didn't know how to answer that, she hadn't really thought of him leaving the castle. She opened her mouth to speak but remained silent for a little while longer. 

 "I-Uh, I...I really don't mind having you stay here in the castle myself,"she began in a soft-spoken tone. "but I know that's not really fair to Anna. She really only seemed alright with letting you stay while you heal." She admitted with a sigh. "You could probably stay at the barracks for a time," she suggested. "And if you wished to build yourself a home in town in the future you're welcome to do so."

"Hmm, building a home." Hans mused, seeming new to the idea. "I wouldn't have the faintest idea how, what an intriguing thought." He remarked, sounding more excited by the prospect than anything. "I may have to get a uniform if I'm to work with the guard staff. Wouldn't be my first, though the least likely, I'd wager. Perhaps when I'm fully ready to train them? I always was in favor of living alongside the men I work with." He didn't mind that any. But perhaps most importantly, she wanted him there near her. That was a sweet idea. "I might have to save a long while. Perhaps I'll find a place near the fjords someday. Near the ships and the sea. Near the castle." For her, not for anything else. The only reason he had to put his feet on dry land anymore was to visit her, really. He could have left, could have returned to sea life. But then what? Just be a midshipman? A sailor with no rank or renown? He could have, perhaps, joined Arendelle's navy, but why, if not to stay at her heels? "I suppose I have more options than I've had in a while. I'll have to think about life and consider them."

[deductionjournal]

Studying the Methods of Sherlock Holmes in Light of this Changing Age: The Hat of Henry Baker

We are all aware of the dazzling and astute deductions made by our dear friend, Sherlock Holmes. As a dull light forces its way through a dirt covered windowpane, we are introduced through Watson's dazzled eyes, to Holmes' mind at work in an abandoned room of Lauriston Gardens. Empty except for an imitation marble fireplace and a dead man, contorted in a depiction of his agonising last moments. Standing aside and looking upon Holmes with a mixture of respect, curiosity, and sheer dumb-foundedness, Watson witnesses as the Great Detective traces around every inch of the mildew dotted walls and dust covered floor, and is at last able to give a full description of the murderer, from his height and boot size to his overly long fingernails. But as the years have passed and technology has pushed forward, is our dear friend able to keep up? Let us explore this question together, as we delve into some of Watson and Holmes' adventures together, dissect some of the most perplexing cases that the foggy streets of London had to offer, and view under the microscope how some of his deductions hold up in this changing age, before the world went all awry.  

Now, to go through each one of his deductions and inferences would be a difficult task without filling a book, so we shall only investigate a single example from his many adventures here. 

Our example is taken from The Blue Carbuncle, whereupon one late December morning, a sharp chill has gripped the Victorian streets of London causing windowpane corners to be thick with the icy frost common on these winter days. Behind one of these windows however, a cosy fire can be found warming the lodgings of 221B Baker Street. As the fire crackles, the light warmth emanating from the fireplace illuminates a scattering of newspapers cast in flickering shadow, showing signs of being recently rifled through and then evidently discarded to no consequence. Within arm's reach of this abandoned heap of papers lays a chez lounge that offers it seems, a great deal of comfort for its occupier, who at the moment is on the cusp of explaining something in deep thought to his colleague, as the latter, sat in an armchair by the fire is looking with interest towards an old hard felt hat he had just been indicated to by his companion.

“ I took the tattered object in my hands and turned it over rather ruefully. It was a very ordinary black hat of the usual round shape, hard and much the worse for wear. The lining had been of red silk, but was a good deal discoloured. There was no maker's name; but, as Holmes had remarked, the initials “H. B.” were scrawled upon one side. It was pierced in the brim for a hat-securer, but the elastic was missing. For the rest, it was cracked, exceedingly dusty, and spotted in several places, although there seemed to have been some attempt to hide the discoloured patches by smearing them with ink.”

Here, we have been given nearly all the data needed to make the inferences that Holmes is able to make (with the minor additions brought up elsewhere in the text). While Watson is unable to determine anything he thinks as noteworthy, handing the hat back to Holmes, let’s first see if you can follow the reasoning behind each of his remarks in the following passage...  

He picked it up and gazed at it in the peculiar introspective fashion which was characteristic of him. “It is perhaps less suggestive than it might have been,” he remarked, “and yet there are a few inferences which are very distinct, and a few others which represent at least a strong balance of probability. That the man was highly intellectual is of course obvious upon the face of it, and also that he was fairly well-to-do within the last three years, although he has now fallen upon evil days. He had foresight, but has less now than formerly, pointing to a moral retrogression, which, when taken with the decline of his fortunes, seems to indicate some evil influence, probably drink, at work upon him. This may account also for the obvious fact that his wife has ceased to love him.”

“My dear Holmes!”

“He has, however, retained some degree of self-respect,” he continued, disregarding my remonstrance. “He is a man who leads a sedentary life, goes out little, is out of training entirely, is middle-aged, has grizzled hair which he has had cut within the last few days, and which he anoints with lime-cream. These are the more patent facts which are to be deduced from his hat. Also, by the way, that it is extremely improbable that he has gas laid on in his house.”

How did you fair when comparing the two passages? Did you follow Holmes reasoning with any success?  Let us see what Holmes has to say for how he got to his immense conclusions and analyse each one in turn...  

“I have no doubt that I am very stupid, but I must confess that I am unable to follow you. For example, how did you deduce that this man was intellectual?”

For answer Holmes clapped the hat upon his head. It came right over the forehead and settled upon the bridge of his nose. “It is a question of cubic capacity,” said he; “a man with so large a brain must have something in it.”  

This is a topic that has been under great debate ever since it reached people ears. Does the size of a person’s head or brain really act as any indication towards their intelligence? Many scientists have argued both sides of this [1,2,3,4,5] but after over a century of confusion, it seems that by the 1990’s and early 2000’s they came to an agreement via the use of MRI imaging of people’s brains [6,7]. The extensive research has determined that Holmes’ statement does hold merit, but in regards to time, was a 19th century detective right to come to this conclusion?

In this time the question of cubic capacity was only a theory, and not a well-researched one. Holmes, it can easily be believed, would have been aware of this theory and following his remarks in the series cautioning of making bricks without clay, he would, or at least should, have known that this theory could not yet be trusted. In light of this it may be that Holmes was just ahead of his game, for it is hardly the first scientific discovery that has been predicted by the great detective [8]. Alternatively, he may have added this in an attempt to just impress Watson; as there was no crime related to this hat, he may have felt the childish urge to embellish his statements, as he has been caught doing before (such as the florid face of a murderer in a Study in Scarlet)[9], in a way to impress his friend whom it can be believed has not visited for some weeks over the winter period.  

“The decline of his fortunes, then?”

“This hat is three years old. These flat brims curled at the edge came in then. It is a hat of the very best quality. Look at the band of ribbed silk and the excellent lining. If this man could afford to buy so expensive a hat three years ago, and has had no hat since, then he has assuredly gone down in the world.”

Fashion is a thing that is far too often overlooked. Trends come and go throughout the seasons and so for a Detective such as Holmes, it is evidently important to keep up. A modern-day comparison of this may arise with any item of clothing or accessory you can think of, for example if Holmes was to be presented with a pair of skinny jeans that are well-worn by countless washes, then it can be suggested that the owner is out of touch with modern mainstream trends, and may point to the decade they grew up in, and so on, in a way that reflects the above quote (skinny jeans became a popular trend in 2006 [10,11,12] but late 2010’s has notably seen an exchange in favour of palazzo trousers and drop-crotch trousers[13,14,15]).

One thing however that Holmes has not stated is the possibility of this item being a gift. Carrying on with the example of the skinny jeans, there raises fewer possibilities. Trousers (and obscurely sized hats), perhaps more than most items of clothing, are rarely gifted to people purely due to having to know the right size, something you can’t ask without giving away the gift, or without risk of insult, so they would have to be brought by either the wearer or someone close enough to know the size to get, such as a close family member or partner.

“Well, that is clear enough, certainly. But how about the foresight and the moral retrogression?”

Sherlock Holmes laughed. “Here is the foresight,” said he putting his finger upon the little disc and loop of the hat-securer. “They are never sold upon hats. If this man ordered one, it is a sign of a certain amount of foresight, since he went out of his way to take this precaution against the wind. But since we see that he has broken the elastic and has not troubled to replace it, it is obvious that he has less foresight now than formerly, which is a distinct proof of a weakening nature. On the other hand, he has endeavoured to conceal some of these stains upon the felt by daubing them with ink, which is a sign that he has not entirely lost his self-respect.”

“Your reasoning is certainly plausible.”

Fashion is brought up again, in a different manner, if Holmes is to make it in the modern age, he not only has to know what is fashionable, but also what counts as a fashion faux par. Although what he says holds grounds for that time [16], in this age the only hats witnessed with securers on belong to infant children in general beach vicinity, accompanied usually with a plastic shovel and spade and someone taking an adorable picture the child will grow up to regret.  

Moving on from Parisian blunders and beach pictures, Holmes states that a decrease in foresight is proof of a weakening nature, or as said earlier, moral retrograde. While there hasn’t been research giving a direct link between the two, it has been shown that illnesses such as anxiety and depression can be correlated with changes in moral upkeep [17], and such illnesses can be caused by problems rooted in drinking and gambling [18], though it should be noted these are not by any means the only causes [19], so whilst Holmes’ reasoning may have been correct with the link between foresight and morale, it was a bit of a stretch for him to claim that this was due to some influence such as drink, as I’m sure the loss of one’s fortune alone would be enough to cause such loss in morale.

“The further points, that he is middle-aged, that his hair is grizzled, that it has been recently cut, and that he uses lime-cream, are all to be gathered from a close examination of the lower part of the lining. The lens discloses a large number of hair-ends, clean cut by the scissors of the barber. They all appear to be adhesive, and there is a distinct odour of lime-cream. This dust, you will observe, is not the gritty, grey dust of the street but the fluffy brown dust of the house, showing that it has been hung up indoors most of the time, while the marks of moisture upon the inside are proof positive that the wearer perspired very freely, and could therefore, hardly be in the best of training.”

Anyone who has had their hair cut to a short length can verify that it finds itself everywhere, so it is not surprising that it gets into the hat’s lining, within the loose hair’s closest proximity, and the adhesiveness of the lime-cream will naturally transfer from his hair to his hat, likely bringing a few strands with it, and while the type of hat mentioned may not be applicable to the general public anymore, hats such as flat caps are (at least for the time being)[20].  

It is also true that different types of dust have different properties, and so cling to fabrics differently[21], and the marks of moisture in Winter would suggest that it either had little to do with the weather (and the man therefore sweats a lot in any season), or that the hat hadn’t been rid of these marks despite treatments being available with the use of lemons or baking soda[22].

“But his wife—you said that she had ceased to love him.”

“This hat has not been brushed for weeks. When I see you, my dear Watson, with a week's accumulation of dust upon your hat, and when your wife allows you to go out in such a state, I shall fear that you also have been unfortunate enough to lose your wife's affection.”

“But he might be a bachelor.”

“Nay, he was bringing home the goose as a peace-offering to his wife. Remember the card upon the bird's leg.”

It should be stated that the card on the bird’s leg reads “For Mrs. Henry Baker”.

This statement to Watson is more interpretation than based on any scientific evidence, however Holmes has had many cases surrounding couples in and out of love, and the attentiveness of a loving partner, and what a partner may do to regain that affection if lost, can be seen throughout many newspapers, stories, and from our very own experiences in life[23]. It is therefore not difficult to conclude that what Holmes says has some level of merit, despite lack of conclusive proof.  

“You have an answer to everything. But how on earth do you deduce that the gas is not laid on in his house?”

“One tallow stain, or even two, might come by chance; but when I see no less than five, I think that there can be little doubt that the individual must be brought into frequent contact with burning tallow—walks upstairs at night probably with his hat in one hand and a guttering candle in the other. Anyhow, he never got tallow-stains from a gas-jet. Are you satisfied?”

“Well, it is very ingenious,” said I, laughing; “but since, as you said just now, there has been no crime committed, and no harm done save the loss of a goose, all this seems to be rather a waste of energy.”

Of course, in this age most houses are lighted with electricity rather than gas, and modern use of a candle would most likely be in creating a certain atmosphere, however candles aren’t what they used to be. Tallow was very commonly used in the making of candle wax, and was composed of animal fats, supposedly giving off a rather unpleasant odour when burned[24]. However nowadays candles are made primarily from beeswax, gel wax, paraffin wax and so on[25], making it unlikely to leave the same smear on the fabric of a hat.  

Conclusion

So, what does this all tell us then? It seems that Holmes is a bit out of touch with the times, what with fashion trends changing multiple times a decade along with ingredients of candles, and I would imagine a great deal of other things (although having lived over a century ago it isn’t much of a surprise!). It also seems that Holmes has a knack for showing off, but as Watson said, there has been no crime committed, and no harm done save the loss of a goose, so perhaps this was the reason for Holmes’ stretches of reasoning. Stretches aside, his method of analytical reasoning and scientific know-how can safely be said for the most part, to hold up to the test of time.  

But this is just one example, so can our dear friend Sherlock Holmes smoke his pipe easy? Not without further study of his other deductions, and he’s made plenty of them! His knowledge on scientific principles, as well as new theories certainly help his case, aiding in his thought process and providing good evidence for his claims, but new theories aren’t always the right theories, and while he may have been lucky in the matter of cubic capacity, he could have been talking as much sense as a hatter!  

Giving him the benefit of the doubt for his fondness of showing off to his friend, and until a further analysis of his other cases can be made, he may rest easy, curled up in his armchair by the warm fireplace, in the belief that his skill as a detective, while needing to be brushed up a little for the passing years, remains more or less intact.  

References:

[1] Egan V, Chiswick A, Santosh C, Naidu K, Rimmington JE, Best JJ. Size isn't everything: A study of brain volume, intelligence and auditory evoked potentials. Personality and Individual Differences. 1994 Sep 1;17(3):357-67.

[2] Estabrooks GH. The relation between cranial capacity, relative cranial capacity and intelligence in school children. Journal of Applied Psychology. 1928 Oct;12(5):524.

[3] Pearl R. On the correlation between intelligence and the size of the head. Journal of Comparative Neurology and Psychology. 1906 May;16(3):189-99.

[4] Andreasen NC, Flaum M, Swayze V, O'Leary DS, Alliger R, Cohen G, Ehrhardt J, Yuh WT. Intelligence and brain structure in normal individuals. American Journal of Psychiatry. 1993 Jan 1;150:130-.

[5] Wickett JC, Vernon PA, Lee DH. In vivo brain size, head perimeter, and intelligence in a sample of healthy adult females. Personality and Individual differences. 1994 Jun 1;16(6):831-8.

[6] Mathalon DH, Sullivan EV, Rawles JM, Pfefferbaum A. Correction for head size in brain-imaging measurements. Psychiatry Research: Neuroimaging. 1993 Jun 1;50(2):121-39.

[7] McDaniel MA. Big-brained people are smarter: A meta-analysis of the relationship between in vivo brain volume and intelligence. Intelligence. 2005 Jul 1;33(4):337-46.

[8] O'Brien, James. Sherlock Holmes: Pioneer in Forensic Science. Encyclopedia Brittanica. March 31st 2014.  [cited 20th June 2019] https://www.britannica.com/topic/Sherlock-Holmes-Pioneer-in-Forensic-Science-1976713

[9] Doyle, Arthur Conan. A Study in Scarlet. New York: Oxford University Press, 2008.

[10] Time. Skinny Jean [Internet] [cited 20th June 2019] http://content.time.com/time/specials/packages/article/0,28804,2011254_2014381_2014372,00.html [Published 20th December 2006]

[11] USAToday. Skinny legs and all: Jeans get slender [Internet] [cited 20th June 2019] http://usatoday30.usatoday.com/life/lifestyle/2006-04-16-skinny-jeans_x.htm [Published 16th April 2006]

[12] Wikipedia. 2000’s in Fashion[Internet][cited 20th January 2019] https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/2000s_in_fashion

[13] Confetissimo. 2018 [Internet] [cited 20th June 2019] https://confettissimo.com/en/fashion-style/what-to-wear/Palazzo-summer-trousers-topical.html

[14] Wikipedia. 2010's in Fashion[Internet][cited 20th January 2019] https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/2010s_in_fashion

[15] Independent. How the Skinny Jeans Trend Finally Died and Made Way For Body Conscious Denim [Internet] [cited 20th June 2019] https://www.independent.co.uk/life-style/fashion/skinny-jeans-trend-denim-athleisure-body-conscious-khloe-kardashian-a7371451.html [Published 4th March 2017]

[16] Nunn, Joan. Fashion in Costume, 1200-2000. 2nd edition. A & C Black (Publishers) Ltd; Chicago: New Amsterdam Books, 2000.

[17] Paulus MP, Stein MB. Interoception in anxiety and depression. Brain structure and Function. 2010 Jun 1;214(5-6):451-63.

[18] Martin RJ, Usdan S, Cremeens J, Vail-Smith K. Disordered gambling and co-morbidity of psychiatric disorders among college students: An examination of problem drinking, anxiety and depression. Journal of Gambling Studies. 2014 Jun 1;30(2):321-33.

[19] Khalsa SR, McCarthy KS, Sharpless BA, Barrett MS, Barber JP. Beliefs about the causes of depression and treatment preferences. Journal of clinical psychology. 2011 Jun;67(6):539-49.

[20] Mail Online. Peaky Blinders sparks flat cap revival [Internet] [cited 27 June 2019]. Available from: https://www.dailymail.co.uk/femail/article-3614942/Peaky-Blinders-sparks-flat-cap-trend-sales-83.html

[21] World Health Organization. Hazard prevention and control in the work environment: airborne dust. Geneva: World Health Organization; 1999.

[22] Bilgram V, Bartl M, Biel S. Getting closer to the consumer–how Nivea co-creates new products. Marketing Review St. Gallen. 2011 Feb 1;28(1):34-40.  

[23] Chang JS. Agony-resolution pathways: How women perceive American men in Cosmopolitan's agony (advice) column. The Journal of Men’s Studies. 2000 Jun;8(3):285-308.

[24] Henchman A. Tallow candles and meaty air in Bleak House. 19: Interdisciplinary Studies in the Long Nineteenth Century. 2017 Dec 1.

[25] Unique Candle Creations. Gel Candles vs Traditional Candles [Internet] [Cited 24th June 2019] https://uniquecandlecreations.com/pages/gel-candles-vs-traditional-candles

[mydearwtson]

bookmarks from Bowlaway bc i haven’t been doing a good job of this practice in MOTNHS:

They found a body in the Salford Cemetery, but aboveground and alive. An ice storm the day before had beheaded the daffodils, and the cemetery was draped in frost: midspring, Massachusetts, the turn of the century before the last. 

He was a teenager, uneasy among the living and not much better among the dead... The young man, being alive, was not afraid of body snatchers, but he feared the dead breaking out of their sepulchres. 

She blinked to reveal a pair of baize-green eyes and the soul of a middle-aged woman. When she sat up from the frost it was as though a stone bishop had stepped from his niche. 

she said, with a papercut tone. 

A middle-age anvil-headed man, with gray hair that shone just a little, like hammered aluminum 

She had been brought back from the dead. Her nose was now florid with life, her little teeth loosely strung. He wanted to slap the grass from the back of her dark jacket as though she were a horse. 

She had sketched them on what seemed to be the grease-stained wrapper of a sandwich; her governing aesthetic was symmetry. 

Truitt barked. With laughter? Not quite. With anger? No, she barked, a noise that meant who’s there and I’m here and nothing at all. 

an alfala-scented and jostling as a goat. She was married to a similarly sawed-off hard-cornered man named Norman. In public they wrestled. 

She had small eyes and a big mouth, like a carnivorous mouse. 

Her husband was known almost reverently as the homeliest man in town. As a child he’d been shot in the ear by his brother, and the resulting scar made him look not blown apart by violence, but as though something deep in his head had tunneled its way out and, famished, lapped ad then gnawed at the basin of his ear. 

She had found him at the lowest point of his life, ruined by love. Or not yet ruined, but the ruin hung over him like a guillotine blade. The blade hung there still. She had stayed the execution but did not have the power to pardon him. 

Sometimes Leviticus would send Bertha a note in the dumbwaiter, and she would answer through the speaking tube that fed into the closest and ran along the dumbwaiter shaft. 

they took in a swollen vicious little tortoisehell who’d been mewling around the pear tree

Leviticus’s siblings were musicians but he had perfect pitch for the anatomical: gurgle, hush, echo.

She talked about her own body as though gossiping about a girl at school she wished to humiliate. 

He lit a cigarette and doused the match with water. He was terrified of fire, poor man. That’s what everyone said later. Poor man, to go that way: he must have been terrified. 

drinking might even it up, a pair of scissors snicked across two lengths of ribbon at once. 

the smell was overwhelming, a kind of sweet lumber. It painted the back of her throat. Slow as molasses. The molasses wasn’t slow. It had the finicking audacity to unlace her boots, the animal strength to turn the car over. 

everyone needed dark thoughts, they were the lime in the mortar of your head. They held up the good thoughts

ferrying bits of celery, ribbed like her stockings, to her careful mouth

She was not so very old, not even forty, though she had the high colour and querulous voice of a woman of eighty.

His hands were so calloused it mostly didn’t hurt, though every now and then she dug past the armored skin to the layer where he lived. Where did the splinters come from? 

That night he made a left calf so the right calf would not be lonely. Later he would think, A right thigh might keep a right calf company, too, Lord, Joe Wear, you needn’t always go for the obvious companion.

Every portrait is a kind of telephone to its subject. 

one of those accordion cats that got longer when you picked it up by the middle

His head seemed to change shape depending on the season. In the fall he might pass for handsome till you noticed how oblong he was above the neck; in spring his noggin was a sack of flour; in summer, a boiled pudding slumped in the heat. (It felt that way on the inside of Jeptha, too, changeable. He thought different things depending on the slant of light. He believed things that were not true--that he could understand the awful thoughts of horses--and did not believe things that were fact--that he would one day die.

The only way two men could marry, thought Joe Wear, is if one were a ghost

Mrs. Arrison’s eyes were damp as oysters, as salty gray. 

Her voice had been ice but now it was edged with melt. 

He blinked like a circus bear; his hands were brown as paws

the monument...It looked like a saltshaker 

They might never get out of Canada. She felt it close over her head like a coal. 

“Arch,” said Nahum, and walked through the back door of the boy’s dreams

Once she’d read about a woman whose husband had been killed in a battle. His heart was taken from his body, delivered from the battlefield to her, and she placed it in a glass box and stared at it seven hours a day. With love? Yes, but of the furious kind. How else could you stare at a heart? 

One teenage girl carried, in a shoebox painted white, a dead bat dressed in a doll’s satin wedding dress, veiled, bouqueted, sides split to make room for its own born wings. 

It was an odd feeling, a powdered milk embrace, something like actual love but reconstituted from a packet. 

the occupant looked like somebody who ate her dinner at midnight. 

a laugh like a rusty gate

She was not a beam slanting down from heaven, not the gilded edge of the rising sun, but she’d do: she was the glow in a darkened theater above a door: EXIT. 

They married and had children, every child a portmanteau, a mythical beast

They should have put her in the home, where she would have disappeared the usual way, via slow evaporation.