#the ship is what got me to start icebound

[sishuini]

not really a headcanons but I need to say this

(Kinda spoiler for the new hunger games book, not rlly, it spoils 1 line, and I’m not finished with it, started it today in a class)

JorTai ofc >:] simply just the line “I love you like all fire”

I feel like Jornir would say that, just like in the morning, at night whenever he can away from everyone else, when it’s just him and Taishen or sm.

(also kinda Taishen hc??) Taishen used to play all sorts of instruments at Jade-shell, any he could find, he would learn and play them for certain gathering! but ya, Jornir saying “I love you like all fire” basically saying “I love you so very much, my dear..” without saying it out loud, and NO ONE ELSE KNOWS WHAT IT MEANS AND NEVER HEARS IT. SO ITS JUST THEIR SILLY LIL THING THEY DO.

I’ve been an AVID JorTia fan since the beginning, can u tell?? Lolz

Oh, for sure. It doesn't happen a lot with the ships I ship, but when I think about Jortai, it's the quiet moments I picture. Just them sitting, quietly sharing a cup of tea. Jornir sneaking "I love you"s in the morning or when they are the last ones to go to bed is just an adorable thought to me. I feel like the first couple of times he says it in giant, eventually tells Taishen what it means, and whispers it to him when no one else is paying attention.

My guilty pleasure is listening to instrumental music and picturing that my favorite characters are the ones playing it. I find myself picturing Taishen doing it the most probably, at least recently. Most of my hcs actually originate from music (like musicals and whatnot), so it makes sense ig.

[crowliphale]

I'm only in episode 3 of icebound but I think I really do SERIOUSLY recommend watching it under the assumption that Taishen has a crush on Jornir. It's improving their short interactions a lot for me 💭

Yap fest ahead, as well as general icebound spoilers (started jorshen focused but kinda just turned into general icebound thoughts)

first obviously taishen steered into the iceberg thinking he was following Jornir's directions, but there's also a couple times where he like. Tries Sounding Cool right after Jornir's said something ominous and mysterious and it's really funny?? Also when he woke up Jornir for his watch he was so gentle about it... Very cute. I really don't think Jornir reciprocates at this point in their journey but I'm keeping my eyes peeled 🙏

I think generally Mace is still trying to figure Taishen out at this point too, cuz I feel like everyone else has a lot of character specific moments or they know exactly what they're doing, but Taishen is just kinda quiet? Can't wait to see him get more moments to shine!

Also I was reading the firbolg wiki out of curiosity, and I learned that male firbolgs (in 5e anyway) are well over 10 feet tall, have huge beards and weigh significantly more than females! I'm obviously assuming that's been retconned in Avantris-specific lore, but it's what fueled my FTM Jornir headcanon hehe.

ALSO ALSO, Jornir has these weirdly pronounced smile lines? I guess they could come from snarling or grimacing too, but idk, I think it'd be kinda funny/cute if he used to be a pretty jovial guy in the past. The smilerrrr

Guh and Barnabos is just. He's so cool! Such a unique DND character even down to his mechanics, I love how genuine Mikey is in his sailor's paranoia and all. If he's improv-ing all the superstitions then it's really convincing! I've got a ton of ideas about Barnabos and his watery wife too 💭💭💭 very very good character

Queenie is very funny, I like Nikkie's latent ability to turn every conversation into a sex joke or a "who's on first" bit. I'll say that some of her southern colloquialisms could use some work, but at the same time it kinda feels VERY Queenie to just make up some extremely weak bullshit on the spot LMAOO. She's also been the most competent one mechanically speaking! I love that she's always keeping her material components in mind and finds ways to work them into roleplay.

Skrimm is so far the most animated. Andy always immediately knows what Skrimm's doing, he just LEAPS into the character really nicely and it's fun to watch. I ALSO ADOOOORE HOW HE PLAYS SKRIMM'S PARANOIA!! Some other characters in the past that they've described as "paranoid" are usually just mildly anxious, or are even sometimes just. Not Paranoid. But Skrimm feels so real and justified! He's suspicious of so much stupid shit and only really calms down when his friends are the ones telling him to do things! Guh he may not be my favorite in general but he's my favorite so far in his acting alone 💞

Not to mention Derek's DM'ing! It's so inspiring and nice to see him so excited about this, and learning about how much time and effort he put in is just baffling every time. 123 page planning document?! 12 pages of story planned for one session?? A WHOLE SHIP'S FLOORPLAN?! gosh he's just really really good at this right off the bat, it makes me excited seeing him be so excited. The pacing is also really good! I never find myself getting bored despite the episodes huge lengths... Guh... icebound

[luna-the-cretar]

First impressions of EOM (after finishing episode 1)

Story thus far: ?????? How can I verbally express how much I love it so far????? The train???? The mystique????? The conductor (who may or may not also be the narrator)????? The fucking MOON???? I just. I can’t verbally express how much this campaign already has me hooked. This campaign got me hooked faster than Icebound did, and I thought that Icebound hooked me pretty quickly (since I was all on board for Icebound by the end of Ep 1). But EOM? I was on board (heh) by the time the train first appeared to collect Jericho. Oooohhhh I’m so intrigued.

Jericho: I love him. He’s, admittedly, the character I knew the most about going into EOM, and I still knew next to nothing about him. I just knew that he was a living scarecrow and I knew about Virgil. I did NOT know about the demon, holy fuck. I’m curious. Also…he’s just so…I wanna hug him. So much. Poor guy deserves it. Actually, now that I’m thinking about it, I think it was inevitable I’d immediately fall in love with him. I mean, the first clue should’ve been that I immediately fell in love with Torbek (to the point where he literally got me into LOA in the first place), who is also a sad character with…oof. Iykyk. But also Jericho was, admittedly, the main reason why I finally decided on EOM as I was done catching up with Icebound. With the mixture of the couple of EOM shorts I’ve seen revolving around Jericho in some way, the bunch of Jericho fanart I’ve seen on here, and the Jericho song they revealed during the anniversary stream? Yeah…it was inevitable. Idk why I’m even surprised (actually, I think I’m mostly shocked that I fell in love with him the moment he started speaking)

Lethica: when Andy said during their BG3 gameplay on the stream on Saturday, that he was surprised that Lethica and Shadowheart’s stories were eerily similar, with Mace then asking if Shart was a cleric of Shar, I didn’t even begin to wonder as to WHY Mace even thought that. I was just shocked that he was right on the money for Shart. Then comes my absolute bamboozlement when reading Lethica’s card, seeing that she was ALSO a cleric of Shar, that suddenly Mace’s question and Andy’s comment made sense. Character-wise, she’s interesting so far. I love that she was immediately just. Very kind to Jericho. I’m interested to see where her character goes.

Marius, Briggsy, and Farryn: don’t have much to talk about either of these characters so far, so I’m combining them. Like Lethica, I weirdly love the fact that he was immediately very warm to Jericho upon meeting him. Also that he’s a very…hopeful person? It’s hard to say what I’m trying to get here, I’m just intrigued by his standpoint, and his relation to Lathander. All I really knew about Marius before going into EOM was his ship with Lethica, and I find it kinda funny that it’s—quite literally—Light x Darkness, just because of their respective gods. Very fun. I like Briggsy’s personality so far. And also, if I had a nickel for every time Richie played a lizardfolk warlock with some relation to death, well…I’d have 2 nickels. That I know of, anyway. And Farryn…I’m sorry but I didn’t even know you existed until I saw you paired against Gideon in the “which is gayer” LOA polls that’s going around. You’re cool so far tho. Like the accent.

Tl:dr: the story has me hooked, I will die for Jericho if he asked (tho he probably wouldn’t bc he’s such a sweetheart), Lethica is really cool so far, and the others are there too, I guess.

[bunpiry]

Heheheh, rubbing my hands together like an evil housefly

Can't drop all the questions in my inbox and not expect me to retaliate😈

Anyhow here we go:

So first of simple questions: what's her age? What languages does she speak other than common, if any?

I know that she's getting along with Skrimm well (cause Mayhem x Skrimm is something I 100% support), but how is she fairing with the others of the crew?

Assuming she was part of the ship, what role did she take in? As in Jornir was the doctor and Skrimm was on the look out, what was her job?

Can she do cool spider stuff like walk on walls?

Since this was a great question from you, how did she handle the fights with the turned crewmates?

How is she generally handling the whole situation since they were icebound? Scared and anxious or confident?

And thats it for now! Thank you again for engaging in me with my oc, luv and kisses and hugs💖💞✌️✨️

Crashes the and explodes

Holy shit. Alright so it's going to messy, so let me know if there are things that I miss or you don't understand!

Ough this is long..

(MENTIONS OF EPISODES 7 TO 9) (I may have mixed the numbers wrong but UHHHH)

■ So first of simple questions: what's her age? What languages does she speak other than common, if any?

● In her mid twenties! For languages, I have no idea, I was thinking about undercommon buuuuuuttt hhhhmm.

■ I know that she's getting along with Skrimm well (cause Mayhem x Skrimm is something I 100% support), but how is she fairing with the others of the crew?

● Oh, don't get me started /ref

Alright, how does she get along with the rest?

Jornir - Oh this is hella sweet, seems pretty confusing but Mayhem grew slightly attached to this guy. Climbs on his shoulder and stays right there for the rest of the day (until it hurts /j). Jornir on the other hand tolerates her because he isn't affected by her pranks. In other words, Mayhem respects Jornir, not because he's the leader or he's scary looking (She would say that he is but in a compliment way), but because there's familiarity in his bluntness and his role as the leader. Soo he gets the nothing to less pranks.

Queenie - Sister bond! Mayhem loves Queenie's stories and her fuzzy cute bees but there are times where she feels overwhelmed by Queenie's motherly thing and determination, it surprisingly scares Mayhem... it reminds too much about her loved ones in the past... it doesnt mean she dislikes Queenie, she likes her a lot. Also she gets the least to average of pranks.

Barnabos - No explanations, instant bestie mode. Both thirst for fight and battles and maybe blood? Yes. Often calls her "Young missy" because of her looks and the way she acts. She loves the way he cooks, reminds her of home. Pretty sure Barnabos sees her as a daughter (potentially...). Ironically, he gets the average to most pranks (he can tolerate it).

Taishen - Like Queenie, she sees him as an older brother and it scares the hell out of her too. But hey, that doesn't mean she dislikes him! Mayhem loves to mess this poor guy, like telling him scary facts about the entire world (it's all made up) because she likes to see the way he reacts. Oh she loves his tea, it actually helps her lessen the voices in her head, so there will be times where she'll stick beside him to wait for the tea. And he gets to have the least to average pranks.

Daisy - (I'm in episode 13 and I'm loving her...) This new girl in the team? Yeah she likes her, at first she pranked Daisy for the hell of it (got a little slap on the face for that). When Queenie told Daisy that her sister Honey was dead. She saw that grieving look on her face. Mayhem knew what it feels like. Daisy gets to have the least to average pranks.

■ Assuming she was part of the ship, what role did she take in? As in Jornir was the doctor and Skrimm were on the look out, what was her job?

● Hmmm, she could be in charge of the weapons in the ship! I mean, look at her. She created bombs, and she has a literal canon!

■ Can she do cool spider stuff like walk on walls?

● Oh, she can walk on the walls and the ceilings alright! It's how she met and scared Skrimm shitless. She can make webs because, well, spider. Using them as her hair ties. "Think smarter, not harder!" She says. She hisses like one. She can make a vibrating sound like a purr.

■ Since this was a great question from you, how did she handle the fights with the turned crewmates?

● She was scared and excited at the same time but horrified because Roland was only a kid. What do you mean he turned into THAT!? Plus, she liked the kid. She let him tinker around her bombs, and if it's about to explode, she turns it off with ease and a smile on her face. So, how did she handle it? Not well. She couldn't even think straight and was firing her canon blast in different directions because she did not want to hurt Roland. He was only a kid. And for the next one, the one in episode 9? Oh, her adrenaline was high off the atmosphere, and she went insane.

■ How is she generally handling the whole situation since they were icebound? Scared and anxious or confident?

● Upset that the ship got icebound to "What the fuck. Seriously. What the fuck" kind of thing. Poor girl can't catch a damn break LMAO.

[lordabovehelpme]

ONE MORE! How about after an attack or something happens, the reader made a mistake and ends up getting hurt. Din gets super upset and says a lot of things that are hurtful towards the reader and instead of fighting back they kinda just nod and accept it. after a few days Din notices how the reader starts to act different and apologizes once he realized that the whole thing was because of him. Just some angst ya know? THIS IS SO MANY IM SORRY

Dead- Din Djarin x Reader

Summary: You’re sure you died, but maybe not. 

Warnings: Drowning! 

A/n: No, it’s totally fine. I love all your asks! :) I hope you like this one! 

Masterlist

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It’s surreal and calm under the icy water. It feels like you’re being held still in time and space. Nowhere to go, nowhere to be. The water should feel freezing and yet, you can’t feel anything. Your chest should be screaming for air but you feel tranquil, not needing anything and nothing needing anything from you. Existing and nonexistent all at the same time.

The world surrounding you is tinted blue and it stays invariably silent. Your hair floats around, framing your face as you look about. Light casts down from above, highlighting the vast water. You’re starting to get tired, eyelids slowly opening and closing. Bubbles work themself from your mouth until no more are left.

Everything fades away, you can’t feel anything. Death is comforting, you conclude. It’s like the moment just before you drift off into a deep sleep. It’s not lonely or spine-chilling like people say, it’s like a blanket of security has been placed over you.

Is this it? Is this the final page in your story? 

You feel warm and cozy, accepting your fate. Opening your eyes to take one more final look at the world, you’re met with a dark blob swimming towards you. You smile as you realize it’s your mandalorian. Reaching out, you cup his cheek before closing your eyes for good.

***

His heart stops as you sink under the water. Body moving on autopilot as he shoots the rest of the group. Running over to the hole in the ice where you were discarded so ruthlessly by the quarry. Bodies surround the area and yet he pays no mind to them. Not thinking twice before diving into the dark icebound abyss after you.

Swimming as fast as the beskar will allow him, he nearly gasps when you reach out to him. Heart dropping to the pit of his stomach when you smile and close your eyes.

No! No, no, no! This can’t be right! You’re not dead! You can’t be! Thoughts fly through his head as he pulls you both up to the surface.

Running to the Crest with you in his arms he checks your neck for a pulse. His blood runs cold when he finds nothing. Yanking off his helmet he presses his head to your chest, no breath.

The water from the lake mixes with the salty tears trailing down his face. He starts pumping over your heart, willing it to start.

“Come on, cyar’ika! Don’t leave me like this!” He’s begging now, wishing he could have only been a tad faster. If only he would have kept you in the ship. You’d be safe and sound then.

He takes a deep breath before smashing his lips to your own. Tilting your head back slightly, he forces the air into your lungs. He starts pumping again, tears blurring his vision.

“Please, please.” If only he had shot the quarry sooner. Then it wouldn't have been able to grab hold of you. The memory of the quarry holding you over the frozen lake, its hands wrapped around your neck, playing over and over again in his head. “Cyar’ika.” He murmurs. The sound of your scream is endless, repeating like a broken record.

It’s been at least six minutes of his desperate cycle before his muscles ache for a break. You’re not coming back, you’re gone. He rests his head on your chest above your heart. He’s wailing now, loud sobs filling the Crest.

The child runs over to your body. “She’s gone. Buir’s gone.” He is broken, like his entire soul shattered into billions of pieces. The child lifts a hand before closing his eyes. But not long after, it collapses into a slumber. He picks up his son and sets him in his hammock.

“Good try, but nothing we can do can help her.” He says more to himself than his son.

***

Lights flash behind your eyelids. Your stomach protests and sends waves of bile and water up your throat. Yanked out of your peaceful sleep you are brought back to the world. Failing your arms you cough and hack up at least a gallon of water. Clutching your newly started heart, you finally get all of the water out of your lungs.

“Cyar’ika?” It’s the whisper of your nickname that greets you first. You open your eyes into the pitch black of the hull.

“Tin can?”

Arms wrap around your body pulling you close. What happens next surprises you more though.

“Cyar’ika! How dare you leave the ship without telling me!” He’s growling and yelling at you. “Are you so weak that even an unarmed quarry captured you? And what was going through your head when he strangled you?”

“I’m sorry.” It comes out meek and timid.

“Saying sorry doesn’t change the fact that you got in the way of my entire plan!” He doesn’t understand why he is yelling at you. All of his anger for the quarry is being thrown onto you but he can’t stop it.

You nod your head while looking at the ground, tears welling up.

“Don’t ever, EVER, do that again. Just stay put when I tell you to!” He gives you one final glance in the dark before pushing his helmet back on and opening the hatch, walking out into the world.

You’re absolutely flummoxed.

***

It’s been three days since the incident, neither of you talk about it. You’ve been trying hard to please the mandalorian, trying to make up for your mistake.

He realizes something is wrong when you’re two hours into hyperspace and you’ve not uttered one word. “Cyar’ika, what’s wrong?”

You look up to him with the most innocent eyes. “Oh, nothing.”

“Come on, I know something is up. What is it?”

“Nothing, Mando.”

“See that's the thing, you never call me Mando, it’s always tin can. What is wrong?” He is starting to get agitated and you can tell.

“Nothing, I swear.”

His fist pounds on the arm rest. “Tell me!” He is yelling now. “What is wrong with you?!”

“Fine! You want to know what's wrong, then I’ll tell you.” You’re yelling back at him. “It’s the fact that I literally died and you have not said one thing except that it was my fault!” You take a shaky breath before continuing. “If I am such a nuisance and I always get in your way, then why didn’t you just leave me to die?”

You can’t tell if anything you’re saying is affecting him, because he just sits there. “Did you even care?” Your voice cracks with vulnerability. Biting your lip you look away from him as the tears slip from your eyes.

It's silent for a couple minutes before his own shaky voice says, “Oh cyare, if only you knew how much I care.” He reaches for your hand but you flinch away. “I’m sorry for yelling at you. I was mad at the quarry and it all was projected onto you.”

You face his visor, locking eyes with the space where you know his eyes are.

“Cyar’ika, my world stopped when I saw you in danger. I just want you to be safe.” He reaches for you again, except this time you take his hand and plant yourself in his lap. “I love you so much and it hurt so bad when you were gone. I am not used to holding these emotions so I just distanced myself from you. I’m sorry.”

“You love me?” It's a hushed question that makes its way past your lips before you even realize it.

He chuckles and brings his helmet to press against your forehead. “I do, cyar’ika.” He takes a breath, “I do so much.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Well that was an emotional rollar coaster. Thanks everyone for reading and I hope y’all liked it!

Love, Lordy. 

[entwinedmoon]

John Torrington: A Portrait of the Stoker as a Young Man

(Previous posts 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8)

Different forms of art have depicted Torrington in different ways. In my last post I discussed how in music Torrington seems to be depicted as either some sort of restless spirit or reanimated man-out-of-time, with a focus on his death and the eerie undead appearance of his mummified body. There’s not much of a focus on what he was like when he was alive, with the inspiration for these works coming from the image of his dead body. Sadly, we don’t have any pictures of what he looked like when he was alive, but that doesn’t mean people haven’t tried to imagine it. In fact, Torrington’s depiction in visual artworks often focus more on what he was like when he was alive, with various attempts at reconstructing what he may have looked like before he died and was buried on Beechey.

One of the first attempts at recreating what he may have looked like comes from the Nova documentary “Buried in Ice.” At the very end of the documentary, there are artistic reconstructions of Torrington, Hartnell, and Braine. I’m not entirely sure who the artist was, but the credits list an illustrator, Wayne Schneider, and he may have been the one to draw these. I can’t find the illustrations outside of the documentary, so please forgive the bad quality of the screenshot I had to use below.

Here we have a John Torrington who looks aged before his time. He was only twenty when he died, but judging by the state of his lungs, he probably had a hard life, so he may have looked much older than his years. This is a very serious-looking Torrington, as if he were standing for a portrait or daguerreotype for several minutes and had to stay completely still.

This drawing also gives him almost shoulder-length hair. Owen Beattie was a technical consultant on the documentary, so he probably had a say in what the recreations of the Beechey Boys may have looked like. This makes me think that the hair length shown here is most likely how long his hair actually was. Yes, I know, I’m going on about his hair again, but due to the confusion over what his hair looked like, it tends to vary across artistic depictions, as we shall see.

Another thing of note in this recreation is the noticeable lines around his mouth. In the pictures of Torrington’s mummified body, there are prominent lines around his mouth, but how much of that was due to postmortem distortions and how much would have shown on his face in life is hard to know. The artwork above is not an official forensic facial reconstruction, and even official reconstructions are highly subjective, so this is just one possible interpretation.

There’s another artistic interpretation of Torrington from around the same time. Remember the children’s book Buried in Ice? Well, what’s a kid’s book without some illustrations?

Now that’s the face of a man who got sick of backbreaking, lung-destroying labor in Manchester and said, “Screw it, I’m going to the Arctic.” The hair here is similar to that depicted in the documentary illustration, but the lines around his mouth are softened. The illustrations for this book were done by Janet Wilson, and she brought a liveliness to Torrington’s face that the somber drawing from the documentary greatly lacked. He still has a slightly careworn face, but he looks closer to his actual age. Janet Wilson also did wonderful detailing on the shirt that he was buried in, which he is wearing in her drawing. The kerchief tied around his head in death is here tied around his neck—and I love the inclusion of the blue border around the kerchief, which is not really noticeable in the photos from his exhumation but is noted in the reports on his burial clothes.

I’m fond of this picture because it gives Torrington some personality beyond that of a sad, tragic victim. It makes him seem like a real person who lived, with a bit of a sly and carefree attitude. He also gives off a kind of back alley salesman vibe, like he knows a guy who knows a guy who could sell you a kidney. But I especially like it because he’s smiling as he’s speaking, and after seeing picture after picture of Torrington’s frozen death grimace, I would love to know what he looked like when he smiled.

There’s another artistic reconstruction which I found on YouTube. It’s by artist M.A. Ludwig, who has a YouTube channel (under the name JudeMaris) dedicated to facial reconstructions of various historical figures, including all three of the Beechey Boys. Here’s Ludwig’s interpretation of what Torrington may have looked like:

He looks much younger here than in either of the two previous interpretations. This John Torrington looks like a young man ready for adventure, with hopes and dreams of a long future. He has slightly shorter hair in this interpretation, but also, he’s blond. I’ve noticed confusion online about the color as well as length of Torrington’s hair, with a lot of people these days thinking he’s blond. I think that may have something to do with the wood shavings he’s resting on in photos, which as I discussed in a previous post, some people have confused for his hair. I’ve also encountered a few versions of the usual photos of him where the lighting looks different, resulting in the few visible wisps of his hair looking much lighter than official reports have described them. Interestingly, the blond hair makes him look younger and gives him an innocent and almost naïve appearance, completely different from the sly, I’ve-got-a-bridge-to-sell-you Torrington from the children’s book.

Now I’m going to move on to an artist who is well known to Franklinites. Kristina Gehrmann (@iceboundterror​) is a German illustrator and graphic artist who specializes in works with a historical or fantasy setting. She has drawn many pictures inspired by the Franklin Expedition, and I have bought several of them from her shop on Etsy, including three different versions of the ships Terror and Erebus sailing in the Arctic or caught in the ice. Currently, those three pictures are on my wall next to a large painting I inherited from my grandparents of two non-Franklin-related ships that I pretend are Terror and Erebus anyway (I call this wall The Boat Place). Gehrmann also wrote and illustrated a graphic novel in German about the Franklin Expedition, Im Eisland, published in three parts and available through Amazon. But if, like me, you don’t speak German, Gerhmann has made an English translation, titled Icebound, available for free here.

Gehrmann has actually drawn two slightly different versions of Torrington, one of which is more like the artistic reconstructions shown above and the other is of a fictionalized Torrington in the graphic novel Im Eisland. I love both of her interpretations, but they are of two different styles. Let’s start with the graphic novel version.

Im Eisland uses a manga-like style, so this version of Torrington is based in that. It gives him a wide-eyed, youthful—and joyful—appearance (when he isn’t dying of consumption, of course). This is the happiest and liveliest Torrington I’ve seen. The manga art style results in some simplified features and a rather modern hairstyle, but there’s nothing wrong with using some artistic license to better convey the personality of a character.

Gerhmann’s other illustration of Torrington is possibly my favorite, even if it might not be the most accurate:

This is a lovely illustration, and it really plays up Torrington’s youth, making him look almost angelic. I’m going to be completely honest—he is very pretty. This version of Torrington is an incredibly handsome young lad, and if Torrington really looked like this, then I think he probably would have been very popular in life. I could go on, but I probably shouldn’t.

I also love the amazing detail on the shirt. You may have noticed some slight variations in these recreations when it comes to his shirt, and I think that’s due to the fact that his shirt looks downright complicated in the few pictures we have of it. There are horizontal stripes and vertical stripes. There’s a high collar and buttons and all these folds that it can be hard to see exactly what it looks like, and unfortunately there were no textile experts present during the exhumation, so there was no one to lay out the shirt and take a closer look at it before redressing and burying him. But every time someone gives their best attempt at figuring out the puzzle that is his shirt, I’m happy, and this one looks very close to how it may have actually looked. My one issue with this picture is that his hair is short and blond, which doesn’t fit the description provided in the autopsy report. But the facial features look true, so I tend to overlook that little nitpick.

This version of Torrington, by the way, is probably the most well-known interpretation. In fact, when you search for John Torrington on Google, this picture crops up:

I have even seen online articles about Torrington that use this picture as a reconstruction example. This is in no way an official reconstruction of him, but it is by far the most popular. (And yes, I bought a copy of this picture, too.)

While reconstructions of what Torrington may have looked like when alive are common among artists depicting him, there is some artwork that uses images of his mummified body as inspiration instead. Irish artist Vincent Sheridan has a gorgeous collection of work inspired by the Franklin Expedition. Several of these feature the mummy of John Torrington, including an etching aptly named “John Torrington.”

Torrington appears as a ghostly apparition in many of these prints, alongside the repeated imagery of a skull, two very physical signs of the human cost of the expedition. While most of the bodies of the men lost have yet to be found, their bones scattered or buried across King William Island, Torrington’s body is a stark reminder that this tragedy did happen, and that these men did die, not just vanish off the face of the earth. I’ve described Torrington as the poster boy for the expedition before, and here his death seems to represent the death of everyone who sailed with Franklin, his face a haunting piece of evidence for the fate that met them all.

Now, I’m not entirely sure how best to transition between that solemn reminder of death and this last piece of Torrington-inspired artwork that I would like to mention, so I’m just going to dive in. This next artwork also uses the image of Torrington’s mummy as inspiration, but in a completely different manner from Sheridan’s work. I refer, of course, to the John Torrington plushie.

This adorable little mummy plushie was created by craft artist Nancy Soares, aka sinnabunnycrafts on Etsy (@sinnaminie​). Whether you think a plushie of a mummified body is in good taste or not, you have to agree that this little guy is freakin’ cute. I might be slightly biased, though, because he was originally crafted for a custom request from my sister as a birthday present for me. But now anyone can buy him or his Beechey buddies. This little guy even made a special appearance during John Geiger’s presentation at the Mystic Seaport Museum’s symposium, Franklin Lost and Found.

I think the fact that there’s a plushie of John Torrington is amazing. People used to take pictures of the recently deceased and use their dead loved one’s hair in jewelry to remember them, so this isn’t that different. To me, at least, it’s a memento to honor him, reminding me that Torrington was more than just a boy who died but a boy who once lived as well.

It is also super adorable.

Next: Torrington as depicted in literature. Spoiler alert! He dies. A lot.

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Torrington Series Masterlist

[elapach24]

The Left Hand of Darkness by Ursula K. Le Guin (Review and a little of analysis by me, Ela)

First of all, this is fourth novel of the Hainish Cycle/Ekumen series, and yeah, I should’ve started for the beginning, but guess what, I tried. And that was immensely boring.

This book has infinite covers versions, so I chose the most representative for what I got from it. (but I didn’t read this edition, I read the Spanish one lol)

A lone human ambassador is sent to the icebound planet of Winter, a world without sexual prejudice, where the inhabitants’ gender is fluid. His goal is to facilitate Winter’s inclusion in a growing intergalactic civilization. But to do so he must bridge the gulf between his own views and those of the strange, intriguing culture he encounters…

That (↑) was the reason why I kept on reading the book, because it was almost as boring as first Ekumen book. I’ve gotten a little bit of angry about the different synopsis I’ve found of TLHD (that’s how I’m going to call the book in question, has a really long name), 'cause characters here don’t change gender, they don’t have genders, they change sex, and most of the time neither have a sex at all.

About this matter, I felt really disappointed of Ai’s (main character’s) prejudice on femininity even after a year and so on Winter. And, suddenly, he understood that all Guethenians was female, male, androgynous and something out of those gender at the same time. Maybe it was that suddenly, bit I felt it like that.

Moreover, I almost didn’t feel anything with this book, not even that horrible cold so described.

I understand that Ursula didn’t have any internet resources of writing tips, but I’m done with info dumping. She was not as bad as Tolkien, but I didn’t need those descriptions of coasts, peaks and snowing, parallels, latitude... It’d be better to know more about Karhidish words for weather than the weather itself.

The thing I’ve found about authors pre-twenty-one century, is that they never show, just tell what’s happening. Is the character sad? They say they’re sad. Are they cold? They say there’s no blankets and they’re cold. It’s pretty boring, at least I can jump some paragraphs without feeling guilty.

I think I must say something good about TLHD. I mean, I rated it with three stars on Goodreads, didn’t I?

Well, Therem Harth rem ir Estraven (their name in Spanish was translated to 'Derem', and I think that version first them better), our co-star, was one of the principal reasons. Estraven was referred on the book with he/him pronouns as all of the characters (just two completely irrelevant exceptions for the plot), but I’m going to use they/them to all Guethenians because that was how Ursula had to do it to denote the lack of gender in this world and Ai’s comprehension of duality at the same time. Btw, I think ‘duality’ was a euphemism of what we call ‘binarism’.

Le Guin’s changes of narrator was interesting too, but I didn’t get too much the legends and myths part. I think they could have had more relevance and influence in following chapters and character’s decision-making. I’m glad we had some chapters from Estraven’s POV.

I must admit that I started to ship Estraven with Ai, they had a great connection and understanding that almost made Ai a less flat character. But… of course there’s a ‘but’:

“In a 1986 essay, Le Guin acknowledged and apologized for the fact that Left Hand had presented heterosexuality as the norm on Gethen”, says Wikipedia.

Thank you, Darling, you murdered a lovely character, didn’t let them even hold hands, and defended incestuous relationships over one of a non-gendered character and a masc human, but you said sorry. Thank u very much <3

How can you make a whole word lacking of gender, and ambisexual, and still make it heteronormative?!!!!!!! For God’s sake.

Not to mention the idealization of sexual abstinence. Something that I HAVE to mention is YOU CANNOT OVERLOOK THAT WHEN ESTRAVEN WAS SEXUALLY ASSAULTED THEY WERE TAKING A FEMALE FORM.

Every single time that a character was taking a position of weakness or a bothering attitude, they were related to femininity. Even after Ai’s ‘big realization’.

Goodness, I almost didn’t finish this book.

To get a breath of fresh air, have you thought about the name of the book? Sounds a little bit strange, but actually means “light”.

“Light is the left hand of darkness and darkness the right hand of light. Two are one, life and death, lying together like lovers in kemmer, like hands joined together, like the end and the way.” -Le Guin, 1969

Let’s talk about some politics. I didn’t get it. That’s all. I think that was a lot of worldbuilding to not to achieve anything. Yeah, they ended up with Ekumen, but not thanks to that bureaucracy nor (completely good-for-nothing) monarchy.

[matsitle]

#ArtLivesHere

It all starts with an inquisitive child, eyes wide open, held tilted forward, right on the edge of the frame. The problem with children – or at least mine own biggest problem with them – is that they always ask the difficult questions. It is no surprise that in some of our cultures children are usually discouraged, sometimes violently, from asking too many questions. It is even worse, I found out on Wednesday evening at the Blend Restaurant and Bar, when the question is a silent one. A stare. That is, when one is tasked with interpreting a child’s silent stare. Which is exactly what Mo Matli’s lens burdened us with at her maiden exhibition “Intrinsic Melanin” for Bloem First Fridays. The photograph of the boy is one of many adorning the Blend’s meshed wall. The boy with the menacing poser is staring down at us as we ask Rashid Vries, the main model of this exhibition, if as a person living with albinism feels black, or black “enough”. What is blackness vele? And what are the degrees to blackness – how much of it is enough? Is it the melanin perhaps? I choose to go with the photographer on this last one; ‘Intrinsic melanin’. Blackness in not just – to correct Biko’s formulation – a question of pigmentation. It is intrinsic in the centuries of dispossession (of land, labour and sense of being) that mark us all. No amount of pigmentation variations – be it natural as in the case of albinism or cosmetic as in bleaching – can alleviate blackness. Try as you might! (And I secretly root for those who try; who wouldn’t wanna escape?). I hear the boy whisper Fanon’s sagacious words to my ears; “I am over-determined from without. I am a slave not of the “idea” that others have of me but of my own appearance.” Kids and their bloody questions! I panic; can we move past the albinism of Rashid? Is he not a beautiful man – of course he is! That is the reason Mo shot him. Did he not just say he’s an engineering student? How did he manage to make the transition to being a model? And would he be doing more of this modelling thing? Can. We. Just. Not. Make. Him. A. Slave. Of. His. Appearance? We all know what that is like – it is our collective pain. We enter and nervousness engulfs the room. We attract security escorts in shops. We don’t get served in restaurants. Then why do we do it to him! But we were enslaved by his appearance – do albinos make albino babies? The boy in the top right corner of the wire mesh quizzically, even whimsically, asks a question that would’ve saved us four centuries of msunery had we knew the power to pose the question when the three ships docked at the cape; ‘aninyi perhaps?’ A question Ayanda Mabulu asks of white patrons of the #Amandla![Re]form,Debate,[Re]dress? exhibition catalogue book launch at the Oliewenhuis Art Museum the very next evening. The exhibition has been running from December last year, and it is one of the few that is decidedly black – in both the artists and the subject matter. Also curated by a black woman – another “milestone” in the museum’s history. Laughable really, the whole thing, were it not so painful. And indeed the artwork was painful. On opening night in December I thanked my imposed masculinity for not breaking down in tears when I confronted Reatile Moalusi’s photograph – titled #FMF III – of protesting students holding a placard with the words “police we are your children”. I was, in the words of Ayanda, paining. And this pain permeated through most of the artwork on display. This was, after all, ‘resistance art’. On the Thursday however, as I walked up to the Museum, I was joyously singing Makeba’s version of ‘Bahlelibonke etironkweni’. I was dancing even. Not one iota of my being told me there was something intrinsically wrong about finding joy in a song – a lamentation really – about black people (someone’s parent, child, lover) languishing in jail for daring to be. Enter Ayanda! I got to the museum and like a dog wishing to mark territory headed straight to the loo. The song still ringing in my head. I went straight for Moalusi’s photograph afterwards – it elicited fokol in me. I moved right along. All the artworks were quite. Boring even. So I gave them all a cursory look just to maintain my lie as a cultured person (we are responsible for the upkeep of our lies). One oil painting did manage to insult me though; Martin Steyn’s ‘Die land is ons land.’ A white man laying languorously on a large expanse of land. But only enough for a ‘Nxa!’ I went and took a seat and waited for the show – for that’s what it was, pre-Ayanda, a show – to get started. Sooner it ends, sooner I can check-in and say something banal like “what a lit time we had at Oliewenhuis” and live another day known as the patron of the arts. But Ayanda wasn’t about that life. When asked to introduce himself, after the flurry of self-congratulatory speeches from those involved for doing something so “radical” and other artists had literally just stood at the podium and said “Hi my name is….” and left, Ayanda recited ithakazelo zakhe. At their tale end he excused the ‘unsophisticated juvenile tongues’ of our paler counterparts and gave them a pass to just call him Ayanda. It got uncomfortable; but the kind of discomfort that makes things ‘lit’, that will have us tweet ‘bars!’, but threatens very little. He too must have noticed he was playing into the masochism (we seem to enjoy performing our pain) of the zeitgeist; a candidate for a meme. He went further. “We are not entertainers…we are not going to dance for you.” Some uncomfortable laughter could be discerned. Loso logolo ditshego akere? But how long will we hide behind laughter? He goes deeper. “You are worthy to be protested.” He tells the 1652s. We are now lodged in Fanon’s black abyss. There is no way we could laugh our way out of this one. Someone attempts to clap him off the podium. “Wait I am not done!” He must have heard IceBound on how applause kills. “This is not art…this is our pain!” He stands in front of Asanda Kupa’s “Situation right now.” A painting that painfully reminds one of the haunting line “the children are flying, bullets are dying” in Makeba’s ‘Soweto Blues’. Indeed this is our pain, it is not something to pretty up some dining room in Woodlands. “Fuck that! And fuck you.” He leaves the mic and walks away. “Thank you,” the curator, Tshegofatso Seoka, walks calmly to the stage, smiling away all that just happened. Time for the formalities is over, we hear, now let’s go mingle. But clearly her smile and infectious charm are not enough, she comes back after leaving the podium to disclaim that “Ayanda’s views” (not our collective pain, our immutable truth; just one man’s views in the melee of our wonderful freedom of competing ‘views��) do not represent the museum nor anyone who cares to distance themselves from such ‘anti-nation building’ sentiments. So much for encouraging debate! On Friday though at Pacofs “Lipstick” was looking to entertain and dance for us. But the perennial party-pooper I am (what with my constant search for meaning), what was meant to excite my baser instincts, led me to some very uncomfortable questions regarding black sensuality and femininity – the later a topic any black man must avoid like a plague in these perilous times. (Hotep policing alert!). It would seem to me, from the show and elsewhere, that black South African sensuality and femininity (I point out femininity specifically as it has been assigned by patriarchal determinism as the bastion of sensuality) is couched in white femininity on one extreme and black American sensuality at the other. It was quite telling that the women on stage all wore blond silky weaves, and displayed the Monroesque damsel in distress and non-patriarchy threatening feme fatale type of femininity. One that is very white in character. In this instance they looked to the music that'd be churned at a Mystic Boer karaoke night. All not local – important point this. When they got sensual, seductive, they looked to the Trace playlist; of course your girl B! led the pack. Again – all American. Femininity – white . Black – hypersexuality. This dichotomy is worth annals of literature. But let us not digress, the question here is where is our organic femininity and sensuality – one rooted in the soil of you will. The music says it all as to how the writer and director imagine femininity and sensuality. It is here that we need the wisdom of king Hlaudi's 90%. Music (and culture in general) influences how people imagine themselves. Music in particular speaks specifically to how we imagine ourselves in the libidinal economy. It is worth noting that when Hlaudi took the logical decision to play 90% local music on public radio, the loudest critics where Metro FM’s Sunday’s ‘love movement’ listeners. They begged profusely that 90% not apply here; as there simply weren’t enough romantic songs locally. Dare not ask what is more romantic than Masekela’s ‘Marketplace’ or Mahlasela’s ‘Kuyobanjani’. It became apparent then that South Africans don’t deem ourselves capable loving – being romantic – on our own terms (not that we do much on our own terms, the colony we are). This is especially surprising from a people that (admittedly mostly when selling ourselves to tourists) describe ourselves as ‘musical’. We can compose a struggle song one time! – as Tatz Nkonzo ably demonstrated – but to express the love in our heart, we need to cross the sea and search for our dictionaries and twangs (the current Lesedi FM TV advert is a welcomed deviation from this abnormality). This is highly disturbing. It also explains why Babes Wodumo blew up so big; despite a largely mediocre album. She represented something that has been absent from South Africa’s popular imagination for a long time; authentic township black female sensuality. Lipstick though stuck to the colonial script; no “I love Hansa and fucking” Brendaesque ‘bad girl’ sensuality, or cheesegirl fragile femininity was invoked. Never mind a new kind of black femininity or sensuality outside the confines (be it submission or rejection) of patriarchy being imagined anew. But because God is a lesbian and o hana ka seatla, there was another happening not too far (listen to me lie!) from Pacofs where we could surely not suffer the dearth of local music. Protential Inc. was hosting ‘Love & Hip Hop’ at Club Zanadu. The people were beautiful; all seemed to be genuinely happy to see us. We were home. We were happy. The line-up was packed, the stage was never lonely – Mafia Code especially owned that space, their energy and fresh sound (christened Koriana-Trap) puts them miles apart of most upcoming and established artists. The bar too. Conversation centred around there – a few pleasantries were exchanged, not enough insults, and mild curves all fought for space on that counter. The pool tables too had plenty of company. It was a Dostoyevsky paradise – everyone had somewhere to turn to. Local music too aplenty – but the incorrigible amongst us insisted that the DJ must play local local music, from Bloemfontein, from the Free State. “Don’t all these rappers dotting the place have EPs? Play those!” But they were sad to learn that rappers were begged to submit music for the playlist but dololo. ‘So what to can must happen?’ the organisers asked. These people and their bloody questions! We thus failed dismally to Hlaudirise that set. CJ though – still very much part of Simple Stories! – heeded Hlaudi’s leadership somewhat on Saturday evening at the Blend. His set, an eclectic mix of original compositions and covers, had a healthy dose of South African covers. One novel thing he did was to cover a living and still active South African artist – Zahara. This was refreshing as our local artists, on the rare occasion that they do cover local songs (ironic this), stick with the dead – the “legends” (another word Rampolokeng warns us about). I guess this gives credence somewhat to Mosoeu’s gripe that all black people are good for is dying. CJ and his girlfriend also set the bar high, and simultaneously cut wings of unsupportive lovers, by Skyping throughout his performance – twas the romantic thing ever! So long as there is an IP address no lovers should be apart on such occasions. He dedicated a song to the three of us sitting in the front row, about women who bluetick us kanti they’re curving the greatest experience they could ever have. He was right, as least in my case (coz vele mna yhu ndiGreat, ndiWow, in this thing of loving), and for that I will give him a pass for (correctly, we must concede) assuming our sexuality and relationship status. We were all shocked when he confessed, on a Beyoncé classic, to having a big dick – aaram skepsel. But artist are known for revealing a bit too much of themselves. We just sang along; sans the confession. He led us through a medley of emotions and genres. We travelled from RSA to UK to USA and back home. All the time, like a good captain, he kept us in the loop. And landed us safely into the comfortable bosom of the night. A lovely cloudy cool night. We were free to do the things that made the pots disappear. When all was said and done, all that could be done the Sunday after the Saturday was braai meat, recount our failures and plan for more so that we can fail better next time, all because #ArtLivesHere.