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opera-ghosts · 3 months ago

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Other singers as accomplished, as graceful, as fascinating as Bosio may since her death have appeared ; but with her died a number of characters which, to the more ancient of opera-goers, will always be associated with her memory.

‘There is no such “ merciless invoker of the ghosts of the past”? as music; and there are certain melodies which will always recall more forcibly than any painting could do the girlish figure, the artless manner, and the exquisite voice of the well-named ** Angiolina’”’ Bosio. The happy, spontaneous strain which accompanies the entry of the jester’s daughter in Rigoletto suggests but one “Gilda;” and no one can ever please again in the Hliair of Love, those whose one ideal “Norina” is no more. The true ‘‘Zerlina,’ too, is dead—Auber’s no less than Mozart’s; and the opera of the Traviata again becomes unintelligible now that we have lost the only woman who knew how to invest the part of “ Violetta’”” with a grace and delicacy which, instead of improbable, made the passionate love of “ Alfred” appear the most natural in the world.

A mere enumeration of the qualities which distinguished Madame Bosio would not give those who are unfortunate enough never to have heard or seen her any fair idea of her grace or herbeauty. Literality kills as surely as the photograph, and one can give no better illustration of the impossibility of ‘ describing”? Madame Bosio than by mentioning the fact that all the photographic portraits of her are more unlike the original than such things usually are. A dog or a prize-fighter may be photographed to perfection. But portrait painting by machinery becomes more and more incorrect in proportion to the delicacy and refinement of the model ; and the photographs of Madame Bosio are the most inaccurate ever seen. Raphael’s “St. Cecilia” is like her, at least in expression ; because St. Cecilia is the true type of the class to which Angiolina Bosio belonged, and because there must necessarily be a family likeness between all women who are endowed with the most exquisite musical sensibility. Even for one who for several years never at any time or at any place missed an opportunity of hearing Madame Bosio it is difficult to tell what was the colour of her eyes or number of her years, at the time of her early death, or the compass of her voce. She always looked young and charming ; and whenever she sang she seemed never to have sung so well before. She poetized every part she undertook. No one ever saw her assume a theatrical pose, or play to the audience, or make any kind of “point.” But no one possessing the slightest appreciative power who had seen her as “Gilda” could for many years after her death have cared to hear Rigoletto again. To show what wonderful natural gifts Madame Bosio possessed I may mention a fact which will appear incredible, but which is nevertheless true. The most accomplished vocalist in Europe, who never sang more easily than when she was singing the most difficult passages, not only knew nothing of music as a science, but could not even read from notes.

I have mentioned the parts which Madame Bosio made specially her own. If asked to state generally what class of characters she represented with the greatest success, I should reply all that are essentially feminine; in which category one places neither “ Norma,” nor “Semiramide,” nor «‘Tucrezia Borgia.” She played “ Lucrezia” in Paris, and “‘Semiramide” in St. Petersburg; but she had too gentle and tender a nature to look like either of those personages. Fancy the aforesaid

St. Cecilia in the character of “‘ Lady Macbeth,” or a dove in the plumage of a hawk. The genius of Bosio was like that of an elegiac poet; she could be graceful, tender, touching, but not tragic.

In St. Petersburg, where Madame Bosio received more applause from the public and more distinguished attention from the Court than any vocalist who had ever visited the Russian capital before, the news of her death produced the saddest effect.

In less than two years the St. Petersburg Company had lost its two most distinguished members, who, in their respective lines, were the greatest artists in the world. On the occasion of Alexander the Second’s coronation at Moscow the incomparable duet in the second act of the Hliair was sung by Madame Bosio and Lablache (Una accompanied by the Lion), and to such perfection that notwithstanding the rule which forbids applause in the presence of the Hmperor, the audience were quite unable to restrain their enthusiasm. The names of these singers belong now to the history of Italian Opera ; and Angiolina Bosio takes rank in the annals of the past with the tender, sensitive Malibran, who, like her, was cut off in the prime of her life and in the fulness of her genius.

The first time I had the happiness of hearing Madame Bosio was at Moscow in the autumn of 1856, during the festivities in honour of the coronation of the Emperor Alexander II. She re the first prima donna who made any marked impression upon me; and I cannot but associate her with the occasion of my first becoming acquainted with her expressive beauty, her graceful talent.

As interesting, in a different way, though less fascinating than the singing of Angiolina Bosio, was the performance, during the co ronation festivities, of the national Russian opera, by Glinka, called Zisn Za Tsarya, or, Infe for the Tsar. Emperors succeed one another on the Russian throne; but Glinka’s opera still maintains its prestige, and when Alexander III. ascended the throne Zisn Za Tsarya was again laid under contribution, a highly dramatic scene being transferred from the stage to real life, and from the opera, to which it had belonged for nearly fifty years, to the public square on which it actually took place upwards of two centuries and a half ago. The last scene, or epilogue, of Glinka’s Infe for the Tsar represents the triumphal entry into Moscow of the Tsar Michael Fedorovitch, first of the Romanofts, after the defeat of the Poles, who, having occupied the Russian capital, were driven from it by a general rising of the inhabitants. But this theatrical picture was reproduced, less as a show than as a reality, when Alexander III. entered the Red Square, beneath the battlements of the Kremlin, even as in 1612 it was entered under auspicious circumstances by his ancestor, the founder of the reigning dynasty. Except that the uniform of the troops forming the Imperial escort was entirely different, the scene was in its external features not so much a reproduction as a repetition of the scene of 1612. The peasantry and workmen of Russia wear the same costumes now that they wore in the seventeenth century, and any number of centuries before. The half-picturesque, half-grotesque church of Basil the Blessed stands where it has stood since the days of Ivan the Terrible, a contemporary of Queen Hlizabeth ; and the denteated walls of the Kremlin are, in spite of the injuries they received during the fires and explosions of 1812, just what they were when first built as a protection against the Tartars.

The music to which the entry was made, the hymn sung in honour of the newly-crowned Tsar, was new, or at least little more than forty years old. But Glinka has given to his hymn, which is at the same time a march, a_ thoroughly Russian, and, moreover, a somewhat archaic, character; and but for the rich harmony and the elaborate, constantly varied instrumentation with which he has beautified and decorated the theme, as he presents it again and again, the theme itself—very simple, very quaint, and, as before said, quite Russian—might certainly belong to the early part of the seventeenth century. Those who have heard Glinka’s orchestral scherzo on a national Russian dance-tune called ‘ Kamarinskaia” will remember that the first phrase of that cunningly worked piece consists of only five notes. So also does the first phrase of the Hymn of Triumph in Life for the Tsar; and in the second phrase there are peculiarities which, apart from mere simplicity, are decidedly Russian in character. A far better authority on this subject than myself, the late Prince George Galitzin, pointed out some twenty years ago, in his notes to the programme of aconcert of Russian music given by him at St. James’s Hall, that Glinka’s Hymn of Triumph contains Slavonian elements, whereas the official National Anthem is cosmopolitan in character, suggesting now the Sicilian Mariners’ hymn, now that “God Save the Queen” which it served to replace.

According to Prince Galitzin—and the story, true or false, was not invented by him, but has somehow become legendary—the Emperor Nicholas determined one day that Russia must no longer employ on State occasions the ““God Save the Queen” of the English, which is also the “Heil dir im Sieger Kranz” of the Prussians, but that she must have a National Anthem of her own. The Sovereign who, in reply to an address from the Holy Synod pointing out that the Russians prayed for the dead but did not believe in Purgatory, and asking whether, according to the doctrine of the Russian Church, Purgatory did or did not exist, wrote on the margin of the document ata moment’s notice “ No Purgatory;”’ this Sovereign could not be expected to hesitate very long as to the choice of a National Anthem. He called upon Russian composers to furnish specimens of national and patriotic music; and from the various hymns, marches, and anthems sent in, selected two compositions, one by Glinka, the other by Lvoff, for performance in presence of a chosen assembly of courtiers and dilettanti. Glinka’s hymn and march produced a good effect, though the fact of its being characteristically Russian was not calculated to help it in those days, when to be Russian was, with most persons, and especially those of the Court, equivalent to being vulgar. Lvoff, however, in the orchestral accompaniments to his “* God Save the Emperor,” had introduced such a number of. trumpets and drums that Nicholas, touched in his military instincts by this excessive sonority, was quite carried away, and in a moment of enthusiasm awarded the victory to “‘General”’ Lvoff, who, it must be explained, owed hig title not to his love o. warlike instruments, but to the gerade held by him im the State service.

The opera of Zisn Za Tsarya, or, Life for the Tsar, in which Glinka’s Tsar-rejected composition now figures, and to the score of which it may possibly have belonged when presented for the great National Anthem competition as an independent piece, was produced at Moscow in 1843; and since that year it has been played so often that the melodies, for the most part of Russian type, in which it abounds are smiliar to all Russia. Luckily for the success of the work it is based on a story which appeals at _ once to the patriotism and the loyalty of the public. Nor is there anything in this loyalty which could _ shock even a Nihilist, unless, indeed, the Nihilism of the unhappy man were of so comprehensive a character as to leave him nothing in the way of heart. The plot of the piece, which was written by Count Rosen, turns upon the devotion of a peasant named Ivan Soussanin, who sacrificed his life to ensure the safety of the Tsar Michael. The action, as before mentioned, takes place at the time of the occupation of Moscow by the Poles, just two centuries and three-quarters ago. In the first act the miserable condition of Russia is set forth; also the affection of the peasant hero, the aforesaid ‘‘ Ivan Soussanin,”’ for his family, which yields only in intensity to his love for the Tsar. This particular T'sar is a worthy object of devotion, for he thinks only of the liberation of his country from the dominion of the hated Poles, and meanwhile is in a position of danger and distress. He is even a fugitive in the woods, and here the sturdy “ Ivan Soussanin” will, in the last act, be ordered by the Poles to find him.

The whole of the second act is occupied with an exhibition of Polish festivities at Moscow. To the Russians throughout the opera homeliness, combined with honesty, is attributed; while the Poles are represented as brilliant and warlike, but at the same time light-hearted and frivolous. 'T'o judge by their demeanour in Glinka’s work they do nothing when the battle is once at an end but drink, dance, and enjoy themselves. The whole, indeed, of the second or Polish act consists of ballet-music in the national Polish style. A lively, highly-rhythmical mazurka, with a great number of themes and constant contrasts of instrumentation, is followed by a stately but very brilliant polonaise, which in turn is succeeded by an animated krakoviak; and the suite of dances is, if I remember rightly, brought to a conclusion by some sort of coda. The mazurka is especially popular with the Russians, who trouble themselves no more about its Polish origin than we in England do about the possibly anti-Hnglish origin of an Irish ballad; and the opening phrase of the mazurka is used in “ leading motive ”’ fashion whenever in the third act there is any question of the Poles or their doings. Glinka, by the way, has made a more remarkable use of this device in his Ruslan and Ludmila, where the bad character, ‘“‘T'chernomor,” is persistently accompanied by a hideous descending scale consisting entirely of whole tones. In the third act of Zisn Za Tsarya we have to deal with a wood; a snowstorm; “ Ivan Soussanin,’ who has taken farewell of his much-loved ana that. he may devote himself to his — ~ country’ s liberation; and a band of Polish soldiers under one of their highly-military, mazurka-dancing _ Officers. The Poles are in pursuit of the unhappy _ Tsar, who has taken flight, and is supposed to be somewhere in the forest. “Ivan Soussanin” is seized, and, in accordance with the laws of war {though in disregard of those of humanity), is ordered to act as guide and lead the Polish troops to the Tsar’s place of concealment. ‘Ivan Soussanin” is, in his ordinary mood, light-hearted and jocular. He possesses, moreover, a taste for practical jokes. Instead, then, of making any objections to the task imposed upon him by his country’s oppressors, he declares himself quite ready to execute it, and, telling the Poles to follow him, leads them merrily into the thicket until at last, more and more involved in the hopeless labyrinth and halffrozen by the cold (for there is a pitiless wind and the snow is still falling), they adopt a stern tone towards Ivan and ask him whether he has been trifling with them. The patriotic peasant asks in return whether they really supposed him capable of betraying his Sovereign into the hands of his enemies, and then, exposing his breast to their swords, sings to them to do their worst, and singing dies.

The curtain falls on the group formed by “ Ivan Soussanin” defying the Poles and the Poles preparing to strike him. In the epilogue we see the Soussanin family regretting the heroic Ivan, but in no whining spirit. He has died for his country and his Tsar. A monument, seen on the stage, has been erected to his memory; and the Prince whose life he saved now enters Moscow amid the applause of his subjects and at the head of his troops.

From The Prima Donna: Her History And Surroundings From The Seventeenth To The Nineteenth Century by H Sutherland Edwards.

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cheshire-castle-library · 1 year ago

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November 28, 2023 | A Darker Shade of Magic - 001

I decided to do this anyway, and maybe its cringe or annoying, but I'm still excited about this book even a few exhausting Uni days later. I'm also hoping to like.... prevent myself from falling off of reading by giving myself some interaction to do with it?? This is very much going to be a Spoiler-filled series of posts (assuming I keep up with this), so please be warned. I'm probably going to use Keep Reading cuts and tags so I'm not super annoying with this.

I made it through the first true chapter, and I'm honestly really excited I picked up this book. I recognized the author's name from Bookblr posts about Viscious, but I have that in audiobook form and I already knew I was going to be spending too much at the Barns and Noble that night, so I didn't pick it up. Instead I was really drawn in by the blurb on A Darker Shade of Magic, so I took the chance on it and it proceeded to sit, egging me on, in the corner of my consciousness for the next few days. I'd even started reading something else I bought that day! But something about the vaguely Vash the Stampede figure on the front (and His association with the last book I got brainworms reading) and the idea of a setting of not only one period London, but many, and I could no longer hold myself back. Its Finals, what's better than starting a new obsession? ...

Something odd that I didn't really notice until I got to the page with the big roman numeral 2 on it is that the chapters are broken into sub-chapters like some light novels I've read; I've never seen that in a western novel before, but I also maybe don't read a lot of non-textbooks these days so who knows if that's more common than I imagine. But structurally, it makes the transitions of scenes nice and clean, so its maybe something I'd like to play with in my own writing. I've been really enjoying how Schwab doesn't explain every little detail, but still gives us enough of whats important. The way Kell uses his magic, the way Kell takes care of his appearance, the colour and act of drawing blood - but not so much the transitionary actions when they aren't characterizing or important. When he was leaving the bridge, in 1-3 for instance, we got Kell's little flex of wrist to still the stream and make it reflective, and Schwab spent the time to explain relaxing the wrist when voices carried from other parts of the park; but we didn't get a, "and Kell stood, before walking off the bridge". Instead it was just a "Kell continued on his way". It honestly answers some questions I've had with my own writing, that I've been brunting up against with my NaNo novel this month. How much do I need to explain for the audience to see the motions? I think my difficulty with imagined pictures makes me assume you need a lot more detail to conjure up a scene than is really necessary. I'm also thoroughly enjoying Kell's character. There's a certain stylishness that's innate with the coat of many coats, that honestly resonates with me via my favorite tabletop OC I play. Also a kind of snarky, cocky, stylish, magic-user; I'd like to imagine what chaos Ashton and Kell might get up to if left in a room together. Though the discussions of the rules of Magic would be very interesting, because the Blood of Heroes Sorcery power is much more the Halloween Town "Want something and then let yourself have it", while the magic system of the Many London's seems more structured so far. Though there's this hint in Kell's relationship to magic, that it might not be so different. Something that's interesting to me about it is that the "elemental magics" are less will and word and more just the will part; but the magic described as "true magic" has a language associated. Something feels logically backwards to me about that - implying that the "elements" (which includes Bones) are less natural than the true magic. But then again, the True Magic is life itself, so maybe it makes sense that life is the underlying true magic. But why is the true magic tied to something of human construction - language - while the others are controlled in a more intuitive way?

I'm really excited to learn more!

#cheshire castle library #my big mouth #adsom #nagi reads adsom #a darker shade of magic #cheshire castle library card

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jeweled-blue-eyes · 3 years ago

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I was going through the manhwa and it hit me that unlike Athy and Jennette's dresses, we never see anyone dissecting the meaning behind Claude or Anastacius's costume, even though they have much underlying symbolism to offer with all their varying colours and motifs. And these are the two most rich characters in terms of backstory and human relationships. Ur detailed dissection on Jennette's costumes are so good that I'm scarily tempted to tempt u to do this one. Will u do this one analysis🥺???

I don't know anything about the medals or the flowers on Claude's clothings since I'm don’t know flower language... But I can give my thoughts on some of his clothings.

Claude wears three types of clothings throughout the manhwa: 1. royal military uniforms 2. togas 3. victorian children clothings of the upper/middle class (play suits + sailor suits).

What is striking is that all three types of clothings he wore can be associated with freedom and oppression equally (1. military 2. ancient romans 3. royal navy).

Let's start with the first outfit he wore as a child: The sailor suit.

In 1846, the four-year-old Albert Edward, Prince of Wales was given a scaled-down version of an enlisted man’s sailor suit. It was almost certainly a carefully chosen decision calculated to make the public associate the monarchy which had declined in popularity with the most popular institution in Britain -The Royal Navy.

What do we know about the royal navy? Besides it’s role in British colonialism and the suppression of many Asian and African peoples, it helped to defeat a series of opponents for the most part countries goverened by authoritarian or dictatorial rulers (Philip II, Louis XIV, Napoleon, Kaiser Wilhelm II), in other words: tyrants.

Sailor suits which are associated with childishness and innocence stand in juxtaposition to it’s militaristic origin . It’s a reminder how young Claude was still pure and innocent, yet without being fully aware of it he was thrown into a battle for succession at such a young age, and expected to survive or die trying.

We could also dvelve into color theory a little bit: Brown is mostly associated with humility, plainness and poverty. It could be a reminder of his commoner origin. Perhaps it tells us that his mother didn’t have much money back then and Claude had to get dressed in clothes that didn’t gave away easily how often they got mended or got dirty, because his mother could only afford a few sets of clothing. This is only a speculation: perhaps the money meant for Claude was mostly used for the treatment of his mother’s sickness. (I can’t see the Emperor paying the treatment of a chronically ill lover. Unless he actually loved her).

We could also assume that Claude intentionally picked out plain brown clothing that would allow him to blend well with the environment. The flashback in chapter 73 shows us little Claude hiding behind the bushes from the palace guards. Considering his state of increased alertness, he seemed to be used to sense danger approaching and find ways to hide quickly and efficiently.

Ah before I forget too much brown can also create feelings of sadness, isolation and loneliness...alright, you get what I mean, I stop here.

Now to Anastacius. While Claude’s attire is more lowkey about it’s violent origin: Anastacius’ is more upfront. He’s already aware of the situation he is in. He knows his little brother is more talented than him and feels threatened enough to consider the words of Caracks who tried to lure him away. Anastacius wears something resembling a mix of military uniform and a victorian play suit in blue and red.

Blue was also considered the most prestigious colour, and was granted to “royal” regiments.

I think Anastacius and Claude’s outfits were meant to show that they were at a crossroad in life. When Ana was still friendly with Claude he started out wearing play outfits and then as his relationship with Anastacius deteriorated, gradually started to wear normal suits and uniforms until he was wearing his ceremonial military uniform at the day he killed Ana.

The Obelia brother’s wearing a military uniform signifies that they are at war with someone. They are ready to spill blood. You can see it in The Lovely Princess, where when Athy meets Claude for the first time, instead of a toga he is wearing a military uniform and continues to do so almost until his death. We know that Diana was the one who introduced him to Siodonna’s fashion. With the memories of her gone, so was the peaceful presence in his life and he became a misanthrope. The memory spell had taken full affect and he was incapable to love or care for Athy in any way. Athy became his biggest torment, his enemy. Similarly our! Claude is only wearing a military uniform at official occations like Athy’s debutante ball, where he had to face the nobles which he resented so much. And even now, in the latest chapters he bothered to change his clothes with magic from a toga into a uniform when he reunited with his elder brother.

Whenever Anastacius and Claude are wearing a military uniform they are meeting someone hated (LP verse Claude met Athy, birthday baquet! Claude met the nobles (Roger), and now in chapter 109 he met his brother who had tried to kill him), they either want to demonstrate strenght (the uniform at Athy’s birthday baquet was more show) or they are ready to attack (the uniform in the recent chapters was more practical to move in).

However they are also stress on the fact that they belong to the royal family and are ought to be respected.

Ana wore almost constantly military uniforms, because he felt the need to show that he was the heir. Not only by birthright, but also in appearance. Only when he went undercover he switched his wardrobe to suits (still, in purple in the color of royality) and puffy shirts. You can see it when Anastacius entered the palace with Jennette. When Ana is fighting against Claude he is either wearing a royal blue (past) or a combination of red and black (present).

“ Black and red. In western culture, these are the two most sinister colors, as red typically conveys the meaning of blood or anger, and black is that of darkness or death. Being a very visually striking combination, they can also convey a sense of power. Together, they additionally give the impression of burning coal or wood, i.e. "fire and destruction".”

(TV Tropes: Red and Black and Evil All Over)

In his previous life he bought fire and destruction upon Obelia...like in Athy’s nightmare remember? So it’s is kind of a bad omen as well.

Anastacius uniform in black and red forms a strong contrast to Claude’s uniform, which is dyed in colors of purple and pure white. “The color purple is often associated with royalty, nobility, luxury, power, and ambition. Purple also represents meanings of wealth, extravagance, creativity, wisdom, dignity, grandeur, devotion, peace, pride, mystery, independence, and magic.”

My point is that Ana’s appearance reflect his state of mind. Being all the time at war with his brother. The paranoia to get overthrown. The fear not to be enought. He insisted on wearing the ceremonial royal uniform, the crown and the coat, in royal colors, because he felt inferior towards Claude and it made him feel safer. If he thought his own skills as heir were lacking he sought to compensate with the way he presented himself in public (his inferiority complex might have contributed to his lavish livestyle and tendency to waste money).

The only exception where Ana is not wearing a uniform is a scene during the time of Ana and Claude’s falling out. But he still emphasizes that he belongs to the Imperial family in another way: The brooch on his vest, has the same blue shade as the color of his eyes, which are a trademark sign that only the Imperial family possesses. In chapter 109, Claude and Athy chose to wear a similary colored brooch to show that they are the “true” heirs.

#does this make sense #I'm tired #anon #answered asks #wmmap outfits #wmmap #who made me a princess #sbapod #suddenly became a princess one day

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s1i9d · 4 years ago

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AMPHIBIA: SEASON 2B TRAILER BREAKDOWN

NEW AMPHIBIA EPISODES!! (Trailer spoilers and speculation! DUH!)

Y’all have NO CLUE how excited I am!! After that huge mid season finale drop, Amphibia fans all around have been waiting for the second half of the season! I did a Speculation post based on the episode titles, and another one based off of the episode loglines for the March drop!

Check them out, cause I will be referencing them as we go!! I’m first gonna do a scene by scene breakdown, then I’m gonna see if my predictions were right, or wrong. So many theories!!! I will also be mentioning the episode titles Matt released in the AmphibiaDirect, so if you don’t want to know, leave now!

If you haven’t seen the trailer yet, click here to see it all!!! Let’s begin shall we!

00:00–00:21: Completely old information and clips from Season 2A that we’ve all seen before with the music box and Sasha-Angst. One thing I did not expect was that this trailer would be so Sasha heavy. I expected her to kinda fade into the background and we’d focus a lot more on the temples, so this makes me have theories I may not have had before.

00:22–00:26: Marcy’s new bird (as teased in the Amphibia-Big City Greens promo). We have two shots with them, one where they are flying down with only a bunch of books that would last a lifetime, or a few minutes with Marcy. The second shot is them flying in the air with Anne and Marcy riding through the sky. I am trying my absolute hardest to not hope for gay then to be disappointed, but c’mon!!! Has no one seen How to Train Your Dragon?!!?!? But Hop Pop is being held in the second shot by the Bird’s talons so I think this is a little more Marcy and Wartwood kind of situation. Maybe somewhere around “Ivy on the Run” with Marcy and her bird being the B Plot.

00:27–00:31: The First Temple. We know from the colours and the shape from the book that it is the First Temple. It seems to have water flowing out of Frog statues’ mouths, and on the temple’s walls there are imagery of brains and a vague Newt Shape reading a book! Definitely talking about wit here! Even all the mushrooms are green, and we know how much Amphibia loves to use colour.

00:31–00:33: The Second Temple! We don’t actually see the Temple, just the archway leading to the Temple. Marcy seems to have the charged green gem on the music box, which is pointing them in the direction of the Temple, very Onyx Equinox-esque.

00:34–00:36: The entrance to the Third Temple. Lava pouring everywhere and pink statues of buff Amphibians? Definitely Sasha, no questions asked. I have no other thoughts about this shot other than the jagged rocks atop of the cave, seems like it could collapse in on itself and cause people to get hurt.

00:36–00:37: Ivy and Sprig jumping on treetops, I think this is from “Ivy on the Run” where Ivy is running from her mother’s strict rules, and Sprig is trying to talk her out of it. They’re so cute! It makes me wanna hold onto them and never let go.

00:38–00:39: Bessie jumping over a ravine with Sprig and Polly at the reins, which is from “Night Riders”, the first episode we’re seeing this Saturday!

00:39–00:40: A First Temple Puzzle where you have to solve a cube to enter the next stage. Seems like Marcy is in “her own little bubble” (heh. sorry i had to) and as she’s solving the cube, the room also moves on its own, with the Plantars being shifted to another side. Kinda like Wulfric’s gym in Pokemon X and Y. This sets interesting character work for Marcy, since she’s known to have issues with connections, but she’s so into knowledge and smartness that she may not realise the issues she’s causing to the people around her.

00:40–00:41: MADDIEEEEEE!!!! Definitely from “Maddie and Marcy”. I feel like they would get together and Marcy would be so into learning about Maddie and creepy magic that they will form a bond. This is how nerds make friends everyone, they find something the other is SUPER invested in and they learn about it. Either that or an extrovert claims them both, and they know each other via association.

00:42–00:43: Giant chicken bat for “Return to Wartwood”. Don’t ask me how I know, I just do. Seems like the Plantars set up a banquet for them, and they’re running away. So shenanigans!

00:44–00:45: Okay, so I initially thought Sasha’s next episode was gonna be in episode 16 (”Toad to Redemption/Barrel’s Warhammer”) and I initially thought that it would be Toad to Redemption, because y’know... Toads. But with Sasha’s pink powers shown in her using that giant warhammer, I think it’s going to be either one of the two, but Sasha is definitely showing up in 216. They don’t seem to be on a train, but the Earth is moving very fast for some reason.

00:45–00:46: The Newt Lady from the Bizarre Bazaar seems to be activating the tippity-top of the Second Temple, with Anne near her. The position of this is high above the clouds, and there is a blue glow coming from the writings/symbols on the ground. Perhaps this is the charging method for the gems on the box.

00:47–00:48: More First Temple stuff! Writing’s on the wall (man these visual puns just write themselves y’know!) and they are in the inside of the temple. Interestingly enough, the main floor is green like the rest of the temple, but the other side (puzzles) seems to have red and blue squares, perhaps representing the heart and strength (blue and pink) which is what the wit lacks.

00:49: The Newt Lady from the Bizarre Bazaar opens a Scroll with the Music box, the three gems (which seemingly came before the box) and three people in coats almost praying to it. This is definitely “After the Rain” with the story of the Music Box being revealed. Cause we still have no idea what “After the Rain” is gonna be about.

00:50: GENERAL YUNNAN!! Scourge of the Sand Wars! Defeater of Ragnar the Wretched! The youngest Newt to ever be named General in the GREAT NEWTOPIAN ARMY!! (Can you tell I stan her? because I stan her.)

Anyways, she seems to be in the first temple or King Andrias’ throne room. I’m mainly assuming this because the temple because the building is blue or because the spires from King Andrias’ throne room are in the way back there, but there are several Toads there defeated on the ground. Either these were people to protect Marcy at the Temple, or this is an episode where all of Grimes’ command are trying to take over Newtopia under Sasha and Grimes’ command. Quite the plausible amount for theories and plot just from a one-second Yunnan shot.

00:51: A chess board with Frog knights shooting lasers at Marcy. Another one of the First Temple’s tricks, or it could be King Andrias’ plot, since we saw him with Chess pieces of Anne and Marcy at the end of “Marcy at the Gates”, so this clip could either be “The First Temple” or “True Colors” and either or are exciting!!

00:52-00:53: A mole comes out of the ground as Mayor Toadstool walks around seemingly trying to please Newtopian guards and soldiers. “Toad to Redemption” now makes complete sense! I called that it would either be Anne and Marcy helping a battle-hardened Toad, or it would be a Sasha episode. I think its the first part, where Newtopian inspectors are coming to suprise visit Mayor Toadstool and inspect if he’s doing a good job taking care of Wartwood, to no one’s surprise find out he’s embezzling money from the town. The episode would be Marcy and Anne helping Toadstool to become better so he doesn’t lose his job as Mayor.

00:53–00:58: We have three shots here, one of each of the girls. Anne looks back in the rain, almost distraught. This is definitely “After the Rain” and I’m not ready for the angst. Marcy is visibly frustrated over chess pieces, this is either a challenge from the Temple or she’s found out about Andrias’ plan. As much as Option 2 is interesting, I think the first one is more realistic. Sasha in the Third Temple, activating her Colour Power and breaking the ground underneath her to a circle. I am constantly terrified by and for Sasha.

00:58–1:00: Polly and Sprig’s silhouettes running in the rain. Also “After the Rain” but still nothing much to say here.

1:00–1:01: Giant tentacles grab Sprig and the Plantars. I have no idea what this is, but it also appeared in the “Night Riders/Return to Wartwood” trailer/promo, so I’m assuming it’s from that episode.

01:02: Sasha is facing off against a giant golem! Probably the Third Temple’s trial.

01:03: Newt Lady from the Bizarre Bazaar reveals the secrets of the Music Box. Definitely an “After the Rain” episode. I did not expect Marcy to be there though, that’s interesting now.

01:04–01:06: Two shots from the Third Temple. First one being Anne having a moment of realisation, and the other with the Golem roaring in front of Anne and Sasha. This freaked me out because wtf??? Sasha and Anne together?? Are they solving it together too??? Interaction equals resolution/conflict/character drama.

01:07–01:12 & 01:17–01:22: So how are we integrating baby Marshanne into this??? As for which episode, I have no idea! But some interesting details in this is that Sasha seems to have been the last out of the three to have joined. Since Anne and Marcy are together crying, while baby Sasha is one on the slide standing up (hehe) for them. Between the first clip and the second, Sasha has a bruise on her forehead, so she may have gotten hurt trying to protect them. They introduce each other and that’s the end of the clip. I’m assuming this is finale material, because otherwise I have no idea where this is coming from or going to.

01:13–01:16: Anne pulls the Plantars in for a hug. Still not sure where this is for, but it is a thing.

01:23–01:28: Two shots of Sasha and Anne, which seemed to have been slowed down to around half speed. Shot one has Anne standing, almost distraught wearing what seems to be Newtopian armour, with Sasha’s foot in the foreground. The second shot is Anne holding her sword at the top of the Newtopian Walls to Sasha who is weaponless and has her hands up in surrender. Smoke is rising from the land below, and Anne looks visibly angry. I have no idea what is happening, but this definitely has to be finale material.

A title card shows Amphibia returning 6th March!! Hype.

01:34–01:45: Of course we need happy stuff to counter ANGST! So we have a bizarre sequence of Frobo making a garden and growing flowers in a matter of seconds. Hop Pop is enthralled by this and welcomes him to the family, and Polly looks at him knowingly. This is a very big development played very casually, since we know nothing about the robot besides his goofy self being able to do this. Frobo is the most cryptic thing this season besides the King’s basement, we also have no information on Frobo so this is a striking change. This will take place in “Friend or Frobo?” and I am stupid hyped!!! I don’t know anything about Frobo and I want to know more!! Also Wartwood is on fire. It’s just a normal Tuesday everybody.

That ends the trailer breakdown!! But I did have some more general theories and thoughts I’ll include here.

Something I did want to mention before we started was the music in the beginning of the non-speaking part of the trailer. To me, it sounded like an epic reprise of John Legend’s “All of Me”, and I’m thinking there’s one of two things happening: one is that the finale song that we’re all crying to is “All of Me” by John Legend, like how Reunion’s was “Lean on Me” by Bill Withers; or, I’m just theorising like a mad person. Who knows!

Also another general observation is the puzzles and how we’ve been prepped for them by “Family Shrub” where each one has puzzles and riddles each person who fits a specific role must solve. Each girl with each of the Temples, and they need each one to deal with their own Temple. Meaning Sasha being at the Third Temple means some form of resolution/character interaction.

As for Sasha, I don’t know if she’s gonna be redeemed necessarily, but I think she might go to the good side and Marcy goes to the bad side. I don’t wanna believe that cause I love Marcy to death, but Season 2 finales are always horrifying before Season 3 finales wrap up nicely. So I’m expecting even more drama than the Season 1 finale. I want all the girls to be happy, and it’s not happening this season for sure. So much excitement!!!

That concludes all my thoughts on the trailer for Season 2B! Let me know what you’re excited for, your thoughts and theories, and if you agree or disagree with what I’ve said here!! So excited!!!!

#disney's amphibia #disney amphibia #amphibia #hop pop #annarcy #sprig plantar #marcanne #sasha waybright #marcy wu #anne boonchuy #amphibia season 2 spoilers #anne amphibia #sashanne #marshanne #disney

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not-wholly-unheroic · 4 years ago

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On the Origins of Hook: The Complicated and Often Contradictory Backstory of a Villain

The story of Peter Pan has been told and retold in writing, on the stage, and on the big screen countless times, yet in the original storyline, we are thrust into a world with a pre-established (and presumably long-standing) relationship between its hero and villain with little information regarding their pasts. So far as the audience is concerned, Peter and Hook have always been a part of the Neverland...yet as evidenced by the many retellings that attempt to answer the question of these characters’ origins, clearly, people want to know more. Barrie, however, leaves a great deal to the imagination and while he tackles a bit of Peter’s past in The Little White Bird, there is significantly less information about Hook in his writings, and much of it is up for debate, as Barrie arguably contradicts himself.

In terms of canon (which for the purposes of this article I am limiting to Barrie’s final published version of the novel), much of what we know about Hook can only be inferred from a few brief passages. In the initial introduction of the pirates, Barrie gives us the following description of Hook:

In the midst of them, the blackest and largest in that dark setting, reclined James Hook, or as he wrote himself, Jas. Hook, of whom it is said he was the only man that the Sea-Cook feared. He lay at his ease in a rough chariot drawn and propelled by his men, and instead of a right hand he had the iron hook with which ever and anon he encouraged them to increase their pace. As dogs this terrible man treated and addressed them, and as dogs they obeyed him. In person he was cadaverous and blackavized, and his hair was dressed in long curls, which at a little distance looked like black candles, and gave a singularly threatening expression to his handsome countenance. His eyes were of the blue of the forget-me-not, and of a profound melancholy, save when he was plunging his hook into you, at which time two red spots appeared in them and lit them up horribly. In manner, something of the grand seigneur still clung to him, so that he even ripped you up with an air, and I have been told that he was a raconteur [storyteller] of repute. He was never more sinister than when he was most polite, which is probably the truest test of breeding; and the elegance of his diction, even when he was swearing, no less than the distinction of his demeanour, showed him one of a different cast from his crew. A man of indomitable courage, it was said that the only thing he shied at was the sight of his own blood, which was thick and of an unusual colour. In dress he somewhat aped the attire associated with the name of Charles II, having heard it said in some earlier period of his career that he bore a strange resemblance to the ill-fated Stuarts; and in his mouth he had a holder of his own contrivance which enabled him to smoke two cigars at once. But undoubtedly the grimmest part of him was his iron claw.

From this, we may be able to draw a few conclusions about who Hook was before he came to the island. (1) He was likely a sailor, if not a pirate, BEFORE he met Peter, given that he had previous interactions with “The Sea Cook”--that is, Long John Silver. (2) He was alive and most likely an adult by the mid 1700s, as in Treasure Island, Billy Bones--a former crewmate of Silver’s--has the date 1745 in his log and the dates 1750 and 1754 on his treasure maps. (3) Hook’s hairstyle and fashion is similar to that of Charles II, whose reign ended with his death in 1685.

We are also informed by John that Hook was supposed to have been Blackbeard’s bosun. Blackbeard was born somewhere around 1680 and may have been a privateer earlier in his career at sea, but he didn’t actually take up piracy until 1716 and had only a very brief reign of terror before he was killed off the coast of North Carolina in 1718. Assuming Hook was meant to be Blackbeard’s bosun after he went pirate, this gives us a pretty narrow window of time during which Hook might have interacted with him. And, if we take the comment about the Sea Cook seriously, then Hook must have been pretty young at the time he worked for Blackbeard, given that there is a twenty-seven year gap between Blackbeard’s death and the earliest date Billy Bones offers in connection with Silver.

Hook also uses words and phrases such as, “Pan, who and what art thou?” which would seem to indicate that he is from a time period centuries before the Darlings come to visit. (“Thee” and “thou” had pretty much completely fallen out of common use in English by the late 1700s/early 1800s.)

So far, so good. The dates might make it a bit of a stretch, but we can pretty comfortably say that prior to Neverland, Hook was a sailor--and probably a pirate--during the 1700s, was likely born in the late 1600s, and was possibly a related to Charles II, who had many illegitimate children. This possibility fits nicely with Barrie’s statement that, “Hook was not his true name. To reveal who he really was would even at this date set the country in a blaze.”

We don’t know much about his parentage, however, except that Hook’s voice cracks when he is speaking to Smee about mothers regarding the neverbird’s refusal to leave her eggs even after the nest falls into the water. Whether this is because he was close to his own mother and is lamenting her loss or he had a rather indifferent (or even cruel) mother and he is lamenting his own lack of a loving childhood is up for debate, though the official sequel, Peter Pan in Scarlet--written in 2006 by Geraldine McCaughrean--favors the second interpretation. (Again, however, for the purposes of this article, I am only considering Barrie’s published novel as canon.)

We also learn that Hook attended Eton, a rather prestigious school for boys between the ages of thirteen and eighteen. Assuming Hook completed his schooling there and was, therefore, at least eighteen by the time he joined up with Blackbeard, it would place his being born somewhere close to 1700. Assuming his interaction with Long John Silver was, at the earliest, probably around 1745, and that this interaction happened prior to his visiting the Neverland, it puts Hook (physically) at approximately age 45 by the time we meet him in the book, give or take a bit.

There are two potential problems with that timeline, however. (1) In Barrie’s original novel, only Peter stays young forever. The boys can technically grow up, and Peter “thins them out” when they do. (Decide for yourself whether that means banishment or something worse.) If this is the case, Hook shouldn’t still be alive or, even if the aging process is slowed down, at the very least, he should be an old man, given that the Darlings visit in the early 1900s...making him at least two hundred years old. (2) Near the end of the book, when Hook is trying to convince the boys to join his pirate crew and John asks innocently whether they would still be loyal subjects of the king, Hook responds with, “You would have to swear, ‘Down with King George!’” John (and likely the audience) assumes here that Hook is talking about King George V, who would have been the present king of England at the time the novel was published. If this is the case, how does Hook know who the king is? Has he been able to leave the island and find out this information? Or is Hook, perhaps, from a more modern era than we suspect? Cleverly, Barrie leaves this question open-ended, as Hook could just as easily have been referring to King George the First, who ruled England from 1714 until 1727.

As for personal hobbies, we know only that he loves flowers and plays the harpsichord--an instrument that was once quite popular but which had fallen out of favor by the 1800s, replaced by the piano.

The rest of the information we get from Barrie about Hook’s origins comes primarily from his “Hook at Eton” speech, delivered in 1927--many years after his original play (1904) and novel (1911). And here’s where things get interesting (read: contradictory). Because he wrote the speech so many years later, as a sort of afterthought, and because of the inconsistences with the novel, I personally reject this information as canon. Nevertheless, it is Barrie’s take on his own character and, therefore, is worth at least considering.

In this work, we are told that Hook not only attended Eton but also--at least briefly--went to Oxford. This in and of itself poses no major problems for the timeline suggested by the novel. What DOES pose a problem, however, is the fact that Barrie claims to have been in contact with Hook’s “Aunt Emily”--apparently his closest surviving relative--and has been in search of possible photographs of Hook during his time there. This would indicate that Hook MUST be from a much later, more modern era than the book suggests, as photography didn’t really come into fashion until the mid-1800s, and even if “Aunt Emily” is quite old (and she is likely a good fifteen to twenty years OLDER than Hook if we assume she is near in age to one of his parents) at the time of Barrie’s supposed meeting with her, she couldn’t have reasonably been expected to have been born before the early 1800s, placing Hook’s own birth nearer to the 1850s. While some of the information in the novel might be explained away to fit with this date (his choice of dress and hairstyle, for instance), he could not possibly have interacted with Blackbeard or Long John Silver. In fact, he could not have been a pirate--at least, not in the traditional sense--at all, as the Golden Age of Piracy (1650s--1730s) had long passed and the Age of Sail ended in the 1860s. Because of this inconsistency, some have argued that Barrie may have intended Hook to be a more modern man who essentially became trapped in a child’s fantasy land. He became a “pirate” only AFTER his interactions with Pan--that is, he took on the role of a villain because that is how Peter and the children imagined him--and that John’s assertions about his interactions with Blackbeard and Silver are merely rumors that the boy has heard.

Setting aside this apparent contradiction in the timeline, we DO learn some other interesting facts about Hook. For instance, Hook’s blood (which was said in the novel to be thick and strangely colored), is specified as having been yellow. This, along with his appearance having been described in the novel as “cadaverous” has lead some to conclude that Hook was likely rather sickly as a child. We also learn that Hook enjoyed the Lake poets and strawberry mess (a dessert), collected keys, performed well in sports while at Eton (though he did not like water sports as he rather surprisingly hated the feeling of water on his skin), and played the flute. We also learn that he was politically conservative and was probably never in a romantic relationship.

There are a few other bits of information about Barrie’s idea of Hook that can be found in the early manuscripts for the play, which feature “deleted scenes.” One such manuscript--the earliest, I believe--can be found here. (Though good luck with reading it without going cross-eyed because Barrie’s handwriting is BAD.) However, I think this post has gone on long enough, yet we are still left with many unanswered questions. But perhaps this is what Barrie intended all along. Perhaps, fittingly, we are ultimately left to fill in the blanks about this villain of the Neverland with our own imagination.

_____

Thanks to @katherinenotgreat for asking me to do a post on Hook’s origins. Thanks also to @concordia-cum-sinistro for your input. Feel free to add your own information regarding the original manuscript drafts, as I know you are more familiar with them than I am.

#peter pan #captain hook #captain james hook #james hook #jm barrie

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thewatsonbeekeepers · 4 years ago

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Chapter 12: Three Men in a Boat [TFP 2/3]

[This was completely missing from my tumblr, via every search function and everything! So I’ve reuploaded - thanks anon for letting me know!!]

This section of the meta is going to deal with the events at Sherrinford – I’ve broken TFP up into three sections to try and get the most out of it. This isn’t just a read through like the first part of the meta, it has a specific structure, much like Eurus’s trials for the boys, so it’s really important to take this bit in one chapter. My hypothesis is thus – that each episode of s4 has been a different obstacle to be broken through in Sherlock’s mind, and that each of them is represented by one of the different Sherrinford tasks. It’s essentially an illumination of Sherlock’s progress through his mind – but it’s set up by Eurus, who is Sherlock’s mental barrier, so these are going to represent Sherlock’s darkest fears about each of the obstacles. Ready? Let’s go.

We take up the episode at the pirate hijacking, which is quite BAMF, but also illuminates a couple of things that we should bear in mind going into this episode. The first is that the transition from a blown up Baker Street to Sherlock and John hijacking a boat without a scratch on them is absolutely bizarre and leaves SO many questions – it’s dream-jumping of the most obvious kind. The second is that water has played a long role as a metaphor through the show, particularly in the EMP sequence, and it’s climaxing now – we are in the deepest waters of Sherlock’s mind.

Mycroft and John working together in the disguise sequence is metaphorically lovely – in the Oscar Wilde scene of the last part we saw Sherlock’s brain and heart finally coming together, and here for the first time they’re working together to give Sherlock the ability to go and confront Eurus. This is what makes Mycroft’s line so powerful. He says:

Say thank you to Doctor Watson. […] He talked me out of Lady Bracknell – this could have been very different.

Comic throwaway? Maybe. But given what we know about Lady Bracknell from the first part, this also has a more powerful meaning – heart!John finally stopped brain!Mycroft from being an obstructive force in Sherlock’s psyche, and they started working together instead to save him. This could have been very different is far more loaded than it sounds. All this whilst creating an image of Mark Gatiss as a Victorian aunt – wonderful.

When we first meet Eurus proper, her similarity to Sherlock is striking. She plays the violin – this isn’t a Holmes thing, because Mycroft doesn’t – it’s Sherlock’s motif throughout. Her hair is like a feminine Sherlock, her pallor and cheekbones match Cumberbatch. For reference, this is a picture of Sian Brooke and Benedict Cumberbatch together in real life.

I’ve done a section on why I think Eurus is the most repressed part of Sherlock’s psyche, and his traumatic barrier to love and life – I sometimes glibly refer to this as gay trauma, but that’s its essence. The similarity between Brooke and Cumberbatch in this scene is really compelling, looking the same but lit and dressed in opposite colours. Similarity and difference both highlighted. Even nicer, the white of Sherlock’s shirt is the same notable brightness as Eurus’s uniform, but it’s hidden under his jacket – a visual metaphor for her being hidden inside him.

Eurus gives Sherlock a Stradivarius as a gift. This should set alarm bells ringing for anybody who has seen TPLoSH. If you haven’t seen The Private Life of Sherlock Holmes, please do so immediately because my God you are missing out, but TLDR – a Russian ballerina offers Holmes a Stradivarius to have sex with her so she can have a brainy child, and he declines because he’s gay. (This is not just my interpretation, this is genuinely what happens, just to be clear.) Eurus giving Sherlock a Stradivarius is a deliberate callback to the film which Mofftiss cite as their biggest inspiration; just like the ballerina tempted Holmes to feign heterosexuality, so does Eurus – and both make clear that it’s not without its rewards, which is unfortunately true for real life as well. This moment in Sherlock’s psyche also recalls the desperate unrequitedness of Holmes’s love for Watson in TPLoSH, a reference to our Sherlock’s deepest fear at the moment – he has realised his importance but not John’s romantic/sexual love for him, as we’ll see. So here, trauma!Eurus isn’t just referencing closetedness, but is actively drawing on a history of character repression with which to torment Sherlock – metafictionality at its finest.

The Stradivarius is specifically associated with closetedness, but violins more generally in the show are used to show expressions of love that can’t be voiced out loud – think of John and Mary’s wedding, or the desperate bowing of ASiB. So Eurus, gay trauma that she is, telling Sherlock that she taught him to play is a moment of distinct pain – she is the reason he can’t speak his love aloud, but instead has to speak in signs.

When Sherlock plays ‘him’, rather than Bach, to Eurus (he has a big Bach thing with Moriarty in s2, take from that what you will because I don’t know!), he’s playing Irene Adler’s theme. As a fandom, we’ve generally agreed on associating Irene’s theme with sexual love, which ties in nicely with Eurus’s question – has Sherlock had sex? It’s unanswered. At the end of ASiB, Irene calls Sherlock the virgin, suggesting that he hasn’t.

My favourite moment in s4 without a doubt is Jim dancing to I Want To Break Free. I know it’s the most boring thing to say, but my two greatest loves are Andrew Scott and Freddie Mercury, so it was like Christmas. Here it is also Christmas, but there are two possible timelines. I hypothesise that this refers to Christmas 2010, but it’s absolutely conceivable that it could be Christmas 2009. If we acknowledge that Sherlock is in a coma in 2014, then five years ago is Christmas 2009; however, given that we’ve jumped to 2015 in dream time, I’m going to make the guess that Jim’s visit to Sherrinford is supposed to take place in 2010. This ties up with the idea that this is when Moriarty first started taking an interest in Sherlock, who had never heard of him before ASiP, particularly as this is all in the EMP.

I firmly believe that Jim represents the fear that John is in danger – I highlight this in the chapter on HLV, where you’ll recall we first encounter Jim in the EMP and he sends Sherlock on his journey through the EMP with the words John Watson is definitely in danger – a pretty big sign. Even without this, though, his biggest threat to Sherlock has always been hurting John, whether in TRF or with the idea of burning the heart out of him with Semtex. It’s not unreasonable then to assume that MP!Jim first getting inside Sherlock’s subconscious to represent this fear happens in 2010, when he first meets John. He slips in and stays there, and he melds with Eurus. We see this in the powerful visual of the two of them dancing in front of the glass as Jim’s image slowly becomes Eurus’s reflection – the fear of John dying embeds itself into the gay trauma that Sherlock has stored up, even without him realising it. This ties in nicely with the choice of I Want to Break Free, which is famous for its use of drag in the music video – Jim melding into Eurus is the dark side of queer genderbending that we hate to see. It’s also a pretty fitting song name for an intensifying of repressed gay trauma, even without the association with queer king Mercury.

[A side note to all of this – there were wonderful TEH metas about trains in tunnels being sexual, which isn’t just a tjlc thing but is a well-established idea in cinema – Moriarty’s consistent train noises here seem like a horrifyingly inverted version of that sexual longing.]

Task 1 – The Six Thatchers

The governor is set up as a mirror for John in this task, which provides some helpful context for the episode as a whole. Heart!John makes this comparison himself, by drawing out the similarity between the situation with the governor’s wife and his with Mary, though in this case the governor does kill himself because of his wife – or so it seems. The suicidal instinct matches with everything we’ve learned about John in s4, but I want to hypothesise, perhaps tenuously, that he’s more connected with Eurus than we might think. We know that Eurus has had control of the governor for quite some time, and one of the things we hear her saying to the governor in the background of the interrogations is that he shouldn’t trust his wife. This is an odd thing to pepper into the background when he’s about to commit suicide for her, and perhaps suggests that he’s more of Eurus’s pawn than he lets on, though I grant this may be spurious.

The idea that he distrusts his wife because of Eurus is important, however, because we’ve already seen John engage with Eurus in various forms, but this seems like an extension of E; Eurus, aka Sherlock’s hidden self, has been making John doubt Mary, even before she shoots Sherlock. John cannot know she’s a spy at this point, so it’s unlikely he’s doubting her goodwill; he’s simply doubting her.

Before we look at how the actual task impacts the governor and how that illustrates what’s really going on in TST, it’s worth pointing out that it is the governor’s engagement with Eurus which prompts the entire shutdown of Sherrinford and forces Sherlock (with brain!Mycroft and heart!John ever at his side, of course) to engage once and for all with Eurus. This points to everything that s4 has been telling us – that Sherlock’s understanding of the relationship between him and John, including his power to save him (we’re going to see the governor play the foil here) is what sends his brain into stay-alive-overdrive. Sherrinford is the peak of this.

Summary of the task, for those who hate TFP: Sherlock is given a gun and told he can pick either John or Mycroft to kill the governor, otherwise the governor’s wife will be killed by Eurus. As I’ve written about in its chapters, TST is about Sherlock trying to get to the bottom of Mary and why she tried to kill him – and, of course, the impact this will have on John. In brief, by displacing the shot onto Mary in his mind, he’s discounting his own importance and instead thinking about what it will mean for John to lose Mary. His greatest fear is that losing Mary will break John, and it isn’t until the end of TLD that he recognises that the return of John’s suicidal ideation isn’t over Mary, but over him. TFP presents the horror version, the version of TST that Sherlock’s trauma wants him to believe but which he has to overcome. In this case, Mycroft and John resolve to keep the governor alive in their passivity, but that passivity – Sherlock’s coma – is not enough to keep the governor from killing himself over Mary. This is the most feared outcome from Mary’s death that Sherlock can think of – his fear of losing John combined with John’s love of Mary, which in TST Sherlock is still taking as read.

Double naming in this show should never be neglected, and in this case we learn shortly before the governor dies that his name is David. Again, the dramatic manner in which we learn this (on the moment of execution) draws our attention to it – we know another David in this show.

Yup – Mary's ex who’s still in love with her from TSoT. So even though Sherlock is experiencing the panic of John killing himself for loss of Mary, his subconscious is still pointing out to him that that’s not what’s happening here. This mirror version of John that he has set up, who is broken by the loss of Mary as Sherlock fears in TST, is actually the other man in Mary’s life – even with Eurus forcing the worst possible scenario onto him, this still can’t quite fit John’s character. And so we move onto the second task.

Task 2 – The Lying Detective

This section of the Sherrinford saga is the three Garridebs, the closest thing that the fandom has ever got to a collective trauma. I do think, however, that it’s fully reclaimable for tjlc and means the same as we always wanted it to; I also think that it’s possibly the most gutting part of Eurus’s metatfictional power play.

If you haven’t read The Adventure of the Three Garridebs, it’s quite short and the most johnlocky of the Holmes canon, so I’d thoroughly recommend. For the purposes of mapping bbc!verse onto acd!verse, however, here’s the incredibly short version. A man called Evans wants to burgle Nathan Garrideb, so he calls himself John Garrideb and writes an advertisement from a man called Alexander Hamilton Garrideb (make of that what you will, hamilstans) declaring that he wants to bequeath his fortune to three Garridebs. “John” gets someone to pretend to be a Howard Garrideb to get Nathan out of the house to meet him – he comes to burgle the house but Holmes and Watson are lying in wait. He shoots Watson, and Holmes thinks Watson is seriously injured and so we have this wonderful section:

“You’re not hurt, Watson? For God’s sake, say you are not hurt!”

It was worth a wound–it was worth many wounds–to know the depth of loyalty and love which lay behind that cold mask. The clear, hard eyes were dimmed for a moment, and the firm lips were shaking. For the one and only time I caught a glimpse of a great heart as well as of a great brain. All my years of humble but single-minded service culminated in that moment of revelation.

“It’s nothing, Holmes. It’s a mere scratch.”

He had ripped up my trousers with his pocket-knife.

“You are right,” he cried with an immense sigh of relief. “It is quite superficial.” His face set like flint as he glared at our prisoner, who was sitting up with a dazed face. “By the Lord, it is as well for you. If you had killed Watson, you would not have got out of this room alive. Now, sir, what have you to say for yourself?”

Mofftiss have referenced this moment as being the greatest in the Holmes canon for them, the moment when we see the depth of Holmes’s affection for Watson, and so it seems odd to waste it on such a tiny moment in TFP. Many fans, myself included, were really upset to see Eurus drop all three Garridebs into the sea, the implication being that tjlc would never be real, and it was that moment that caused many (including me) to walk away. I came back, obviously, but I completely understand why you wouldn’t. However, I want to map one Garridebs story onto the other to show how they might match up.

The Garridebs that Eurus presents us with are not the three Garridebs from the story. In the story, there are three physically present Garridebs – Nathan, John and Howard – although admittedly only Nathan is an actual Garrideb. Alexander was completely invented by John and existed only in a newspaper advertisement. Evans, alias John Garrideb, is the criminal in the Garridebs story; Alexander is an invention.

So – what happens if we substitute John for Alex in bbc!verse, as in canon they are the same person? This is interesting, because double-naming means that John becomes the killer. Whilst it’s true that John Garrideb is known as Killer Evans for his murder of a counterfeiter back in America, in canon he is done for attempted murder – of John Watson, of course. Here we have a situation where a John is set up killing John. This is exacerbated by the victim in bbc!verse being called Evans; Roger Prescott, the counterfeiter, would have been a much more canonical nod to the books, so we can assume that the choice of Evans is therefore significant. It should be noted that Evans and John/Alex Garrideb are the same person in acd!canon - so killing Evans is a representation of suicide. But, in case we weren’t there yet, the reason that Evans took the name ‘John’ is acd!canon is very likely to be because Evan is Welsh for John – so whatever way you look at this situation, you have Sherlock deducing John killing John.

This is, of course, exactly what Sherlock deduces at the end of TLD, far too slow, when we see Eurus shoot John in an exact mirror of the shot from TST – I explained in a previous chapter why this means that John is suicidal without Sherlock. However, much like the passivity of Sherlock, John and Mycroft in the first task, here we see that Sherlock’s act of deduction is good, but can’t actually save anyone; Eurus kills off our Garridebs moment as Sherlock is left to watch, and it’s notable that heart!John is the most distressed about this. Remember, in the first task Eurus left Sherlock with an image of a John who was suicidally devoted to Mary, and although the Garridebs moment is one which metafictionally highlights the relationship between Sherlock and John, she’s still presenting him with a Garridebs moment in which he is fundamentally unable to save John. This is a direct result of the Redbeard trauma that Sherlock has experienced – helplessness is key to that, and this is what Eurus has come to represent in his psyche. But – Eurus isn’t real, Eurus is testing Sherlock, trauma trying to bring him down, and Sherlock’s job in TFP is to break through the walls that his consciousness has set up for him.

The power in Sherlock saying I condemn Alex Garrideb is heartbreaking, then, because it is Sherlock recognising that he is the reason that John is going to die. Eurus is there to make him confront that reality, which she explicitly makes him do. We get the split-second moment where he thinks he’s saved Alex, and then he’s plunged into the sea – but remember, this is Eurus taunting Sherlock, presenting him with worst-possible-scenarios. TFP is set up as a game for a reason – it is a series of hypotheses cast in Sherlock’s mind by his trauma that he has to break through one by one. Remember, although she’s ostensibly trying to hurt Sherlock, Eurus’s ‘extra’ murders in the first two tasks are aimed at hurting John, which wouldn’t make sense if he weren’t the mp version of Sherlock’s heart.

Task 3 – The Final Problem

Pretty much straight after this episode aired, people were pointing out that Molly is a clear John mirror and that pretty much all of the deductions Sherlock makes here could be about John. Again, we’re seeing Sherlock’s emotions being resolved in a heterosexual context – the presence of Eurus means that he’s unable to process them in their real, queer form. However, if we take Molly to be a stand-in for John in this scene, it may tell us what TFP is about – and the scenario that Eurus presents will be the worst one, the thing that is causing Sherlock the most pain.

TLD/the previous task have shown us that John is in imminent danger, so the transition to Molly Hooper’s flat being rigged with bombs is not a difficult one; we must assume this to be the suicidal ideation that we’ve just deduced. The time limit suggests that Sherlock is running out of time to save him (fucking right he fell into a coma SIX YEARS AGO). Putting Molly in a bad mood isn’t really necessary for this scene – they make her seem a lot more depressed than she would necessarily need to be, and they emphasise her aloneness and her ability to push people away, which isn’t something we know Molly to do. These traits are all much more important in the context of a suicidal John – they paint a much clearer picture of someone who is depressed and alone than we really need for this scene, where it’s not relevant to the surface plot.

Sherlock and the audience believe he has won this task, but of course he hasn’t - there were never any explosives rigged up in Molly’s flat, and it was a ruse to destroy his relationship with Molly. This is what he fears then – what if he’s wrong? What if coming back to life because he loves John won’t save him – it will destroy him and their relationship? The problem to be wrestled with is how to save John – according to the symmetry of these tasks, that is the final problem. We know that the scenario Eurus has presented isn’t real, but Sherlock doesn’t; he is being held up by his inability to cope with interpersonal relationships, and to get to the bottom of that we’re going to need to understand what he’s been repressing – part 3 of this meta.

There’s a wonderful shot just as Sherlock is destroying Molly’s coffin which zooms up and out through a ceiling window, all the way above Sherrinford, as though to emphasise not how remote Sherrinford is but just how deep inside it Sherlock is. Given what we know about the height metaphor as well as the water metaphor, this shot is a pretty clear way of telling us – this is as deep inside Sherlock’s mind as we go, this is the nub. But Sherlock smashing up the coffin has another powerful connotation – he's refusing death. In terms of metaphor, he’s refusing John’s death – there will be no small coffin, because he will not let it happen – but the visual of him smashing the coffin also suggests that he is rejecting his own death. The two are, of course, inextricably linked. Our boys’ lives are tied together.

Epilogue: The Hunger Games

I can’t watch this without thinking of The Hunger Games, I just can’t! But regardless of how much Sherlock seems like Katniss in this section, let’s press on. I don’t count this as one of the typical tasks, because this isn’t Eurus presenting a ‘haha I tricked you scenario’ - far from it. This is Sherlock’s way into unlocking his repression. The key takeaway from this scene, as we’ll see is that trauma has hurt Sherlock, and it’s going to try pretty hard here to mutilate him – but it can’t kill him.

We get a great line from Sherlock at the beginning of this, where he tells John that the way Eurus is treating him isn’t torture, it’s vivisection. Because it’s an experiment? Perhaps. But the more logical way to phrase this would be that it isn’t vivisection, it’s torture. Torture is much more emotionally charged than vivisection as a phrase – from a writer’s perspective, this phrasing is strange because it seems to negate rather than intensify the pain our characters are undergoing. Why, then, would vivisection be more important than torture? Well, put simply, vivisection is the act of cutting someone open and seeing what’s inside – and that’s what we’re doing. This isn’t just an analogy for experimenting on people, it’s an analogy for going literally inside somebody. In EMP world, then, these words are well chosen.

Sherlock is offered the choice – John or Mycroft? Heart or brain? We might initially think that this is Eurus pressuring Sherlock into death, but that’s not the case at all – we know from the early series that Sherlock has survived before (although very unhappily) with just one of these two dominating the other. It has taken his EMP journey to unite them into a functioning entity, and Eurus is bent on destroying that, mutilating either his emotional capacity or his reasoning, the two parts that make him human. This is a good sign, as well, that trauma has been acting on Sherlock through the first three series, when his psyche was dominated by brain!Mycroft - Eurus is keen to revert to that state, when trauma had control. It is touching, then, that brain!Mycroft is willing to relinquish that control and leave Sherlock with his heart, perhaps because this new unity allows him to recognise how damaged the Sherlock he created was. We should also note that this diminishing of Sherlock’s heart is compared to his Lady Bracknell, which we know to be his repression of all Sherlock’s romantic/sexual impulses – except this time it’s less convincing, because his brain doesn’t believe it anymore. What is also devastating is heart!John’s lack of self-esteem or knowledge, the sense that he isn’t useful to Sherlock, which of course will be proven wrong.

[if anyone has thoughts on the white rectangle on the floor, do let me know. It’s bugging me!]

Mycroft says that he acknowledges there is a heart somewhere inside of him – again, this is emotionally powerful in the context of the brain/heart wrangling that we’ve seen inside the EMP. Just as Sherlock’s psyche has tried to compartmentalise them all this time and they’re finally working together, now there’s an acknowledgement that the compartmentalisation into personae is maybe inaccurate as well – brain!Mycroft’s pretence to be emotionally detached is not in fact correct, as we’ve been suspecting for a long time.

Brain!Mycroft also states that it’s his fault that this has all happened because he let Eurus converse with Jim. If you spend any time thinking about the Eurus + Jim meeting, like many elements of this show it doesn’t make sense. There isn’t a feasible way this could have been planned, recorded etc in five minutes, and although it’s true that Jim could have come back to shoot the videos under the governor’s supervision, it’s not clear why he’s so important. Unless he takes on the metaphorical significance that we’ve assigned him, letting Jim see Eurus seems pretty unimportant – he is only the garnishing on Eurus’s plan. Instead, Mycroft is at fault for letting John be in danger – not only did Sherlock misdeduce Mary (although we can lay the blame for that at the feet of heart!John - see meta on TST), his reasoning was blinded and so he missed John’s suicidal urges and the danger to his life. Brain!Mycroft holds himself responsible – all of these EMP deductions are way late, comprised of things Sherlock should have noticed when his brain wasn’t letting his heart in.

Five minutes. It took her five minutes to do this to all of us.

The lighting is dramatic, so I can’t properly gauge Ben’s expression at this moment, but his eyes look crinkled in confusion, just like they are at the moments when a sense of unreality starts to set in in TAB. Indeed, these aren’t very appropriate words for when you’re about to kill your brother; it’s like he’s being distracted, like there’s something important that he’s missing. Mofftiss are drawing attention to the sheer impossibility of the situation – and Sherlock’s nearly there. His Katniss Everdeen move, threatening to kill himself, is the recognition that his trauma doesn’t have that power – it can hurt him and deform him by twisting his psyche into unbalance, like it has before and like Eurus is trying to here, but it cannot kill him. We can see that Sherlock has risen above the one-sided dominance that he began the entire show with when Eurus shouts at him that he doesn’t know about Redbeard yet – that’s not going to change his mind today, but it’s a direct throwback to the days when it would have, in ASiP with the cabbie. Character development, folks.

The shot of Sherlock falling backwards into the dark water links to two aspects of the EMP. One is the continued metaphor of water to represent sinking into the depths of his mind. The water is so dark it looks oily – it could be argued that this is the oil that is corrupting the waters of his mind as we finally cut to the repressed memories. I quite like this reading, though I have little other oil imagery to link it to in the show. The other notable point is the slow-motion fall backwards – instead of showing Sherlock, John and Mycroft all falling, we cut to Sherlock falling backwards exactly like he did in HLV when he was shot by Mary. This is a really clear visual callback. Even though we’re going deeper, we’re linking back to the original shooting, back in reality, suggesting that this depth is paradoxically going to lead us back to the start. To go back to the oil imagery, don’t forget that oil floats on water – although it looks like we’re sinking, there’s a real sense that these repressed memories are actually pulling us to the surface of Sherlock’s subconscious, quite unlike the deep zoom out we saw when Sherlock was destroying the coffin.

And that’s it for part 2 of the TFP meta! Part 3/3 will deal with such highlights as John not being able to recognise bones and presumably getting his feet pulled off by chains. Good thing this is just a dream. See you then!

#meta #emp theory #tjlc

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mayz1er · 3 years ago

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Cool, thank you for the permission, mate!! Starting off w/ what you said: "hmm tubbo does associate people’s voices with like images and stuff ... if that counts?" This isn't a type I've heard talked about much, but it could theoretically be one!! The certain experiences you use are a lot more detailed/specific then most of us seem to have, but it could be like a simplified way Tubbo explains multiple types of synesthesia instead, maybe?? He might also just be built different, lol. So like it could be a mix of Voice-Shape/Texture and maybe Voice-Movement as well. So Ranboo as you've described it might be a Shrimp Shape (circular + triangle combined/as it's own "fake" shape-thing maybe?? Idk, Shrimp shapes are really weird to describe, let alone experience), The texture of a Bird's feather, and a upwards? kind of curveing motion (kind of like a bird's flight pattern, and it ties into their lilt you described!!), that then Tubbo would simplify into a "Gliding Dove" as you describe it. (Which is actually like the opposite how how I actually read Tubbo using the metaphors in cannon, lol. I for some reason find this revelation interesting, idk.)

The Citrus metaphors with Tommy is closest to Person-Smell, although It could also be Person-Taste instead or in addition too the other, idk. I feel like it would be fun if some of Tubbo's Voice-Visual types for Tommy could also fit the Citrus metaphor, like maybe he's very circular or has a slightly bumpy texture like the skin of a citrus, idk. (Although, I'm just now noticing how round Tommy's name is for my synesthesia too, so that's fun lol.) Oh!! Maybe part of the reason that we hear of Tommy's type more is because it's the strongest one for Tubbo!! (Although, I do really like your idea of it being because of how long they've know eachother + how close they are as well.) Now weather that's just a case of the smell kinda of "pushing" the others to the side or maybe being the only Projective type (almost physical smell instead of the gut or "mind's eye" version), I'm not sure.

And yeah, the Rose Quartz being a metaphor for the pain of being sad would translate really well into synesthesia!! Like it's almost perfectly how Emotion-Colour could work, but also maybe seems to have a slight hint of Emotion-Tactial?? Which I didn't even know about until now. This would probably actually make Tubbo hate that one part of colour theory now that I think about it, because what they would say the colours mean/represent would be like the exact opposite of what is true for him personally, lol. Also, assuming his Emotion-colour works anything like my Pain-Opacity one does, then maybe he might accidentally start using it as a metaphor/descriptor for physical pain as well. Kind of like comparing the two based both off of the similarities they have, despite only having the synesthesia for one. This would probably be very confusing for anyone taking to or trying to help him though, lol. I have no clue what colours any of the other types of emotions would be though, sadly. I kind of want to make as many of them as possible be different from the "standard" though, because I find enjoyment in imagination Kismet!Tubbo's frustration at the difference, lol.

Oh also, all his types would be associative (the afromentioned gut version of synesthesia), mainly because that's what I have so it's really the only type I really understand, lol. Tbh, If I was better at coming up with character stuff I'd probably have gotten more distracted trying to make associations for everyone to have, and figuring out just how annoying it'd be for Tubbo to live with, lol. But alas I am not that unfortunately, so instead I think I'll leave this mess at the about 4-7ish different types of Synesthesia I've forced Headcannoned onto him, lol. (Which, wow I am just now realizing how many that is... Like I only have two fairly mild types so that's really hard to imagine, lol. I honestly feel kinda bad for him now...) I'd also just have a hard time trying to figure out both who to focus on, and finding as much cannon to destroy with this as possible (a perhaps unfortunate side effect of how big the story got, lol). Also!! Unrelated but, If you want to learn more about synesthesia, might I suggest looking into @\synethesia-culture-is and a site called The Synesthesia Tree?? They both have alot of examples from other Synethetes and are where I did my brief research for this, lol. Idk, I find synesthesia really interesting to learn about and explore, so it was really fun to make this messy headcannon, lol.

#submission #GUYS IM GONNA BE HONST I HAVE NO IDEA HAVE SUBMISSIONS WORK SO IM JUST GONNA RB THIS W MY THOUGHTS #BUT YES SUPER COOL SUPER COOL HC #ananon submission

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aratilightwood · 5 years ago

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LGBTQ+ and TLH: regressive vs. progressive.

I thought Cassie clarified things by posting an insight into the LGBTQ+ community during the early 20th century.

And I wasn’t going to express my opinions, but people are still claiming TLH has, “too much queer representation.”

I’m sorry but this is going to be a rant.

...

Years ago, I wouldn’t have believed that compared to the early 21st century, the early 20th century was more accepting of the LGBTQ+ population. And in a lot of ways, it wasn’t. Given the general attitudes to the community, one can assume they had it worse during that era. I know what it was like. It was against the law. People were caught and forced to spend their life behind bars, undergo questionable treatments to cure themselves of what was perceived to be an ‘illness,’ or even be killed. They would’ve felt more obligated to hide who they were because of consequences that could’ve unfolded, had they been open about their sexuality. While it’s important to consider historical contexts of books, it’s easy to fall into the trap of thinking even Shadowhunters held the same values. But people fail to realise that not all did. It must be understood that the Nephilim never adhered to mundane laws, especially those on sexuality. They had their own beliefs and rules to follow. This can be said for both the 20th and 21st century.

Now I’m not going to run with the idea that, “it’s a fantasy series. Cassie can include as many LGBTQ+ characters as she wants.” Even though this is true, I believe there’s not much argument there. Instead, I’m going to compare the governance of Shadowhunters in TLH and TMI, as well as, how this effected their LGBTQ+ population differently. The reason behind my TMI references is because people are under the impression that as “Alec struggled with his sexuality in 2007, it’s unrealistic for Cassie to show people exploring theirs in 1903.” Therefore this must be addressed. I will also be discussing the regressive and progressive argument due to the confusion centred around it.

Some of these are iterations of what Cassie’s said. But I thought I could expand on her points.

...

The governance of Shadowhunters differed between the 21st and 20th century. While the Clave was still recuperating from Valentine’s uprising (1991) in 2007, it was thriving under the twenty-five years of peace after the Clockwork war (1878) in 1903. While the Clave was governed by an old circle member in 2007, it was under the rule of a younger and more open minded individual in 1903. There was more tension between Shadowhunters in 2007. The community was divided by those who supported Valentine, and those who didn’t. Whereas, there was more unity in 1903.

Ask yourselves this, if the Clave hadn’t fallen under Malachi’s rule after the uprising, would it have been better off? Possibly. Everyone wouldn’t have been on edge, afraid of living the life they wanted because they thought they’d be under constant scrutiny. Likewise, if Josiah Wayland hadn’t died and remained Consul in 1878, would the Clave have benefitted from this? Possibly not. He would’ve been stuck in his old ways, discrediting everything Charlotte stood for, as he did throughout TID.

It’s typical that people living through these eras, would’ve held similar values to their leaders. Malachi favoured tradition and the preservation of old teachings, but Charlotte encouraged reformation and incorporated new laws. In other words, his time as Consul was a step back for Shadowhunter society, while hers was a step foreword despite taking place a century earlier.

And it’s these opposing governances that have shaped the general attitudes towards the LGBTQ+ community. You can gather why one era in time for Shadowhunters might’ve been more indifferent, if not accepting, compared to the other.

It’s not wrong for Cassie to have more LGBTQ+ representation in TLH compared to TMI, purely on the basis of what society was like for mundanes. This doesn’t necessarily dictate that some Shadowhunters should be less open about their sexuality, as apposed to others, simply because they lived in different eras. We must consider the individual circumstances of each character.

TMI

(1) Alec was born into a conservative family with the burden of being the first child, and the desire to please his parents. His parents were ex-circle members, who were under the microscope of the Clave because of their association with Valentine. These factors arguably contributed to his internalised homophobia.

(2) Aline realised she was a lesbian early in the series, although she was only open about it through the encouragement of Alec. She was apprehensive because of the position her parents held in the Clave, with her mother being Consul and her father’s disappointment because no one could carry the Penhallow bloodline.

(3) When Diana began transitioning into a woman after her sister died in Bangkok, she had to be secretive about it. Shadowhunters were discouraged from undergoing mundane medical procedures, especially those that changed someone’s gender. She took her sister’s identity when she returned to Idris, and was only open about her transition after Alec became Consul in 2012.

(4) Both Helen and Mark might’ve been two of the few Shadowhunters who were open about their sexuality, because the Blackthorns didn’t hold such prejudices. Their parents were accepting and encouraged them to date whoever they wanted, while their siblings welcomed Aline into the family.

TLH

(1) Alastair isn’t open about his sexuality to his family or friends. His claim that he wouldn’t marry a woman and cheat her out of the love, is evidence that he’s accepted himself. But his relationship with Charles was very secretive because he was afraid of the heteronormativity of society.

(2) As much as we’d like to think Charles will be accepted if society finds out about his sexuality, it still hinders the chances of him becoming Consul. His immediate family would most likely have no complaints, but the Clave is too ‘backward thinking’ to live under the rule of a gay leader. It’s because of this, he feels that he can only achieve his goals by marrying an influential woman.

(3) Despite belonging to an understanding family, Thomas has been introverted, shy and closeted for most of his life. While his reason for being less open about his sexuality is similar to Alastair’s, he also mentions that he would rather have one romantic partner instead of several flings. Up until the end of CHOG, he believed this person was Alastair.

(4) Even though people claim Matthew has a bad reputation, it isn’t clear whether or not society is aware of his sexuality. But his close friends are e.g. James who mentions finding him in bed with men and women, as well as, Anna who accompanies him to secret societies. However, there’s no indication that his family knows.

(5) Being a woman of colour who is adopted into a British family that holds high positions in the Clave, you can understand why Ariadne has never felt comfortable about her sexuality. Her circumstances are similar to Charles’, but while his actions are influenced by the drive to be a good leader, hers are shaped by the appeasement and acceptance from society.

(6) Anna is perhaps the only one who is completely open about her sexuality to friends, family and society. This is clear in her choosing to have a bohemian lifestyle by not conforming to gender norms, and freely dating girls. It’s because of this, others are discouraged from socialising with her. But people often forget that throughout EET, she was dressing in her brother’s clothes, sneaking out at night and wary about what her parents thought. Her story hasn’t been easy.

If we think about it, there’s only a slight difference in the number of LGBTQ+ characters in TMI and TLH. What can be concluded from this is, no matter how much or less representation there is, Cassie’s done right by showing those who were open about their sexuality and those who weren’t. As much as people like to complain about it, both existed regardless of the context. Therefore, it’s wrong to exclude one or the other.

Finally, not everything is black and white. Not all Shadowhunters were generally progressive in the early 21st century, but it’s a sweeping statement to make by saying all of them should be regressive in the early 20th century because of the situation in the mundane world. It’s true that various attitudes and norms are shared between Nephilim and humans, but progressiveness and regressiveness isn’t always dependant on dates in history, especially if what’s happening in mundane society isn’t reflective of what’s happening among Shadowhunters.

...

I haven’t mentioned any LGBTQ+ Downworlders, because people have mainly been concerned about representation among Shadowhunters. Also, please correct me if I’m wrong, but I think Cassie has only explored Downworlders that are generally open about their sexuality.

If anyone’s wondering which post of hers I’ve been referring to, it’s this one.

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worryinglyinnocent · 3 years ago

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Fic: A Fight in the Shadows (1/16)

Summary: After her grandfather Grumman’s death in mysterious circumstances, private detective Riza Hawkeye receives a letter from him, instructed to be delivered to her after his demise. She is floored to discover he was the head of the Amestrian Intelligence Network, and the secrets he’s found out are deep and dangerous. He mentions a conspiracy within the military, and instructs her to gather together a group of individuals he trusts to assist her in continuing his work.

To say that they’re a rag-tag bunch is putting it kindly, but when they finally get their act together and delve into the mystery, they uncover something that will shake the very foundations of Amestris…

An espionage AU with some core canon elements.

Rated: T

A Fight in the Shadows

[AO3]

One

Roy

In all of her years working as a private detective, Riza had learned that one really ought to expect the unexpected, especially in a place like Amestris, and especially in a place like Central City. It took a lot to phase her; working on the principle that she had already seen everything there was to see and that whatever latest Central Weirdness was about to arrive at her door, it couldn’t be any weirder than everything she had already dealt with.

That said, she really wasn’t expecting to get a letter from her grandfather a week after he died.

Riza knew that her grandfather had died. She had been the one the hospital had called to identify his body, and she had certainly identified it beyond all reasonable doubt as Charles Grumman. Now, she had indeed come across cases of people faking their deaths before, but she had no reason to assume that this was what her grandfather had done. He had no earthly reason to do so. He had spent his entire life working as an unimportant pen-pushing bureaucrat in some backroom government department in Eastern, and he had died in a car accident. That was all there was to it.

The letter, however, implied that there was definitely more to it than Riza anticipated.

It was definitely from Grumman. She recognised the same handwriting that had left odd little flowery messages in her birthday cards for as long as she could remember. Sitting there so innocently on her desk where she had brought it in unknowingly with the rest of the mail, it seemed to be hiding a multitude of secrets.

The most logical explanation, of course, was that it had been written and sent prior to his demise and had just been delayed in the post. There was nothing suspicious about that.

Except, of course, for the fact that her grandfather never wrote to her except for the aforementioned birthday cards. And he certainly never addressed the letters as ‘private and confidential, for the eyes of R. HAWKEYE only’.

Riza was beginning to think that perhaps he had faked his death after all. She sighed. Whatever was in the letter, she knew that the moment she opened it, she was going to end up getting into something far deeper than she had any intention of getting into anything, and it would be a one way trip. She would not be able to back out. A part of her was screaming to just burn the letter and pretend it had never arrived, and then go on with her day. Another part was telling her that whether she read it or not, she was involved now – Grumman had ensured that from the moment he had sent it.

She snatched up the letter before she could second guess herself and sliced it open with such force that Hayate gave a worried yelp, perhaps concerned that she would turn the letter opener on him next.

It was from Grumman all right. Riza sank down into her desk chair as she read the tightly packed text that proved to her once and for all that there were some unexpected things that really could never be expected, and that she had not, in fact, seen everything.

To the outside observer, the letter would have been gibberish. It was gibberish to Riza herself until she remembered how much her grandfather had always loved word games. He had been creating codes for her to play with ever since she could read and write; it had always been their little thing that they could bond over, something that she could keep secret from her father and have as wholly her own.

Grumman hadn’t written to her in code for a very long time, not since her teen years, but she had still kept all the ciphers he had created with her, including the most complicated one that she had been so proud of creating. She recognised some of it in the letter, and she settled down with a pencil and the main cipher, beginning the painstaking task of decoding it all character by character.

With the deciphering complete, she read the letter through three times before the true meaning of it really started to sink in, and she knew that Grumman had definitely got her involved with something she could not back out of, and she was already in it up to her neck.

At least she was now fairly certain that he had not faked his death, even though she now knew that he was not, and never had been, an unimportant pen-pushing bureaucrat. No, no. In life, Charles Grumman had been the head of the Amestrian Intelligence Service.

In short, her grandfather had not only been a spy, he’d been the most important spy in the country.

At least that explained his preoccupation with secret codes. It hadn’t just been an odd fancy to keep her entertained. He had been training her up to follow in his footsteps and ensuring that if something ever happened, like it had indeed just happened, then he had someone he could trust and a code no-one else knew how to break.

Riza leaned heavily on the desk and began on the letter for the fourth time, still not quite believing what she was reading.

My dear Riza,

If you are reading this letter, then I am dead. The circumstances will probably look like natural causes or an accident, but they will have been anything but. I am leaving this letter in the care of a trusted associate, to be delivered in the event of my untimely demise.

I don’t know if you ever suspected the true nature of my profession at any point, but the time has come to be candid with you. I am, and have always been, an intelligence operative. I am a spy for the Amestrian Intelligence Service, and it is as a result of this intelligence that I have found myself in a very dangerous position.

I know it is unfair of me to put this onto your young shoulders and put you into this same dangerous position, but in this profession you learn to trust few and trust even fewer with your life. I think I may have trusted the wrong people, but I have always trusted you. You are a bloodhound, Riza, and I know that you will sniff out those responsible for my death and continue the work that I have started, exposing the terrible truth that underpins the entirety of Amestris, because I know I have only just begun to scratch the surface of what is going on in our country.

There are a few individuals whom I do trust to assist you, and I advise you to find and make use of their many and varied talents. To make things easier, I have also sent a letter like this one to the first of these contacts. I don’t know if you have kept up with the career of your father’s former student, but you must have heard in among of the renown of the one they call the Flame Alchemist. Roy Mustang is in fact an intelligence operative like myself and is my most trusted subordinate. He has his own off-book network who should provide you with a wide range of skills you may need.

If all has gone to plan, Mustang should be arriving in Eastern on the day you receive this letter…

Riza remembered Roy Mustang. They’d practically lived in each other’s pockets for the two years that he had been apprenticed under her father, learning the secrets of flame alchemy. There had been talk of him joining the military academy (and of course, her father’s reaction to that particular suggestion had been well-documented), but when the time came, he had chosen a different path, and after his training was finished and he had left the Hawkeye home for the final time, Riza had not seen him again.

A part of her had always wondered what he had ended up doing. After her father’s death she had not kept up with the gossip and rumours in the alchemy circles. After everything that had happened, she had wanted to keep as far away from it all as possible. Almost unconsciously, she reached around behind her, touching the small of her back as if she could still feel the sharp sting of the needle there as her father bound her up indelibly with his research.

So no, she had not heard of the renown of the Flame Alchemist. At least now she knew what Roy had been up to in the intervening years. She had been glad when he had decided not to go into the military, but at the same time, the line that he seemed to have walked instead seemed scarcely better.

Riza shook herself. She was one to talk; her own profession didn’t exactly bring her along the most morally upstanding path, and there was a good deal of espionage in what she did on a daily basis, although following cheating husbands and finding evidence seemed pretty tame compared to national intelligence work. Still, she was in no position to judge what Roy and her grandfather did.

Roy… It must be nearly ten years since she had last seen him. It was his hands that she remembered above everything else. She had always tried to put that down to an upbringing steeped in alchemy; whilst some people noticed height or build or hair colour or eye colour, alchemists tended to look at hands as the first thing of note. Their hands were their craft, after all, be they gloved or tattooed or bare. Roy had typically worn spark gloves towards the end of his training. Her father, ever the traditionalist, had disapproved at first, but had eventually been talked around to the practicalities of not needing an ignition source on hand all the time - or rather, having an ignition source literally on hand all the time.

At the beginning, though, when he had still been learning, his hands had been bare, his fingers long and tapered. They were always warm, his hands, and Riza had never known if that was from the flame alchemy or if he was just naturally like that. She remembered the touch of his fingertips on her back, and immediately felt her cheeks colour up. There had been nothing like that between them, but since Riza was the canvas for the full array and her father had destroyed the rest of his research for fear of it falling into the wrong hands, she had felt that Roy needed to see it.

He was still the only person who’d ever seen her bare back, and she didn’t think she’d ever forget that little gasp that he gave when he saw it: admiring the beauty of the craftsmanship and shocked that it had been crafted on living skin - her living skin - at the same time.

She’d been seventeen then, embarrassed at being half-naked in front of a boy, even if they’d been friends for over a year and he couldn’t see anything from the front. Even more embarrassing was how much she’d found that she really wouldn’t mind feeling those warm fingertips in other places.

Riza groaned, crumpling Grumman’s letter up into a ball and knocking her forehead against her desk a few times. She hadn’t thought about Roy for years, and she had long since got over her silly teenage crush on him, figuring that of course she’d ended up feeling that way about him because he was the only member of the opposite sex other than her father and grandfather that she ever had any interaction with at the time. It was bound to happen from the sheer novelty value if nothing else.

She really didn’t need to be reminded of it now. Not when she was about to get unwillingly dragged into the world of international espionage and investigate her grandfather’s murder. The last thing she needed to be thinking about was whether Roy’s hands were still as warm as they had always been before.

Riza sighed, pushed all thoughts of Roy Mustang very firmly out of her head, and straightened out Grumman’s letter again, tucking it into the chest pocket of her shirt. Every single spy novel she’d ever read (now her grandfather’s extensive collection made a certain ironic sense) was telling her that she ought to burn it, but she was not in the habit of memorising letters having only had them in her hands for a few minutes, so it would have to stay on her person for now. Besides, she might need to compare notes with Roy. Drat, now she was thinking about him again.

If he was arriving into Eastern, where she was to go herself in just a few short hours, then Grumman had probably instructed him to go to the funeral, so at least Riza wouldn’t need to look for him since her grandfather had given no further hints as to where he might be found. Hopefully, Roy would have a few more clues as to what needed to be done. The rest of the letter had detailed several more people that Grumman wanted her to recruit, and she would likely need Roy’s connections to do so. This was not a simple investigation by any stretch of the imagination.

Riza dragged herself away from her desk, Hayate padding along at her heels as she went to pack a bag for the trip to Eastern. Grumman’s funeral was the next morning. As much as she wished it was sooner so that she could get some answers, she also wanted to put it off as long as possible.

What had he got her into?

The funeral was a fairly standard affair. Riza was Grumman’s closest family left, and even then, they had not been all that close in recent years. She didn’t recognise any of the other people gathered around the grave and making a polite show of mourning, but she assumed that they were people who had known her grandfather. She idly wondered how many of them were spies, or if they were all under the impression, like she had been, that he was a harmless old man sitting in a back office somewhere.

As she’d suspected, Roy was there. He didn’t join the main group, hanging back in the shade of a tree and watching from afar. He hadn’t changed much. His face and shoulders had filled out from the slightly gawky nineteen year old he’d been when she’d last seen him, but he was still instantly recognisable as Roy. He wasn’t looking in her direction, more staring into the middle distance, and Riza wondered if he had noticed that she was there and recognised her. She didn’t think she’d changed all that much either. Her hair was longer now, but that was about it.

A small part of her, in the back of her mind, was annoyed that he’d turned up and was so obvious, because now she couldn’t stop glancing over at him every five seconds and she couldn’t concentrate on the service. Not that she’d really been concentrating on it before she’d noticed Roy. Something in the back of her mind kept telling her that whoever had killed her grandfather might have sent someone to his funeral to make sure that he was actually in his grave, and now she was looking around at all the unfamiliar faces and wondering which of them, if any, she should trust.

At last it was over and people started moving away from the graveside. Riza hung back for what she hoped was a respectful amount of time, making small talk with the minister, and when she did finally walk away, she saw that Roy was waiting for her. She made her way over to him and they moved away from his tree. He smiled as she approached. She remembered that smile.

“Hello, Riza. It’s been a long time.”

“Hi. Thanks for coming. How’ve you been keeping all this time?”

“Oh, you know. Here and there, this and that.” If there was ever a more ‘if I told you I’d have to kill you’ answer, Riza had yet to hear it. “Keeping busy. What about you? Grumman told me you went into private investigations.”

“Yes. It’s interesting work. I’ve always been fascinated with solving puzzles. I suppose that’s why…” She tailed off, and there was a long pause. How did one go about starting a conversation about secret messages and secret agents with a secret agent? Thankfully, Roy saved her the trouble.

“I assume you received a letter.”

“Yes, I did.”

“What did you do with it?”

“It’s… on my person.” She didn’t tell him she’d stuffed it in her bra as the most secure place she could think of.

“Fair enough.”

Riza stopped suddenly, causing Roy to stop as well and turn back to her.

“Should we really be discussing all this out in the open like this?”

Roy nodded. “It’s the best place to discuss things. There’s a reason why all the important conversations in the novels take place on park benches or looking out over rivers on misty bridges. The misty bridges are a bit romantic, but it’s always better to talk outdoors. It’s easy to bug a room and listen in, but it’s much easier to see if you’re being watched or followed out here in a nice, quiet, open location.”

That made sense, and Riza fell into step beside Roy again as they continued to walk through the cemetery. There was no one else around.

“Have you got any idea what’s going on?” she asked. “I’ve got a list of people who can help, but it’s not going to be much good if I don’t even know what they’re supposed to be helping with.”

Roy shook his head. “No, you probably know more than me at this stage. My instructions were just to help you in any way I could. So, I guess my services are at your command.”

“Grumman mentioned you had a secret network.”

“Yes. I’ve already contacted them. They mostly work out of Central, as I believe you do too. We can meet them in a few days. I have a safe meeting place there.”

“Oh. Ok.” At least Roy seemed to have his side of the plan all figured out. Maybe once she met this mysterious network and worked out what skills she had at her disposal, she’d have a better plan for what to do next.

They fell into silence for a long time again. Ordinarily Riza knew the basic etiquette for making small talk with someone you hadn’t seen for a decade. You asked about their family, you talked about the weather, you nodded politely in all the right places. But Roy was more than someone she hadn’t seen in a decade, and both their lives were so steeped in subterfuge and solitude that nothing seemed right as she thought it. That was probably what led to the next words out of her mouth.

“You know, I think that you’re actually the worst secret agent in the world.”

Roy laughed. “Oh really? And what makes you think that?”

“All the time you were standing under that tree, I couldn’t take my eyes off you, and I’m sure that there were a few other people who couldn’t either. You weren’t exactly inconspicuous. I thought spying was all about blending into the background.”

“It is, until it isn’t. Sometimes you need to be noticed and draw attention to yourself. Besides, there are two ways to follow someone. The first way, they never see you. The second way, they only see you.”

Riza felt her blood run cold, and she looked over her shoulder. There was still no one around besides her and Roy; everyone else had gone the more direct route out of the cemetery after the service was over.

All the same, his words were not at all reassuring.

#FMA:Brotherhood #FMA Fanfiction #Riza Hawkeye #Roy Mustang #Fic: A Fight in the Shadows

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regrettablewritings · 5 years ago

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Can I please request B, F, and O for Benoit Blanc? I’m simping for this gentleman sleuth so hard.

I’m surprised you didn’t put DNUT just for the sake of reference 😂 Stuff is below the cut!

B = Baby (Do they want a family? Why/Why not?): While he isn’t against the idea to the point of fighting it, Benoit doesn’t strike me as someone actively looking to start a family, either. At least, not in the most traditional sense of what a family could be. He knows he’s not ancient, but he’s certainly not the very picture of youth, either. There’s plenty of things he’s not afraid to do in fear of appearing odd, but he can’t help but wonder if, perhaps, becoming a father at his age would appear peculiar.

Technically speaking, there’s nothing wrong with it, of course: He’s sure enough men his age have become fathers, and he knows plenty celebrities had at much older stages of life. But no matter what The New Yorker may think, Benoit knows he’s not exactly a celebrity; becoming a father at his age might appear less glamorous. And as flattering as the theory might be, he’s not so sure he’d be comfortable with the world knowing his virility in practice.

But, of course, things don’t always go the way we plan for them to. Just because he’s not actively looking to grow the family doesn’t mean it won’t somehow happen. It’ll catch him by surprise, no doubt, especially given how he’s so used to being able to predict things by calculation and logic, but it’s nothing he’s necessarily going to fight, either. If the great Benoit Blanc is to become a father to an actual baby instead of just a fur baby, then he’s going to accept that position with pride and zeal. (And much confusion, but that’s nothing a lot of research and a handful of classes and Youtube tutorials couldn’t fix.)

Benoit knows the impact a loving parent can have on a child, and he wants to assure any progeny of his is granted that chance. He won’t be a perfect father, he knows that, but he most certainly would want to make an effort to be one that they wouldn’t hate. He’s encountered way too many patricide cases to go lax on it all.

More to the point, however, he’s honestly just content with his family as it currently appears to be. He may come from more traditional and decidedly old-fashion means, but this doesn’t exclude the sleuth from possessing an open-mindedness toward the ever-changing image of what a family could be decreed and recognized to be. And sometimes, a family is just a peacockish gentleman with a thick drawl, his more grounded and snarky partner, and their handsome pet cat who is either plotting their deaths or actually enjoys it when they sing show tunes to him.

There are times when he looks back on his life so far and feels ribbons of regret, however. How might things have turned out if he’d settled down before? Would things have been better? Worse? More or less the same?

Well, whatever the case, he doesn’t intend to dwell on it too often or for too long; you’re here now, and if that’s all there was meant to be, then he’d take it without a moment’s hesitation.

F = Feelings (When did they know they were in love?):

He’s not sure, if truth be told. There wasn’t really a precise moment or even necessarily one singular action that offered him any confirmation. The sting of Cupid’s arrow never actually radiated through him, so much as the realization flitted into his mind as a random memory might. It was simply a matter of fact to him one day: He absolutely adored you.

Part of him wanted to go into detective mode, to use that brain of his and search for a specific date that might have triggered the sensation, or to pester Elliot and Marta by using them as soundboards for his monologues and conclusion. Benoit Blanc is a self-aware man, he’s too old to be caught off guard by his own feelings like a schoolboy. But thankfully for all, he stops himself from doing so when he considers the stance that perhaps the feelings had already been present for months now, that there wasn’t any suddenness to the realization. A sense of jamais vu, but of the emotion. Jamais réalisé. Still, the ever-inquisitive spirit in him thirsted for an answer. He tried to satiate it.

Maybe it had something to do with the fact that unlike most, you appeared to enjoy his monologuing. Most people would normally just sit there, the only feedback offered being blank expressions or ones that displayed how thrown off they were about his strange analogies. You, on the other hand, were always listening even when your eyes weren’t directly on him or if you appeared to be busy with something else. Sometimes, if you deemed it necessary, you would even throw in your own input. When he joked about how invested you were, you reasoned that you tended to do the same when you infodumped.

Going off that, he liked when you infodumped: Your entire person would gain a sprightliness to it, particularly in your eyes. The detective truly believed in the value of all sorts of knowledge, and he genuinely did appreciate whatever you had to offer, even when it only appeared to be trivia. The only downside to this was that you almost always would catch yourself and, casting your sights elsewhere, all that vibrancy from before would snuff out like a light. It would darn near break his heart to hear you apologize for “babbling on about such silly things.” He would always insist that it was quite alright, that you needn’t apologize, but you always assumed deep down that he was simply being courteous as all others in his position would be. The truth always was that he was being genuine, you deserved that much.

Maybe he thought you deserved that much because you were relatively patient with him. He didn’t think of himself as a nuisance but Benoit knew that to many, he was more of an acquired taste. He always tried to be polite and considerate but sometimes, his more abrasive traits would come to the foreground, especially when he was on the case. But you never seemed to get especially testy with him as Elliot would. If anything, you were quick to put him in his place with a gently-worded but sternly-spoken reminder that he needed to mind himself.

“The truth can only soothe you so much when you got a foot up your ass,” as you put it once. It got a smile out of him. Of course, he always knew you had some kind of wit about you; one that, while a bit more blunt than his, never failed to make him laugh yet force him to acknowledge the truth. He might’ve been known for his rich vocabulary, but he couldn’t help but admire your own, more direct means of getting the point across. He knew damn well that you understood everything he said, and sometimes he questioned if maybe your responses to him were so straightforward as a means of taunting him over his perceived verboseness.

Even if this were true, he found himself amused every time you opened your mouth. In fact, you were quickly becoming his favorite person to speak to. And he even dared to consider the possibility that, based on how you lit up every time he came to the office, perhaps the same could be said on your part . . .

Well, whatever the case, Benoit never got as far as he’d wanted to whenever he pondered the cause of his feelings for you. Much to his dismay, every effort was thwarted by himself: Every time he came to a theory, he would quickly become sidetracked by other thoughts of you. Eventually he became distracted to the point where every consideration he made could be counted on to be accompanied by some appraisal of your character. In short, he was simultaneously coming up fruitless and fruitful.

But then maybe those were the answers he was looking for. Of course, they weren’t in the usual format he was familiar with but he supposed it was for the best: Feelings weren’t the same breed of mystery as, say, a murder investigation. He didn’t count it as a failure on his part, however (given that Benoit Blanc wasn’t one to quit). No, he decided that perhaps it might’ve been better to keep his work and his play separate. He’d spent enough of his life revolved around solving mysteries, after all; this one, he concluded, was best enjoyed just being experienced as it was.

O = Orange (What colour reminds them of their other half?):

It’s hard for you to choose, really: Benoit is a rather colorful man, after all, with his bright blue eyes and lack of fear regarding certain male accessories. But you do tend to veer towards shades of green. Specifically, peacock green because not only does he own a suit of similar shading, but also because frankly, due to his dandy-like nature, you couldn’t help but compare him to a peacock in your head. Sure, he lacked the arrogance associated with the bird, but what else could you compare a man with an assortment of floral ties and pretty-patterned pocket squares to?

Similarly, Benoit associates you with the color cranberry because of something in your wardrobe: Specifically, the red cardigan you were wearing the day you both met. Admittedly, he’s a twinge embarrassed that he couldn’t associate you with something more overtly romantic: He remembers that you like pink Starbursts but still give him half of yours; he remembers how you argue that black Converses are “the only valid converses” next to glittery ones; and he has no choice but to remember that godawful brown scarf you refuse to discard because “it’s still a good scarf and you’d already had it for this long.”

But you don’t mind. In fact, you’re elated and nearly swept off your feet at the fact: He remembers all the little things from the moment you two became acquainted, even though at the time he was under no awareness or intention that you would become so important to him. You know that, technically, it’s a part of his job to just commit things to detail, but you’ve seen this man forget website passwords and his own keys. Yet, if anyone were to demand that he recall three things from that fateful day, he would immediately recite about how you had a frog Beanie Baby resting on your computer monitor; that you were stabbing your Chinese takeout lunch with one hand and typing up a report with the other; and that you were wearing a cranberry-colored cardigan.

Sometimes, the first two bits were swapped with different things he remembered (all being true), but the one consistent memory that he would always bring up with be the cranberry cardigan. And frankly, you're satisfied with that bit alone.

Thanks for your patience!

#benoit blanc #benoit blanc x reader #benoit blanc imagine #benoit blanc imagines #knives out #knives out imagine #knives out imagines #regrettablewritings #fluff alphabet #fluff headcanons

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chick-from-nz · 4 years ago

Text

Paper, Scissors, Rank (Ch: 4)

CHARACTER/PAIRING: Modern!Carrillo x Army!OC (eventually)

WARNINGS: maybe some swearing, military slang, more military talk, spelling and grammatical errors. Flippy floppy points of view and tenses. Could be very OOC/AU for some. Carrillo may not be narcos accurate as this is an AU. Some OC x OC

AUTHORS NOTE: big thanks to @1zashreena1 and @girlpornparadise for letting me bounce ideas off them while writing this, hopefully y'all enjoy this and finally, they meet! My first time writing this way so, be nice?

WORD COUNT: 2.1k

CHAPTER: 4 OF ?

TAG LIST (OPEN): @girlpornparadise @1zashreena1 @xxidontwikeitxx @nicke0115 @allalngthewtchtower @lettherebrelight

It's as if running into a wall of muscle knocked some sense into her. The name on the shirt scared her enough to trigger her cadet instincts to kick in quickly to allow her to shake the hands off, step back, and salute, despite being inside, which was a tradition reserved for only the army. She held the salute for longer than necessary, wondering why the officer in front of her wasn’t returning it, instead just staring at her with one gorgeously sculpted eyebrow raised. Begrudgingly she dropped her arm, salute unreturned, and an embarrassed look on her face.

“Sir?” the title came out as more of a question than a statement like it normally would. Confusion was spreading through her brain like wildfire, this was new to her. Why was the high ranking officer, the highest she’d ever been in the presence of other than her father, not returning the mark of respect that had been drilled into her since a kid, although, given he wasn’t from around here, it may not be something he is used to. That and he probably never associates with someone that is as low of a rank as herself.

“Perfect just the Cadet I was looking for, although I must say, not the meeting I was expecting”

Fuck, that voice, I think I’m in love. Was the first thought that came to mind. That voice, gravely and like the richest of chocolates dossed with the slightest accent, matched the attractive man that stood before her, and hearing it oh so close to her, it made her insides melt. Her imagination definitely had not done his voice justice during any day dream that contained the handsome Colonel in front of her. Oh and how glorious those daydreams were, thinking about a particular dirty one where those huge arms of his were wrapped tightly around her, while his chest was pressed so tightly against her back had her blushing the spot. Damn it what is it with me and crushing on the higher ups, get a grip girl!

His words finally clicked in her head. “I’m sorry Sir, what do you mean you were looking for me?”. The confusion was most definitely evident on her face.

The Colonel chuckled lightly, dark eyes fixated on the cadet before him. “I was made aware that the LT. Colonel was to inform the squadron of my choice tonight, is that not what happened Cadet?”

Confusion once again hit Greyson full force. Did Sinclair know the whole time that someone had been picked. Of course he did, he said they had been informed, but according to the Colonel in front of her, he knew the exact Cadet that had been chosen. Why hadn’t he said anything to them then?.

It was at the end of the previous thought that the Cadet deflated, maybe he had told the cadet that had been selected, but it just wasn’t her. Shame ran through her like a lead bullet, of course she wouldn't have been chosen, what Colonel in their right mine would chose a Cadet who had been swept up in a rumour that she was fucking the LT. Colonel in charge of overseeing the entirety of the training squadron just so she could make her way to top recruit.

“Cadet? I asked you a question”. His tone was clipped. Harsh but straight to the point, and just the right amount of authority to snap the cadets attention from being in her own thoughts to looking him dead in the eye. Before she quickly averted her gaze to stare at his boot, that alone made him smirk. Good , he thought, she knows her place.

“I’m sorry Sir, I ummm, I got lost in my thoughts, and umm, no the, ah, the LT. Colonel did not inform us of who you had picked, Sir...” Greyson stuttered, the Colonel was quite the intimidating man up close. All broad shouldered, straight backed and cold facade. If she was being quite honest with herself, she thought the rumours of his brutality might well be true from where she was standing. The way he was watching her was like a predator waiting for his prey to make the one wrong move that would land them in his jaws. A shiver of fear ran down her spine at the thought.

The Colonel huffed in annoyance. “Then I suggest you spend less time in your head and more time paying attention, especially when being addressed by a senior officer, Cadet! A mistake like that will get one of your crew killed if you're not careful”

The cadets stomach plummeted at the thought, she knew all too well what would get a fellow soldier killed, her father liked to remind her that during her weeks leading up to her enlistment. The countless horror stories that had her waking up in a cold sweat had instilled a deep fear of failure within the cadet, but she had not let that show throughout her training, least of all her father hear off it through the chain of command.

Flustered, Greyson replied with a quick, “I’m sorry Sir, I really am”, only to be laughed at by the Colonel.

“Sorry doesn’t cut it when someone dies Cadet, I’m sure you know that all too well with what your father has done, don't let his mistakes become your own!” The final part was growled out with an anger that permeated the air.

Greyson swallowed down her rising anger and levelled the officer in front of her with a glare. It was a well known fact amongst the instructors that mentioning her father struck a nerve within her and set her off, many a time she had been reprimanded for near miss fights from her fellow cadets pulling the dad card around her. The cadet figured that either the Colonel knew this and was trying to get a rise out of her, or just knew of her father's past indiscretions and was trying to use it to discredit her. It didn’t matter which thought she pondered more, both made her blood boil just as much.

Trying to keep a cool demeanor around the officer in front of her was a struggle. He was smirking at her like he just had just won the lottery, all tight lipped and cocky. He had got her hook, line and sinker, she had fallen for his trap. Giving a frustrated huff the cadet looked away from the smug officer in front of her, hoping for something to grab her attention so she could dispel her anger. It seemed however, the Colonel wasn’t done just yet.

“Yes I know all about Daddy dearest and his mistakes, Greyson. It's a wonder you even bothered to enlist with all the hatred and dishonesty that follows your name around.”.

He knew exactly what he was doing, if this was the cadet he was going to steal away from the signal corps then he needed her to rebut him, yell at him, something. Anything that would show some hard spirit that would be needed to complete the daily brutality and challenges that would likely come from being in his team. He had heard what she was capable of, now to just see it for himself.

“Cat got your tongue Cadet? Or are you used to being fucked over in a different kind of way by your superiors. Must be nice to have the LT. Colonel at your beck and call doing your bidding for you and getting you the points to become top cadet. Isn't that right Greyson?” The teasing lilt to his tone was seemingly lost on the cadet in front of him. He watched as waves of varying emotions crossed her face. Something akin to shame crossed first, followed closely by what he assumed was embarrassment, only to be followed by, once more, anger. Which seemed to be this cadets’ default emotion.

Greyson had never once felt this much anger in one go, yes she knew the Colonel was trying to get a rise out of her, and mentioning her father usually did the trick. The idea that he was discrediting her based on rumours and one small sighting of something that definitely wasn’t a professional interaction with the Lt. Colonel during the assessment day somehow struck a nerve so deep she was sure that this feeling was beyond anger, in fact, she was livid. He didn’t know anything about her and he was going to insinuate that! Oh he definitely had another thing coming.

“Respectfully. Sir.” Greyson quipped in a bratty tone, “You don’t know the first thing about me, so you have no right to insinuate that I am sleeping my way to the top!” her distaste for the Colonel before her was growing by the second, “I would have thought it well below your rank to believe the rumours of jealous school girls, but i guess I was wrong. Seems like you aren’t much of a fucking Colonel at all!”. The final words of the sentence were growled out in a tone so low it would have scared her fellow cadets half to death. Her eyes were alight with emotion, her eyes turning a deep green in colour, pupils constricted. The anger was rolling off her in waves.

“There it is, that's the cadet I had heard all about. Daddy’s little mimic”. His grin was bordering maniac, he was pushing her buttons and striking the nerves he had hoped to, it was just a matter of seeing how much further she was willing to go to defend herself and her reputation. But he knew for sure now, this was his cadet.

Those words and that stupidly attractive grin was the last straw for the cadet. Without really processing her next move she curled her right hand into a fist and aimed directly for the underside of that chiseled jaw of his, hoping for a knockout, even if she’d face a potential discharge because of it. This man had fucked her off one too many times for her to internalise these emotions.

The punch thrown at him probably would have knocked him out too, if he hadn’t had the years of experience chasing down criminals in Colombia. He had seen the way her body had gone taught, fist curling, before she had wound her arm back and thrown it forward towards him with such conviction and determination that would have made him proud, if he hadn’t been trying to prove a point. Her plan failed though as he caught her wrist, her fist a mere inch from its intended target. He used her wrist as leverage, while taking a step forward, and slammed her, not all that gently, into the wall behind her.

The air was knocked out of Greyson in an instant, instead of hitting her target, she had ended up pressed between the Colonels’ hard body and the wall behind her. His mouth hovered over her ear, breath hot with each passing exhale, the shiver that wracked her body was not one of fear this time. It seemed as if minutes passed by, she could feel every hard ridge of his body pressed into hers. From his strong thighs right up to his too defined pecs that were pinning her against the wall. He was so close his belt buckle was digging into her stomach.

She released a shaky breath at the thought. This bastard of a man had pushed her to her breaking point and now held her against the wall like it was nothing. She struggled against him for a short moment, feigning an escape, but he just pushed her wrist closer to the wall and his body impossibly closer to her own. Quiet the compromising situation.

Carrillo huffed out a laugh at the way the cadet struggled beneath him before slumping in defeat. He had her exactly where he wanted her, she had shown her hand and was now at his mercy.

“I definitely made the right choice” he murmured against the shell of her ear, delighting in the way she let out the smallest of gasps. “I’d say congratulations, but I guess that's not needed. You're on the team Cadet” and with those final words he released her from his hold and took a step back. Noting the way she slumped against the wall without his support. He had to smirk while taking in her disheveled appearance, she looked positively wrecked. With that final thought he adjusted his uniform and disappeared down the hallway in search of the LT. Colonel, leaving a very confused and very flustered cadet in his wake

#horacio carrillo #horacio carrillo x oc #horacio carrillo x reader #paper scissors rank #chapter 4 #narcos fanfic #modern au

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honourablejester · 4 years ago

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Ideas for Dragons (D&D)

Or rather, thoughts on characters-who-are-dragons-in-(sort of)-disguise. Assuming that all ancient dragons have the ‘change shape’ option, metallic or otherwise, because it’s more fun that way. Sprinkle secret dragons everywhere! Why not? Also, bit lenient on the alignment here.

White

Keywords: feral, primal, vengeful, with long memories

Thoughts: Whites in disguise will be independent forces in the world. The wilderness dragons. They’ll have personal goals and points of pride. They’ll be your lone ranger seeking vengeance against a hated enemy. Your fearsome druid seeking to drive out invaders from their pristine wildernesses. Or, perhaps, your barbarians, warrior kings and queens, carving out their own territories. Quite likely to only nominally be ‘in disguise’, unless they’re really trying not to draw attention to their weakness/enemy. The pirate/whaler queen based in an iceberg shanty town, the proud spear-fisher challenging strangers to beat her, the capable outlander in a western. Heh.

Gold

Keywords: aloof, grim, reserved, dedicated foes of evil

Thoughts: Weirdly, I’m kind of liking gold dragons for rogues? Spies and spymasters. ‘Rarely does a gold dragon in disguise reveal its true form’. What I’m getting here is that golds in disguise are professional about it. They go undercover to hunt out evil. I know golds are usually seen as paladin material, and they definitely work as weary knights, but I’m liking the lawful rogue here. Add in aloof, grim, and you’ve a lovely set up for the stoic spymaster sending people to live and die in tyrannical empires and evil cults, or the grim spy going in themselves. Golds are the dragons you meet when you’re chained in a dungeon, or the one you’re taken to meet when you escape.

Green

Keywords: cunning, manipulative, ambitious, intelligent

Thoughts: I’m guessing it’s the association with envy that makes green always the cunning ambitious colour, but hey, we’ll work with it. Greens in disguise are your wizards, your courtiers, your merchant princes, your ‘legitimate businessmen’. Your Petyr Baelishes. Anyone in a position to pull strings and topple dominos and thrive on chaos. La Voisin. The courtesan, the poisoner, the palace physician. Also, greens feel like they’d have multiple disguises on the go at once. What people think are four separate NPCs are actually one, and she’s gently wheeling five or six factions into her grasp, for good or for ill. Honestly, greens are great.

Copper

Keywords: cautious, tricksy, miserly, hospitable

Thoughts: Couple of directions coppers can go, depending on whether this is a whim or if they have an enemy. They’ll either be the once-off, amusing-to-aggravating encounter, enough to tweak some noses and teach some lessons, in which case they’ll be much louder and more cheerful about things, OR they’ll be in much deeper cover and likely covering a long game with humour and a more subtle disguise. Bards and rogues. They can play spies as well as greens and golds. But I like the hospitality as a defining feature. A copper undercover as the most dangerous gang lord you ever saw will still have impeccable manners. (Coppers are basically fey)

Blue

Keywords: dramatic, patient, methodical, vain

Thoughts: Aristocrats to the core. Blues strike me as basically vampires? Lestat de Lioncourt. Patient, fond of the high life, dramatic as a thunderstorm when riled. When you look at a blue, you know there’s something off, something predatory, but not exactly what. Blues will be regal, noble, well-connected. Smart about alliances. Like whites, they’ll have a list of people who’ve ticked them off, and they’ll take their time returning the favour, but unlike whites blues will be indirect about it. Ambush predators, and dramatic ones. They’ll set up something truly notable. Patient and dramatic. The worst sort of enemies. But excellent friends if pointed at mutual foes.

Silver

Keywords: friendly, benign, fond of history, prone to attachment

Thoughts: Innkeepers. Back alley healers (the ‘helping the poor for free’ kind, not the ‘shady as hell’ kind, though you never know). The uncle or auntie in the village that everyone knows and no one is entirely sure of the age of. The lovely, nice, friendly old lady who would never hurt a fly but wicked people who come to the village tend to walk away rather thoughtful after sitting down to tea. Or, you know, don’t walk away at all. The librarians, teachers, bakers, healers. The most normal-seeming, right in the thick of it, but often slightly forgetful when it comes to how long their ‘disguises’ are supposed to be able to stay alive. Ah. Oops?

Black

Keywords: paranoid, brutal, survivalist, ‘do unto others before they do unto you’

Thoughts: Guerrilla warlords. We’re back out in the wilderness. Run and hide and strike where your enemies are weakest. Disguise yourself to find out where they’re weakest, who is your enemy now and who will be your enemy later. Rebels and outlaws. I like the link to crumbled civilisations. If you want a more ambiguous black, you can have them championing a dead kingdom against a foreign invader (for given values of ‘foreign’ depending on how many centuries on this is). Blacks are your outlanders, unwilling to accept any dominion but their own, hardened and vicious when maintaining their independence, paranoid about where the strike will come. Blacks are hard-edged, the allies you really need to work to keep good, the enemies you need to hit hard and hit now.

Bronze

Keywords: daring, warlike, nautical, rebels in search of a cause

Thoughts: Well. Rebels, to start with. Again. Consulting heroes. Les Amis from Les Miserables. Odysseus. Though bronzes can be patient and like to be fully sure who’s done what and when and why before they start swinging, they really don’t hesitate from that point. So, like whites, often they’ll only nominally be ‘disguised’. They’ll be bold and daring and in-your-face, unless they’re actively on a mission that needs secrecy. I feel like they tend to use whatever form is most useful for the moment, and don’t tend as much towards long-term covers. They’re good students of history, though, and effective at what they do. If a bronze is well-established, they’ll be a respected leader.

Red

Keywords: proud, territorial, explosive, obsessive

Thoughts: Reds are very … wizardy. Classic tower wizards, I mean. Isolated, explosive, unhappy about conversing with inferiors. Etc. But they’re also curious. They don’t want to be left behind, or become obsolete. So they’ll disguise themselves as something well-respected, important, unlikely to be challenged. Nobles, yes, but also academics, emissaries, foreign dignitaries. Historians. Treaty-makers. Archmages. Reds want to be the linch-pins, the fulcrums around which the world turns. They can be very valuable if you manoeuvre them into the right places, but don’t put them anywhere you wouldn’t be comfortable putting sweaty nitroglycerine. They will go boom eventually.

Brass

Keywords: curious, gregarious, conversationalist, craving stimulation

Thoughts: Merchants. Straight away. Peddlers, merchants, coffee house proprietors. Innkeepers, too. Anywhere that’s gossip central. Anywhere that sees objects and curiosities from around the world. Certain stripes of academics as well. Brasses won’t be spies like greens or golds, even coppers or blacks, they won’t be collecting things for a cause, but they might sell information afterwards for their own amusement. Collecting whatever’s shiny, passing it on to whoever’s interested. Might play cheerful games of one-upmanship with other information brokers. Assets to everyone, but beholden to no one. Reactive if tricked or feel like they’ve been used badly, though. Brasses make good neutral, independent, ambiguous contractors.

Just … throw in lots of dragons. Dragons are always a fun surprise! Ancient, wily serpents steering the world or local events in varying directions. Have a world where anyone you meet could be a dragon! Dignified nobles, fearsome rebels, motherly innkeepers, travelling merchants, tired functionaries, annoying children, proud survivalists, touchy emissaries, old soldiers, cunning brothel keepers, the gossipy old biddy on the corner …

What is life without the idea that just about any of them could suddenly sprout wings and breath weapons and a lot of teeth very suddenly in your face? Heh.

#d&d #dnd #dragons #disguises #long post #secret dragons #or not so secret #what is fantasy without lots of surprise dragons?

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dvp95 · 5 years ago

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quiet on widow’s peak (13)

pairing: dan howell/phil lester, pj liguori/sophie newton/chris kendall rating: teen & up tags: paranormal investigator, mystery, online friendship, slow burn, strangers to lovers, nonbinary character, trans character, background poly, phil does some buzzfeed unsolved shit and dan is a fan word count: 4.3k (this chapter), 42.9k (total) summary: Phil’s got a list of paranormal experiences a mile long that he likes to share with the world. Abandoned buildings, cemeteries, and ghost stories have always called his name, and a particular fan of his has a really, really good ghost story.

read this chapter on ao3 or here!

Phil is herded out of the house before he can shower, style his hair, or put in his contacts. As soon as his clothes are finished drying, his parents are pushing him and all of his bags out the door.

“We’ve got someone coming to see the house,” his mum had explained in that half-frantic voice he associates with company arriving. “You’ve got somewhere to be, haven’t you?”

He doesn’t have the gumption to explain that he’s still got hours before he has to be anywhere. Instead, Phil just hoists his bags higher on his shoulders and sets off for the bus stop. The wind isn’t bad today, thank goodness for small mercies, but it still isn’t pleasant to be outside in November. He pushes his floppy, unwashed hair off his forehead and reluctantly sends Dan a message.

It’s still pretty early and Dan might be in class by now, so he doesn’t expect an immediate response. He’s halfway through a Buzzfeed article and leaning against the shaky bus window by the time his phone buzzes.

im omw from class now just meet me at my place

An address follows, close enough to the coffee shop and the Wilkins place for Phil to feel comfortable finding it. He’s not sure how comfortable he is with being in such a small, private place with Dan before spending most of the night with them. He wonders if his brewing feelings and abject confusion surrounding them will be obvious.

Phil bites his lip and taps away from the article. He’s not sure where to start, but he thinks it’s about time that he started looking into gender stuff. He’s lived with PJ for almost two years and been friends with him for longer, but this isn’t something they tend to talk about. Technically, he hadn’t even been told, he’d just picked up on it from conversations around the old Brighton house. PJ isn’t in the closet, but he seems to have the same attitude about his gender identity that Phil has about his sexual identity - it isn’t anyone’s business unless they’re actively pursuing him.

This isn’t about PJ, though. Phil can’t pretend like these bewildered Google searches are in any way an attempt to understand his friend better. This is about Dan.

“Dan?”

The girl looks confused enough that Phil thinks he’s gotten the wrong flat for a horrified moment, but then her brow uncreases and she laughs.

“Oh, duh. Sorry, she doesn’t have many people coming to visit.” She waves Phil inside and eyes his bags. “Especially not many that look like they’re moving in. You planning on staying long, mate?”

“Just the night,” Phil says, more or less honestly. His brain is still stuck on the new pronoun. He knows that Dan is fine with any pronouns, and that includes feminine ones, it just feels strange to have someone use the opposite of what most people might assume. “Er, my parents are selling their place and needed my junk out of the way.”

She nods and gestures deeper into the flat. It doesn’t have as many doors as the Brighton house that Phil shares with a rugby team’s worth of people, but it’s still enough to overwhelm him a bit. Seemingly in response to whatever panicked expression finds its way to Phil’s face, the girl laughs. “Winnie’s room is at the end of the hall,” she says. “Her name’s on the door, you can’t miss it.”

“Her name being Winnie,” Phil says slowly.

“That’s what she wants us to call her,” the girl says. There’s an edge to her voice now, a sort of protectiveness that Phil doesn’t know how to respond to.

Phil gives her an uncertain sort of smile and heads down the hallway. The common areas are surprisingly tidy for a student flat, but he still doesn’t feel comfortable there. He finds himself in front of a dark wooden door with a Winnie the Pooh poster stuck to it. It’s not exactly a nameplate, but Phil understands why their flatmate said that.

He knocks lightly, not wanting to disturb the other people who live here and might still be asleep. It’s barely past noon, after all, and Phil remembers what it was like to be a student. Hell, he doesn’t really have a proper sleep schedule now.

“Come in!”

Dan’s room is darker than the rest of the flat, and Phil has to let his eyes adjust for a moment as the door closes behind him. There are blackout curtains over the single window and fairy lights draped over every possible surface, giving the whole place a soft vibe. Phil doesn’t see Dan at first, but then he realises that they’re on the floor with -

“Is that a weasel?” Phil asks without bothering to say hello, dropping his bags carefully. The last thing he wants to do is scare the creature that’s scampering all over Dan’s shoulders and arms.

“Excuse me,” Dan laughs. They hold out the animal for inspection, and Phil joins them on the floor. “This is Tofu, he’s a ferret.”

“Hello, Tofu,” says Phil. He reaches out to gently take the ferret’s paw between his thumb and finger, and he pretends like they’re shaking hands. Dan laughs again, bright and happy, and Phil decides that he really likes seeing Dan in their comfort zone. “It’s very nice to meet you! I’m Phil.”

Tofu makes a squeaking sort of noise and wiggles out of Dan’s hands to roll around on the carpet.

“He’s kind of an idiot,” Dan says fondly. “Pixel is the smart one in this family, but she’s sleeping.”

Phil’s eyes follow Dan’s vague gesture to a surprisingly large, multi-level enclosure. There’s another ferret curled up in there, and Phil assumes that’s Pixel. “Exactly how many weasels do you have?”

“Just the two,” says Dan. They’re smiling so wide that Phil can’t bring himself to look away. Their lips are a dark shade of red, or maybe burgundy, but it’s hard to tell in the low lighting. The dark lines around their eyes are even more shadowed with it, though, and it’s an entrancing sort of effect. “Originally it was just the one, but she got so lonely. I should have gotten an introverted animal, I guess, if I didn’t want multiple, but I didn’t mind. Pixel wanted a buddy, so. Pixel got a buddy.”

“I think even introverts need buddies sometimes,” says Phil.

He’s suddenly so self-conscious about being here in his current state. He’s wearing his trusty denim on denim, which he knows suits him fine, but he’s also got his clunky glasses and can’t remember if he put deodorant on or not. Dan, on the other hand, looks as stunning as always.

That gets even more obvious as they lounge out a bit, uncrossing and stretching their long legs. Their leggings are tight and translucent enough that Phil might find them indecent if there weren’t a short, swishy skirt covering the important bits. When Dan stretches their arms out, too, their unbuttoned flannel falls further open and shows off the cropped band tee underneath.

Most of Dan’s body is covered, really. Only their hands and neck and navel are out, but that’s enough to make Phil’s brain short-circuit. Their hands are distractingly big, but still so gentle when they pick Tofu back up; their neck is long and ends in either a sharp clavicle or a soft, rounded jawline; their tummy is soft like the rest of them and there’s a simple barbell piercing through their belly button that Phil has to force himself to look away from.

“Have you talked to your friends about us going back?” Dan asks, seemingly oblivious to the way Phil is taking them in from head to toe.

“What?” Phil bleats, and then his brain catches up to the conversation before Dan can repeat themself. “Oh, yeah. I texted them about it, and they’re a bit worried, but they’re glad you’re coming along. They were pretty nervous about me doing this alone.”

“PJ said you tend to do stupid shit,” Dan says bluntly. Tofu is climbing up their arms and biting at their hair, but they don’t even react.

“When did PJ say that?”

Dan’s lips curve into a smile. “When he drove me home. We talked about you.”

Normally, a statement like that would make Phil anxious. He still feels it, a bit, that creeping sense of frustration and nervousness that he associates with mild anxiety, but it’s more dull than it would be if Dan wasn’t smiling at him so softly. Something about it makes Phil certain that he’d get an honest answer if he asked what they all said about him.

That certainty and budding trust are enough to keep his loud anxiety at bay, and Phil finds that he doesn’t feel the need to ask.

Instead, he looks around Dan’s room some more. Pixel is still napping soundly, and Phil doesn’t blame her - the room is so quiet and dim and full of pleasing scents from the candles on Dan’s nightstand, Phil can easily imagine curling up somewhere soft in here and nodding off.

The furniture itself is crappy in the way that most students have to deal with, but Dan seems to have an eye for design that Phil has never had. Sure, there’s no bed frame to hold Dan’s mattress, but their duvet matches the monochrome colour scheme of the posters and paintings on the walls, and their pillows look welcoming surrounded by a small collection of stuffed animals. Their desk is organized, but their closet is open and spilling clothes onto the floor a bit. Phil wonders if that’s something Dan had planned on fixing before he got here, or if Dan doesn’t mind having their dresses and jeans and boots on display.

There’s barely any colour at all, really, but it doesn’t feel depressing like Phil would have thought it might.

That’s not exactly true. There’s some colour.

Phil must be looking at the flag on the wall for too long, because Dan makes a humming sort of noise and breaks the comfortable quiet. “I know it’s a bit tacky,” they say, “and it doesn’t match, but… I dunno. I wasn’t able to be out until I got to uni, and I might have gone a bit nuts with it.”

“Yeah,” says Phil. His throat is a bit dry. “I can understand that.”

“It makes me feel safe,” says Dan. Phil turns to look at them again, but he regrets it as soon as he sees the genuine emotion in Dan’s wide eyes. He isn’t good with that. “Like. Knowing I can have it hung here, that I can be open with people without them being upset with me or something. I don’t think the flag itself makes me feel safe? But maybe that’s not true, either. Maybe embracing that part of myself helped me embrace the community as a whole. I haven’t done Pride yet or anything. Maybe next year. But - safety. Comfort. Y’know?”

“I do,” Phil says quietly. “I do know.”

Dan’s eyes go sharp. Phil hasn’t seen them do that before, and it’s unnerving how much it feels like his very soul is under scrutiny. He wants to squirm away from that feeling, doesn’t want any part of himself under a microscope, but he doesn’t want to run like he might normally.

There’s another moment of quiet, where Dan looks at Phil and Phil doesn’t look away, but of course Phil is the first to break.

“Which of those is your favourite?” he asks instead of saying the words he knows Dan is waiting for. He doesn’t want to run, but that doesn’t mean he needs to be more forthcoming. At Dan’s furrowed brow, Phil gestures to the bookshelf. Dan has a lot of books and movies and boxsets and textbooks, more than Phil can take in all at once. “The, uh, the anime. My favourite’s Fullmetal Alchemist. Er, Brotherhood, not the first one, but both are good.”

For a second, it doesn’t seem like Dan is going to allow him to change the subject so easily. But then Tofu bites at their ear and they’re both giggling, the intensity of the moment slinking off to make way for casual conversation.

Talking to Dan is easier than talking to some people that Phil has known for years. They put on a show that they’ve both seen and enjoy and they chat the whole time. Phil points out camera and editing choices that Dan hadn’t put much thought to before, and Dan rambles about theories they’d seen on Reddit for so long that Pixel has become Phil’s best friend by the end of it. Dan makes food at some point, their brief absence allowing Phil to look more carefully at the titles on their shelves. They have even more to talk about when Dan gets back, because Phil has a lot of opinions on some of the quote-unquote ‘classics’ that Dan reads and Dan has some opinions on Phil picking the cheese off his sandwich. Phil almost forgets that he’s here for a specific reason, that they aren’t just friends hanging out, until Dan brings out their Polaroid and starts asking questions about what to expect on the haunt.

Phil kind of wishes they could just stay here.

Before they left, PJ, Sophie, and Chris had all drawn several Sharpie sigils on a thin piece of scrap fabric and insisted that Phil tie it around his wrist or something. He takes it out of his pocket as he and Dan approach the house.

“Here,” he says, pulling them to a stop and rolling their sleeve up a bit. He ignores their big doe eyes and wraps it around their knobby wrist a couple of times. “Is that too tight?”

“No,” says Dan. They stay still while Phil ties it, and then they raise their hand to inspect it.

“It’s from the gang,” says Phil. “I know it seems like the sigils didn’t help last time, but - well, I dunno. Maybe they did help and it was going to be a lot worse without them. Or maybe they just rubbed off our skin too quickly. But, y’know, I know you don’t believe in this stuff, it just… it makes us feel better. I thought it would be a good placebo for you if nothing else.”

Dan touches the fabric and then smiles, looking for all the world like Phil has given them something precious.

“Thank you,” they say, their voice altogether too sincere for Phil to respond to without some major awkwardness. “What about you?”

“Oh, I’m already wearing my thing,” Phil lies. “C’mon, let’s get inside.”

The thing is, Phil figures Dan is the one who needs protecting from whatever is going on in the Wilkins place. They’re the one who got attacked last time, while Phil only dealt with flickering lights and the feeling of being watched. The last thing he needs is for Dan to insist on coming along again only to get themself hurt again.

He’s not sure if Dan believes him or not, but it doesn’t matter. Phil is already shouldering the back door open. He could climb through the window again with a boost from Dan, but he doesn’t think he has enough upper-body strength to pull Dan up after him.

The kitchen is as dark and dusty as ever, but that smothering, creeping feeling of eyes in the walls isn’t present. Phil stands still for a few seconds, waiting for it to wash over him again, but in the end he’s in the same place he figured he’d be from the beginning - listening to the creaking sounds of a house with absolutely nothing supernatural about it. He’s weirdly disappointed, but he imagines that Dan must be relieved.

He turns to Dan to see what they think, but their eyes are just as wide as they’d been the last time.

“Hey,” Phil says, quiet so as not to disturb the dust. “You feel something?”

“No,” Dan admits. They move closer to Phil, twisting their fingers into the cuff of his jacket and holding tight. It’s sort of sweet how they think he might leave them alone in this house, but it’s also somewhat of a nuisance to have a large person attached to him while he’s trying to move quietly.

“Then what’s wrong? Do you need to leave?”

Dan shakes their head. Their teeth dig into their dark bottom lip, and even though they reapplied their lip product before leaving the house, it still ends up on their teeth a little bit. Phil isn’t sure if he’s supposed to point it out or not. “I don’t need to leave or anything, it’s fine. I’m fine. Coming with you was the whole point. I just don’t… okay. Promise not to laugh at me?”

“I think I promise,” says Phil. He gives Dan a reassuring little smile. “But if you break into song and dance or something I reserve the right to change my mind.”

“Shut up,” Dan says, but they’re giggling. “No, I just… I just don’t like the dark, okay?”

It clearly takes something out of Dan to admit that. Phil shifts his hand so he can squeeze Dan’s. “Nobody really likes the dark,” Phil says. “I mean, it’s kind of my job, so I’m used to it, but I wouldn’t mind being somewhere brightly-lit and clean instead.”

“Thanks.” Dan’s cheeks look a bit darker, but that might just be the low lighting. “You can lead the way.”

Nothing happens.

There are spiders and dark corners and once or twice a loud noise from outside makes Dan jump and grab at his hand again, but Phil never feels like anything more is going to happen. The walls don’t have anything behind them except maybe rats, and even the attic simply makes Phil sneeze.

It’s frustrating. It’s almost worse than the night that he put his friends in danger, because at least then he knew that he could have a chance at a decent video. Now, there’s nothing to record.

Phil finds himself wishing for a flickering light or a quick shadow. He wants something, anything, to make him feel like he’s doing something productive with his life.

Instead, he just feels like he’s wading deeper into the confusion and shadows of his own future. He doesn’t know where he’s going to go if he can’t keep going back to the darkness of abandoned houses and old cemeteries. He went to uni, sure, but he hasn’t had a ‘real’ job in his life. Unless a month at the stationery store counts. He’s pretty sure it doesn’t. He wouldn’t even know where to begin with figuring out what he ought to be doing with his life if he isn’t chasing ghosts, but he’s not having fun with this anymore.

He’s twenty-six. It’s not old, he’s not old. He’s got plenty of time to figure his life out.

But if he’s spent the last decade wasting all his free time on something that isn’t enjoyable anymore, then he doesn’t know if he’s going to be able to forgive himself.

Dan is in his personal space again, pressing close to avoid the encroaching darkness, and they smell like… lavender. Phil remembers spice and mint from them, and he wonders if they’re wearing some kind of perfume today. It’s such a feminine scent that it’s hard for him to wrap his mind around the fact that he wants.

Further and further into the waters he goes. He doesn’t know what comes next for any of it, and it’s terrifying.

“We could stay all night again,” Phil is protesting, even as Dan frogmarches him down the back steps. “I know we didn’t find anything, but maybe it only works when you’re trying to sleep over? I could -”

“You’ll do nothing,” says Dan. “We are both going home, and I’m seeing you onto the bus so you don’t sneak back without me.”

Phil wants to object, but Dan tightens their grip on his arms like they know exactly what he’s going to say. Besides, it would probably be a lie. Phil is stressed and frustrated and in over his head, and if he could just get one clip or photo of this thing, then maybe everything will be okay. Maybe he can keep doing this after all.

He gently detangles himself from Dan and sighs, hoisting his backpack up. “Fucking�� fine.”

“Fucking fine,” Dan repeats, their lips twitching.

“Maybe the sigils worked too well,” says Phil. He keeps his tone level so that Dan won’t be able to tell that he’s joking right away, but Dan shoves at his shoulder like they’re well aware of what he’s doing. “You know, I bet -”

“You’re annoying when you can’t do what you want, huh?” Dan interrupts. Their hands are shoved in their jacket pockets, but Phil wishes they weren’t. He wishes he could brush his hand against theirs as they walk and convince himself that it’s all an accident. “Bet that’s the baby brother in you.”

“No comment.”

The walk to the bus stop is quieter than the last time Dan walked him to it, but it's not uncomfortable. Phil can’t believe how much he cares about this person already. They’re friends, he’s pretty sure, and it’s impossible to deny how much this crush is starting to get to him. Still. It’s new, Dan is new, and Phil has to consider the possibility that the novelty is all he’s feeling.

It’s not. But he has to consider it, because Phil has to consider every possibility before he makes his mind up about anything.

“Hey,” Phil says, careful not to sound like he’s pushing.

“Hi,” says Dan. Phil isn’t looking at them, but he can hear a grin in their voice.

“I was just wondering,” says Phil. “I mean, you don’t have to tell me if it’s a sore spot or anything like that, but. Your flatmate said you were called Winnie. Obviously I know you go by Winnie online, but I didn’t know you did it, uh, outside of cyberspace.”

“Cyberspace,” Dan repeats like they can’t help themself. “Yeah, sometimes. I usually use it like a test.”

“A test?”

Dan hums. Phil wishes, again, that their hands weren’t trapped in the confines of their jacket. “For people I might get closer to. I ask my flatmates to call me something that’s clearly not masculine and see how they react and how often they slip up. Maybe it’s mean, I guess, since I don’t actually care one way or the other, but it’s a lot easier for me to open up to people who have already proven that they’re able to think of me outside of the Daniel box.”

“I can call you Winnie,” Phil offers. “If that’s what you want to be called. And I’m not a complete idiot, I’m sure I could remember to call you Dan when I’m bothering you at work.”

“Planning on bothering me at work some more?” Dan asks. They don’t wait for an answer. “No, I like Dan fine. They’re both fine. They just serve me different purposes, I guess, and I’m not bothered by either of them.”

“I don’t totally get it,” Phil admits. “But I’ll do whatever you want.”

“I know.”

Suddenly, Dan is tangling their long fingers with Phil's. It’s just for a second, long enough for the same sort of reassuring squeeze that Phil gave to them in the Wilkins place, but it makes Phil’s heart jump into his throat.

“You’re, like, overly considerate,” says Dan. They sound like they’re teasing - Phil hopes they’re teasing. He really, really doesn’t want to mess this up.

“I just think you should be able to, like, tell me if I do something wrong.”

Dan laughs. “You’re not getting it. That’s okay, you don’t have to get it. I will tell you if you do something wrong, I just have a really wide range of things I’m indifferent about before you get to the things that matter. Call me a boy or a girl or whatever, I don’t care. Try to imply that my favourite Pokémon is fucking Goldeen, on the other hand -”

They ramble all the way to the stop, and Phil finds himself feeling better despite the fruitless hours of wandering a dusty house.

“This is me,” Phil says as he sees headlights coming down the street towards them.

“Message me tomorrow,” Dan insists. For a moment, they’re both just standing there. Phil has no idea what he’s supposed to do in this situation. Surely a handshake would be weird, but would a hug be weirder? Should he just pat their shoulder, or is that absolutely the creepiest thing he could do? They had both waved, yesterday, so maybe that’s what he ought to do again. His eyes drift to Dan’s mouth. The product is still mostly there, but there are indents where their front teeth have been digging all night that show the natural colour of their lips.

That’s not an option, Phil reminds himself with a little shake. He’s about to keep overthinking it when Dan wraps their arms around him and says something that sounds like a goodnight. They smell good, and they feel good, and the only thing that gets Phil stepping back is the sound of a bus stopping next to them.

“Bye,” he says, quiet. Dan’s smile is almost enough to make him miss this bus and wait for the next one.

#words words words #quiet on widow's peak

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i-lov-them-beans · 5 years ago

Text

Theories: Colour Wheel and the Orange Side

Ok, so, we have the colour wheel theory. It's essentially been confirmed now by the new flower T-shirt design that it's real, and specifically the T-shirt seems to confirm there'll be only one more side, which is the orange side. I'm not gonna mention the T-shirt again throughout the rest of this, it's just that's what kicked me off to finally write this lol.

The premise of the colour wheel theory, of course, is that each side corresponds to a colour, and the sides can be grouped into pairs that are both opposite in terms of what aspect they represent, and also opposite colours. That's all dandy and nice, right? But alas! There are some problems with the theory, aren't there? Namely, with people disagreeing on who should be paired with who.

For example, one popular take is that Deceit is Patton's opposite. The reasoning being that while Patton represents morality, Deceit is often seen as being not very moral. Patton strongly supports honesty, while Deceit is literally Deceit.

However, other people say that Deceit is actually Logan's opposite. Due to the fact that in lying, Deceit goes against facts, which would seem to go against Logan represents.

So? What version of the theory is right then? I have read so many colour wheel theory posts, each arguing a different way, and they pretty much ALL seem to make good points. They all seem as reasonable as each other. I would have no idea how to tell which one seemed more accurate than the another.

Which is the problem. There's no actual clear way to cut them up into one single system of opposites - there's too many different possibilities for there to be one unanimous theory based on opposites.

Not to mention that there's stretching going on with all of them with what colour they are in order to fit them as opposite colours, or sometimes just straight up ignoring opposite colours (as with versions that put Virgil as opposite of Logan or Patton) making it even more difficult to figure out which one makes the most sense.

Which is why I have a new, slightly altered theory:

The sides can still be grouped into pairs. But instead of opposites, the pairs are based on compliments. I.e., pairs of sides whose functions are similar and could work together. Since opposite colours are also called complimentary colours, this still works thematically with the colour wheel theory.

Specifically, I was thinking that the sides would be paired based on them being two versions of essentially the same aspect, except where one is [viewed by Thomas as] immoral, and the other is not immoral. I also found that with this system the sides fit perfectly into sets of opposites colours.

So, who goes with who now?

Well, the obvious place to start is with Roman and Remus. The two are already in canon posed as being two halves of the same side, with one being good and the other bad. Specifically, Remus represents a part of creativity which Thomas is concerned would be harmful to the world, henceforth immoral, whereas Roman's creativity Thomas has no moral qualms with. Their colours are the complimentary colours red and green, of course.

Next I would argue that Virgil and Deceit are compliments. Aside from the fact that they obviously have history, Virgil's job is to protect Thomas, as we all know. Deceit, regardless of how you feel about him, mainly represents self-preservation, as any sympathetic-Deceit fan will tell you. Especially with him using lying to achieve that goal, Deceit's aspect is definitely about protecting Thomas too. The difference? Thomas finds Deceit morally reprehensible, whereas Virgil, although not exactly an enjoyable side to experience, is not exactly doing anything immoral. Their colours? Purple and yellow, exact opposites. Next.

So now we come to the final pair, which by colours is Patton and Orange. Which means we have to go into my theory about what the Orange side represents. So, who's the Orange side?

I think Orange is Anger. I first started thinking about anger being represented in the series last year, while I was headcanoning about Patton. I was thinking about how, since he represents emotions, that must mean he includes anger; I was thinking how it would be interesting to see that in Patton since we never normally see him like that (I like seeing stuff we don't normally see in characters). It didn't occur to me back then that anger could be represented by a separate side, because since it's an emotion, I assumed it had to be represented by Patton. But then: Remus was introduced. Dun dun dun. Literally another version of an aspect we already have a side for. And later, when I saw other people talking about how Orange could be anger, it clicked: Anger could be a separate, dark side the same way Remus is. So my main reason for theorising Orange as Anger.

Other reasons why Orange would be anger is that A. Orange is an angry colour (I've always associated it with annoyance and frustration), and B. Someone suggested a theory that all the dark sides were hinted in the Christmas video. Deceit's hint was first and I can't remember it but I'm p sure it did make sense, Remus' was second and was the "Naked Aunt Patty" line, which was literally referenced in Remus' song sequence in DWIT. And the third hint that this theory proposed was in the episode's conclusion, when Thomas says "that's never constructive. that's destructive" and then pauses weirdly, and the idea was that the next side has something to do with destruction. If this Christmas hint theory is true, then "destruction" fits quite neatly with anger.

So, Orange is Anger and I've already linked him to Patton in the previous paragraph, but let's just tidy up the loose ends. I can definitely see how Anger can be seen as an immoral emotion, especially from Thomas' POV, he tries not to get angry at people. Whereas the emotions Patton represents Thomas doesn't see as immoral. Even sadness and depression, although unpleasant to experience, just like with Virgil they're not immoral. However there's also the fact that Patton represents morality itself. Obviously, that's not gonna be immoral. How does Orange tie into that as an "immoral morality" though? Well, Anger can be a part of morality. Have you ever seen something absolutely awful, and gotten angry that that's happening? Of course you have, you're on tumblr (lol). Just look at any activism; although yes, inherently it's driven by a desire to make the world a better place, I would say a large portion of activism is also driven specifically by anger. It's a special kind of anger you feel, as an activist, too. Idk exactly how to describe it. But activism, morality and anger are definitely intertwined. And to top it all off? Mid-orange and light blue are slap-bang opposites of eachother. Thank you. *drops mic*

"But, wait a minute-" I hear you ask, as I'm already bending down to pick the mic back up cause I wasn't finished talking yet anyway- "where's Logan in all this? You're phrasing it like it's a perfect theory, yet you haven't even mentioned Logan!"

...Well I'm glad you asked, tumblr user ipissmypantsdaily*!

*if there is actually a tumblr user called that and they see this, hi, I hope you're not even in the TS fandom so this joke is even more stupid. Idk how you would have found this post though *shrugs*

Actually it's not that exciting. In my theory Logan doesn't have a pair. The main reason is literally just that there's no one left to pair him with and all the others work too perfectly to rearrange them lol. However, my explanation is that he wouldn't fit in a pair anyway: he's a fairly morally neutral side. He provides logic, which can reach morally good or bad conclusions, curiosity, which could be curiosity in anything (Intrulogical much?) (although it seems it's mostly harmless in Thomas' case), and apathy, which seems to be in the form of disinterest (that's the one where someone provides a neutral, unbiased third-party opinion) mainly. Obviously, Thomas tried to use him for good, but ultimately he seems like a fairly neutral/morally mixed side.

Anyway, that's my current hypothesis on Sanders Sides. I'm really proud of it, I was really excited when I thought it all up. I hope you enjoyed it! To round it all up, here's an actual colour wheel with the sides' names on it:

Something I didn't even realise til making that actually, is that all the pairs are really equally spread across the colour wheel, too. Nice.

Someone's probably going to find a million and one problems with it as soon as I post this, but oh well. That happens I guess, lol

uhhh... bye 👋

#rat’s posts #ts sides #sanders sides #ts theories #ts predictions #sanders sides theories #orange sanders #orange side #ts orange #color wheel theory #ts color wheel theory #sanders sides color wheel theory #virgil sanders #deceit sanders #roman sanders #logan sanders #patton sanders #remus sanders

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