#these are from february and i LOOKED through my archives but could not find it ???

[spacemaverick]

i couldnt find these posted anywhere so im making sure theyre here now! sally fox form concept + random dramatic sketch

@aenor-llelo

[alister312]

The Origins of "DeLorne": An Update, A New Mystery, and Fandom History

So I've had this little thing among my pinned posts for a while, but basically, I've been curious where "DeLorne" (Christophe's almost universally agreed upon last name in the fandom) comes from. Previously, the earliest instance I'd found was on a dA art post in 2006, but I've since done more research and uncovered incredible pieces of fandom history, as well as a mystery! It's a pretty long story, but if you're interested in South Park fandom history at all (especially pertaining to Gregory and Christophe), I think you'll find it all fascinating. Let me rope you into the journey I've found myself on.

While I've been curious about "DeLorne" for a while, this particular phase of my research initiated from another pet project of mine— that being to read and archive all Gregstophe fics on FFN should the site go down someday. The oldest Gregstophe fic you can find just using filters was published in August 2005 and is called There's Always Tomorrow by Bagatelle. While this is the only Gregstophe fic on their FFN account, I've come to learn through sources I'll mention later that Bagatelle was a prolific Gregstophe author.

Anyway, the important thing to know for now is that I thought There's Always Tomorrow might actually be the true originator of "DeLorne" for a bit, as it uses it for Christophe's last name.

The author's intro of the first chapter cites two fics as inspiration for their own: Fierte Dedans (supposedly by KyleBroflovskiFan) and Parable of a Boy Named Gregory (supposedly by someone named either Oyaji or Zidane 2003). They also refer to Qindarka, aka the author of the famous Creek fic Aisle 10, as "my love" which is just an extra fun piece of fandom history to me.

With these other fics serving as a reference to There's Always Tomorrow, I figured they might also have "DeLorne". I went looking and discovered Fierte Dedans, which turned out to have been published in May 2005 by Saboteuse (their deviantArt name was KyleBroflovskiFan which is likely why they were called as such earlier). It's an unfinished fic, only getting two chapters and one sect of the love quadrangle(?) in (the fic was set to be a Gregstophe/Tophlovski/Style fic). In the first chapter, however, during a role call scene, it used "DeLorne" as Christophe's last name.

This was very exciting— I'd found a new origin point!

The author hadn't uploaded a fic since early 2014, but I decided "fuck it" and sent them a PM on FFN, asking if they were the first to use "DeLorne" or if they'd gotten it from somewhere. Miraculously, I got a message back!

So, not an origin, but at least it was a definitive answer! It also raised a new question, that being about Gregory's old fanon last name "Thorne". The aforementioned fic There's Always Tomorrow also uses "Thorne" as Gregory's last name and mentioned taking it directly from one of their inspirations— Parable of a Boy Named Gregory. I mentioned this to Saboteuse, who said that fic was definitely what they associate "Thorne" with but they weren't sure if it was the originator or simply popularized it.

Naturally, I had to find what I could about this Parable fic. Google was mostly a dead end though, only giving me its shoutout in There's Always Tomorrow and a mention of it in the Tropedia article on Celebrity Paradox. I learned it was a Pip/Gregory fic, that it was "of epic length", and there was a plot point involving a North Korean invasion. Put a pin in Parable, we'll circle back around to it.

Back on the trail of the origins of "DeLorne", thanks to @/stankvle's help, there seemed to be a new potential origin point:

February 2005 was now the earliest Christophe had been given the last name "DeLorne". This made me curious and I searched "christophe delorne" on deviantArt. This sketch was the earliest published thing in the search results, but I decided to check out other works and came to a fic from Jan 2006 called Brimstone by BassistArtistLoser. In the description, I found this:

This to me seemed to imply that "Twitch" could've been the first to use the name and everyone else copied them. I had to find Twitch.

Among the comments was a user named "twitchablewiz", who I assumed to be the same Twitch. Their deviantArt was mostly empty, seemingly wiped clean, save for a few posts including a poll asking what their final fic they published to FFN should be. I went searching and found one of those fics mentioned in the poll. I didn't care about that fic; instead I was more interested in another fic on their profile: a Tophlovski fic from December 2005. I had hoped to find "DeLorne" there, concrete evidence that they indeed used that last name.

Sadly, this fic with almost completely gutted because it was a smut fic and FFN was apparently cracking down on those back then. Twitch claimed they would reupload the fic on "FOSFF dot net" aka Freedom of Speech Fan Fiction Archive but apparently that entire site was wiped clean in 2013.

The interesting takeaway, however, was this bit:

There was another mention of Oyaji, the supposed author of Parable of a Boy Named Gregory, aka the possible origin of "Thorne"! I had tried searching "Oyaji" and "Zidane 2003" before to no avail, but now I had a new name to try. With this, I was able to find Oyaji's deviantArt. In scrolling through their past posts, I discovered this:

So here we have it: the reason why Parable was impossible to find before was because Oyaji intended on publishing it! This fic that might be the origin of "Thorne", Gregory's old fanon last name, might have been turned into a real novel. Oyaji says nothing in any of their other posts about whether or not they were actually able to publish. What they did provide though, as you can see, is their email.

So I emailed them, asking about Parable— if it got published, if I could read the original, if it truly was the origin of "Thorne". And, since Gregory and Christophe have been intrinsically linked to one another since their inception in 1999, I also asked if Oyaji might know anything about the origin of "DeLorne". I had hoped that I could get a response like I had when I messaged Saboteuse but, sadly... it seems that email account has been deleted.

As of March 12th, 2023, this is where the story ends. I feel like I'm so close to solving this fandom mystery, but there's still so many questions remaining. Is me-ladie the one who originated "DeLorne" as Christophe's last name, or was it Twitchy, or was it someone else entirely? Is there even an origin at all, or was it just collectively agreed upon by all the Christophe fans back in the early 2000s as Saboteuse supposes? Does "Thorne" come from Parable of a Boy Named Gregory, and did it actually get reworked and published as an original novel? Does anyone out there have a copy, or is it lost to time forever? I still don't know, and may never, but I wanted to get what I have thus far out there.

In looking for the origins "DeLorne", I came across this: the very first fic to tag Christophe on FFN.

It was published in October 2003, less than five years after Bigger, Longer, and Uncut premiered. It's mindblowing to me that people were loving Christophe and writing about him all the way back then! And yet... this is only the idea of history, since the author gutted the fic. I appreciate it remaining up in a way, though I wish there was a way to find and read this honestly historic fic.

So much of fandom history is forever lost to time as the web and vibe of the fandom evolves, especially something as little as popular fanon last names of one-off characters from South Park. Even if some of it isn't relevant anymore ("Thorne" hasn't been popular for Gregory in years), to let it be lost or pretend current fandom is all that matters feels sad to me. Even if what we have now might be better, I think it's important to appreciate or at least take the time to really understand where what we have came from.

[desertdollranch]

Dolls brands I never thought I'd own, part 4: Global PenPals

Meet Amity Anderson!

This doll was a tough cookie to track down. I first stumbled across her last year while searching for a completely different doll on eBay. I thought she was adorable, but priced way too high, so I let someone else have her. When I saw her come up again recently for a lot cheaper, I lost the bidding war. When she popped up unexpectedly a third time, I managed to snap her up right away.

The first time I saw her, I was curious about her origin, since the listing said nothing about the brand, Global PenPals. I figured it was someone's small business, because it's an unfortunate truth that many, many 18 inch doll companies produce beautiful and quality dolls for a few short years and then go out of business. Because she certainly didn't look poorly made or low quality; she obviously had a lot of love put into her production. I could tell she had a really nice wig and a carefully sculpted, realistic face mold. She was meant to be more than just a toy, but a little friend as well. That's what I liked about her. She was special, rare, obscure, and unique. And as much as I love my American Girl dolls, I also love the rare and obscure 18 inch dolls that have fallen into my lap over the years through pure luck. That has turned me into a connoisseur of obscure dolls. The rarer, the better.

So for that reason I couldn't get her off my mind. I became very fixated on finding one. I did a Google search that brought up nothing but the listing for her, plus a few dolls with similar brand names, or sites for finding an actual human pen pal. But I noticed the listing photo included a picture of her box, which had the URL of the brand's website. It was defunct, so I plugged into the Wayback Machine at archive.org to see what I could find.

Keep reading for a deep dive into The Global PenPals.

(Hello to anyone in the future who might be doing a web search about this doll! I'm sure you've found little to no information. I've put everything right here for your convenience!)

...

The site's first snapshot was taken in February 2011. It has a very short intro:

"This site is dedicated to children everywhere. Autumn Woods and Amity Anderson will begin pen pal corresponding with children in other parts of the world. They will learn about different living conditions and diverse cultural traditions. Will they discover that children are the same worldwide? Come along with us and see!"

None of the links on the sidebar were archived by the Wayback machine, so I looked at the next three snapshots, taken in July 2013, January 2014, and December 2014 (the final snapshot).

Now this snapshot displays a lot more content, although once again most of the site didn't get archived. The intro is more or less the same. But now we can see illustrations of the two main characters, Autumn Woods and Amity Anderson.

Clicking through the "Meet and learn more about Autumn" graphic linked to a page that had biographies for both characters.

Autumn Woods introduces herself first. She was born in October, hence her name, but she loves Christmas more. She lives in Kennewick, Washington with her parents and younger sister, and likes her school. She's athletic and loves to do cartwheels. Her best friend Amity lives in Basin City, near the farm where her grandparents live. She doesn't know a whole lot about the world outside of Kennewick, so she's looking forward to making pen pals all around the world.

Amity Anderson introduces herself next. She loves living on a farm in Basin City, and most of the other kids at her school are also from farming families, or live in the area seasonally, which has made her curious about the lives of other children of different background. Her family grows cherries, and sometimes the crops fail due to weather conditions. They also have lots of animals including dogs, cats, and cows. She has a secret hideout in the hay loft.

The next page linked at the top contains all of the pen pal letters to and from Autumn and Amity.

There are 10 pages of these letters. The first letter is dated June 11th of 2011, and the final one is dated August 14th of 2013.

Next link is Marcia's Dolls.

To sum it up, Global PenPals was started by Marcia Elovich in 2010. She had always sewn doll clothes for her granddaughter, and her husband built doll furniture. She used dolls to help schoolchildren learn more about the lives and perspectives of children all over the world. She modeled the dolls' faces on her granddaughter and niece, and hopes to introduce more dolls to the brand.

The next link is to the shop.

Only the Amity doll is being sold here. All the images are broken, but I can see that Amity cost $59.00.

The next tab, Media, is pretty much empty.

That's all that I can access with the Wayback Machine, but I didn't stop there.

I Googled Marcia Elovich and found the three Global PenPals books she has published.

These are current, no need to use the Wayback Machine. Here's the link to the list if you're curious about the books. You can click through and read summaries of each.

"About the Author" on the second and third books:

Marcia Harvey Elovich has enjoyed interacting with children in family, at school and other community settings. When she began looking forward to retirement from the local school district, she set up a website around two fictional characters, Amity Anderson and Autumn Woods, using her granddaughter and her niece as visual models for the character images she draws. Through the website, Marcia continues to story-tell to youngsters and adults alike. Amity lives on the farm in Basin City where, in fact, Marcia was raised, and she pursues many of the same interests and activities Marcia did while growing up with her best friend Linda. Autumn lives in town and attends Amistad Elementary School, where Marcia formerly worked as a para-eductor, and earlier as a nurse in the Kennewick School District. This was the birthplace of her peaked interest in interacting with children and later-in-life interest in education. Marcia has recently begun manufacturing of the character dolls and is now converting the website stories into children's books. Also within the framework of her stories, Marcia has interactions from her personal pen pals with whom she is communicating around the globe. Through contrast and compare, she can better present awareness of how alike we are from country to country, culture to culture, religion to religion. "Perhaps the next generation will be more compassionate, not merely tolerating diversity but embracing it!" she adds. In their retirement, Marcia works with her husband and sidekick Bob, marketing her dolls and his woodworked doll furniture. She has one young adult son living at home and an older son living within the community. Her daughter and grandchildren live out of state, so she has to love them long-distance. Through Bob, she has acquired a second daughter who lives in the area and a step-son living out of state. Marcia specifically wants to thank her mother and father, Bob and Kay Harvey, for providing a childhood almost as colorful as the fictional one of which she writes. They gave to her, her three brothers and many childhood friends their mentoring in an era when the village actually did help raise the children.

I also found Marcia's Pinterest profile. She has pinned exactly four images.

The first two are the illustrations seen on the website. The other two are pictures of the dolls.

This picture's caption:

"Amity Anderson if one of the first two characters at www.theglobalpenpals.com and the first to be manufactured as a doll. She is vinyl with soft body and has beautiful peach complexion, with perfect detail down to tiny doll- scale freckles across her nose. She comes in clothes as seen, turquoise tennis shoes, and the matching elastic headband on her long, tangle-free auburn hair. I designed the doll after my own granddaughter. Lovely presentation box designed solely for The Global PenPals."

This confirms that the doll I have is indeed Amity, not Autumn as I had sort of guessed. Amity is illustrated with bangs, but it seems that changed at some point in the doll's design.

I guess that's Autumn on the left? I see no indication on the site or elsewhere that she was ever sold, so it's possible she never made it past the prototype stage.

There's very little else out there about the dolls. A few pictures on Worthpoint with captions stating what I've already put here.

Amity seems to be one of those ultra-rare dolls that only a few collectors know about. After losing out on two other listings, I know that at least two other people do have one and know what Amity is worth. But I have no idea exactly how many dolls were ever produced and sold before the brand disappeared, which probably happened within three years of their debut.

I wonder if their failure may have been due to the price point, $59, which seems very low for a doll with such a nice wig, sleep eyes, a cloth body, a beautifully designed box, and proprietary clothing.

[theladyofshalott1989]

In honor of the first anniversary of Like Moths to a Flame on Wattpad, here's a smutty one-shot for y'all.

The idea was sparked by an episode of Fellow Travelers on Showtime. It’s a bit of a departure from my usual style, but it was an absolute joy to write. While it's set within the Like Moths to a Flame series, it can be read as a standalone. Enjoy! :)

Mood: “you should see me in a crown” by Billie Eilish

You can read it at the link above OR I have also posted it below (after the cut). Warning: It is explicit!

⋆｡°✩⋆｡°✩⋆｡°✩⋆｡°✩⋆｡°✩⋆｡°✩⋆｡°✩⋆｡°✩⋆｡°✩⋆｡°✩⋆｡°✩⋆｡°✩⋆｡°✩⋆｡°

On the second Tuesday of February in the fortuitous year of 1899, Sebastian Evans-Sallow returned home to a hell of a surprise.

Our esteemed protagonist froze in the middle of the entryway, his hand on the doorknob. Staring slack-jawed at his husband, he somehow managed to form the words: “What in Merlin’s name are you wearing?” His voice cracked very noticeably in the middle of his shocked inquiry, which was deeply unfortunate, but upon deeper reflection, was perfectly understandable. Sebastian hadn’t recalled his voice doing that since he was a pre-teen. He chuckled in spite of himself.

Damien shouted out in alarm, throwing himself clumsily through the nearest doorway. “You weren’t supposed to be home for another half an hour!” He punctuated his proclamation with an exasperated huff. It was, frankly, adorable.

“I wanted to get ready before the event,” Sebastian said, having recovered enough now to enter their humble abode. He shut the door quietly behind him and tiptoed through the hall.

“Well, you need to leave and come back in ten minutes! It was supposed to be a surprise!”

Sebastian scrambled to find a hiding place. Ah yes, one of the bookshelves should suffice. He pressed his torso against the side of the nearest one, finding an angle that would hopefully keep him out of Damien’s line of sight. It was just in time as mere moments later Damien popped his head around the corner of the doorway.

“Sebastian?” Damien called out.

Sebastian didn’t reply. He brought his fist to his mouth and bit down on his knuckle to hold back a laugh.

Damien gradually eased himself through the door. “Bash, did you leave?” Their orange tabby cat, Tabitha, slunk behind him. Wherever Damien went, the cat followed. She was clingy like that. To be fair, Damien also encouraged it.

Sebastian observed his two housemates, his beloved husband and his stubborn feline-child, with bated breath. Tabitha certainly knew he was in the house - the cat was annoyingly observant - but he hoped that she and he had an understanding. If Tabitha didn’t give Sebastian away, there would be treats. Lots and lots of treats.

“He left. Good,” Damien said to the cat, making an attempt to reach down and gingerly pat her head, but failing rather miserably. “Can’t have him ruining the surprise for himself.” He straightened back up. As to why he failed in his cat-patting endeavor? Well, one would if they were unaccustomed to wearing a corset. Which Damien was wearing right at this very moment.

What a time to be alive! What a glorious day to come home early! What a… Damien turned around and Sebastian got a good look at him, not just a side profile, for the first time. His breath hitched. His trousers suddenly became uncomfortably tight. Merlin’s arse, Damien was a bloody wonder. This man could do things to him. How did Sebastian ever win over this alarmingly beautiful man? His husband was absolute perfection.

Was Damien seriously considering wearing a corset, and presumably a dress, to Sirona’s Valentine’s Day ball? Or was this wondrous ensemble just for Sebastian? If it was just for him… they very well might not be attending the ball tonight after all. They wouldn’t have any energy left.

Well, Sebastian would just have to wait and find out. Although how much longer he could wait before he burst, he couldn’t say.

Damien made his way back into their bedroom. Sebastian heard rustling and a string of muted exclamations, although nothing worse than “Blast!" since Damien was a proper gentleman. When he was presumably finished, Damien floated back into the living room in a full dress, lace finish and everything, the full works. It was positively sensational.

Sebastian nearly lost it then and there. He stuffed his fist back into his mouth, this time biting down harder than he intended. And then, Damien spun in a circle. Scratch that, Sebastian was done for. He fell back on his arse with a loud thump. The noise brought Tabitha straight to him - damn cat! - alerting Damien to his hiding place.

“Bash!” Damien exclaimed, placing his hands on his narrower than usual waist. He pouted prettily.

From Sebastian’s vantage point on the floor, Damien looked so different, and yet so ravishing, that he struggled to compose his face. A part of him needed to laugh, quite badly, more from astonishment than ridiculousness, for Damien was too lovely in that baby blue dress to elicit anything but pure joy. The other part of him needed to ravage his husband immediately. That part of him, thankfully, took over entirely.

Sebastian scrambled up and threw himself at Damien. At his sudden movement, Tabitha yowled and bolted from the room. Damien let out a shocked gasp as Sebastian grabbed him by the waist and backed him up against the wall.

“Hello there, beautiful,” Sebastian said, his chestnut-brown eyes boring into Damien’s golden-brown ones. He bit his bottom lip as he analyzed Damien’s reaction.

Damien's eyes widened for the briefest of moments and his lips parted slightly, awaiting an expected snog. His pupils darkened in kind. Damien’s body, which was wedged against the wall, pressing against Sebastian’s, responded as Sebastian knew it would, but the many layers of his dress were stubbornly in the way. Sebastian released his hands from Damien’s waist and dropped down, lifting the dress, but finding it more difficult than he anticipated.

When he finally managed to tame the heavy layers, Sebastian eased back up and, breathing harder than he intended, asked, “Is this ensemble just for me or was it meant to be shared with the rest of the world?” His lips hovered over Damien’s lips, teasing him mercilessly.

Damien moaned before replying, “You, Bash. Only for you.”

Sebastian grinned wolfishly, leaned back in, and made contact with Damien’s perfect mouth. “Good answer,” he replied between kisses. “Top marks.”

They attacked each other greedily, hands exploring each others’ bodies as they were often wont to do. Even though they’d been together for what felt like ages now - Sebastian could barely remember a time when Damien wasn’t his constant, cherished shadow - Damien’s touch was still exciting, electrifying, truly invigorating. The dress was a nice touch though: different, captivating. But it was time for it to come off.

Sebastian abruptly stopped his focused ministrations. Where did one begin? The dress was practically a prison. There were far too many buttons and ties to be practical.

“How did you manage to get this damned contraption on?” he asked as his eyes scanned Damien’s unusually confined frame.

“Well, my dear,” Damien said, “there is this very handy thing called magic. I don’t know if you’ve heard of it.”

"That does ring a bell," Sebastian replied with a smirk, finally finding a series of buttons scattered across Damien's chest that hinted at a potential escape route. “I might have heard something about it in passing.” He began undoing the buttons, planting a kiss on Damien’s bare skin, a light patch of hair tickling Sebastian's nose. 

“I think you have it sorted. Mostly.” Damien provided Sebastian assistance by untying some ribbons on his right side, revealing another slew of buttons that had been hidden under a plait of fabric.

“Ridiculous,” Sebastian mumbled under his breath. With the dress now loosened, he pulled it down past Damien’s hips, and the hefty garment cascaded around Damien’s feet. Damien promptly stepped out of it as Sebastian stripped off his own, far less constrictive, clothing.

Duty done, Sebastian clutched Damien by the shoulders and spun him around, shoving him firmly against the wall once more. Damien tensed very briefly, but quickly relaxed, melting under Sebastian’s grip.

The corset remained on. The hardness of it, the unique sensation of it against Sebastian’s chest, was a new, welcome experience. Sebastian traced his hands up and down the whalebone, stroking hard so Damien could feel the pressure of it, the pressure of Sebastian’s all-consuming desire for him.

Satisfied, Sebastian then nestled his head in the crook between Damien’s neck and shoulder. “Ready?” he whispered.

“Always.”

Sebastian dropped his hand to Damien’s bare arse and squeezed, eliciting a quiet chuckle from Damien’s lips. Sebastian brought his hand back up to his mouth, licked it generously, then brought it down to his cock. He lubricated himself quicker than usual, since he was already practically drowning in pre-cum. Once ready, he declared, “Brace yourself, love,” and entered Damien, thrusting immediately, just as Damien liked.

Damien groaned in appreciation, craning his neck to the side to lock eyes with Sebastian. Eye contact was key, even from this angle. Damien and Sebastian preferred to climax while observing the minute reactions on each others’ faces. Sebastian never ceased to enjoy the subtle wrinkling at the corners of Damien’s eyes, more pronounced now in adulthood, as the pleasure hit.

And with years of practice, Damien could now orgasm in this position, with Sebastian inside him, without even touching himself. Sebastian was still rather chuffed by that fact. The first time it happened, shortly after they were engaged, Sebastian had been so inspired that they spent the entire night in congress. They had been lucky it was the weekend, for in the morning they were so exhausted - having each orgasmed a handful of times - they slept the entire day away. It was one of the best nights of Sebastian’s life.

Sebastian was pulled out of his reverie by the familiar sensation of his cock hardening further inside Damien, building up in anticipation of release. Damien’s breaths came more hurriedly and Sebastian watched as the muscles in his jaw tightened. Damien was close; Sebastian was too.

“Come for me, my love,” Sebastian murmured into Damien’s ear. Damien didn’t hesitate. He came as commanded, moaning with pleasure, his body shuddering under Sebastian. Sebastian followed forthwith, his breath stolen away from him as he reveled in the explosive bursts, sending a shiver of ecstasy down his spine all the way down to his curled toes. Ah, bliss.

Once his wits were somewhat recovered, Sebastian released himself from Damien, then pecked him lightly on the side of his neck. Damien turned around slowly, almost lazily, a dazed expression on his face. Sebastian didn’t blame him. He had once asked Damien to describe what it was like to orgasm without ejaculating. Damien’s response had been astonishing.

“It’s more intense, completely incapacitating,” he had said, a wistful look in his eyes. “Time stops, your face blurs, everything around me turns into a swirl of colors. It’s… beautiful, like a work of art.”

Sebastian hoped that someday he’d be granted such a mind-altering experience, but until that day, he was more than satisfied. He had his health, a wonderful home, and a fulfilling job, but most importantly, he had Damien. Damien—his kindred spirit, the love of Sebastian’s life. Whether clad in a man's or a woman's attire, Damien had the power to bring Sebastian to his knees with pleasure. Figuratively speaking, of course. What more could he ask for?

[zenonaa]

Fandom: Dangan Ronpa: Trigger Happy Havoc Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Relationships: Fukawa Touko/Togami Byakuya Characters: Fukawa Touko, Togami Byakuya, Naegi Makoto Summary: After Togami is 'forced' to eat Fukawa's Valentine's Day chocolate, he enlists Naegi's help to find out how much it cost so he can conpensate her appropriately.

Comments: Day 1, Gift! Valentine's Day fic in October, why not?

💖 Please like, reblog, leave kudos and/or comment on AO3 💖

***

Before Byakuya Togami learned to read, he would tug on his butler’s trouser leg until Aloysius brought him to his mansion’s library. Behind the carved wooden door, books upon books filled Byakuya’s vision. Some sat low enough for his toddler hands to grab. Others soared high on shelves only ladders could reach. Once Aloysius had found a book that Byakuya didn’t throw to the floor, they would sit together on a sofa bench and Byakuya would point at the words he wanted Aloysius to read aloud.

Hope’s Peak’s library wasn’t as big as the one in his childhood home, but it sufficed. The recently opened library in the east quarter of campus spanned two floors, stitched together by winding staircases. As Byakuya emerged into the library, he scanned his surroundings and found it almost vacant of people.

Perfect. Byakuya liked to spend evenings here, and he liked to do so undisturbed. Despite the darkening sky visible through the window wall, the interior shone metallic silver. Optimal reading conditions. He grabbed a book from the crime section and sat down at one of the many tables dotted around. For the next several hours, he intended to read in peace and quiet.

“This is for you.”

Not even ten minutes could have passed. Immediately recognising the voice, Byakuya grimaced and looked up. Touko Fukawa stood by his table. His eyes lowered from her pink face to the dark green box in her grubby hands.

“What is that?” he asked, though he already knew because today was the fourteenth of February. Valentine’s Day. 

It was also why the library was especially empty. Everyone else was either on a romantic date or partying with their friends. Sayaka Maizono organised a gathering for the girls in their class, which he knew because Touko loudly declined the invitation in their classroom a few days ago. And he also knew most of the guys planned to eavesdrop on said party, spearheaded by Leon, Yasuhiro and Hifumi. For ‘Man’s Greatest Ambition’, for free chocolate and to fit in in that order. Fools. 

Byakuya didn’t need to concern himself with that sort of uncouth thing. His sperm would one day be sent off and used to artificially inseminate women from around the globe, all appraised and deemed to be of exemplary quality. Then he would be coupled with the mother of whoever was chosen to be his heir. Even then, that would only be for appearances. His parents hadn’t been in the same continent since he was selected to be his father’s heir.

Which meant Touko, standing there with her hunched shoulders and messy braids, was doomed the moment the plan first sprouted in her barren brain. 

“They’re chocolates,” she said.

Irritation pinched between his brows. “What possessed you to blight my eyesight with that monstrosity?”

“I...” Touko faltered.

He pointed at the box. “Throw it in the garbage immediately.”

“B-But...!”

“Can you not follow a simple order? Let me make it even simpler: leave.”

Touko shifted her weight between feet, gripping the box tightly like she thought it might fly away. Byakuya pushed up his glasses and returned his gaze to the book. A few moments later, he heard her footsteps retreat, growing quieter and quieter until he could hear her no more.

After her departure, the only sounds were the buzz of the library lighting and flutter of paper as he turned the pages. As he trudged through stilted prose. Unclear metaphors. Paragraphs describing women’s anatomy by someone who knew even less about them than Hifumi Yamada. 

By the end of the first quarter, he no longer cared if the murderer was the victim’s wife or a fellow board member. It was probably the butler, anyway. Byakuya shut the book, intending to seek out another, only to freeze when he saw a certain object on the table.

The box of chocolates that Touko should have taken with her.

His teeth gritted together. What a hopeless girl. Now he would have to go out of his way to dispose of them. Before enrolling at Hope’s Peak, whenever a classmate gave him chocolates, he would pass them along to his staff who would whisk them away to be tossed into the trash. When he became the sole heir, his father took him on a tour of the Togami Waste Disposal Centre. One section was dedicated to the destruction of frivolous gifts.

He remembered his father placing a hand onto his young teenage shoulder as conveyor belts chugged and machinery clunked.

“Why do you think we do this?” his father had said as a machine hacked apart a neatly wrapped box. It chewed and snarled before regurgitating cardboard vomit into a waste bin, chocolate chunks like teeth mixed in the refuse.

“In case they’re laced with poison?” had been Byakuya’s response.

“That’s one reason. But even if we were sure they are regular chocolate, they still need getting rid of. Love is like chocolate, Byakuya. It may taste pleasurable, but it’s bad for you. It will rot away your insides. Togamis do not indulge in such weaknesses.”

Young Byakuya had nodded. “Yes, Togami-sama.”

Older Byakuya rose to his feet. Just the sight of the box made his skin crawl. Navy ribbon strangled the forest green foil like a hand around a throat. They weren’t even colours associated with Valentine’s day. The sooner it was obliterated, the better. But he would dispose of it later. After he finished reading everything he wanted to read. He wouldn’t allow Touko’s mistake to alter his plans. While he searched for a better book than the dross he had acquired before, he hoped the box of chocolates would self-combust by the time he returned to the table. 

It didn’t, continuing to exist. Byakuya started reading again. Like before, the only sounds to be heard were paper rustling and the overhead lights humming. 

Until his stomach rumbled.

No one was around to hear it, yet he still cringed. It was a ghastly, unsophisticated noise. Pursing his lips, he read on, even as his stomach clenched and hardened. He had eaten a light dinner that day. Tonkatsu pork. But that wasn’t his fault because he had wanted to eat quickly so he could return to the library sooner.

Another gurgle escaped his gut. His shoulders squared and he held the book closer to his face. When his stomach rumbled again, he grimaced and lowered the book. And saw the box of chocolates on the table.

No. Absolutely not.

Byakuya almost shoved the open pages into his face, but he wasn’t a baby lacking object permanence. As if he had X-ray vision, he could see the box of chocolates sitting menacingly on the table. Though, he hadn’t actually seen the chocolates themselves. Just the outer wrapping. But there had to be chocolates within it.

His stomach growled. The noise wrung his body’s every nerve. Tightening his grip on the book, he tried to read more, except after a few sentences, he realised he couldn’t recall what he had just read. Shapes resembling words floated in his head before dissolving. He went back and tried reading one line. One single line. 

By the time he reached the end of the compound sentence, the beginning had already washed away. A howl heaved his stomach and this time choked out a gasp from his lips. Byakuya slammed down the book and grabbed the box. He wasn’t going to eat them. Death appealed more than allowing a single chocolate to touch his tongue. All he wanted to do was see what they looked like. As soon as he saw how ugly and unappetising they were, he would be turned off immediately.

Byakuya tugged on the ribbon, but the bow’s tight knot wouldn’t loosen. How counterproductive. Surely it made more sense for it to unravel easily so it could be opened quicker. After a few minutes of picking and pinching and pulling, he managed to break into the box. Inside was a spread of milk and dark chocolates, all packed into individual paper cases. Some of the chocolates were round, others square. A few were drizzled in chocolate, and a couple had nuts on them.

How thoughtless of Touko. What if he was allergic to nuts?

He wasn’t, but still.

To his displeasure, looking at the chocolates didn’t make him lose his appetite. His stomach continued to pang. Ache. With a glower, he adjusted his glasses. The chocolates continued existing. He pulled out his pocket watch and checked the time. The cafeteria didn’t shut for another hour, so he had time to grab something edible to eat. 

But then he would have to leave the library. And then return. And then resettle. He picked up a round chocolate piece crowned with dark flakes. It would be fine if he only ate one.

Besides, someone might come in and take his book during his absence. 

Byakuya popped the chocolate into his mouth. Chewed. Swallowed.

Someone could sneak in and spike his coffee when he was out of the room. And he didn’t want to brew a whole new cup.

Chewed. Swallowed.

Coffee actually paired well with the chocolates. He selected another. Dark, with green shavings. Matcha.

Someone might hear his stomach rumble on the way to the cafeteria.

Chewed. Swallowed. Another.

He might get a cramp in his leg while walking.

With one hand, he held his book, while his other pecked away at the box of chocolates. No two chocolates were the same. Each presented a unique texture, a different taste. Byakuya reached for another chocolate only for his fingers to rustle empty paper cases. 

He looked. He had eaten them all.

He had eaten all of the chocolates given to him by Touko Fukawa.

He stared in horror.

***

The next morning, even after he brushed his teeth for ten minutes straight, a sickly film continued to cling to the inside of his mouth. In front of his bathroom mirror, he tried rinsing the taste away with water, then mouthwash, then water again, but the chocolate seemed to have sunk in past his gums, wedged between his teeth and burrowed into the back of his throat.

Coffee didn’t drown the tang either.

Still, he had an entire day to dedicate to dealing with this quandary. A ‘teacher training’ day had been instated, meaning all students had no lessons scheduled until tomorrow. Despite its name, it was actually a ‘recover from the previous day’ day. Many teachers had gone out to a karaoke bar and woke up hungover. One rumour going around claimed Koichi Kizakura spent the night in the same bed as the headmaster.

In any case, the lack of lessons meant Byakuya wouldn’t be forced into close proximity with Touko. He needed to sort out this whole chocolate dilemma before she showed up and made things too bothersome. To achieve this, as pained as he was to admit it, he needed the aid of a certain someone. 

Fortunately, this certain someone could often be found in the last places Touko would think to search for Byakuya in. The swimming pool and art room turned out to be a bust, but Byakuya found his soon-to-be assistant in the recreation room with a few of their classmates.

“Naegi, come with me,” said Byakuya, striding over to the pool table. 

Makoto, who had just positioned himself to hit the cue ball, hesitated. “I’m kind of in the middle of something.”

“So am I,” said Byakuya.

Kudos to Makoto, however, because Byakuya hadn’t expected him to be playing pool. He had thought Makoto would be hammering away at a video game or smiling goofily over snakes and ladders. Interesting. Later, Byakuya would have to question him on what different game types he knew. See how competent he was at them.

“Well?” said Byakuya when Makoto didn’t move. “I don’t have all day.”

“Um, actually,” Makoto winced, “I think I would rather...”

“If Naegi-kun’s forfeiting, it looks like I win this game,” interrupted Sayaka, a smile pushing out her cheeks. She tilted her head to one side and fluttered her hands together in a dainty round of applause. “Yay, me! Don’t worry, Naegi-kun. We’ll have a rematch when you get back. But don’t think I’ll go easy on you to make you feel better about losing. I’m going to go all out.”

Sayaka puffed out her cheeks. While it made Makoto grin and slightly redden, it made Byakuya’s insides wither. As a Super High School Level Idol, he supposed she had to embody some kind of charm, even if it only worked on people like Makoto. And Leon, who was standing by the pool table too.

“Wow, whatever it is, it sounds important,” said Leon. “You better be a good friend and go with him. I’ll take care of Maizono-chan while you’re gone.”

Leon saluted at Makoto and winked. He had a black eye. Presumably, his plan to spy on the girls’ party hadn’t gone the way he hoped. 

“Thanks, but there’s no need to trouble yourself, Kuwata-kun,” said Sayaka as Makoto passed her the cue stick.

“I’m serious. It’s no sweat off my back,” said Leon.

Sayaka’s grin flattened against her face, more polite than genuine. “I mean I don’t think anything bad will happen. We’re all friends here. But I have the cue stick to protect me anyway.”

She demonstrated by thrusting it toward Leon. The tip stopped just before his injured eye, making him jump back with a yelp. A giggle rose out of her, to which Leon joined in with a couple of shaky laughs.

“Are you finished with your triple act now?” asked Byakuya, unamused.

“Yes, sorry,” said Makoto, cringing. “Let’s go.”

As they stepped out into the corridor, a few students breezed past, talking loudly to each other with erratic hand movements. Byakuya watched their backs as they walked away, his arms folded over his chest.

“What is it that you want with me?” asked Makoto.

“Not here,” said Byakuya. None of the students nearby seemed to be paying the pair any attention, but he couldn’t lower his guard. “Wait until we’re alone.”

Neither spoke while Byakuya led Makoto away. With no lessons taking place, finding an empty classroom proved straightforward. Once inside, Byakuya turned to Makoto.

“I need you to talk to Fukawa.”

Makoto frowned. “Why?”

“I need you to find out how much money she spent on the chocolates she gave me yesterday.”

That was simple enough to understand. Yet Makoto said, “You want me to do what, Togami-kun?”

He stared at Byakuya with a stupid look on his face, squinting with raised eyebrows.

“I don’t see what you’re struggling to understand. I wish to know how much money she spent on her chocolates so I can appropriately compensate her.” Byakuya started pacing back and forth. “If I were to buy her something two or three times more expensive, that would be seen as reciprocating her honmei choco. I could just give her nothing... no. Out of the question. Any less than what she gave me would reflect badly on me and the conglomerate.”

“I understand what you said,” Makoto told Byakuya. “Well, maybe not your reasoning, but what you want me to do. But why do I have to ask Fukawa-san where she bought that chocolate from? You’ve never struggled to speak your mind with her before.”

Byakuya came to a stop and brought a hand to the top corner of his glasses. A frown pinched his features.

“You never cease to sink to new levels below my expectations, and they are already incredibly low as it is. If I spoke to her, asking about the chocolates, she would become suspicious of my questioning and figure out I ate them. She’s daft, but she’s not a complete idiot. If you ask her about them, she will not suspect me.”

The situation was not unlike a game of pool. He couldn’t pot the eight-ball too early, much like he couldn’t outright go to Touko and question her about the chocolates. When he next saw her, everything had to be perfectly in place. There was an order that had to be followed.

Makoto glanced away, as if searching for a way out of the conversation, but no one jumped out from under a desk and carried him out of the room. Nor did the door slam open and a teacher march inside. The trees beyond the classroom’s window wall didn’t shed their leaves to reveal assassins hiding in them, guns aimed so they would have to flee the room, ending the conversation. A meteor didn’t smash into the classroom either. Silence hung between them, until Makoto sighed and met Byakuya’s gaze.

“Alright, Togami-kun. I’ll ask her for you.”

“You will invite her to the library and while you question her, I will be listening in nearby,” said Byakuya. “The library has plenty of bookcases for me to hide behind. Once you have extracted the information, I will slip away and prepare the compensation.”

It was a great plan, yet Makoto shook his head slightly. “I really don’t understand how your mind works, Togami-kun, but okay.”

“You don’t need to understand. I know what I’m doing. And I will tell you exactly what to say to her. You have half an hour to memorise this script I wrote.”

Byakuya reached under his jacket and pulled out a stack of paper.

Makoto had the audacity to continue frowning.

***

The irony of Byakuya observing Touko from a behind a bookcase did not go over his head. Many times, Byakuya’s and Touko’s positions had been reversed. However, he always knew she was there. Her smell of wet book never failed to find its way over to him. His ears would twinge at the sounds of her breathing. The back of his neck would prickle. A strange feeling would stir in him. Disgust. It could be nothing else. It would be preposterous to even suggest it was anything else. As if he would want her drooling, red-faced, snivelling person near him.

She was none-the-wiser to his presence on this occasion. Engrossed in a book. With more stacked up on either side of her. From his angle, he couldn’t see any of the titles, but they were all pretty thick.

“Hi, Fukawa-san,” said Makoto, walking up to her table.

On the script Byakuya had written for Makoto, he had put ‘hello’ instead of hi, but he supposed it was fine for Makoto to adapt the language slightly. After all, Byakuya and Makoto were worlds apart. Byakuya was still learning about how commoners functioned. How they walked. How they spoke. How they thought.

Touko looked up. 

“What do you want?” she asked coldly.

“I, um, wanted to see how you were doing.” Makoto pulled out a chair and sat down opposite her. “Did you enjoy Valentine’s Day yesterday?”

She set her book down. “You think you’re real smart, don’t you? I can see right through your charade.”

“Y-You can?” said Makoto, his head jerking back. Byakuya narrowed his eyes but otherwise didn’t move.

“You think you know what my answer will be, and it’s one that amuses you. You want me to indulge your humiliation kink by asking me that question,” she sneered.

Perfect. Byakuya smirked. He had anticipated that sort of response.

Makoto waved his hands and spluttered convincingly, “N-No! That’s not it at all. I came here because I wanted to check out the comic section and happened to see you as I was passing by.”

The script had actually called for ‘wanted to read generic lowbrow manga that commoners like me enjoy’.

She didn’t answer right away. “Sure.” 

Though Byakuya couldn’t see her face, she didn’t sound convinced. Makoto shifted in his seat and looked down, twiddling his thumbs. Perhaps Makoto hadn’t been the best choice. The guy was a terrible liar.

“... If you must know,” said Touko after an uncomfortable silence, “I got some writing done and gave Byakuya-sama chocolate.”

Touko spoke in a low voice and didn’t shriek or laugh when she said Byakuya’s name like she usually did. Nor did she pant or hug herself. Byakuya frowned. He had not planned for that reaction. She sounded dejected.

“It’s awesome that you gave Togami-kun some chocolate,” said Makoto. “Did he like it?”

This was her cue to start bragging about how of course he would love her chocolate. She wouldn’t buy him cheap chocolate. Only the finest was acceptable for ‘Byakuya-sama’. Yes, Touko would jump to her feet and spit would fly from her mouth as she passionately rambled about Byakuya and the exact cost of the confectionery.

“I haven’t seen him today, so I don’t know,” she said flatly.

“What chocolates did you get him? I bet you got them somewhere fancy.”

Touko’s shoulders hiked.

“I see what’s happening. Listen.” There was a hard edge to her voice now. “When we first met and you hung out with me a few times, I’ll admit. I thought I may have had feelings for you. But after a while, I realised that I was just happy that a guy had been kind to me and given me attention. It has happened before, with others. Someone would show a bit of interest in me, and I would start fantasising about dating them and getting married and having lots and lots of babies with them.”

Makoto stared silently, wide-eyed and mouth hanging open. Byakuya probably had a similar expression. Minus the open mouth.

“My only friend in elementary school. A boy from a neighbouring class in eighth grade. A literature teacher. A girl in my class at Riverbank. Any crushes I had were quite shallow. None compare to Byakuya-sama.”

As she straightened her back, Byakuya wondered what expression she had on. She was usually extremely expressive, but she had already defied his expectations with her responses to Makoto’s probing. She might have been hiding her emotions behind a blank mask. But it was impossible to hide one’s feelings in their eyes. Her grey pair could have been full of flame and smoke. They could have been biting cold. He couldn’t be certain anymore. Until now, he had thought he had her all sussed out.

Curious. Very curious.

“Byakuya-sama is different. Since we first met, he hasn’t shown me an act of kindness to latch on to.” Touko was trembling now. “He understands how dark and cruel the world can be. He doesn’t put on a mask or trust the masks of others. He didn’t try to deceive me with a good first impression. I’ve never felt the way I do toward him with anyone else, and that includes you. You may be a safe option, but you are not one that I truly want or who will make me feel fulfilled. S-So... I’m declining your offer to be your girlfriend.”

Okay, now Byakuya’s mouth might have fallen open. Makoto licked his lips.

“I think there’s been a misunderstanding. I don’t want to be your girlfriend, Fukawa-san.” He threw up his hands, facing his palms toward her. “No disrespect! You’re not that bad of a person once people get to know you. I just... wondered... ha ha...”

There was taking artistic liberty, and then there was this. Byakuya couldn’t see her face, but her expression made Makoto recoil. Her body shook harder, then she let out an ear-splitting howl that caused several people nearby to jump and spin around to watch. Behind the bookcase, Byakuya gritted his teeth and winced.

Touko’s chair toppled backward as she leaped to her feet. “S-So you did want me to say all that for your humiliation kink! Argh!”

“No! I...!”

She jabbed at the air. “Get out!”

When he didn’t move, she seized a book from the top of one of her stacks and aimed it at him. Makoto yelped and made a hasty retreat before she decided to throw it. After a couple of seconds, she returned the book to its spot. Several minutes crawled past before everyone else had returned to what they had been doing before, browsing bookshelves or murmuring in small groups.

Byakuya hadn’t obtained the information he desired, but staying would only serve to increase the chances of him getting caught. He began edging away, barely breathing.

“He’s gone now, Byakuya-sama,” said Touko calmly. Her voice stopped him in his tracks like a tightened leash.

He froze, then adjusted his glasses, keeping his back to her.

“Fukawa? I didn’t realise you were here,” he said as if she hadn’t screamed a couple of minutes ago.

“There’s no need to play coy, Byakuya-sama.” He could hear the smirk in her voice. She seemed back to her normal self, unfortunately. “I knew you were here the whole time.”

“You did?”

“I can smell you...”

Byakuya stiffened and turned to face her with a glare.

“Are you saying I stink?” he asked. Rich, coming from her.

“Only of pheromones.”

Sometimes she could say profound things. Other times, like now, she spoke like an idiot. However, to give her some credit, an idiot who always had a witty response prepared.

His scowl deepened. “You’re talking nonsense. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I will continue passing through and...”

He pivoted on his heel and took three steps before she said, “How were the chocolates?”

His foot stuck to the floor like glue.

“What chocolates?” he said casually.

“The ones I gave you yesterday.”

“Oh, those.” Byakuya licked his teeth. He had to choose his next words carefully. Thanks to Makoto, he had been left in a bad position in the endgame. He had to play defensively, and make sure he didn’t set her up for a clear final shot.

“I hope they were to your liking. I-It was my first time making chocolate, so I...”

“Wait. What?” His eyebrows rose. “You made them?”

Touko squeaked. Byakuya’s brow scrunched as he turned back toward her. A shudder ran down his spine.

“You made them? What on Earth for?” he snapped. “Did you think I would want to put my mouth anywhere near where your dirty fingers have been?”

Her face clouded over for a moment, probably as some ghastly mental image entered her brain, but she quickly recomposed herself. “I did buy some, originally. Really expensive chocolate. Except the morning before Valentine’s Day, it was all gone. That cursed alter of... um, I mean, that alternate cleaner standing in for the usual one m-must have snuck in and eaten it!”

That sounded very unprofessional. The skin around her eyes bunched up in distress.

“I tore through every shop in the city but it being the day before Valentine’s Day, I couldn’t find a single block of chocolate worthy of titillating your taste buds.”

Being a renowned author, she had to have made a very conscious choice on the words she used. She wrung her hands together.

“S-So... I went to the kitchens and made the chocolate I gave you. That pervert,” Teruteru Hanamura, “aided me. I don’t trust him at all, but Oogami and Asahina happened to be there too making chocolates so they ensured he didn’t attempt anything strange.”

Byakuya wondered how many people Touko had roped into this sick affair. But that explained why he couldn’t find them in his search through different retailers.

“Even though you weren’t going to eat them, they still needed to be perfect,” she carried on.

His brow quirked almost hard enough to split his face. He couldn’t keep the incredibility out of his voice. “You expected me not to eat them?”

She nodded. “Yes. That is correct. You’ve mentioned before that you have your own personal waste disposal crew for valentines.”

“So why go through all that effort if you knew I would toss them away?”

“Because I wanted you to see the effort I was willing to put in, e-even if you wouldn’t eat them. Even if you’re not ready to reciprocate my love... b-because I’ll wait for you.”

Byakuya swallowed. His mouth was very dry. And very very sickly. The chocolate poisoning his mouth must have soured. Or was this the taste of defeat? 

She had put him in a bad place. Well, she thought she had. A small smile warmed his lips as he realised she had actually set things up perfectly for him.

“Well, you were mistaken,” he announced. “Because I did eat them.”

Touko slapped a hand to her chest. “Huh?”

“Yes. I ate your honmei choco, Touko Fukawa!” He pointed at her, his grin cutting into his cheeks. “Come along! It’s your turn with the pool cue. What move will you make?”

“Pool cue...?” She blinked. 

Byakuya couldn’t have hoped for a better outcome. Now was the time for her to give up on him. To spurn him. To hate him. To think he was like all the others who had drawn her attention. Then she would leave him alone, and she would no longer be blighting his vision or his thoughts. She would be gone.

Instead, she smiled. “Heh... heh heh...”

“... huh?”

“It looks like... in this dark reality... love truly does prevail over all.”

Their conversation had drawn a small audience, but he paid them little attention. Touko wrapped her arms around herself, grinning widely. Byakuya’s face burned. He shifted a foot back, unable to take his eyes off her. She had outplayed him. Gross. She was gross. Disgusting. Repulsive.

“You’re vile,” he said, but that didn’t faze her. Still, if she was daydreaming, she might not notice him leaving. He marched quickly out of the library, not looking back once.

He really didn’t understand her at all.

That was why he spent the rest of the day thinking about her. Her annoying twin braids. Her beady grey eyes. Her stupid smile. Her wet book smell. Her perseverance. Her stupid smile.

Yes. 

That was why.

[sherlockianscholar]

part 1 (1985-1990): the saga of jeremy brett through the scuttlebutt archives

go here for part two!

since 1971, sherlockian and baker st irregular, peter blau has published a small "gossip" sheet for all sherlock holmes news under publication of the "scuttlebutt from the spermaceti press." after the advent of computers, peter started digitizing all his sheets from 1985 onward.

i went through blau's archives to look for any tidbits on jeremy brett. what i found tells jeremy's saga as granada's sherlock holmes. some of the entries are very straightforward. some of them require reading through the lines. some of them are just fun background bits of granada. but all of them paint jeremy's story through little snippets of news.

March 1985: granada premieres in america! vincent price quoted edgar w. smith, one of the foremost sherlockians in history :)

July 1985: the beginning of the closing chapter of his life

for some reason these are the only pictures i can find of joan and jeremy together, but they are absolutely adorable

August 1985 #1

August 1985 #2: jeremy's flightiness around the role trickles to the press. though he'll never say why.

"'and then i hang my pipes up,'" he said with a smile." his feelings regarding holmes were dangerous before joan's death and only got worse.

to quote producer june wyndham-davies, "when his depression was upon him, and he suffered from depression of the worst kind, he was a different person entirely. i've never known anyone whose personality could change so much. he would become aggressive and not want to continue. i had so many conversations with jeremy about not wanting to continue as sherlock holmes. he felt that sherlock holmes had turned him into a monster. jeremy brett was like that before he ever came to sherlock holmes, but it wasn't his fault and it certainly wasn't sherlock holmes fault."

December 1987: i didn't know he commissioned the play, the secret of sherlock holmes! and helped write it!!

February 1988: damn, that's audacious

May 1988: i can only imagine how much more would've been created and executed if jeremy hadn't gotten sick

okay but, the dog in the hound of the baskervilles is named khan. the movie is literally the wrath of khan.

June 1988: i can't pinpoint the timeline for when jeremy's mental illness became public knowledge and published by the media. however, from this short news clipping, it doesn't seem like they knew the real reason jeremy's hair was cut short. and almost certainly not that he chopped it off himself.

"jeremy just got into one of his manic states—you know, i hate sherlock holmes etc., and one day he cut his hair. in front of the mirror, he lopped bits off. i remember the first time I saw him after he had done it. we were both appearing in an 80th birthday tribute to sir laurence olivier at the national. he turned up at the theatre and i said, 'god, what have you done to your hair?' it was patently obvious it had not been cut by a barber—there were bits sticking up all over." -edward hardwicke

July 1988: the age of jeremy brett! forget the victorian era, this is the jeremerian? brettian? era

October 1988 #1

October 1988 #2: jeremy's insecurities shine through more. high praise for daniel day-lewis. "don't worry you haven't heard or seen the last of him!" congrats to jeremy for introducing lewis to america LOL. yay for play success! (also what does he mean by saying the private life of sherlock holmes is a "damaged film?" robert stephens was one of jeremy's life long best friends--stephens died exactly 2 months after jeremy. coincidentally, jeremy's ex-boyfriend, paul shenar, died exactly one month after jeremy.)

October 1988 #3: L O L

November 1988 #1: jeremy's opinion matters!

November 1988 #2: in my opinion, "bending the willow" is the most important part of jeremy's interpretation of holmes

August 1989: michael cox (the cornerstone of creating and shaping the first half of granada's run) begins to make his (very forced) exit. jeremy's physical health problems are becoming apparent, but they are brushed away by the actor, attributing his breathing issues and weight gain to heavy smoking. and once again, jeremy tries to cast off holmes, without revealing his true reasons.

according to granada's page on the arthur conan doyle encyclopedia, this is what was really happening:

"the performances were probably cathartic for him, but required excessive physical effort from a man with a worsening heart condition who, due to the enormous water retention caused by the lithium, found it difficult to breathe and move. he was forced to leave the theatre and go to hospital, where he stayed for a fortnight and had more than twelve litres of water removed from his body. by 1989 brett and hardwicke, who had supported him with boundless patience, were on their knees. brett took a short holiday but had to be rushed home and hospitalized: the treatments for his bipolar disorder and his heart condition had clashed."

i strongly recommend reading edward's later comments of his difficulties with jeremy during the show: link here

October 1989: two months later, jeremy has yet again changed his mind on continuing as sherlock holmes

November 1989: philip purser how d a r e you say that about my beloved watson. of course, it's from the daily mail, so his opinion doesn't matter.

December 1989: granada undergoes major changes. the conservative government was actively attacking the british media and coming after their budgets. after ousting all of the original leaders of granada's sherlock holmes, the new priorites were based off of ratings and profitability. "you must always remember that your business is to form the market as well as to supply it, [otherwise] your career will have succeeded only in restraining the arts, tarnishing the virtues, and throwing confusion into the manners of your contemporaries." -a granada staffer to the new leaders of the show

January 1990: jeremy finally feels stable in the role, but i think without that dance with "the dark side of the moon" he felt like he lost a key element in his portrayal of holmes. even though he had always been terrified of that instabiity.

end of part 1, so here's part two!

[broomsticks]

finally getting to this (TY to @billsfangearring for the rec) and thinking that the entire thing should be mandatory listening for anyone and everyone who wants to participate in fandom. I learned so much about fannish history, zines, fandom on the internet, the creation of FFN — also hell yeah to whoever of the podcasters is a snarry/ tomarry shipper — but mostly seconding this very hard

maybe i’m especially in my fandom history feels thanks to femslash february & @lumosatnight’s HP femslash history thing, but — this basically yall, i’m so emotional. (timestamp approx. 2h15m in).

fanlore article: An Archive Of One's Own (post by astolat), a proposal that astolat posted to her LiveJournal in May 2007.

First, why fanfic is not illegal and why YOU should stop saying that it is even if you don't agree, by cesperanza. Please read it. That said, the people behind fanlib (talked about many places, see astridv here) don't actually care about fanfic, the fanfic community, or anything except making money off content created entirely by other people and getting media attention. They don't have a single fanfic reader or writer on their board; they don't even have a single woman on their board. They're creating a lawsuit-bait site while being bad potential defendants, and they deserve to be chased out being pelted with rocks. But even if they were, which I doubt is going to happen, because hey, they have people and money, we're still left with this problem: we are sitting quietly by the fireside, creating piles and piles of content around us, and other people are going to look at that and see an opportunity. And they are going to end up creating the front doors that new fanfic writers walk through, unless we stand up and build our OWN front door.

every time i think i cannot love ao3 more i find even more to love and respect about it & everyone who contributed to creating it. what an empowering story this is, you all, about taking OWNERSHIP and mobilizing the community and building the places, MAKING the spaces you want to have. being the change you want to see.

and this list of desired features —

- allowing ANYTHING -- het, slash, RPF, chan, kink, highly adult - giving explicit credit to the original creators while clearly disclaiming any official status - making it easy for people to download stories - options for people to post [recursively transformative works inspired by] the original story, all of which would automatically be linked back so you could see the kind of interconnecting 'web' of how our work is interrelated - automatic rec lists (just click on a story to add it to your rec list) - mentoring: collect up writing advice, fannish history, acafandom, and create a simple FAQ (integrate a wiki?)

!!! these values!! HISTORY and COMMUNITY fucking HISTORY and COMMUNITY.

what we’re doing is LEGITIMATE, it has VALUE and it is REAL.

it is alright if not everyone cares about everything or indeed the same things, it is alright if no two people see things the same way or perfectly align in fandom interests and preferences and headcanons, but there is so much to celebrate and uplift about each other. we have so much in common. so much.

also happiness has meaning and catharsis has meaning and exploration has meaning, art has meaning and creativity and individual expression is meaningful, for the creator if no one else , and is worthy of celebration and love if only because life and living is fucking hard, yall.

ahhh i am so sad and angry (that this was our fandom history! that it was such a struggle! that even now there is so much infighting! that some things i love are not as popular and widely loved compared to other things (that i also love!)) — but i’m also so touched and SO grateful that this is our fandom history because wow is it one of triumph and empowerment and community collaboration. it was dreamt and then proposed and then built, from scratch, and we’re adding to it every day.

and then the timeline stuff (the post was made may 17th, 2007! the domain names were registered may 30th! the first donations came in september 2007 and the site was operational as we know it in 2009!) holy shit!

ahhh i love fandom and all this gift economy and joy.

p.s. there’s also a part 2 with olderthannetfic(’s fandom backstory lmao). which i’ve only just started listening to so expect a similarly in my feels post about that in uhhhhhhh two months

[levaagrace]

I’m gonna show y’all two photos and a transcript and then I’m gonna ask y’all to think about exactly what kind of connections can be made from them, alright?

[Photo IDs : screen caps of two The Magnus Archives episodes, the first being for episode 79, Hide And Seek, and episode 81, A Guest For Mr. Spider. In brief, I highlighted the dates the episodes were set. February 16th 2017 and February 18th 2017 respectively. End ID.]

Now. Here’s the quote.

[Photo ID : transcript from Episode 81, A Guest For Mr. Spider, of Georgie verbatim asking “You… looking for a new job yet?” End ID.]

Now that that’s out of the way… let’s talk about the presumption that Jon made his way to Georgie’s covered in Leitner’s blood. Or even just appearing otherwise disheveled and traumatized.

I will forgive people for not realizing this, but it’s apparently canonical that Leitner dying and Jon recording his statement about his childhood trauma was two days apart. If that. So here we have Jon in a state of total mental breakdown. Being informed he’s beholden to some evil entity and becoming a tool for it to use for evil by the first person he ever hated as a child and then seeing the bashed in remains of his head just barely 48 hours prior. Going to the only place he believes he could be safe. And after a brief convo about dishes and the cat, he’s asked if he’s trying… to find… a new… job…

I’m not gonna speculate about what happened between the moment Jon showed up on Georgie’s doorstep to her coming home from wherever she was. I’m gonna talk about facts and the fact is if he gave any indication that he was in distress, her asking that would be seen as a dick move. Now. The fact that she even alludes to not believing him a bit on in the conversation leads me to think it was apparent he was not okay, that things weren’t okay, and he desperately needed help.

But she still asks if he’s looking for a new job.

Do I think, potentially, this was just her way of broaching the subject in a way that won’t put his hackles up? Maybe. But I find that fairly hard to believe. Even with all her reassurance that it’s fine he’s staying there. Cause that’s not what the tone of her voice indicated. And that’s not what her eventual bringing up of her disbelief about an ‘employment dispute’ indicated.

Georgie Barker let Jon into her home and not two days later asked when he’d be out while condescending to him about losing his job, home, and possessions.

It’s very VERY clear here that she had no idea what happened. It’s very clear she wanted to figure out why he was in her home so he would get out. There is no concern for his well-being beyond getting him able to leave. Yet we’re expected to believe that she’s a kind individual with his best interests at heart.

Her next appearance is to be angry at him for… what… reading paper into an old recorder? Staring at paper and not sleeping — on a couch, I might add — for four days? She says she has no clue, yet sees Jon act ~weird~ about paper for four days and comes to a conclusion, while right, has no logical sense unless he’s completely losing it. But instead of understanding, she berates him for it. She knows something is wrong with him but all she does is tell him to quit it and get over it.

At this point, I would be remiss if I didn’t say that Jon was absolutely taking advantage of Georgie’s hospitality. But truer to the point, she never should’ve let him in her home in the first place. If she was not capable of or willing to help him navigate his issues, seeing him on her doorstep and in distress, she should’ve turned him away immediately. Or at the least tell him exactly how long he was welcome. Which was, as seen, two nights.

I’m not gonna go through every other instance of Georgie in season 3. It’d take forever and I think I’ve made my point. My point being that if you’re gonna offer assistance to someone in dire straits, it might be kinder to tell them fuck off from the outset rather than tell them at every step how much of a burden they are for even existing in your presence. If your ~boundaries~ are so fucking important then maybe enforce them to begin with instead of acting holier-than-thou.

[ollieofthebeholder]

to find promise of peace (and the solace of rest): a TMA fanfic

Read from the beginning on Tumblr || AO3 || My Website

Chapter 99: February 2018

“Hello?”

Normally, nothing good followed someone yelling Hello into a seemingly empty room, especially something like, say, an archive in the basement of a two hundred year old building housing an institution devoted to the study of the paranormal and the supernatural. Conversely, nothing good ever came of answering a greeting cried into an otherwise empty room. Sasha had never forgotten the ancient American grandmother of one of her foster parents leaning down to peer at her through those gigantic coke-bottle glasses and impart a bit of wisdom to her: If you’re in the woods at night and you hear something call your name, no you didn’t. But the voice was Tim’s and he sounded panicked, and he would wake Melanie up if he kept shouting, so she at least needed to shut the door. Jon or Martin could tell him where she was and what was going on.

When she got up, though, and peeked through the glass window out of habit, she had a moment of panic. Tim was standing in exactly the same spot he’d stood to pick up the dropped tape recorder the day Jane Prentiss attacked, bending over in the exact same way, and for just a moment, the wild thought struck her: He didn’t see her! You have to save him!

Without thinking, she burst out the door of Document Storage and barely stopped herself from slamming it as she ran across the floor. “Tim!”

Tim looked up, and over his face spread a look of unalloyed relief. “Sash! Jesus, where is everyone? I thought…” He waved a hand at what was next to him.

Sasha’s brain caught up with the present. No attack, or at least not a new one. Tim wasn’t in danger. He’d thought she was, and the others, which was probably a reasonable assumption to make since none of them were present. As she got closer, she realized he was standing directly next to where they had done the impromptu surgery on Melanie.

“Melanie’s asleep in Document Storage,” she said slowly. “Mostly asleep. Jon and Martin are—actually, I’m not sure where they are. Probably doing first aid. Martin kind of got stabbed.”

“What? Christ Almighty.” Tim turned pale again. “I have to—are they in the office?”

“Maybe?” Sasha frowned, but Tim wasn’t even waiting for an answer. He was already striding across the floor, reaching for the door of the office—

“Tim, stop!”

Tim froze, hand outstretched. Sasha whirled around to see Jon rushing through the door connecting the Archives to the rest of the Institute. From the fact that he held two cups of tea, he’d obviously been in the break room; how he was managing to run without spilling it was beyond her.

She relieved him of Martin’s mug and set it on the desk. “What’s in there?”

“Where’s Martin?” Tim demanded, turning away from the office door.

“Back corner.” Jon closed his eyes and took a deep, shaking breath. “Tim, I’m—I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to do that, I—”

“Jon, it’s okay, I get it. You’re under stress, it’s harder to control.” Tim held out a hand and took a couple breaths himself. “Can someone please tell me what the fuck is going on?”

“Melanie stabbed Martin,” Jon blurted out before Sasha could say anything. “She had a bullet from the ghost that shot her in India in her leg, it was poisoning her—he cut it out, but then Breekon o-or Hope, one of the two, turned up and delivered the coffin.”

“The Buried is in there?” Tim’s voice jumped an octave.

“Why only one of them?” Sasha asked at the same time.

“Yes, it—we, we got out of there, but…” Jon closed his eyes and clutched his mug of tea tightly, probably to stop his hands from shaking. “I—think Daisy killed the other one. That’s what Martin said. I—I was having a hard time following…i-it said something about paying our respects, and then said we might want to join our friend, and I—I panicked. I thought it was you. You weren’t here and—”

Sasha’s stomach twisted. Hadn’t she just believed the same thing—that Tim was in danger? God, what was it about today that they were both convinced they were going to lose him, be too late to save him?

Tim’s face creased in sympathy, and he crossed over to Jon, holding out his arms for a hug. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you—I overslept a bit, and I texted Martin as soon as I could, but—”

Jon set down the mug of tea and accepted the hug with a fierceness that belied the stoic, prickly exterior he’d tried to put on when he’d first joined the Institute. Sasha came over and joined them both, sensing all of them needed it. She also took the opportunity to subtly steer them a little further from the Archivist’s office. “Are you saying—what are you saying? Someone—something—is in there?”

“Daisy.” Jon’s voice was slightly muffled by Tim’s bicep. “Martin—he, he got its statement, sort of…e-extracted it, I guess? I don’t know how to describe it. He just…Looked at it, and kept—there was the static, and…” He took a breath and pulled back. “He’s, um, writing it down now. I think.”

“Just finished.” Martin’s voice from behind them made all three of them jump, and Sasha turned to see Martin coming towards them, a sheaf of statement forms in one hand and the patchwork cardigan he rarely wore dangling from the other. His shirt was torn and bloodied like Captain Kirk’s on an away mission, but much like Kirk, the wound appeared to be healed over already; unlike on Star Trek, though, Sasha didn’t think it was anything to do with the magic of television. There was a weariness in his eyes, but it didn’t seem like it was because he’d spent too much energy—more like he was just over everything right about now. “Tim, are you okay?”

“I’m—yeah. I didn’t mean to scare you all.” Tim glanced at the door of Document Storage. “I was coming to…Jon said Melanie stabbed you?”

“Tensions were…a bit high this morning. Yesterday, too, I think, but I wasn’t there for that one. Sasha had told me she stormed out in a huff after a fight yesterday afternoon, and she didn’t have her phone…I was getting ready to, um, use the Eye to find her when she showed up. I made the mistake of—no.” Martin shook his head firmly. “No, it wasn’t a mistake, she deserved to know I was going to do that, I can’t—anyway, she didn’t react well to me telling her what I’d been about to do. Everything escalated and I still don’t know where she found the knife, actually, but she ended up impaling me.” He gestured vaguely at the rent in his shirt. “To her credit, that did seem to shock her out of her rage. Long enough for Sasha to chloroform her, at any rate, so we could take a proper look at what was going on. It was the bullet in her leg, from when she got shot in India.”

“I thought she said there wasn’t one!”

“She said the doctors didn’t find one. I’m not entirely sure they could have found it to begin with. It was…I mean, it was real enough, I managed to get it out, but it was deep, close to the bone, and it definitely, um, had a somewhat complicated relationship with reality. We got it out.” Martin nudged the tray on the floor with his foot. “Probably ought to burn it later, if we can. It’s the Slaughter clear enough. She’d already been Marked by her encounter with whatever Sarah Baldwin stirred up at Cambridge Military Hospital, but—”

“Um—about that.” Tim held up a finger. Somehow he managed to look both sheepish and distressed, which was truly an expression only Timothy Stoker could pull off. “She was probably Marked a lot earlier than that.”

Martin stared at Tim. “What do you mean?”

Tim hesitated. “Gerry’s told you about his flashbacks, right?”

“Yeah,” Martin said slowly. Jon nodded, too.

Sasha shrugged. “He hasn’t, but Melanie did once, in one of her rants. They’re not just dreams, right? He’s reliving the moment?”

“Right. Well…they’re not always his, either. He doesn’t usually know—it’s a bit complicated, you’ll have to ask him to explain. But he had one yesterday, a really bad one, and it wasn’t his…moment he flashed back to, it was Melanie’s. She was at a…a lion dance, I think? Something like that? Anyway, one of the…lions…was attacking the musicians, and they called her for help and gave her a knife and she killed it. There’s probably more detail, but…” Tim took a deep breath. “It was before her mother died.”

“Jesus. She was seven.” Martin turned pale. “She was Marked that young? No wonder that bullet took hold so fast.”

“So fast? It’s been a year,” Sasha pointed out.

“And she hasn’t been feeding it constantly. Not really. If I’d known it was in there I never would have let her help fight the attacks off, but even with that the infection shouldn’t have spread that far that quickly.” Martin stared down at the sheaf of papers in his hand. “God, I should’ve Looked at all three of us for Marks years ago, but I just—I-I assumed I knew all the encounters we’d had. Gerry never really…got that close, before he had us in tow, and Melanie never talked about it, so I just…”

“It’s not your fault,” Jon protested. “Anyway, even if you’d known, what could you have done? You were children, Martin.”

Tim nodded. “If anyone should be apologizing, it should be me. I should have just called and told you what was going on, but…”

“I was already getting out the first aid kit when you texted.”

“Still. I should’ve reached out sooner, maybe I could’ve stopped this.”

Sasha raised an eyebrow. “How?”

“See, Gerry finally realized this morning there’s kind of a pattern to his flashbacks,” Tim explained. “Every time one comes up, especially one that’s not his originally, it’s usually been something that’s been a problem not long after. Like, right before you got kidnapped by Trevor and Julia, Martin? Gerry had a flashback to Daisy knocking someone out outside a bar and dragging him to a remote clearing to murder him, or, well, take him out, I guess, because he definitely belonged to the Slaughter. And he told me after you got back that he’d had a flashback about coming home himself just before you and Daisy turned up. So when he…woke up or came back to the present or whatever you want to call it, he realized there was…probably something Slaughter-related going to happen today. He had an appointment with someone about some books that he couldn’t cancel, so I said I’d handle it.” He looked down at his shoes. “Guess I handled it badly.”

“You didn’t,” Sasha argued. “You texted as soon as you woke up, didn’t you? Even if you’d called, it would have been too late at that point. You couldn’t possibly have got here any faster than you did, and it was all over by then. If something had been planning to attack us, or intending to attack us or whatever, you’d have made it in time to help us fight it off, I’m sure—certainly enough time to warn us about it—but how could any of us have known it would actually come from Melanie?”

“For her, maybe,” Jon said softly. “Even if you’d called and told us about the…flashback or whatever in time to give us warning, we’d have just been more worried about Melanie and she might have done worse.”

“Like stabbing someone out on the street,” Martin added. “Someone who wouldn’t heal so quickly. And if you’d just texted me with ‘The Slaughter is coming’ or something, I’d have panicked about what was going on with you two. They’re right, Tim. You did everything you could possibly have done. This isn’t your fault, or Gerry’s.”

Tim didn’t look convinced, but he did at least drop the subject. “And what were you saying about the coffin? Breekon and—or Hope? Not both?”

Martin shook his head. “Daisy killed one of them. I—I don’t know how much they really think—thought—of themselves as separate, they were always Breekon and Hope, a unit, even before they called themselves that—they were always one being in two, rather than two in one. But the surviving one is the one that usually spoke first, so I guess he’s Breekon.”

“And Daisy killed Hope. Fitting,” Sasha said under her breath.

Not under her breath enough, because Martin turned an extremely sharp look on her. His eyes flashed briefly, but his voice was mild as he corrected her, “Daisy killed the thing that was pretending to be Hope. That was never what he really was. Only what he called himself.”

Sasha held up her hands. “Fair enough. But…Breekon…delivered the coffin…to you?”

“Yeah. Probably hoping to get revenge by convincing me to go in there to rescue Daisy,” Martin said, sounding and looking tired once again. “I mean, it’s my fault she’s in there in the first place—”

“It is not,” Jon, Tim, and Sasha all said at once.

“I’m not going to argue with you about this.” Martin looked as though he very much would like to do exactly that, though. “Point is, it’s probably meant as a combination temptation and threat. Breekon is pretty much the strongest surviving aspect of the Stranger right about now, and he’s missing half of himself—you could hear when he was talking to us that he’s still expecting someone else to say the next sentence—which is probably why it’s taken him seven months to be strong enough to get through the Institute’s defenses and into the office. But he’s still making the effort to threaten us—me—and probably figured I wouldn’t be able to resist the urge to go into the pit after her.”

Sasha didn’t bother asking if Breekon was right. From the look of pure, abject fear that flitted through Jon’s eyes, there and gone in a second, she knew it was—that the second Martin had unfettered access to that office, he was going to attempt to sacrifice himself for Daisy, because that was what he always did and it was worse now that he thought it was his job.

“So which one of you made Breekon go away?” Tim asked, obviously thinking the same thing and knowing not to poke at it.

“Martin did,” Jon said. “I tried to, but…i-it didn’t work, any more than it worked at the House of Wax. I, I’d hoped…I don’t know.”

Now it was Martin’s turn to have fear run across his face. “Don’t lean into that, Jon. Please. I—I don’t want to risk losing you, too.”

Jon bit his lip and shot a guilty look at the door to Document Storage. Sasha’s stomach twisted unpleasantly again as she realized how close she had come to losing Melanie to the Slaughter. Well, not losing, necessarily; Martin was still Martin despite being an avatar of the Beholding, and Gerry was still Gerry despite being an avatar of the End, so the likelihood that Melanie would still be Melanie after becoming an avatar of the Slaughter was…okay, lower than if she’d been falling to a less destructive power, but still a possibility. Still, if she’d leaned into it without them noticing, without anyone to check her…

“Martin,” she said suddenly. “Melanie ought to be waking up soon. Why don’t you go in and sit with her while you record that statement you…extracted? That way you can get some privacy, somewhere that isn’t the tunnels and making you weak, and when she comes round she can see for herself you’re okay and you two can…talk or whatever.”

Martin stared at her. Sasha stared back at him, keeping her expression as blank and innocent as possible and hoping the lack of static meant he wasn’t looking into her head. After a too-long moment, he nodded. “You’ve…got a good point. Will you three be all right?”

“We’ll be fine,” Tim assured him. “And if Gerry gets here before you come out, we’ll clue him in and send him in too. This seems like a day for sibling time.”

His voice cracked slightly on the last words, and Martin’s forehead creased in obvious sympathy. He reached over and gave Tim a tight hug, then kissed Jon’s cheek and headed back into Document Storage.

The moment the door clicked shut behind him, Jon turned to Sasha. “All right, despite your…recommendation, I have to ask. Why did you just happen to have chloroform on hand to take Melanie down? And isn’t it illegal to purchase or sell?”

Sasha thought about lying, or avoiding the question, but something about Jon’s expression said he already had an idea. “Second question first, absolutely, and no, I’m not telling you where I got it. And as to your first question…it wasn’t for Melanie. Not originally, anyway. It was for Martin.” She dropped her eyes and held up a hand to forestall his reaction. “It’s for his own good. I just—I got worried about him, and I worried that he might…go too far. I talked it over with Tim, one day when you two were out somewhere, and we both agreed that we needed to have a backup plan to, well, take him down if he got dangerous. So I, um, did some research that probably got me put on several international watch lists.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. Any watch list that would have put you on, you’ve probably been on since before I met you.” Jon sighed heavily. “I won’t pretend I’m happy about it…but I won’t pretend I don’t blame you, either. You’re right. Precautions are…smart. And I’m pretty sure Martin will feel the same.”

“You’d know.” Tim rubbed his hand over his face and glanced at the door to the Archivist’s office. “New question…what are we going to do about that? We can’t just leave it in there.”

Jon hesitated. “Martin suggested maybe taking it up to Artifact Storage, but…”

“Nope,” Sasha said with a shake of her head. “Last memo from Peter Lukas’s office, remember? ‘If resources are needed from another department, send the request in a memo and it will be sent to you if deemed necessary.’ No visiting around. We can’t just take things up there. And I don’t think putting a blatant artifact of the Buried up there would be ‘necessary’ in his opinion.”

“We could always just take it up to Basira’s office,” Tim mumbled. “She’s the only one that wants Daisy back so bad.”

“Tim!” Sasha said reproachfully.

“What? I’m just saying, She got all pissy about her being left behind, even if she did the leaving too.”

“Yeah, but—” Sasha and Jon said in unison. They looked at one another, and Sasha realized—to her surprise—that they were probably thinking the same thing. She gestured for Jon to go ahead.

Jon nodded, then turned to Tim. “She won’t go in after her. She prides herself so much on being logical and calculating…she won’t consider it worth the risk. She probably wouldn’t believe Daisy was still alive in there, let alone that anyone could safely get in and out. And if she climbs in, she won’t have anything to help her climb out again.”

Tim looked back and forth between Jon and Sasha, then evidently decided not to ask questions. “Fine, but…we have to do something to keep the others away from it. Martin thinks part of his duties as Archivist is to take all the danger on himself, no matter what that means, in the slim hope it might make things a little safer for any one of us, and he’s still blaming himself for Daisy whatever he said. Melanie will probably feel so guilty about Marking Martin and being…you know, all Slaughtered up for months on end that she’ll try and atone by going after Daisy, and Gerry feels like he has to protect his younger siblings, which right now includes you two. And if any of them go down there, you know they won’t be coming back up. It won’t let them go.”

“You’re right.” Jon stared at the door to the Archivist’s office.

Sasha definitely did not like that look on his face. “Jon. What are you planning?”

“No,” Tim said, voice full of foreboding. “No, absolutely not, no way in hell. You are not—”

“I have to,” Jon insisted. “If Daisy is still in there, still alive—she doesn’t deserve that, nobody does, Tim. I’ve been Marked by the Hunt—”

“By Daisy herself!”

“Which means it should be easier for me to find her,” Jon pointed out. “You two don’t have that.”

“And how do you plan to find your way back out again?” Tim demanded.

Sasha’s mind raced. It was a bad idea, of course it was, but Jon was right—someone was eventually going to go down there, someone had to go down there, and logically, it being Jon made the most sense. On the other hand, Martin would absolutely throw himself into the coffin after him if anything happened…

Martin. That was it.

“Martin,” she said out loud. “You two have been saying it for ages—you ground each other, you anchor each other. He’s got part of your heart and you have part of his—maybe not literally, but fuck it, these things are more than half metaphor anyway, right? Once you find Daisy, all you have to do is remember Martin and you’ll be out in no time.”

Jon straightened and smiled a little, the way he frequently did around Martin in their saner, less stressful moments. Tim looked unhappy. “You don’t know it’s going to work.”

“It’s the best chance we’ve got,” Sasha said. “Not like he can leave a literal part of his body out here as an anchor. Can’t cut off a finger or toe or whatever.”

Obviously picking up on where she was going with that, Jon gave a thoughtful shrug. “I suppose I could ask…try to get hold of Michael and see if he’ll let me talk to Jared Hopworth. I don’t think he killed him, so if he’s trapped down there, maybe he could, I don’t know, pull out a rib for me to use as an anchor. If you think me having something physical will be better.”

“What the fuck is wrong with you two?” Tim scowled. “Trusting the Distortion or the Boneturner would be the height of stupidity, trusting both of them is so far above stupid it’s bordering on insanity, and it’s not like you just know where your bones are even when they’re not part of your body, or kids would know what happens to their teeth when they fall out.”

Jon crossed his arms over his chest. “Then you agree. Martin as my anchor is the best bet.”

“Obviously that’s the best bet.”

“Good, it’s settled then.” Jon opened a desk drawer and pulled out two things—a small tape recorder and a strip of pictures from one of those photo booth things you sometimes saw at carnivals or in shopping arcades. He tucked the photo strip into his pocket and gripped the recorder, then looked at Tim and Sasha. “Tell him where I’ve gone, and that I love him. I’ll be back soon. I hope we both will.”

“Be careful, Jon.” Sasha hugged him.

Jon hugged her back, then turned to the Archivist’s office and walked up to the door. He squared his shoulders, took a deep breath, and pulled the door open, then closed it firmly behind himself and was gone.

Tim blinked hard, then looked at Sasha. “What the hell did I just agree to?”

Sasha should probably feel guilty about the way she and Jon had manipulated Tim into acquiescing to the scheme, impromptu though it was, but she didn’t. It was their only option, and they’d had to get him on board with it somehow. “The only chance we’ve got to make this right.”

Tim swallowed and turned to look at the closed office door. “Hope you’re right, Sasha. I really hope you’re right.”

[kariachi]

Okay, looking at the history of Alan's page on the wiki, look into age shit. Going to try to keep my "I was literally there" commentary to myself.

~~

First mention of his age comes on April 28 2010, claiming it was stated by McDuffie but with nothing backing the claim.

It then back and forths a bit between his age being listed as 10, being listed as in his teens, or not listed at all based essentially on 'you don't have proof he's that young' 'you don't have proof he's not' and presumably 'guys he's like an inch shorter than Ben and built like a teen' it seems, eventually being left on 'he's 10'.

On January 2 2011 McDuffie is asked if the wiki is accurate as far as Alan's age and answers with "No, he's 11". This claim isn't added to the wiki, it seems nobody was citing any sources at the time.

On January 15 2011 the wiki is altered to show Alan as being 14 in AF, though the same page also lists him as 11.

January 16 2011 sees the 11 removed and replaced with fifteen.

An January 20 2011 the page is again altered to list him as 10 in AF and remove the mention of his age from the main body of the page.

On June 20 2011 somebody alters the wiki to state that he's 12 during AF, again with no citation.

This is changed back on June 24 2011.

On October 8 2011 the page is again changed to state that Alan is 14 in AF.

The page stays this way, including through multiple edits by the seeming originator of the 'Alan is 10' concept, until July 6 2014, when his age is removed entirely from the page.

The next time we see his age listed is after a long stint of the page being partially broken, on November 23 2014, listing him as 14 in AF.

His age is then removed again on January 18 2015.

And it stays like that until February 13 2019, when his age in AF is listed as 10 again, this time at least with a damn citation. The first, by the way, up until that day nobody was citing shit.

And that's how shit remains to this day.

~~

Now, doing this for 2 reasons. One- to back up my claims that 'he's 10' is inaccurate, there's a reason it was changed in the first place after that first comment from McDuffie ended up staying up nearly three years. And these weren't inactive years either, there were plenty of people going in and editing shit. Two- to give me a time to start looking to see if I can find where McDuffie clarified his age- somewhere between Jan 2 and Jan 15, probably closer to the latter.

Probably I won't be able to find it, it's been ages since the forum was taken down, and surely if it hadn't been lost to time somebody would have tracked it down by now, but I have to try. It just, burns at me so damn much, I have to make as strong an attempt as I can.

So, here I am off to search...

~~

And back several hours later with nothing to show for my trawling of archives, and I did fucking trawl. I've got 80 tons of shellfish and not a sign of this damn post because there's a massive chunk gone between the thread page fuckers managed to find and the next one I could get my mitts on.

Also the fucking site this thread page can be found on. It has like 70-odd pages from the old McDuffie site saved, all of them random single pages. How did this happen? Who set this up? The Internet Archive has shit in small batches, but this shit is just individual pages with whole chunks unaccounted for between them. Fucking weird. If nothing else these fuckers need to get in touch with each other and share what they've got.

~~

In the end though, I think this is if nothing else a solid reminder to archive shit. And to cite your goddamn sources when you're editing a wiki! Seriously, how the fuck did it take over twenty years to get a single citation on Alan's page? If people had been doing that from the start we would have had far fewer problems because we could just go 'this is what was said'! But no, now we're here, with me having to submit to the fact everybody is going to take a sarcastic remark as gospel despite contradictory evidence on the fucking screen until all knowledge of this fandom fizzles away!

Sorry, sorry, was trying to stay off that soapbox.

But, as important if not more so than the citations on wikis thing is still, back shit up people. Archive crap if you can. The Internet Archive has a Firefox extension, you can literally set it to automatically archive pages you go to. Because if this whole situation brings anything into the spotlight, it should be the fact that it's real easy for information to be lost to time. One man died, and because so much wasn't backed up, hundreds of pages, we've lost entire huge chunks of WoG and worldbuilding that now exists only in the heads of the people who were there to read it.

'The internet is forever' only holds true if we put in the effort, because otherwise everything from fandom crap to news articles to instruction manuals can vanish in a poof of lost funds and lost attention. If we wanna know shit later, we've got to store it now.

[castlebyersafterdark]

you are never too sappy! (congrats btw! + big love to the mike to your will... i see that blue heart and height difference mention 😉) the balance works so well so far. like a little glimmer of you. especially as its always relevant through a byler prism, so youre not making it all about you at all. i cant believe how cosy it is here. i genuinely await your writing like i would a new published novel hahaa. i also was going through my likes and saw an anon post on spicybylerpolls from february. it mentioned the sears catalogue and byler's fantasies and i had adored it at the time. rereading now, i'm like... VINNY?!?!? hahaha maybe it's not you but it's textbook and the style of writing and openminded humbleness felt very you. love.

especially love the self-acceptance journey you seem to be on here, allowing yourself nerdery, allowing yourself spice in byler forums, keeping a healthy eye on your online habits! + growing to love yourself more through will perhaps, keeping up with your writing, learning you kind of love cringe roleplay sex in fic?!?!? hehehehehe and also realisations that you may or may not want to share! its all gold dust - and honestly, this feels like blogs as i knew them growing up, like wordpress, blogspot, etc. proper old blogs where it's just right mix of artistic and personal.

x

Thanks, I feel so happy being here, everyone is so sweet 😘 Saving the dash from my personal rambles:

I didn't want to ruin it by changing things up too much. But, I do kinda want to talk about whatever here and post the occasional non-Byler stuff, still mostly the normal fandoming and spicy posting like I've been doing. Keeping the chill vibes. This does feel very much like a different type of blogging than I'm used to. It's cool. Even if people get sick of me or lose interest, I'll pretend that's not the case hahaha. Corny as hell, but it feels safe here.

Incredibly flattered that you look forward to my writing! I've always wrote fic and original pieces and scripts and loved it but had zero confidence. Did it anyway. I still have a lot of growth to work through with my writing when I decide to post polished fics, but that's fun now, feels different. I have so much in the wheelhouse. It'll fuel me to season 5 and beyond, I'm pretty sure.

That's funny you mention the spicypolls account, because I HAD to go searching through their archive and I found that post - wow, I see what you mean. The typing style certainly could make you think it's me, and it was an excellent post but full disclosure - I've never sent anything into that blog before! I only started this blog in May (whoa! 2 months?? Feels a lot longer!) and I genuinely only lurked and never interacted anywhere on the spicy corner before I converted this account, even on anon.

And I never thought I'd learn things about myself through something as genuinely kind of silly as what is, at its core, an explicit head-canon and writing blog for a fictional fandom ship. Hahahaha. But here I am. Feeling a little more confident in embracing my vulnerabilities and weirdness. Weirdness isn't bad! It's stuff I've known but it's different when you just live your life, instead of actually talking about it outside of your brain. Helps me feel less embarrassed after posting here sometimes - I look back over what I post and just cringe on occasion but power through a little easier lately!!

And ohhh it always comes back to the cringe roleplay, doesn't it 😏 Which has been a fun exercise in letting myself play around and try new things in general, with writing. With real life. Be a little weirdo. Find your people. Stay authentic.

Thanks for this one, it's a little self-indulgent, rambling about myself, but it made me smile. ❤️ Incredibly corny, but this is the kind of environment I think I've always been searching for online, but looked in all the wrong places. So, ughhhh. Finally.

[balshumetsbaragouin]

Chapter fifteen is out, and in it, our favorite all human ghost huntress as a bad time. Nothing fights her, at least nothing that's a wiggler, but she's still struggling. You should go read it to give her some support!

We are quickly making our way through the Second Act, only three more chapters to go! With that in mind, we're in line to finish the uploads for this before the end of February. Only a month left! Wow! Time sure does fly.

Still not sure if you want to join the other readers on the Passion train? Have a preview of the chapter below!:

She stared out the window at the dark alley near her bedroom, eyeing every shadowed recess and divot for signs of movement. She started at the top of the building, working her way down every row, meticulous, focused, listening to the steady tick of the metronome she’d set up on her computer to time this. She reached the bottom and started at the top again, eyes flickering over every place someone could hide. She’d seen them yesterday, skulking about, waiting to catch her transformation. She had to be vigilant. All it would take was one slip up, and her life would turn inside out. They existed. She’d seen them yesterday. She started back at the top of the building, tracing every brick, following the flow of every crack. She’d find them again. She just had to focus. The metronome kept its steady beat. Where were they hiding?

“Valerie?” Her dad’s voice cut through her focus, making her lose track somewhere along the third floor. When she looked to meet his eyes by the door, she saw movement in the alley in her peripheral vision. Damn it. They’d moved as soon as she’d stopped watching. 

She smiled, tried to remember how to smile, and slapped a grin on her mouth, hoping it passed muster. “Yes Daddy?” She blinked her eyes a few times, trying to force away the flickering shadows of shifting movement the stranger made just outside of her central field of vision. She’d track them down soon enough. 

“Baby, I’ve been calling you for the last couple of minutes.” He looked around her room, head turning in a sweep that took in everything from her wall of info about the plague to the pushed away board about Phantom. “Usually when you get that distracted, you’re working on one of your vision boards.” He locked eyes with her, his gaze piercing, too knowledgeable, too keen. She looked away.

“I was trying out some meditation techniques. That’s what the metronome is for.” She slid off her bed, ignoring the rattling coming from the fire escape. The window was locked; she’d checked. “I thought it might help with, you know, my stress levels since I’ve been too tired to jog lately. Maybe it’d even help at college.” She walked closer to him, taking one of his hands in her own, squeezing it tightly, grounding her to the safety of her space. The stranger was outside, and she and her father were inside. They couldn’t hurt them here.

[ahungeringknife]

365: February 3

@seventhscorpio

yeah pretty sure I just got a 3 day brain rot about the Hive. I am the worst at doing month long challenges bc more than like 3-4 prompts rarely interest me.

---

He’d never been to this part of the Throne World before. According to the runes and directions it said ‘Archives’. So a library of some sort. He’d never been to a library but he’d seen plenty.

He library was enormous at six stories tall and full of shelves that went up to the ceiling of each floor. Lining the shelves were thousands and thousands of books, scrolls, and rolls of documents. Most of the occupants were Wizards, gently floating with a book in hand or resting it on a tall lecturn. But there were Acolytes here too most of them sporting a horned carapace headpiece not unlike Wizards. Wizards to-be perhaps? Not all of them of course. Some were just Acolytes and a handful he saw had the start of their Swords at their hips.

He wandered the library unhindered looking at the towering white stacks and the delicate stained glass that looked like eyes peering in on you. But why did the Hive need books if they had the World’s Graves? He ended up standing between two stacks thinking about it for a long time. Maybe they just liked it? The interfaces he’d seen Hive use weren’t… the best and most of it was analogue. It wasn’t like Graves were rare either. They were all over. Maybe they didn’t work the same in a Throne World? That had to be it.

There were several librarian acolytes in the library who made sure no one was doing anything disruptive. One caught Gup putting a book back in the slightly wrong place and started yelling at him. It was just one book to the left what was the big deal!? He made himself scarce quickly after that, leaving the library but staying near the Archives.

He ended up finding an acolyte off by themselves furiously writing stuff down. Gup just leaned over their shoulder and saw they were writing notes directed at Savathun. Gup didn’t get why. His mom said Savathun was dead now. Or at least her body was. “Isn’t that a fool’s errand?” he asked.

The acolyte nearly fell off the low ledge they were sitting on. “What? Who are you? Don’t you know it’s rude to sneak up on people?” he demanded.

“I wasn’t sneaking, you just didn’t hear me,” Gup said brightly.

The acolyte narrowed his green eyes at him. “Why do you sound like that?”

“Like what?”

“Mmmm. What are you doing here?”

“Looking around,” Gup said in his carefree stupid way he could do. He’d learned to do it from uncle Savant and he was very good at it.

“Well do it somewhere else.”

“Why are you writing notes for Savathun?” Gup asked, undisturbed by the hostility. A lot of Hive were hostile towards you at first. “She’s… gone,” he said, feigning sadness.

“Exactly. And I’ll have everything written down for when she comes back,” they said sharply.

“But the Guardians took her. I imagine she won’t, right?”

“Pft. Immaru will find a way. Don’t you want her to come back?”

“I’ve lost enough gods, another doesn’t do much for me,” Gup said. Eric had had to talk him through that logic. He was technically part of Crota’s brood but ‘would’ have joined Oryx’s brood when he showed up. “I know Guardians are good at making our gods dead,” he tapped part of his arm where he still had some yellow chitin. He’d shed most of it in favor of more gray blue/purple that more resembled his mom’s skin. He sat next to the acolyte on the ledge now.

“You were Crota Spawn,” he said. Gup nodded. “Awful thing they did to our Prince,” he said bitterly. “I was Hidden Swarm before Savathun came.”

“What’s your name?”

“Dornuk.”

As far as names went it was nothing terribly special. Good name though. “I’m “Xolkûn, but you can call me Gup if you want. That’s what my mom always calls me,” he said cheerfully. He loved how absolutely confused what he said made other Hive.

“… Gup? But Xolkûn is such a cool name,” Dornuk said.

“My mom only calls me that when I’m in trouble.”

There was a long beat of silence. “What’s a mom?”

“Like a brood mother but she loves you,” Gup said brightly.

Dornuk stared at Gup. “You’re weird, Xolkûn,” he decided.

“Gup is better.”

“Fine. Stupid weird name for a stupid weird Acolyte,” Dornuk said.

“My mom thinks its cute,” Gup said. “So if you’re writing notes for Savathun when she comes back how do you know what to write down?”

“I’m just writing everything down,” Dornuk said.

“I bet it’d be easier if you were allowed around some big deal wizards huh?”

“Who’s to say I’m not?” Dornuk asked scornfully.

“Well you’re here and not in a meeting on how to thwart the Gaurdians,” Gup shrugged. “Or get our god back.”

Dornuk looked at him a long moment. “You talk weird. Like those Lucent,” he squinted at Gup. “You’re not one are you?”

“No. I bet my mom has some stuff you could write down for Savathun,” he said. “She knows all sorts of stuff about what’s happening in the Throne World.”

“Your ‘mom’ is some sort of Wizard or something?”

“No. She’s a Lightbearer.”

Dornuk gave Gup the most confused look. Gup didn’t talk to too many Hive so didn’t really realize he was being insanely confusing. “… Sure,” he said and got up, Gup hopped to his feet.

“We need to go somewhere open first,” Gup said and Dornuk followed Gup out of the Archives onto the promenade that ran up to the Archives.

“What’s the matter with you?” Dornuk asked after Gup found his mom’s scope glint and made a hand sign. He knew she was looking. He counted the flashes of the scope glint.

“Hmm? Nothing I’m just getting a reading from my mom. This way. She’ll meet us over here,” and he walked off. They walked a ways away from the Archives to what was now a fountain with benches. Gup plopped down. Dornuk stood.

“So what exactly is your mom?” Dornuk asked.

“A Lightbearer,” Gup said, not lying but not telling Donuk the whole truth either.

“If you were in Crota’s Brood how’d you end up here?”

“I was brought? Not like I’m a Wizard who can fly,” Gup said.

“But you don’t have the carapace colors of any swarm I’m familiar with,” Dornuk’s eyes narrowed. “Including Xivu Arath.”

“I just like these,” Gup said in his sweet stupid way that looked like it was giving Dornuk a headache. “It’s fun, you know. What’s life if you can’t have some fun?”

“There is work to be done over fun.”

“Sounds like you never have fun.”

“I do too,” Dornuk protested. “It has just… been a harrowing year.”

“After you meet my mom we should go do something fun,” Gup said brightly.

“You are a strange Acolyte, Gup,” Dornuk said with all the gravity of a funeral.

“Oh, momma,” Gup perked up and Dornuk turned when Gup pointed. Before Dornuk could yell about a Guardian Eric calmly put a gun in his face. “Mooom, don’t do that,” Gup whined.

“Who’s your friend, baby?” she asked, looking at Dornuk who was bigger than her.

“Dornuk. He’s nice,” Gup said.

“Dornuk… Let’s be friends. No yelling, okay?” she asked nicely and Gup didn’t hear the obvious threat in her voice. Dornuk nodded quickly. Eric put her gun away, slotting it into a holster on her thigh. “What’d you call me here for, baby?” she asked Gup.

“Dornuk writes stuff down for Savathun,” Gup said pointing at his new friend. “All the important stuff but he’s not allowed in meetings with the Wizards. But you know all sorts of important stuff, right?” he asked her.

There was a pause and then Eric chuckled. “Sure. I guess,” she allowed and came and sat next to him.

Dornuk stood there staring at them. “Gup, that’s a Guardian.”

“Yeah. Lightbearer, like I said,” Gup chirped.

“Why isn’t it shooting us?”

“She’s my mom. She wouldn’t shoot us don’t be silly,” Gup scoffed.

“I can understand you, you know. It’s quite rude to talk about someone like they aren’t here,” Eric said.

Dornuk looked at them both and looked torn between great interest and absolute fury and revulsion. Eventually his curiosity won out. “You’re Gup’s mom?”

“Yes.”

Gup was thrilled when Dornuk slowly came over and sat on Gup’s other side with his writing tablet. “What’s a mom?”

[chayscribbles]

chayscribbles’ monthly writing update ☆ february 2023

☆ STATISTICS.

words written: 11 606

projects worked on: Andromeda Rogue; The Gemini Heist; and a Third, Secret WIP

proudest accomplishment: i'm about halfway through with AR1 draft 2! and i finished like, a bunch of drawings

books read: Architects of Memory by Karen Osborne; All Systems Red (Murderbot Diaries #1) by Martha Wells;

☆ GENERAL COMMENTS.

why do i feel like i wrote a lot less than i actually did. like i looked at my total and thought "now that can't be right... there's no way i wrote that much."

things are going better for some wips (AR) than they are for others (GH) so maybe my head is cancelling it out lol.

reading comments: Architects of Memory was basically "a corporate war over alien weapons featuring messy sapphics in space" and i liked it but it wasn't quite a coup de coeur, 4/5 stars. All Systems Red was an absolute delight, 5/5 stars, will be reading the rest of the series once my holds on Libby come through.

(also i started reading Hell Bent by Leigh Bardugo this past weekend, and i blame it + it's precursor Ninth House for putting me in the mood to work on Third Secret WIP lately, as Ninth House is partially responsible for the genre shift in Third Secret WIP.)

more specific wip-related comments + featured excerpt below.

☆ COMMENTS: ANDROMEDA ROGUE (draft 2)

i'm about halfway through this draft! i've passed 40k this month!

things are going super well. when i have the magical combo of time and energy and motivation to write i can get through scenes pretty easily, now that i don't have to worry about overall plot as much. plus i get to add little things here and there to beef it up.

i've mostly worked on the second act this month, which is where the team really starts going through things together.

there's one particular Azami chapter right before the midpoint that's a monster of lore-dropping. i had to rework it several times as i had an entire page of editing notes to make sure everything is coherent... and i'm still not entirely sure i've gotten it right 😭

☆ COMMENTS: THE GEMINI HEIST (outlining / draft 0.5)

not much to say about this one. didn't work on it as much. the plot for this wip continues to frustrate me. i'll find myself coming up with little ideas for the characters and the world... but when i try to sit down and come up with actual scenes and plot, my brain turns to soup.

☆ COMMENTS: THIRD, SECRET WIP

this wip is consuming me. devouring me with its teeth. i'm surprised to find i may actually have a plot. turns out letting it hibernate for 3 years and tweaking with the genre has done some good.

i might cave and post an intro in the next month. stay tuned...

☆ FEATURED EXCERPT.

this is from the like, one scene i wrote for gemini heist this month. i just think it's funny. for context, Leo and Gabi are trying to get access to some archives in a university library, and are posing as students.

As [Leo and the archivist] talked, Gabi slipped her hand into the pocket of her ridiculous jacket. Her fingers closed around a small round device. She glanced around. While Leo was doing a great job at keeping the archivist distracted, the commotion had caught the attention of nearly everyone in the room.

Just be normal, she told herself. She inched her hand out of her pocket.

“Which archives exactly do you need access to?” [the archivist] asked.

“Art of the early Viheldan Empiric era,” Leo said. “My paper is on the Gemini statuettes.”

“Ah, that might be why. You need a special authorization form from a professor or another faculty member to access those.”

Leo pouted. “But my professor said he got access for me!”

“Perhaps you can message him—”

“Ugh— can’t you just call him right now and ask? I don’t have time for this.”

“Alright. I’ll give him a call.”

Shit. Gabi wasn’t ready. She fumbled to take out the device, concealing it as best as she could in the palm of her hand. All she needed was to place it on the archivist’s computer terminal without him seeing a thing before he made that call.

The archivist’s fingers hovered over the screen for a second before pressing an icon at the bottom. With a starburst motion of his hand, he expanded a search window and began typing in the name of the professor. Panicking, Gabi slammed the device in her hand onto the side of the terminal.

The already quiet room went completely silent. All eyes turned towards her. The archivist’s were wide and stunned. Leo’s were sharp and furious.

“I, uh,” Gabi sputtered, awkwardly keeping her hand glued to the terminal. The device whirred to life, vibrating softly under her palm. “I-I thought I saw a bug.”

☆ TAGLISTS. let me know if you want to be added/removed to any of them.

general taglist:

@nicola-writes @dgwriteblr @the-orangeauthor @retrogayyde @quilloftheclouds @ashen-crest @writeblrfantasy @celestepens @stardustspiral @pepperdee @extra-magichours @avi-why @lefttigerobservation @chazzawrites @bardolatrycore @innocentlymacabre

andromeda trilogy taglist:

@bebewrites @nicola-writes @dgwriteblr @the-orangeauthor @retrogayyde @akindofmagictoo @quilloftheclouds @nora-theteawriter @ashen-crest @corpsepng @writeblrfantasy @toboldlywrite @celestepens @stardustspiral @pepperdee @cheerfulmelancholies @extra-magichours @writeouswriter @cilly-the-writer @lefttigerobservation @rose-bookblood @drowsy-quill @chazzawrites @cynic-and-chief @enchanted-lightning-aes @aesa

gemini heist taglist:

@florraisons @akindofmagictoo @cream-and-tea @nicola-writes @memento-morri-writes @antique-symbolism @rose-bookblood @afoolandathief @pepperdee @avi-why @zonnemaagd @chazzawrites @analogued @enchanted-lightning-aes @innocentlymacabre @kahvilahuhut @celestepens @cilly-the-writer @extra-magichours @retrogayyde

[thislovintime]

On set (for, in photos 1-4, “Monkee Mother,” January 16-19, 1967; photos 5-6, “The Picture Frame,” April 5-7, 1967; and photos 9-10, “Monkees On The Wheel,” October 23-27, 1967); photographed by Chuck Boyd for KRLA Beat, Michael Ochs Archives, Gene Trindl, Fab 208, Pictorial Press.

“I feel as happy with the character of Peter Tork portrayed in the series as I ever was, but he’s changing. You’ve not seen them yet, but in future episodes you’ll find I’m not so dumb as I have been up to now.” - Peter Tork, Disc & Music Echo, January 20, 1968

“I’ve always been a clown. I did comedy-variety shows and minstrel shows in high school and college. On the Village stages all you could do is throw out a few one-liners; basically you’re up there to sing and pass the basket. This opened up a whole new area that I hadn’t been able to explore so fully before. I was hoping to base further experience on that and eventually expand, but that didn’t happen, which was disappointing. But my goal was always to wend my way merrily through life, playing my little banjo and my little guitar and singing my songs.” - Peter Tork, When The Music Mattered (1984)

"I can think of two good reasons why I was chosen. One is that I brought that character of the dummy to the audition. And they needed an odd man out, a guy who is like a little, you know, slightly turned from the other guys; straight-ahead rock and roll band, and one kind of simpatico, simplicico kind of a guy, and that was my character. And so that was one of the reasons why I was chosen. The other reason I think I was chosen is because I did the screen test in one take. At least, I thought it was impressive, I hope they did, too. In any case, it was like that, I got — I was the odd man out, Davy was the little British or romantic, and then two other guys, one of them light and crazed, and the other kind of dark and serious. And so that was the way it was balanced out." - Peter Tork, NPR, June 1983

“‘They had two regular guys and a tiny heartthrob and they needed an offbeat kind of guy,�� says Peter Tork. ‘So I brought that simpleton in, a part I had developed on the Greenwich Village scene. I enjoyed that role. I still do, sometimes.’” - Washington Post, July 27, 1986 (x)

“Tork says he had experimented with that persona since his Greenwich Village days. ‘I created that character on stage (as) a defense. In case a joke fell flat, (I’d) smile befuddledly.’ Looking back, Tork mused, ‘It probably expressed an inner truth about me.’” - Los Angeles Times, October 20, 1992

"The main 3 reasons I was selected: I did my scene (screen test scene) perfectly on the first try… the 'Dummy' character I created on the screen…was created by ME… and they said…we will give you the part if you don’t mind playing the character!" - Peter Tork, Compuserve chat, 1995

“He developed that character, he said, to deal with audiences while performing in Greenwich Village fold clubs in the early ’60s. ‘I was actually shy, putting up a loud facade,’ said Peter.” - San Francisco Weekly, February 15, 1995

Peter Tork: "I’m shy.” Q: “You are? PT: “Yeah.” Q: “I wouldn’t say you’re shy.” PT: “You wouldn’t think so. This is all a ruse, this is all a cover up. I’ve spent years and years learning — because being shy was not a good thing so I… this is all like, you know, a left-hander writing with his right hand. [...] I created that character. In fact, I created that character in Greenwich Village, on the stages. It was sort like — like I said, all this show business is all smoke and mirrors, right? I created that character partly as a way of, like, deflecting, deflecting disaster. If I told a joke and it didn’t go over, I’d put this face on as if to say, ‘I don’t know anything about jokes but somebody told me it was funny.’ And it kept me from feeling like I had laid an egg. It was just like something that I threw out there. So that character sort of evolved generally. And then when they did the auditions, they asked me if I minded playing that character on stage, on the TV show. No, fine.” - Peter Tork, GOLD 104.5, 1999 (x)

[archivyrep]

Archivist Absent: Media where archivists should be present

Molly McGee in the archives in an episode of The Ghost and Molly McGee

In April 2020, Sam Cross, who I often cite on this blog, told Archives Aware! that is worrisome that archivists are not featured in media "where they should absolutely be present." She specifically noted urban fantasy television shows, where they "find what they’re looking for without help or aid from someone with...a background in records management and/or archival science." While I can't specifically point to any shows like the ones she described, there are series which have been covered on this blog where archivists should be present. This goes beyond those I mentioned when I wrote about this topic in February 2021, when I asked "where are the archivists? Who is managing the records?" [1] The same question remains now.

Reprinted from my Wading Through the Cultural Stacks WordPress blog. Originally published on Mar. 9, 2022.

Two specific examples which come to mind are the basement archives in Phineas and Ferb and The Ghost and Molly McGee. In both cases, no archivist is shown, although characters make extensive uses of archives. If in the former series an archivist had been present, it is possible that it would have been more difficult for Prof. Doofenshmirtz to grab the town charter and use it for his own ends. Although the series does emphasize the value of records, and in some ways, the importance of ongoing stewardship and preservation of archival records, an archivist would definitely have helped counter some archives stereotypes that the series sadly perpetrated due to its portrayal of archives.

For the latter series, an archivist could be just as much a part of the plot as Archie the Archivist is in two episodes of The Regular Show. Instead, the characters somehow know how to get the information they are looking for and enter a dusty archives with no one in sight. Doesn't anyone manage this archives? Why is no one there? Those questions, predictably, are not answered in the episode.

The same could be said for the archives-related scenes in Star Wars Rebels. Even though in some episodes archives are specifically mentioned, with the Empire trying to take possession of records in order to further their own objectives, no archivists are shown. This in contrast to other Star Wars series which feature Jocasta Nu, chief archivist of the Jedi Temple Archives. While not every one of those episodes would be helped with the addition of an archivist as a character, at least some of them would be improved with such an addition. It could have helped buck some stereotypes of archivists or the trend of featuring archives but with archivists nowhere in sight.

As one of the cranky archivists sneered at my post in February, declaring "a lot of people get that information and organizational systems are products of people and have biases," and that is definitely the case with the archives in all the popular culture media mentioned so far. All of the information and organizational systems here have biases and are products of people. Sadly, this isn't really explored in any of these series, but you can't completely expect them to.

While there are undoubtedly more examples of this, I'll continue writing on this topic in hopes of finding other shows to cover in the future which feature archives and archivists.

© 2022 Burkely Hermann. All rights reserved.

Notes

[1] In that post, I specifically highlighted Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy (2005 film), episodes of Amphibia, Futurama, Cleopatra in Space, Hilda, Little Witch Academia, and Tangled. There are other examples of this too, like The Bravest Knight, Steven Universe, and Manaria Friends, as I've pointed out in the past, along with Rick and Morty, Equestria Girls, Carmen Sandiego, That Awkward Magic!!, and Allen Gregory.