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reidetic · 5 years ago

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Letters

Summary: Spencer writes reader letters in prison. Loosely based off of Hey There Delilah.

A/N: The poem in this work belongs to Erin Hanson. Thank you so much to @sunlight-moonrise for beta reading this for me. This was a one day brain child and I hope you enjoy it.

She hadn’t written back. That’s all Spencer could think of, the only thought running through his head as his mattress sunk through the bars and pressed into his back. Two letters so far, two weeks between, save the first week. The letters kept her in his memory, the pen dipping into paper the only thing that kept her perfume wound around his soul. When the ink smeared across his too quick fingers, he cursed, closing his unfounded emotions within the confines of the cheap notebook paper.

She hadn’t written back. It’s not like the letters had been particularly interesting. Spencer had never been an interesting writer, never been the one to capture someone’s attention. That was, until her. Until y/n. He had met her at a writer’s circle, something his mom had suggested.

“You used to write so often, when you were a little boy.” Diana had mused on one of her infrequent good days.

“I was young then, Mom, nothing I wrote was well-written.” Spencer had laughed with her, both of them remembering the mother’s day haikus that should’ve never been sent home.

“I’m just saying that the life you’ve lived deserves to be written down.” And so he went, attending a small after hours circle at a local community college. He saw her first. Her hair slung up haphazardly, pens tucked into the tendrils, one shirt sleeve slipping off of her shoulder, and her tongue sticking slightly out her mouth in concentration. She was a girl who could steal your attention from the first glance. One pen slipped out of her hair then, and he had leaned forward, picking it up and extending it to her with a smile.

“Spencer.” He had offered, his name a gift to the girl who sat before him. He thought they probably looked like a painting, with the lanky boy kneeling in front of the ethereal girl, one hand extended with a pen obscured by his own spindly fingers.

“Y/n.” She gave her name right back, grabbing the pen from his hand. And that had been it. That one moment was all it took for Spencer to know he would follow where she went. They had become inseparable, no longer one without the other. They promised each other they’d come every single week, filled notebooks in hand. They stayed far too long after the circle had been dismissed, reading in hushed whispers and bodies so still the motion lights went dim.

Spencer had felt himself start to fall on one particular night, when they had slipped out to her car to read, their voices filling the cramped car and breath fogging the windows. She had written a poem, something soft and fiery, and he remembered thinking it felt like an autobiography and a love song all at once as her sweet and lilting voice filled the air.

I wish that I could hold your heart,

Cradle it gently in my hands,

But my arms just are not strong enough,

To hold what I don 't understand,

My eyes have seen a lot of

And I thought I'd seen them all,

But the way your smile ignites my own,

Makes me think there's so much more,

These walls around this heart of mine,

Have stood dust,

But it's as though you've found the gate,

That leads right to my trust,

I've never really liked my name,

But on your lips it sounds so sweet,

And your voice is my new favourite song,

That's forever on repeat,

But even though I feel all this,

I can never let you see,

Because your heart deserves a whole lot more,

Than a broken girl like me.

Her trembling breath paused as she finished on the word ‘me’. He felt as though she saw right through him, he turned to glass in her sight. But she was still as opaque as the day he met her. The car had felt awkward then. The air too still, the streetlights outside too bright. They sat in silence, breath held, before y/n had blurted out a quick, “I should get home.”

He still remembers the way her face fell in the moonlight as he agreed with her. He still regrets that, still regrets not pulling her in and kissing her right then and never letting her go. He dreams about that now, about the what ifs and what could have beens. He’s always been a coward.

He had written that night, pages upon pages of writings about her. Nothing but her. She filled his mind for weeks, and when he read his poetry on Thursday nights, she looked away. He could still feel the sting in his cheeks he felt that night when she called his work, “fantastical and unrealistic”. He could still feel the betrayal he felt that night as she ripped into him and left no trace. Despite her harshness, he felt her warmth, or so he thought.

She hadn’t written back. The letter he penned took days, but it wasn’t as if prison life was especially exciting. There weren’t enough words he could find to explain how he felt to her. He had never told her how he felt, not before his arrest. He had tried to write the letter in English, in French, in Latin. None of it made any sense, his cell filled with ruined and crumpled pieces of paper. He settled on an old song, the one he remembered playing softly in the car as she read her heart to him, changed to fit only her.

Hey there y/n,

What’s it like in DC? I’m a thousand miles away, but tonight you look so pretty. I know I can’t see you right now, but it doesn’t matter. I know. Forgive me for the song, it keeps me sane. I don’t know quite what to do with myself right now. It’s not often I get arrested for murders I didn’t commit, but when I do, it’s you I miss. Thursday was strange without your words there to comfort the mass in my head. I find that when you’re speaking it’s the only time I hear silence. Silence is something beautiful rarely created that I don’t experience often enough, but with you, it finds its way to my ears regularly. I know if you were here you’d chastise me about the concept of hearing silence, but you’ll just have to read it in this letter. I don’t have many updates, but know that I am not enjoying myself. Suffice to say, it is hard to enjoy one’s predicament when you aren’t sure when it will be over. I don’t know how to say what I want to say to you, so I won’t. Please be safe. You matter to me more than you know.

Regards,

Spencer Reid

She hadn’t written back. He had sent the letter within his second week behind bars. His life continued, slowly but surely, days passing and hopes of a response every day. And every day, nothing. It kills him, but he can’t blame her. He doesn’t know that he would write himself back if he was in her shoes. Still, he sent another letter. He put just a bit more of his soul into the second, still not quite ready to confess anything he might have considered confessing that night in her car.

Hey there y/n,

Don’t you worry about the distance, I’m right here if you get lonely. Not literally, you know that, of course. But you can always give this letter another read. Listen to my voice, it’s my disguise. I’m by your side. I’ll always be by your side, whether or not you need me. If you want me to leave, I’ll go. But until then, I’ll stay by your side. Everyone needs a loyal friend, right? I know I could use one right now. I don’t blame you for not responding. You have no proof that I am not a guilty man. But I will swear to you every day until the day that I die, I am innocent. I am innocent. I am innocent. You don’t have to believe a word I say but I will write it, scream it, sing it until you do. Prison isn’t easy. I just want to hear your voice. The eidetic memory may help, but nothing is as good as the real thing. You don’t have to write back. I wish I could tell you everything I think. I love you. Be safe.

Sincerely,

Spencer Reid

She hadn’t written back. He couldn’t stop thinking about her. Y/n, her smile, her voice, her face. Her smell was burned into his psyche like a brand. He couldn’t forget her if he tried. And oh, he tried. Menial tasks and thumbing through books he’d already read, folding the laundry three separate times, and yet she still infiltrated his brain. No matter how fast his fingers moved, her voice lilted in his head, ‘Spencer, Spencer.’ She helped him escape, helped him remain who he is through and through. She still hadn’t responded. A month and a half after his arrest, three weeks after his last letter. He figured he had one last try. He knew his walls were closing in, his mind delving away into itself for protection. He knew he couldn’t be himself much longer, but she was the last thing keeping his feet on the ground.

Hey there y/n,

I’ve got so much left to say, if every letter I wrote to you would take your breath away, I’d write them all. I’d write you every letter in the world if it meant I got to hear your voice again. If it meant you didn’t hate me for what I’ve become. Prison life isn’t easy and I’ve had to do things to survive that make me unrecognizable. I don’t know that I am the person you knew. But I know you are. You get me through all of this. I think about us, what we could’ve been if I had been who you needed, who you wanted. I love you, you know. I can see you walking down the aisle, I can see you holding our children. I can see the house we buy, the cars we fight over. I can see the quilts lining our bed in stolen kisses in the morning, and I can see the light in your eyes. I love you. I am yours. If you want me, if you don’t, I am yours.

Yours truly

Yours, truly

Spencer Reid

Truth be told, Spencer had assumed they’d never prove his innocence. He had grown accustomed to being in prison, protecting himself and others in ways he never thought he’d do. So when JJ showed up, simply stating they were here to take him home, he couldn’t believe it. His disbelief paralyzed him, shock bounding through his body as he froze to the spot he was in. The only thing that got him moving again was her. Y/n. He’d see her. Her.

His second shock of the day was his greeting as he exited the prison, not bound or confined for the first time in three months. The sun felt better out here, somehow.. Garcia was there, taking him in her arms, and he breathes in the scent of her perfume, of lilies and coffee. That’s not what shocks him though, but what lies behind Garcia. Her. She’s here. Y/n.

“Y/n.” He takes a step towards her, tentative, watching the tears fall from her eyes and feeling his own dash across his cheeks.

“Spencer Reid.” And there is not another word but her arms are thrown around his neck, and for the first time Spencer understands that home is not a place, but a person.

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imsorryimlate · 4 years ago

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Specific references in Pomegranate Seeds, sorted by chapter

Title of work: Pomegranate Seeds

A reference to the myth of Persephone and Hades, where Hades is the god of the underworld who kidnaps Persephone – the daughter of Demeter, goddess of agriculture and harvest – and makes her queen of the underworld. He gives her a pomegranate to eat, and for every seed she swallows she has to spend a month with Hades in the underworld. During the months she is with Hades, she is gone from her mother, and that’s why autumn and winter exist (since Demeter is grieving the loss of her daughter). Spring and summer are the months when she is back with Demeter, and Demeter is once again happy. The myth has lots of interpretations, but my favourite is the one where it is said to be based on the trauma of both daughter and mother as they are separated when the daughter gets married and enters a new household.

Even though Giorno’s mother didn’t treat him well, her death was most likely traumatic to him. He enters the new household of Dio (Hades) and every time they touch each other in a way that isn’t befitting father and son, one could say that Giorno swallows another pomegranate seed, and it binds him to the underworld. In this case, the underworld would both represent the criminal world, but also the trap of their incestuous relationship that he then cannot leave, should he want to.

No specific references in chapters 1 & 2.

Chapter 3:

Demetra – Giorno’s mother doesn’t have a name in canon, so I made one up. Demetra is the Italian version of Demeter, which is the name of the Greek goddess of agriculture and harvest. The goddess is the mother of Persephone, and the title of this fic – Pomegranate Seeds – is a reference to the myth of Hades and Persephone.

The biblical paintings in the church – John the Baptist (martyr) was beheaded, and Judas (traitor) hung himself. The imagery around Eve, the snake and the red apple, well… depending on how you interpret the story in the Bible, this could mean that the scene doesn’t represent a fall from grace, but rather that it was God’s intention to have humanity step into the broader world.

Dio’s books – I mostly just had a look at my own bookshelf, but I purposely included Nabokov, Machiavelli, and Plato. Nabokov, of course, references his infamous novel Lolita. Machiavelli was an Italian politician and philosopher during the Renaissance, and he’s most famous for his book The Prince, where he gave rulers quite… devious advice, not shying away from unethical and corrupt means. Therefore Machiavelli and the derived term Machiavellian often denotes (political) deceit. And Plato, well, in his text The Symposium he speaks of the ancient practice of pederasty in a very positive manner, and claiming that it is the purest form of love.

Aniara – I picked the book because it’s my sister’s favourite. It is a book-length epic science fiction poem that narrates the tragedy of a large passenger spacecraft carrying a cargo of colonists escaping destruction on Earth veering off course, leaving the Solar System and entering into an existential struggle. This is the “space-travel” Giorno later reflects on while in the bath.

No specific references in chapter 4.

Chapter 5:

The next reference to Machiavelli – Giorno thinks about Machiavelli and the question if it is better to be feared or loved, which is something Machiavelli writes about in his book The Prince, where he states that it is better for a ruler to be feared than loved, if they cannot be both.

No specific references in chapter 6.

Chapter 7:

Reckless – Giorno notes that Dio wants him “recklessly, passionately”. This is one of the two times the word “reckless” is used in this story; the only other time being in the first chapter when Giorno’s mother dies after her car collides with a reckless truck. Dio’s desire for Giorno is tied together with that accident, as if it’s equally dangerous.

Jewel – “Yes, Giorno would like something like that; to show Dio that he was a prized jewel, cut to fit perfectly in the curve of his palm.” This line directly references the Song of Songs 7:1 “Your rounded thighs are like jewels, the work of a master hand.”

Eden – “How truly unfortunate, that the most tempting fruit should be found in the middle of Eden.” The garden of Eden, in the Bible, is where life is first created by God. It can therefore also symbolise family, where life also is created. So what Dio essentially says here is “what a shame the most fuckable person is found in my family”.

Draconic tendencies – Giorno having “draconic tendencies” is a reference to his earlier thoughts about Abbacchio hoarding Bucciarati like a jealous dragon.

Chapter 8:

Buttercups – Giorno picks a bouquet of buttercups for Dio, and buttercups have traditionally been associated with childhood. It is meant to express that Giorno, no matter how mature he himself is convinced that he is, still has a childish edge to his affection. As a fun aside, the Latin name for buttercups is Ranunculus, which means “little frog”.

Leda and the Swan – the painting Dio has in his study. It is, of course, an erotic yet controversial motif in itself, but there are some references to the Greek myth it is based on. In it, Zeus disguises himself as a swan and copulates with Leda. It is not entirely clear if it is by rape or seduction. Zeus, of course, is known for his sexual escapades, his violent temper and jealousy, but here he disguises himself as a swan, which is an animal that in European culture often has symbolised love and fidelity. This story of a shady person disguising himself as someone loving, to enter a relationship where consent is dubious at best, well… I think the implications are clear. As a fun aside, the name Zeus and the name Dio are directly connected.

Uneasy lies the head – the whole quote is “uneasy lies the head that wears a crown”, a saying from Shakespeare’s play Henry IV, Part 2, meaning that someone with great responsibilities won’t be able to rest properly.

The prodigal son – it’s a reference to a parable in the Bible, from Luke 15:11-32. The story goes that a son requests his inheritance early, spends it all irresponsibly, and then returns home to beg his father to let him work for him. His father, however, welcomes him home with open arms and throws a feast, which indicates that he has hopefully waiting for the son to return.

Nakedness – the scene in Giorno’s room, where he lowers his duvet to display his “nakedness”, the word choice here is important. Except for Genesis 42, all biblical occurrences of the common idiom ”to see the nakedness of” or “to uncover the nakedness of” are explicitly sexual, usually referring to incest. The Classical Hebrew word 'erwā is not “nudity” but “nakedness”, in the sense of something that is unseemly or improper to look at or expose; often used to denote forbidden sexual relations.

Chapter 9:

Wine-dark – Dio’s eyes are described as wine-dark, which is a reference to the use of “wine-dark sea” in Homer. It’s an epithet used in the Iliad and the Odyssey, of uncertain meaning. What exactly does it mean that the sea is “wine-dark”? Is it a reference to the stormy sea being unpredictable, like someone who’s drunk on wine? Or does it tell us something about how ancient Greeks perceived colours, where maybe depth and opacity levels were more important than hues?

Ambrosia – Giorno compares the taste of Dio’s seed to ambrosia, which is the food and drink of the gods in Greek mythology.

Lollipop – Giorno is sucking on a lollipop while he’s out shopping. This is a shameless reference to the most culturally recognised image of Nabokov’s Lolita, where Sue Lyon, the actress who portrayed the character Lolita in Stanley Kubrick’s film adaption of the novel, is sucking on a red lollipop while wearing heart-shaped sunglasses. It’s worth noting, however, that the character Lolita doesn’t eat a lollipop in the novel or Kubrick’s film, and the images were only used for promotion. Either way, the lollipop has nonetheless become a symbol for playful, youthful temptation.

No specific references in chapter 10.

Chapter 11:

Dio’s alarming beauty – Giorno reflects on how beautiful Dio is, that he is alarmingly beautiful. This is a reference to a quote from The Secret History by Donna Tartt: “Beauty is rarely soft or consolatory. Quite the contrary. Genuine beauty is always quite alarming.”

Chapter 12:

Kisses – there’s a lot of descriptions of kissing in the beginning of this chapter, and it is all a reference to the biblical book Song of Songs. “Honey-sweet kisses that melted his tongue” is a reference to Song of Songs 4:11 “honey and milk are under your tongue”. On a more complicated note… “those kisses, Giorno drank them from his mouth like they were life-giving water” is a reference to Song of Songs 1:2 that should be “I want to drink kisses from his mouth”, however, most translations will read “let him kiss me with the kisses of his mouth”. It’s really complicated as to why I and others would translate it differently, but in general it has to do with the manuscript and the Masoretic editors’ vocalisation, which in turn has a lot to do with evaluating Classical Hebrew grammar and poetic conventions… I am going to spare you that lecture, but I still wanted to let you know that you won’t find that wording in most English translations of the Bible.

The garden, Eden, and juvenile sex – this all ties together. The garden of Eden is, in the Bible, where life is created and before “the fall of man”, it is a place of peace and innocence. Now, it might seem strange to refer to innocence in a story like this, but there still is a certain kind of innocence to their relationship, especially on Giorno’s end. They are described as “easy and unafraid, in full view of God”, which again is a reference to the biblical creation story; after “the fall of man”, when Adam and Eve have sinned, they are suddenly afraid of God and tries to hide from him, and for the first time shield their nudity, since they have now lost that innocence. So, Dio and Giorno being unafraid in full view of God is another reference to them being fairly innocent. At least that’s how Giorno conceptualises it.

Satyriasis – a word for excessive sexual desire, and an outdated term for hypersexuality. The word was developed in relation to the satyrs of Greek mythology, who were lustful woodland gods.

Nipple play – Giorno sucking on Dio’s tits, well… quite obvious reference, but if you missed it; it’s a reference to breastfeeding and nourishment.

Sunlight – in Stardust Crusaders, Dio tells Polnareff that he too has pain in his life because he can never see the sunlight, since he is a vampire. In this story, Dio isn’t a vampire, but I still wanted to include this pain. Dio’s love for the sunshine, and the depravation of it in his childhood, is my attempt to reconceptualise it.

Chapter 13:

Ice cream – elder flower sorbet has a tendency to taste like laundry detergent if you’re not careful, so Mista definitely picked the wrong flavour that time.

Know thy enemy – “know thy enemy” is a famous quote from The Art of War by Sun Tzu.

Chapter 14:

Paradise burning – more Eden references, they never truly stop.

Loins – in Classical Hebrew, one specifically emphasises that a child has sprung from someone’s loins to indicate that it is a biological child rather than an adopted one.

Deadly sins – Giorno notes that one of the seven deadly sins, sloth (that is, excessive laziness and indifference), doesn’t come as naturally to him as others would (such as lust or pride).

Know thy self – another reference to the famous quote of Sun Tzu’s The Art of War.

Companion – Giorno thinks about how the universe has blessed Dio with a companion that can keep up with him, which is a subtle reference to the creation myth in the Bible. There, God creates the first human, Adam. Adam attempts to find a companion amongst the other creatures, but cannot find an equal until God creates another human – incidentally, God creates another human from Adam (by his rib), which of course parallels with Giorno being created from Dio, since he is his biological child.

Clay – the dream Giorno has of Dio forming him out of clay and breathing life into him is another direct reference to the creation myth in the Bible, where God forms the first human out of clay/soil/dust from the ground and breathes life into his nostrils. Similar creation myths are found in several ancient Near Eastern religions. If you want a little more “fun” fact, the first human is named Adam, a name he gets from the Classical Hebrew word for “man” (as in human – not male), which is adam, and the word for “ground” is adamah, which ties to all together quite nicely.

Nakedness – Dio uncovers Giorno’s nakedness, and just like in chapter 8 it’s a biblical reference. Except for Genesis 42, all biblical occurrences of the common idiom ”to see the nakedness of” or “to uncover the nakedness of” are explicitly sexual, usually referring to incest. The Classical Hebrew word 'erwā is not “nudity” but “nakedness”, in the sense of something that is unseemly or improper to look at or expose; often used to denote forbidden sexual relations.

Chapter 15.

Cuddling – after having breakfast, they cuddle, and their position is described as Giorno resting his head on Dio’s left arm, and Dio draping his other arm over Giorno’s waist. This position is a reference to the biblical book the Song of Songs 2:6 “His left arm is under my head, and his right arm embraces me.”

Angel lust – Dio gets hard after Giorno chokes him, which he says is a perfectly natural reaction to being choked. Which it is! “Angel lust” or “death erection” refers to the phenomenon of men executed by hanging having an erection, because of the increased downward blood flow. After observing this, doctors in the 17th century started prescribing choking sex to men with erectile dysfunction, and that’s partly where erotic asphyxiation comes from.

England – the phrase “lie back and think of England”, alternatively “close your eyes and think of England” is an old-timey reference to unwanted sex that one doesn’t enjoy – specifically used for sex within a marriage, which at least back in the day was more of an economic arrangement than a love affair. Disgustingly, it means “just lie back and endure it”.

Bone of my bones, flesh of my flesh – this is another reference to the creation story in the Bible. The specific verse is Genesis 2:23, when God has created another human to be a worthy companion of the first one. Adam, the first human, has searched for a companion among the animals but been unsuccessful to find an equal. But when he meets the newly created Eve, the second human, he exclaims “At last! This is bone of my bones and flesh of my flesh” (since she was created from his rib). That “at last!” is very sweet – and fits in this story too! Dio has finally found a worthy companion to share his highest highs and deepest lows with.

Chapter 16.

Roses – Giorno buys a bouquet of roses for Dio. This is intended as a contrast to the buttercups he picked for Dio in chapter 8, being that roses are a much more “mature” flower than buttercups, therefore showing that Giorno has matured. Also, the fact that he buys the bouquet of roses while he picked the buttercups indicate a certain loss of simplicity and naturalness in their relationship.

Fin.

#/#//#///#////#/////#just fanfiction stuff pls look away #i tried to make this a private post but tumblr be fucking with me #pomegranate seeds references

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purplesurveys · 3 years ago

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1273

What was the longest time you’ve had the hiccups for? Maybe for half an hour? Mine are never that bad.

What type of TV shows are your favourite? Not a big TV show type of person to begin with since it seems as if my attention span wasn’t built for once-a-week, season-breaks kind of content haha. I do like sitcoms, I guess...bite-sized ones like Friends, Brooklyn Nine-Nine, The Big Bang Theory, etc. Drama shows I’d bite into if the plot is extremely intriguing to me or relevant to my interests, like The Crown or Breaking Bad.

Have you ever been a complete fangirl/fanboy over anything? I was before then I wasn’t for a very long time, then I came back just recently with this BTS shit I got myself into.

Do you know anyone who has died in battle? Hmm. I don’t think so. My great-grandpa lived a few more decades after the war.

When was the last time you went on an adventure? July. My friends and I spent the whole day driving around and stopping by sooo many spots around the metro. It was a lot of fun and we were fucking b e a t after.

What brand is your vacuum cleaner? I dunno. My mom mainly uses ours.

Are you good at rapping? I have a number of songs and verses memorized that I can recite quite okay, but I can’t write any of my own.

Name one world issue that upsets you. Racism.

How do you feel about tanning? I never saw the the big deal. I will say tanning beds and salons are such a culture shock to me, though. Are some people really that obsessed with modifying their skin tone?

Have you ever given a public speech? Hmm, just the one time I was entered into a public speaking competition and was given a topic to talk about on the spot. That was honestly a lot of fun and I wish there were more opportunities to do that exact same thing.

Do you read comic books? No. I tried getting into that whole thing, but didn’t see the appeal.

Do you force your way into conversations in which you are not involved? Not always but if I’m starting to feel left out or awkward, I will start to ask a question here and there to ease my way into the conversation. But if the topic is clearly none of my business then I do stay out of the way.

Kiss with your eyes open or closed? Closed.

Do you believe you can change someone? This isn’t a black and white matter, I think. The idea of changing a person can have a lot of layers; in my org, for instance, I got to pick up a few quirks and behaviors from my friends just by being around them for a long time – in that sense, I changed. But you can also strive to change someone who’s struggling and try to make them become happy, which I tried to do with my ex – which of course I learned the hard way that you can’t change someone if in that context.

How did you react when your first pet died? I was bummed out but didn’t throw a fit.

Have you ever drawn anime? No.

Can you use a pogo stick? I’ve never even seen one in real life. I’m dying to try it out just once.

When’s the next time you’ll see the person that you like? I don’t like anybodyyy.

Do you like bathing/showering? I mean...yes? Like I’m not obsessed with showering, but it’s a necessity that I have to regularly do anyway lmao.

Have you ever considered entering a race? Sure! Just give me a couple of weeks to practice because my endurance and stamina are embarrassing.

Rihanna or Lady Gaga? Rihanna.

Who was your first good kiss with? My ex.

What accessory do you want in your bedroom? SHELVES

What do you take the most pictures of? My experiences.

What are you always in the mood for? Starbuuuuuuckssssssss.

What is something that you never turn down? A day out with friends. I’ll always make time. What is something that you always turn down when offered? Food, if I’m a guest at someone else’s place.

Name something sexy about your significant other. I don’t have any.

What is one of your hobbies that you refuse to give up? Surveys, I guess. I enjoy them too much and have been doing them for nearly a decade.

If you could be a professional in any sport what would it be? Tennis.

If you could be a professional at any instrument what would it be? PIANO.

Would you rather be a surgeon or mortician? Surgeon. I would be too terrified seeing dead people, anyway.

Have you ever been on a subway? Nope.

Are you in love? No.

Do you like having your lip softly bitten when you’re kissing? Sure. Softly, roughly...both are fine hahaha.

Do you want to get married when you’re older? I hope so. I want my turn, too.

What was the last band shirt you wore? Eh, I don’t own any. I wore a fanmade V-themed shirt yesterday, if that counts.

You can have a milkshake right now. What flavor do you choose? OMGGGG that sounds so fucking good rn. Chocolate chip cookie dough.

Have you ever given someone flowers? Mhm, I used to give my ex bouquets whenever it was our anniversary.

What day of the week is usually your busiest day? Monday like 98% of the time, so I hate them. It ultimately varies, though. Sometimes some days are a hell of a lot more hectic than others.

Do you have any concerts coming up? I mean...obviously not.

Do you like or hate the smell of fish? Oh yessssssss. The smell of seafood/ocean always makes me fucking drool.

What’s your favorite brand of chips? Pringles, or this local brand of salted egg chips that I love to get.

Have you ever written a poem and then read it aloud? Yeah, once. We had to write a poem as our homework and my teacher picked out a couple that he thought were the best-written, and one of them was mine even though I still firmly believe I did a shit job.

Do you like pineapple? Oh god no. One of the worse fruits I’ve had.

Does your house have a dishwasher? No. It seems to be just a Western thing.

Do you know anyone who has a flower tattoo? I probably do, but I just can’t give you a lineup of names. Flower tattoos seem to be trendy these days, especially in the line style.

How many different languages can you say goodbye in? So I have goodbye, paalam, 안녕히 가세요, adios, auf wiedersehen, sayonara, au revoir...so that’s 7.

Agree or disagree: You like Adam Sandler movies. Ummmm definitely childish and I can feel that the humor tries so hard sometimes but I do enjoy some of his movies, like 50 First Dates.

Have you ever had to get a tooth pulled? If so, what for? Yeah, I mentioned this on a previous survey.

Have you ever dated anyone while they were in jail? No, I’ve never dated anyone who’s been imprisoned.

If you’ve ever babysat, do you like it? I ‘babysat,’ but technically all eldest Asian daughters are expected to look out for their younger siblings and cousins anyway. I didn’t actively enjoy it, but sure, it was fun playing with them and it’s always nice to be viewed as responsible.

What is your favorite flavor on sunflower seeds? I don’t eat sunflower seeds. I don’t dislike them, I just really never seek them out.

Do you get cold easily? Yes.

Do you get a lot of spiders in your house? Hmm no. If we do get visited they are almost always too small to be seen.

Do you admire nature? Yeah, I try to be around it as often as I can.

Name one naughty thing you’ve done. Had sex while a few people were in the same room. I pay for it now hahaha; those friends who had the misfortune to be in that situation have never let me live it down and it’s one of their go-to stories when I’m being introduced to new friends.

Name two of your favorite things as a child. I loved everything Bratz. I also liked Play-Doh.

Do you own a Pillow Pet? No, I’ve never even heard of that.

Do you tend to solve problems with violence? Never.

Have either of your parents gone to jail? Nope.

Do you know a hoarder? I heard my grandma had been one, but I didn’t see traces of it when I used to visit her. I guess she had been when she was younger and stronger. I show traces of hoarding too, but I don’t think it’s at a concerning level; I literally just threw out a bunch of shit in my room I’ve hoarded over the last five or so years.

Do you wax, pluck, or leave your eyebrows? I don’t touch them; I’m never all that worried about my appearance. On very rare instances, I will shave some of the excess hair off. Do you have any interesting scar stories? None of them are interesting tbh, just results of my own stupidity.

Do you hate the texture of meatballs? I don’t hate their texture but I also just don’t enjoy meatballs in general. I find them boring, which has always led me to think if they’re really supposed to be just boring clumps of meat or if I’ve just always been served average meatballs.

Do you get migraines? Yes, I usually get one after work. They’ve decreased in frequency now but one will drop by every now and then to give me a shit time.

Do you like guns? No.

Are turtles amazing creatures? All animals are. :') < Yes! Except cockroaches.

How much time do you spend taking surveys? I dedicate an hour or so every weekend. I often wish I can allot more time, but I also have other hobbies and interests I would usually want to catch up on during the weekends. 48 hours is just too short :(

Would you rather visit: The Eiffel Tower or Egyptian Pyramids? Pyramids, in a heartbeat. I wouldn’t even need to think about it.

Would you like to work at a candy shop? Uh no. If I had to, it would be on the back-end, maybe in the corporate side of things lol.

Do you have feelings for someone? Nope.

Which one of your guy friends is the best looking? JM.

Do you have anything to say to your ex bf/gf? No.

Which band do you have the most of on your iPod/music player? I don’t use music players anymore but my Spotify always reminds me of how much I listen to BTS whenever they do one of their quirky listening habit reports lol.

Which song describes your mood at the moment? I want to go with RM’s Bicycle just because I’m feeling quite content and relaxed at the moment.

Which movie(s) do you quote the most? Eh, I’m not a big movie quoter.

Which one of your best friend’s friends would you most likely date? I honestly don’t see any of them as date-able.

Would you ever let anybody else drive your car? Sure. I’ve let Hans and Gab drive it countless times when I’ve had too much to drink. It’s a small car and is fairly easy to use and navigate. I would let Anj use it too at some point, but I want her to perfect her u-turns first hahahaha.

Which one of your friends will be the most successful? It’s already one of my friends to begin with but I’m not naming names. They come from a privileged background to begin with and their godfather already handed one of his companies down to them, so. They were also told the CEO position is already a sure slot for them.

What store did you last shop at? I wanna say NCAT, this Korean-themed store that sells trinkets and jewelries and plushies and stuff. They also sell BTS albums so Anj and I dropped by to check out and touch all the albums we can’t afford yet HAHA

Do you think telepathy is real? No.

When did you last draw something for fun? Last Saturday when I played an online drawing/guessing game with my uncles and aunts.

Who makes the most in your entire family? My dad.

Do you like writing essays? I love essays, it’s my favorite writing piece to make.

Do you think plastic surgery is no big deal? It turns into one when it gets obsessive, like when people get excessive plastic surgeries specifically to look like another person. I’m looking at you, fucking Oli London.

Do you take your trash to the dump or have it picked up? It’s picked up.

When you sneeze do you sneeze into your shirt or your hands? I look away and just sneeze. Sometimes I’ll put up my elbow.

Do you usually have sex in the morning, noon or night time? Erm, I usually had it at night. I only had morning sex when we would spend the night; and I nearly never had noon sex.

Did you ever fail your learners/drivers test? No.

Would you rather listen to Luke Bryan or Lil Wayne? Gun to my head, Lil Wayne.

Name someone you’ve become a lot closer to recently: Reena!!! I’m so grateful Angela introduced us to each other :) We both tend to get shy so we don’t actually actively get chatty when we see each other irl, but I love her presence and I love that she is my friend. I make up for it by being super friendly and wacky in our group chat haha. Does your car have a sunroof? No. We used to have a car that did, but we had to sell that during the peak of the pandemic.

Are you closer to your mom or your dad? Dad.

Have you ever had a friend with benefits? No.

Who’s the last person you cuddled with? My ex.

Are you friends with any of your teachers on Facebook? Yeup.

#survey #surveys

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chaoticdisater · 5 years ago

Text

Red white & royal Blue Favourite quotes

“How many times do I have to tell Y’all not to discuss your murder plots in front of a sitting president” their mother interrupts “Plausible deniability. Come on” (Pg 64)

I don't know WHO you think you're kidding, you Hufflepuff-ass bitch, (Alex to henry over text pg 69)

“‘put the turkeys in my room’ ‘No.’ ‘put them in my room, put them in my room, put them in my room -’ later that night as Alex stares into the cold pitiless eyes of a prehistoric beast of prey, he has a few regrets” (Alex and his mother Pg 76)

“’he- Oi! Not for you Mr.wobbles! those are mine!’ more rustling and a distant offended Meow, ‘no, Mr. wobbles you bastard!’” (Henry at his sister's cat, pg 80)

“Dec 8, 2019, 8:53 PM yo there's a bond marathon on and did you know your dad was a total babe HRH prince Dickhead I BEG YOU TO NOT “ (Henry and Alex over text Pg 84)

“’ the options Id like...’ he says dragging the words out. ‘they don't quite seem to be options at all’” (Henry Pg 107)

“’ christ you're a thick as it gets’ he says and he grabs Alex's face in both hands and kisses him.” (Henry Pg 107)

“‘Seventy-eight percent probability of latent Bi-sexual tendencies. one hundred percent probability this is not a hypothetical question’” (Nora pg 118)

“‘am I? do you think I'm Bi?’ ‘I can't tell you that Alex!’ she says ‘that's the whole point!’” (Alex and Nora Pg121)

“she slants a look at him ‘is this a diabolical scheme of seduction?’ she asks ‘if so, yes.’“ (Nora Pg 130)

“Alex knocks the candelabra off the table next to them and pushes henry onto it so hes sitting with his back against - Alex looks up and almost breaks into a deranged laugh - a portrait of alexander hamilton.” (Pg 132)

“‘im going to die’ henry says helplessly. ‘im going to kill you,’ Alex tells him.” (Henry and Alex pg 133)

‘”and if you fucking ghost me again, I'm going to get you put on a fucking no-fly list. got it’” (Alex at henry pg 134)

“worst of all, Henry is good“ (Alex's thoughts on henry playing Polo Pg 147)

“’I’m gonna go, Uh’ Alex says ‘say hi to henry’ Amy's mouth settles into a grim line ‘Please don't elaborate’ ‘Yeah I know’ Alex says ‘plausible deniability’” (Alex and Amy Pg 148)

‘A <[email protected]> to Henry his royal highness prince of whatever, Don't make me learn your actual title’ (Alex’s email to henry Pg 152)

‘Henry <[email protected]> to A Alex, first son of inappropriately timed Emails when I’m in early morning meetings’ (Henry’s email to Alex Pg 155)

“when he shows up to a briefing two days later Zahra grabs his jaw with one hand and turns his head, peering closer at the side of his neck. ‘is that a Hickey’ Alex freezes. ‘I . . . um, no?’” (Zahra and Alex pg 162)

“‘Do you have a last name?’ Alex has never actually offered a greeting when calling Henry ‘What?’ the usual bemused elongated one-syllable response” (163 Alex and henry over the phone)

“‘Baby’ its become a thing: Baby he knows it’s become a thing. hes slipped up and accidentally said it a few times, and each time, Henry positively melts” (Alex Pg 166)

“‘I miss you,’ Alex says before he can stop himself he instantly regrets ut but henry says. ‘I miss you too’” (pg 173)

“she flung her arm out emphatically enough to upset an entire potted cactus on her dresser and says ‘Because until now you weren't fucking the prince of England’” (June pg 177)

“‘you should try saying some of that stuff to Him’ ‘stop trying to Jane Austen my life’” (June and Alex Pg 180)

“’ is now a good time to point out henrys very hot Very rich best friend is basically in love with you?’ Alex says to June ‘hes like some kind of billionaire genius manic-pixie-dream philanthropist. I feel like you would be into that.’ ‘Please shut up,’” (Alex and June Pg 182)

“‘yes, yes, Pez, we know there's nothing you cant do,’ says henrys voice off-camera ‘no need to rub it in’“ (henry Pg 184)

“‘oh I haven't had vodka since uni,’ henry says ‘it tends to make me erm, well-’ ‘flamboyant?’ Pez offers. ‘uninhibited? randy?’ ‘Fun?’ Bea suggests ‘Excuses you, I am loads of fun all the time! I am a Delight’“ (Henry Bea and Pez pg 190)

“’yes Beatrice, we shall behave in a manner befitting the crown,’ henry says. his eyes are slightly crossed ‘don't be a tosser’“ (Henry and bea Pg 195)

“He likes taking henry apart but there's something incredibly intantament about sitting on the bed they wrecked the night before, the only one who watches him create Prince Henry of Wales for the day.” (Pg 200)

“‘So this is the gang now, huh?’ and through it all, Alex realizes with a start: he has friends now.” (Cash pg 201)

“How is a man to get anything done knowing Alex Claremont-Diaz is out there on the loose?” (Henrys email to Alex pg 203)

“yours in sexual frustration Henry” (henrys email to Alex pg 206)

“once again, how had he ever convinced himself he was straight,” (Alex pg 213)

“‘just so we’re clear,’ Alex said ‘Im about to have sex with you in this storage closet to spite your family. Like that's what's happening?’“ (Alex pg 217)

“your Brave I could use some of that” (Pg 218)

“Because that's what he would do if he were here in this palace to fall in love Henry” (Pg 220)

“Zahra doesnt even look up from her phone ‘that was my boyfriend and no, you may not ask me any further questions about him’” (Zahra Pg 223)

“If he’s some anonymous normal person removed from history he’s twenty-two and he’s tipsy and he’s pulling a guy into his hotel room by the belt loop. He’s pulling a lip between his teeth and he fumbling behind his back to switch on a lamp and he’s thinking I like this person” (Pg 228)

“You still are. Because you still bloody care so much.” He leans down and presses a kiss into Alex’s hair. “And you are good. Most things are awful most of the time but you’re good” (Henry Pg 230)

“’Seriously?’ She hisses ‘your literally putting your dick in the leader of a foreign state who is a man at the biggest political event before the election in a hotel full of reporters in a city full of cameras in a race close enough to fucking hinge on some bullshit like this like a manifestation of my fucking stress dreams and you’re asking me not to tell the president about it?’” (Zarha pg 233)

“The next slide is titled EXPLORING YOUR SEXUALITY: HEALTHY BUT DOES IT HAVE TO BE WITH THE PRINCE ENGLAND? she apologizes for not having time to come up with better titles Alex activity wishes for the sweet release of death” (Pg 237)

“History huh? I bet we could make some.” (Alex’s email to henry Pg 241)

“The pair of you share and an alarming number of traits by the by: passionate determination, never knowing when to shut up, &c &c,” (herny’s email to Alex Pg 242)

“Regards Haplessly romantic heretic prince henry the utterly daft” (henrys email to Alex pg 243)

“‘It’s math,’ Nora says ‘Math has no authority here,’ June tells her ‘Math is everywhere June’” (Nora and June Pg 247)

“Henry is tipsy and shirtless and attempting to referee” (pg 252)

“’Some times you just jump and hope it’s not a chiff’” (Alex dad Pg 256)

“Well, Alex is so in love he could die.” (Pg 257)

“He’s been falling in love with Henry for years probably since he first saw him in glossy print on the pages of j14 almost definitely since Henry pinned Alex to the floor of a medical supply closet and told him to shut the hell up.” (Pg 257)

“’Fuck off five nine is average’” (Pg 258)

“’H?’ He whispers ‘you awake?’ Henry sighs ‘always.’” ( Pg 260)

“He’s got a distinct feeling of something being pulled out of his hands right before he could grasp it.” (Pg 263)

“something rises in Alex's throat - anger, confusion, hurt, bile. Unforgivably, he feels like he might cry” (Pg 270)

“’Fuck I swear you don’t make it fucking easy but I’m in love with you’” (Alex Pg 271)

“’I never thought I’d be stood here faced with a choice I can’t make because I never ... I never imagined you would love me back’” (Henry pg 273)

“He’s in Henry’s face now if he’s getting his heart broken tonight he’s sure as hell going to make Henry have the guts to do it right ‘tell me you're done with me. I’ll get back on the plane. that's it. and you can live here in your tower and be miserable forever, write a whole book of sad fucking poems about it, whatever just say it’” (274)

“He’s in stupid unbearable love and Henry loves him too and at least for one night it matters, even if they both have to pretend to forget in the morning” (Pg 275)

“He tells his too fast brain: don’t miss this time he’s too important” (Alexs thoughts Pg 275)

“henry’s hands-on him are unhurried and soft and they make out lazily for hours or days.” (Pg 280)

“Alex sighs ‘i don't think I told you but she uh. well, when she fired me she told me that if I wasn't a thousand percent serious about you. I need to break things off.’ Henry nuzzles his nose behind Alex's ear ‘a thousand percent?’” (Alex and Henry Pg 282)

“‘Diaz you insane hopeless romantic little shit’ says the voice of the president of the united states, muffled in the bed ‘it had better be forever. Be safe’“ (Pg 284)

“hes cut off mid-sentence because Alex has stopped in the middle of the corridor and yanked him backwards into a kiss” (pg 286)

“’its funny’ henry says ‘i always thought of the whole thing as the most unforgivable thing about me but you act like its one of the best’“ (henry Pg 289)

“he takes the chain off his neck and slides the ring on next to the old house key. they click together gently as he tucks them both under his shirt, two homes side by side” (Pg 291)

“I opened my blasted mouth and said ‘because I'm not like the rest of the men in this family beginning with the fact that I'm am very deeply gay Philip’ once shaan managed to dislodge him from the chandelier Philip had quite a few words for me,” (Henry’s emails to Alex Pg 298)

“just leaving, not coming back. maybe burning something down on the way out. it would be nice.” (henrys emails to Alex pg 299)

“I thought, if someone like that ever loved me, it would set me on fire” (henrys emails to Alex (describing how he felt when he first saw Alex) Pg 300)

“20. the fact that you have loved me all along.” (alex’s email to henry (the list of things alex loves about henry) Pg 303)

“‘Oh my god Z what is That? did you get engaged?’ Zahra looks down at the ring and shrugs. ‘i had the week-end off’” (June and Zahra pg 305)

“’you and me and history, remember? were just gonna fucking fight. because your it okay? Im never gonna love anybody in the world like i love you,’“ (Alex pg 312)

“‘I swear to god if you say I'm too young I'm gonna lose my shit,’“ (Alex pg 315)

“What did he do ‘be more specific’“ (Alex to Zahra pg 321 )

“’the president is sitting down with as many members of the office of communitcs we could drag out of bed at three in the morning’” (Zahra Pg 323)

“‘pack a bag’ she says ‘we’re going to londan’” (Zahra Pg 334)

“she (Zarha) seems confident Shaan will agree to it and willing to physically overpower him if not.” (pg 334)

“still the cocky shit head part of him is slightly pleased to finally have claim on henry. Yep, the prince? Most eligible bachelor in the world? British accent face like a greek god, legs for days? Mine” (Pg 336)

“‘youre giving my ulcer an ulcer’“ (Zahra pg 336)

“‘Im running on nothing but black coffee, a wetzels pretzel, and a fistful of B12. Do not even breathe in my directrion,’“ (Zahra Pg 339)

“He leans up and kisses the underside of his jaw, finding it rough from a full fitful day,” (pg 340)

“‘What kind of family, that says we’ll take the murder, we’ll take the raping and pillaging and the colonizing, well scrub it up nice and neat in a museum but oh no you’re a bloody poof? That’s beyond our sense of decorum’” (Henry pg 347)

“Bea seizes the pot of tea from the center of the table and dumps it into his lap ‘Oh, I’m terribly sorry Pip’ she says grabbing him by the shoulders and shoving him sputtering and yelping toward the door ‘so deardfully clumsy, you know I think all that cocaine I did must have really done a job on my refexes!’” (Bea pg 357)

“Henry pulls Alex close and kisses him whispers, ‘I love you I love you I love you’ and it doesn’t matter, it doesn’t matter if anyone sees.” (Pg 358)

And that’s when I gave up I do have more but well I didn’t want to make this list any more

#alex claremont diaz #henry got to many names for me to remeber #prince henry of wales #red white and royal blue

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crescent-quill-writings · 5 years ago

Text

When Raindrops Fall on Moonlit Roses: Turning (3/3)

Part 1 Part 2

Fandom: Hamilton - Miranda

Words: 3930

Relationship: Alexander Hamilton/Thomas Jefferson

Additional Tags: Vampire AU, Strangers to Lovers, Thunderstorms, Panic Attacks, Astraphobia, Thanatophobia, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Intimacy, Vampire Bites

Summary: It’s a cold and stormy night and poor Alexander Hamilton is caught out in the rain trying to make his way home from the next town over. Better yet, he’s gotten himself lost in the woods by trying to take a short cut home and now the sun is sinking below the horizon. It feels like all hope is lost until Alexander comes across an old manor with candlelight in its window. With nowhere else to turn, he knocks on the door.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

It had been almost a week since Alexander had discovered Thomas' secret and his subsequent escape attempt. It was still raining, but the sky had turned from the ominous dark greys of a thunderstorm to the softer shades of calmer rainfall.

He had come to appreciate the pattern they'd fallen into since their arrangement had begun. He'd wake up in the late morning or early afternoon in his periwinkle room, slip out of bed and open the curtains to let some light in before he'd find a bundle of new clothes and a good morning note on top of the dresser.

Alexander picked up this morning's message, rubbing his thumb over the paper as he found himself admiring how elegant his name looked in the Count's handwriting before he unfolded it and read:

Goodmorning Alexander,

I hope you had a good rest and you've been enjoying your time here so far. I believe that the weather has finally started taking a turn for the better and we'll have clear skies soon. If the weather is nice tonight I'd like to show you something. I've left breakfast on the stove for you again, it's oatmeal; the same kind as your first day here. As always, I'll see you again after sunset, my darling.

Yours, Thomas Jefferson

He smiled at the note, a light pink dusting his cheeks from the pet name as he took the slip of paper and tucked it in the drawer of his nightstand. He had made a habit of keeping all the notes Thomas had written to him. Some had poems, others contained compliments about little details he had noticed while spending time with him, and others were simpler like today. Still, they always wished him a good morning, they always told him what was for breakfast, and they always made him smile.

"I wonder what he wants to show me... Maybe he'll let me read those other tomes?" Alexander mused to himself as he closes the drawer and crosses the room to change into his new outfit.

This time he had been left a pearly silk button-up shirt, a pair of coffee coloured dress pants, and an emerald green satin suit vest. It seemed Thomas had gotten a better understanding of his guest's taste in fashion but he still liked to show off a little.

Alexander rolled his eyes at the clothes, his expression playful and almost amused as he got changed. Thomas may have been an ancient and powerful creature of the night, but he was still predictable in his extravagance.

________________________________________________________________

Alexander made his way straight to the mahogany doors of the library after breakfast, having learnt the way after spending a few days wandering the seemingly endless halls of the manor and mapping as much of the space in his mind as he could remember.

Even though he'd never admit it aloud, the house was a work of art in itself.

He would admit, though, that Thomas' library was absolutely amazing. It might take him a few years, or even his whole life, but he wanted nothing more than to be able to read every last book on those shelves. So, he gathered together a stack almost as tall as he was before taking his place by the fainting couch and beginning to read.

Alexander had gotten through a couple of novels before he heard the creak of mahogany doors opening again.

"Why you insist on sitting on the floor when there's plenty of chairs, I'll never understand..."

"Hello to you too, Thomas."

The Count's tone was amused, and he greeted Alexander with a smile even as he shook his head at his behaviour. He paused for a moment, picking up the few books his guest had already finished and eyeing the taller stack with a raised eyebrow.

"Ambitious today, are we? You've picked some of my favourites too... I might just have to help you finish these off." He commented, smirking as he saw his guest roll his eyes in response before he went to put return the finished books to their shelves.

When Thomas returned a moment later he thumbed through the stack of books before he picked one, turning it over in his hands as he contemplated the choice before taking a seat on the couch.

Alexander couldn't help but smile as he turned the page and listened to the shifting of fabrics as his host moved to lounge back on the couch. He leaned his head back against the cushion so Thomas could begin to absentmindedly run his fingers in his hair as they read in comfortable silence.

This was why he always insisted on sitting on the floor. Thomas was tall and took up nearly the whole couch with how he liked to sit, and the armchairs were too far away for them to be as close as he wanted. Here, on the floor, Alexander got to enjoy both a good book and his host's gentle caress. He wasn't sure when they had come upon this little seating arrangement, but he didn't want it to be any other way.

They spent a few hours in comfortable silence, simply reading and relishing in each other's company.

________________________________________________________________

The pair had gotten about halfway through the stack before Thomas' hand suddenly stilled and he sat up, closing his book. Alexander frowned at the loss of contact, but he too put his book aside and turned to his host to see what had taken his attention away.

"I think it stopped, I don't hear the rain anymore." The Count murmured, gaze flickering between different places on the stained-glass skylight as he watched and listened for signs of rain.

Alexander listened too, only to be met with complete silence.

"Yeah, I guess it has..." He added before Thomas began to stand, a smile breaking out across his face.

"Perfect timing then! Come, there is something I want to show you." He stated, taking Alexander's hands in his and pulling him up on to his feet.

"Where are you taking me?"

"I'm not just going to tell you, darling, that would spoil the surprise." The Count replied with a laugh, his smile growing as he watched his guest huff and begin to blush from the pet name.

Alexander let himself be led around by his host, trying and failing to get him to spill the beans as he watched him take a violin from its display case before making their way out of the library.

Thomas remained intent on not spoiling whatever he had planned as he led his guest by the hand, following a path that Alexander hadn't found the time to explore yet. It led them past another dozen rooms before they reached what Alexander would call a sunroom, though he was sure his vampiric host had a different name for it, and then outside into the gardens.

The smooth stone path still shone with rainwater, but the storm itself had finally blown past to reveal the shining stars and the silver sliver of a waning crescent moon. while the sky may have been a pretty sight, it was nothing in comparison to the majesty of the garden.

"Thomas, this is amazing...!" Alexander gasps, stepping out ahead of his host as he takes in the sight before him.

The paths were lined with hundreds, if not thousands of rose bushes in full bloom. The ruby-red blossoms were still dotted with residual raindrops, making them shine like little diamonds amongst the petals.

"Beautiful, aren't they?" Thomas begins with a warm glow in his eyes and a soft smile as he watches his carefully cup one of the blooms in his hand, "They're called Bloodmoon Roses since I've bred them to only bloom at night and are just the prettiest shade of red... You won't find them anywhere else." He explains, walking up behind Alexander and placing a hand on the small of his back to guide him further down the path.

"Yeah, they really are..." Alexander replies, voice barely above a whisper in his awe as he leaned into his host's side and allowed himself to be led further down the path.

Thomas began to hum a little tune as they soon arrived at a gazebo in the centre of the gardens, his guest still quiet in his awe of the perfectly beautiful blooms around him.

Alexander couldn't help but gasp as he was sat down on a soft bench and met with another sight.

Thomas stood in front of him, lifted the violin to his chin and began to play, serenading his guest with a waltzing melody that picked up where his humming left off.

The song was beautiful, but the man playing it was simply gorgeous. He was perfectly framed by the arches of the gazebo and looked absolutely radiant amongst the backdrop of the garden.

"Thomas, I... I don't know what to say." Alexander finally spoke as his host sets down the violin, though the song still seemed to echo in the still night air.

"You don't need to say anything, darling, it's all in your eyes," Thomas replies, taking his guest by the hand again and starting to lead in a gentle, swaying waltz.

They stayed like that for a while, Alexander following the steps of the dance the best he could as Thomas held him flush against his chest and looked at him like he was the most beautiful rose of them all.

"The moon will be new tomorrow..." The Count spoke, breaking the silence with the hushed murmur of his voice, "And the roads will dry now that the rain has stopped. I think it's time you made your decision, darling." He adds, slowing his steps as his guest looked up to meet his eye.

Alexander paused, contemplating his host's words even though his heart already knew what his answer would be. He had been searching all his life to be a part of something larger than himself, to find a way to leave his mark on the world before the inevitable end. If he stayed here and became a fledgling vampire under Thomas' wing, he'd have all the time in the world to do the million things he wanted to.

"I don't want to leave you... I want to stay, I want to be yours." He whispered, wrapping his arms around Thomas and burying his face in his chest.

"Hush, my darling... If you want to stay, then you will stay. I would be honoured to have you by my side forevermore." The Count murmured in response, lifting a hand to run his fingers through Alexander's hair.

"I know you offered once before, but still... Thank you, thank you so much, Thomas." Alexander replied, a smile growing across his face as he opened his mouth to continue only to be met by the feeling of Thomas' lips against his.

The kiss was warm, loving even, but held this subtle hunger that just made Alexander melt into the affection and lean into the Count's hand as he cupped his cheek.

"Tomorrow, then..." Thomas whispered as he pulled away, though their lips were still barely an inch apart.

Alexander simply nodded, smiling.

"Tomorrow."

________________________________________________________________

That night Alexander could hardly sleep.

Every time he closed his eyes he'd see Thomas in the garden, playing his violin surrounded by his roses. He'd hear his serenade and feel his arms around his waist and their lips pressed together in a soft embrace.

"Tomorrow..." He repeats in a whisper, brushing his fingers over his own lips as he utters the word before rolling over in bed and clutching a pillow to his chest, giving it a tight squeeze.

It took a while, but Alexander somehow managed to fall asleep late into the night and woke up even later the next day.

He was still holding onto the pillow as he slipped out of bed and walked over to the window to pull open the curtains, blinking as he was met with the light of a sunny afternoon.

"I guess I slept in a little..." He murmured with a yawn as he rubbed his eyes, then tossing the pillow back onto the bed as he made his way over to the dresser.

There was no note this morning, but instead, a rose was laid on top of the bundle of clothes. Still, it made Alexander smile as he brushed his thumb over the delicate petals before he looked to see what outfit he had been given to wear.

The silk shirt was a deep wine-red colour with a thin collar made to lie flat against his shoulders instead of covering his neck and the pants a midnight black. There might not have been a vest like the previous night, but the outfit was still extravagant in its own right.

Alexander didn't quite know why the outfit made him blush, but he couldn't help the way heat began to creep across his cheeks as he pulled on the new shirt and braided the rose into his hair. There still wasn't a mirror in the room and his face may have been burning up, but he felt good wearing the clothes.

Like always he made his way down to the kitchen in search of breakfast, finding a delicious plate of cinnamon buns waiting for him. With a smile, he took a bite out of one of the sweet treats before picking up the plate and taking it with him to the library.

________________________________________________________________

Alexander was bubbling with excitement as he picked out his books for the day, hardly able to sit still as he took his place on the floor again and waited for Thomas. Maybe it was a good thing he had overslept because he didn't have to wait for long before he heard the creaking of the mahogany doors as his host arrived.

"Now aren't you just the prettiest thing... I love what you did with my rose." Thomas commented, grinning as he took his guest by the hands and brushed a strand of his hair behind his ear.

The compliment made Alexander smile as he leaned into the Count's hand, but what made him start blushing was the outfit he had chosen for himself. He had forgone the purple velvet suit jacket he usually wore, leaving him in just the black silk shirt with ruffled sleeves, his black cravat, and the velvet pants that hugged his legs in ways Alexander hadn't noticed before.

"I could say the same thing about you, Thomas... But I don't think pretty does you justice. Gorgeous, maybe? Stunning? Radiant?" He replied, earning a low chuckle in response.

"You're too kind, my darling." Thomas smiled more as he cups his guest's cheek, allowing his fangs to show through in his joyous expression before he took his usual place on the couch.

Alexander expected him to pick a book from his stack and lounge back to begin reading but instead was left gasping as the Count pulled him up onto the couch with him, situating him between his legs and laying him back against his chest.

"Thomas, what--?"

"See? This is much more comfortable than the floor..."

"Y-Yes, it is, thank you..." He couldn't help but wonder what this new position meant, but the Count already seemed to know what he was thinking as he began to caress his hair.

"I'm just holding you, darling... I've actually come to quite enjoy spending time reading with you like this, and besides, I want to do things properly when I turn you."

"Properly...?" Alexander questions, trailing off as he watches Thomas nod in response before tilting up his chin so he could better look him in the eye.

"Yes, well, that's more just me being old-fashioned, following tradition and all that... Really, I could turn you at any time, but I'm waiting for midnight. I want this to be special, after all." The Count explained, then tilting his head as his guest turned away for a moment and sighed, lightly patting him on the head, "There's no need to worry yourself with the logistics, Alexander. I'll be with you every step of the way to guide and take care of you... Besides, I've heard that the process is quite enjoyable for both parties."

Thomas couldn't help but laugh as he watched Alexander's cheeks turn a bright red at his teasing comment, but it did make him quite happy to see the spark of confidence return to his eyes.

"I guess we'll have to see about that." His guest replied with a defiant huff that makes his cherry red cheeks puff out and causes the Count to laugh a little louder before they settle back down into their comfortable quiet.

He was certainly going to enjoy tonight.

________________________________________________________________

Alexander allowed himself to doze as time went on, sometimes resting his eyes and sometimes looking up to try and follow along with whatever his host was reading. He found that Thomas almost always had a hand on him, whether he was rubbing his cheek with his thumb, twirling loose strands of hair around his fingers, or simply resting his hand on his hip.

Then the Count began to shift, taking his hands away to close his book and begin to sit up. The movement made his guest whine with a little pout as he buried his face into his chest, not yet wanting to get up.

It made Thomas chuckle as he tilted Alexander's chin up and pressed a kiss to his forehead, "It's midnight, my darling... Are you ready?"

He couldn't help the grin nor the ruby shine in his eyes as he felt Alexander's heart begin to race at the question.

"Okay, y-yeah... Yes, I guess I am." He muttered, words tumbling into each other as his tongue tries to move as fast as his thoughts before he was hushed by the Count's arms securing him in his hold like a newlywed bride and their lips brushing up against each other as Thomas next spoke.

"Perfect. There's nothing you need to worry yourself with, just think of it all as a new beginning..."

Alexander nodded a little in response as he wrapped his arms around his host's neck, smiling as he was carried out of the library and up to the master bedroom.

He had never seen Thomas' bedroom before since the Count left the door locked during most of the day, so he wasn't sure what to expect as Thomas unlocked the door with a flick of his wrist and carried his guest inside. The room was decorated in deep shades of red and accented with striking blacks, and the king-sized bed placed in the centre room drew in his attention. The sheets scarlet sheets were made of silk and the embroidered canopy that flowed down to the floor a dark onyx. It looked gorgeous and plush and so soft he could lay on it forever.

Alexander couldn't help but sigh into the softness as Thomas laid him back on the mattress.

"You look so beautiful, so peaceful..." The Count hummed as he slowly ran his hands over Alexander's chest while undoing a few of the top buttons, grinning at the way he preened under his touch.

"Thomas... What are you--?" Alexander begins to ask, only to silence himself with a quiet moan as Thomas kissed along his collarbone and trailed the little affections up along his neck.

"I'll begin soon, my darling, I'm just savouring the moment..." The Count purrs, beginning to trail the tips of his fangs along Alexander's veins, causing his breath to hitch and his heart to pound, "So let yourself relax, I'll take good care of you."

Alexander paused for a moment, taking in a breath and letting it out in a sigh before giving a small nod in response, "Okay..."

He watched as Thomas grinned, a growl forming in the back of his throat as he opened his maw and sank his fangs deep into his neck. The sensation made Alexander gasp, arching his back up off the bed before the Count wrapped an arm around his waist and rooted a hand in his hair to support his small form.

He whined, lashes fluttering and his body finally giving in to the new feelings as Thomas began to suck on the wound. Alexander looked down at him through lidded eyes and a shiver runs up his spine at the sight he was met with.

Thomas's eyes were glowing with a deep crimson that had overtaken their usual chocolate brown, and through the new colour they shone with a hunger Alexander was sure he'd never be able to forget.

"T-Thomas, nnmf~ Thomas..." Alexander whimpered, earning a growl against his skin from Thomas that made him squirm. His body was beginning to weaken and a hazy, drained feeling started to set in his mind and cloud his thoughts, but he clung tightly onto Thomas' shirt and grabbed at fistfuls of the soft sheets below him.

Alexander was gasping, body beginning to still as he fell limp in Thomas' hold, only able to loosely paw at his chest as his eyes began to flutter shut, "Tom... Thomas..."

The Count finally pulled back, kissing at the wound and licking away the last crimson drops that pooled there, "Shh, you're okay. You've done very well, just keep those pretty eyes of yours open for me... Think you can do that?"

Alexander whined in protest. He wanted nothing more than to drift off into a deep sleep surrounded the soft sheets and held safe in his love's arms, but he still obeyed and watched Thomas with glazed-over eyes as he pressed a fingernail into his thumb until a bulb of wine-red liquid formed on the surface. He then pressed his thumb to Alexander's lips, earning another weak noise of protest as he tilted his head away.

"Just give it a taste, darling. I promise it will help you." Thomas cooed, cupping his cheek and tilting his head back to face him as he offered him a smile.

In his dazed state, Alexander smiled back, eyes heavy as he nodded and let the first drop fall onto his tongue before beginning to lick at the tiny cut. The taste made a seizing shiver run down his spine and take in a sharp gasp, but now that he had started he couldn't stop himself as he continued to lap at the wine red liquid.

Alexander managed to find some of his strength again as he clung onto fistfuls of Thomas's shirt, taking his thumb into his mouth and starting to suck in an attempt to drink more.

"That's it... So good, very good," The Count cooed, pressing a pair of kisses to Alexander's now closed eyes before he took his hand away and let him fall back against the pillows, "Now relax, you've done everything just right, I'm so proud of you."

Thomas' voice trailed off as he continued to whisper sweet nothings into the cool night air, freeing Alexander's hair from its braid so he could run his fingers through the soft strands while he laid next to him. He waited for the bite to take, watching carefully as Alexander's chest stilled and the steady ba-thump of his heart faded away.

Then Alexander began to stir, first parting his lips to reveal newly sharpened canines before opening his eyes that now glowed with crimson.

"So how do you feel, my Alexander?" Thomas asked quietly as he pulled the fledgling vampire into a chaste kiss with a smile against his lips.

"I feel alive."

#Jamilton #Vampire AU #hamilton #hamilton: an american musical #vampire!Thomas Jefferson #Alexander Hamilton #Thomas Jefferson #my writing #chapter 3

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notcatherinemorland · 5 years ago

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More Hamlet Thoughts because i leave everything to the 11th hour . production continues to be the 2018 globe w/ Michelle Terry

Hamlet and Ophelia’s uhhhhh fight

Ham’s personality twists into cruel mockery of her at the line ‘Where’s your father’ and OHO the facial expressions

Ophelia kept trying to hold onto Hamlet’s hand and body and curl her fingers around hamlet’s hand and it was very heartbreaking . Hamlet was a ball of chaotic energy who scrabbled her hands off himself. rlly interesting to watch

this turned around with hamlet scrubbing over her face as he presents her to the audience’s 4th wall for the make up lines. and shoves her down to the floor at the end

the physical manipulation hamlet takes out on ophelia is a super interesting segue to the players scene

2 b / x 2 b

ham sat in the middle of the front of the stage and held the hand of an audience member who he talked he speech to. very intimate and closed and really interesting interpretation

im a nerd so i really like the juxtaposition of such a grand and philosophical speech being told on such an intimate and small scale

Hamlet’s still got his smudged clown makeup on

hamlet and horatio come across Very gay in the ‘something too much of this’ line. i vibe

hamlet decimated his friendship with R&G and i LOVED how Horatio held him and then forced him away to give him just a touch more character. this Ht loved R&G as well and i appreciate the bit of character we all try to give horatio

Horatio’s Emotions over R&G’s impending death is a++ give this man some emotional range

OH the ‘if your mind dislike anything, obey it’ can we PLEASE listen to horatio the lone voice of reason within elsinor’s halls

that’s not me being gay, that’s a legit analysis of Hamlet in that everyone in Elsinor has a twisted sense of reality and morality and Horatio as an outsider is immune and must watch in horror

the argument is flawed with R&G but hey it’s not my theory.

THE TRUMPETS . there’s live trumpets

the music they played to signal the half time of the play was wonderfully dissonant and i VIBE WITH THAT that is the ENERGY of Elsinor right there

honestly im annoying and i don’t particularly care for the play scene as an audience member. like academically the play within a play is rife with analysis but like. to just sit and watch it feels like such a halt in the energy

plus i really dislike it when they use gross physical comedy in the dumb-show because again. im annoying

anyway they only do the dumb-show (more tollerable than a lot) and they use drum beats and purcussion in place of lines, and have hamlet explain what’s going on with his lines. it’s certainly different and its a lot quicker than the text is

This Claudius is Prime Smarmy Politicians and is very indignant as he tries to pray and i REALLY LIKE HIM

The scene transitions are .. non existent in this play and i LIKE IT

the lines follow on immediately between scenes as the other characters are leaving the stage

i love how it supports the theme of acting this play has and how it breaks down the barrier for the audience of personal vs private

thats not quite what i want to say uhhhhh. in other productions some of the scenes are really discreet from each other- like how pearl necklaces have stoppers between the pearls- and that’s especially evident in films, but here it’s the opposite and the scenes bleed into each other to create a really fast paced and chaotic energy and i REALLY LIKE IT

‘personal vs private’ is on god my favourite theme in hamlet and the way it works with the audience creating it here is GREAT

Closet scene... OH BOY

this hamlet is CRUEL oml

the ghost enters after hamlet spends 3 minutes berating his mother and she’s crying on the floor by the audience and hamlet immediately stops and starts weeping

‘oh save me’ sounds so small and childlike and it really showcases the love between them

not that kind of love, sigmund fucking freud. get your mind out the gutter

the disdain hamlet has for gertrude absolutely breaks my heart but that’s a me thing because i haven’t been able to see my mother in person for coming up on a month due to quarantine :(

added an extra hug before ham leaves .. v sweet

Claudius comes barreling in and picks up ham’s dropped sword. :eye emoji: doesn’t put it down until Hamlet’s brought in for questioning. but he’s still holding a book (english dictionary presumably?) and this act of holding a sword for 2 scenes WILL be reiterated time and time again in ever hamlet essay i write forever to whatever end i so desire because it’s easy to manipulate to my own purposes. bless this moment

There’s a seagull that keeps interrupting claudius at perhaps the funniest possible moments in his soliloquies and honestly WHERE is it’s Olivier

Ophelia’s madness isn’t as explicit as it is in other versions, but watching her tumble into emotions and lack of restraint is so, so heartbreaking.

this is one of the productions of hamlet that makes a really convincing case for ‘madness’ in elsinor being synonymous to speaking one’s mind and being truthful about one’s heightened emotions and like. i Love that interpretation

lets be real i love 99% of hamlet interpretations

the 1% is freud. fuck that guy

I’m Digging the parallel of Ophelia’s emotional outburts of grief (in madness) to Laertes incensed outburst of grief . ohoho

Laertes gets rosemary and pansies, Claudius gets fennel and columbines, Gertrude gets the rue, Audience member gets the daisy and the thought of violets

unfortunately i once wrote a shite poem about gertrude and weather she know of the poison in the cup at the end and unfortunately that’s all i can think about for the last 40 mins of the play hfdhgjgghjhgj

im annoying so i read along with the play and the duets Claudius and Laertes make of the meter and the word formatting on the page comes across really different on stage, which is super interesting.

not to be really fucking dramatic but i read in the info packet of this play that the pillars on the stage are actually tree trunks carved and painted to look like marble and considering how many times i had to hear the words ‘appearance vs reality’ in my english class, i think im allowed to use the smirk emoji about how the setting of the globe is Integral to Hamlet as a play

i am itching to write an entire 4000 word tirade about the use of the physical body in hamlet because between the actual acting on stage, polonius, ‘one auspicious and one dropping eye’ and all whole host of references made to physical body parts i am going feral

PLUS this one incorporates sign language

i actually hate the word incorporates but needs must

The Ophelia’s death speech is of course wonderful, but i can’t stop thinking about how John Everett Millais made his model (who’s name escapes me in a terrible irony because i got this information from an exhibition about the female pre-raphalites) sit in a cold bath for hours on end whilst he sketched and it made her very ill because the fire went out and she was sat nude in a bath of cold water for hours.

Gravedigger only has the songs and the hamlet interaction, and he wears a high vis jacket. he’s also played by the ghost’s actor, which whilst understandable in such a small cast, amuses me greatly

Hamlet’s got his hair tied back and in a military style jacket, and marches around with Horatio who’s in a hoodie and a black duffle coat (absolutely a student) and the same tight plait. Ham’s definitely meant to be sane now, he speaks very brusquely and all but marches around the stage

Not To Make An Edelgard Reference But edelgard’s cause in 3H was also cemented by a timeskip and a military outfit and a brusque personality hehehe

Hamlet gets into the ‘grave’ to chat to Yorick which, again, i will use in every relevant essay i will write and manipulate this scene to whatever end i desire and on god i thank this production for this

a level me would have gone feral

current me is also going feral

Grave Scene: a terrible one for your family to walk in and ask what the fuck you’re watching

Polonius’ actor plays the priest. yes, capsule wardrobe of a cast, i know but i’m an english student it’s my duty to wring every irrational inch of analysis out of this thing

i won’t trail on about unsubstaniated interpretations of Polonius’ parenting skills and fate in Hamlet but on god i will find an essay about it

i always enjoy it when someone leaps in the grave .. the melodrama... the meaning... the liminal spaces...

the DRAMA of seperating feral laertes and the really calm and imposing hamlet is excellent and a bit hilarious and the camera is going nuts

i’m very aware that everyone is now traipsing about over the grave in the middle of the stage and THAT’S a fun dynamic you don’t get from film or text

ok I’ve just noticed the video has the ‘top chat replay’ going and the very first line i saw is ‘what if hamlet had tiktok’ and i am CRYING

Ophelia’s actor also plays Osric and is a) absolutely hilarious and b) again, capsule wardrobe of a cast will not stop me from analysing everything and anything this play may or may not offer me.

im not saying hamlet is a play about inheritance and the burden of it, but also... isn’t it :eye emoji:

if bloody fire emblem fates can do it so can i, step off

Fencing scene: oh thank god it’s nearly over

The hearts on their fencing get ups parallel Hamlet’s clown outfit with a heart on the sleeve Very Nicely

Gertrude isn’t wearing her headpiece anymore .. ohoho dispelling the trappings and suits of dishonesty, if you will

The duel is a) bloody terrifying because sword fighting and b) judged by Osric (Ophelia) and the poetry of having ham & lae’s duel waged over and judged by Ophelia is absolutely excellent

Claudius’s aside (or to laertes? camera didn’t follow) had no right to be as humorous as it was jdfsghfkd

Gertrude figured out it was poison in this one. Nice

I like the call and response effect of ‘Treachery! Seek it out! / It is here Hamlet’ they made with Hamlet running around they stage to find little propped up Laertes

The dramatic eye contact of Hamlet and Claudius as he forces him to drink the poison.... OH HECK YES

the way they sink to the floor in a pair, with hamlet crawling over his body to make sure he dies... oh LORD

the swing hamlet does with his arm to the audience to cast them as ‘the unsatisfied’ was EXCELLENT and i would like that in every production of hamlet please

the tussle of horatio and hamlet over the cup..... iconic.... and i enjoy the parallel of that to hamlet with claudius as they’re stood in the same corner

The harsh projection of Hamlet’s voice and the blunt manner of his words about Fortinbras’ inheritance of denmark against the soft way Horatio rocks Hamlet back and forth ... i want to CRY

Horatio got to have emotional range in this production .. wonderful

i always enjoy the way the play tails off with politics in a room of dead bodies.. the layers the absolute onions

how none of the drama within the castle has any meaning to anyone outside of it is Excellent

and then the way the prison and enclosure of elsinor is finally broken with military force in parallel to the tumultuous interpersonal relationships within it... i vibe yet more

they actually ended with ‘go bid the soldiers shoot’ which i enjoy a lot!!!! and the music is wonderful

then they all start doing this dance which i think is meant to be about the themes of the play and to be perfectly honest it’s a bit crunchy for me but the music absolutely slaps!!!

final thoughts:

that sure was a hamlet production and i thought it had a lot of heart and did some new things very very well!!!

and i loved the emphasis they put on the costuming!!!!

overall: a solid hamlet. very nice. i greatly enjoyed it!!!!

#hamlet blogging #OH BOY THIS IS LONG THIS IS SO LONG

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lit--bitch · 5 years ago

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Current-Reads (20/04/2020 - 26/04/2020) 🍓🐢

(Disclosure: I don’t know anybody I’ve been currently reading this week. 😊)

Adding the preface again here: every Sunday without fail I throw up the freshest literature and photography I’ve read over the week, sometimes it’s a book, sometimes it’s a piece I saw in a magazine or an online zine, sometimes it’s something I saw on social media, etc. Sometimes I add ‘RECOMMEND’ next to a few of the titles, but that’s not to say I don’t recommend all of them, I just love some pieces more than others. Not everything will be everybody’s cup of tea, yanno, c’est la vie. And any titles that you see in bold are hyperlinked so if you click or tap them they’ll direct you straight to the source… or shopping basket.

This week I’m gonna throw in a red herring and tell you about something I’ve been watching as well as what I’ve been reading, because I think it’s really cool and definitely appropriate for the age we’re living in at the moment.

So I’ve been reading: Susan Sontag’s As Consciousness is Harnessed to Flesh (Diaries 1964—1980) which was edited by her son, David. I also read an interview on Granta from March between Rachel Long and Morgan Parker. I’ve also tucked into a couple pieces on Fence, Lexi Welch’s ‘Astroturf’ and Anthony Michael Morena’s ‘The Whale’. I also saw Cecelia Knapp’s poem in Bath Magg Issue Three (but the whole issue is an absolute smacker, it’s great). Last but not least, I’m up to episode 5 of a brand new thing called The Midnight Gospel. It is crazy good. And it’s on Netflix right now.

***

Cecilia Knapp, ‘I Used To Eat KFC Zingers Without Hating Myself’, Bath Magg Issue #3: I really loved the whole of Issue Three, I guess I was quite struck by this particular poem for its “staccato-ness”. This poem is buttered with present-day references. But they’re not necessarily about creating a familiar environment. Rather the object of familiarity is found within the assemblage of places, snacks and thoughts, all of which compound the grief ‘I’ is experiencing. The ‘I’ ruminates on life’s banality and their personal insecurities in living banality: ‘I need a thigh gap. I use emojis / to avoid conflict. Worry I’m a gentrifier. Watch docs about murdered women’. The vapidity is funny. The pain is not. The insecurities deepen. Your body, your life, continues the ache of day-to-day routine, and finds no resolution in the things which may or may not stand to comfort oneself when ravaged by loss. The poem feels quite loose, and disinterested. It’s a sore poem, but its array of references make it colourful. It sort of reminded me of Édouard Levé’s work a little bit? But if Édouard Levé had been a pop culture fanatic chewing HubbaBubba bubblegum on the London Overground. Bath Magg is a pretty exciting new magazine, (been around just under a year I think?) and they’ve published a lot of great writers, many of whom are emerging and I’ve spotted some quite established peple in there too. Kudos to their rubber ducky logo. It’s run by Mariah Whelan and Joe Carrick-Varty.

In Conversation with Morgan Parker and Rachel Long, Granta Magazine: I deeply love Morgan Parker’s work, she’s, in my opinion, the master of titles. I can’t think of anybody who titles their work as well as Morgan Parker does. And I love the depth of honesty and charisma in this interview. Like yeah, it appears to be a generic Q/A but, it genuinely feels like a conversation, and it’s welcoming and unpretentious. Rachel Long asks some penetrating questions, and Morgan’s answers are so detailed and self-aware. Most of the discussion revolves around the action of writing poetry in general and where does that impulse arise from, but they do discuss Morgan’s latest collection Magical Negro which came out February last year. It’s a narrative on black womanhood, on micro-aggressions and reoccuring violence, it’s about breaking down white perceptions of blackness, and dissolving those projections. What I love about Morgan Parker is she’s tackling this fucking idiot thing where (mostly) white people think she’s attempting to represent all black women in her writing, which is, by Morgan’s own admission, impossible. Her work is a duty to herself, to the background she’s lived and lives, and to unpack that discourse in her own way. And if it resonates, then great! I felt all this was inherent in the interview and only adds to my respect for her, and to Rachel for being such an attentive interviewer. BTW Rachel Long has a debut collection coming out this July, My Darling from the Lions.

Anthony Michael Morena, ‘The Whale’, Fence Portal (Streaming) (RECOMMEND): I can’t tell you how much I adored this beautiful mass of whale and word. It’s an essay which references the American Natural History Museum’s Blue Whale model. The writing is thick with feeling and fat with concern. It blends monologue, memoir. It’s non-fiction and documentary. It’s elusive, enigmatic, fragmented. It’s like broken biscuits and blubber. To me it felt like a note on the offences of climate change, the emotional response and grief as we bystand erosion and corrosion, the loss of life, and the urge to merge something back together as it dissolves and fragments before our eyes. It’s as personal as it is public. A gorgeous and complex piece.

Susan Sontag’s As Consciousness is Harnessed to Flesh (Diaries 1964—1980) (RECOMMEND): I felt so afflicted reading Susan Sontag’s diaries, because y’know, it’s the equivalent of invading an Ancient Egyptian pharaoh’s tomb. Like, leave people alone. At the same like, this woman. These diaries are still shaping me, and each section leaves you with the weirdest aftertaste. Her personality permeates through every detail, every line-break, every reference and articulation of feeling. You learn so much, you gain so much from her perceptions and observations. How do I contain Susan Sontag? How do I describe these diaries? Not at all. Just buy it.

Lexi Welch’s ‘Astroturf’, Fence Portal (Streaming) (RECOMMEND): My eyes locked onto this piece and just didn’t really stop reading. Lexi’s voice is enamouring and hypnotic. It’s so violent too. You’re lunged into friction burns and sports injuries, time and progression, the tensions between collectivity and individuality, family and sexuality, or as Fence put it, ‘lesbian eros’. This piece felt acidic. At times you can’t tell if the ‘I’ is indifferent or hurting to the point of numbness. It straddles so many different thematics, and breaks down a lot of conventions pertaining to the “ideal experience” of family relationships and team work. The resolution seems to be that in spite of people, our collectivity is defined by our collective solitude. This essay kicked me around a football field. It takes a good few repeated reads to appreciate its kaleidoscopic shifting, but it’s definitely one of my favourites.

The Midnight Gospel, from Pendleton Ward and Duncan Trussell, Netflix: (RECOMMEND) So the other day my friend Ben linked this to me and I had seen the trailer ages back and thought “Oh yeah I really wanna watch that”, but just forgot. After his reminder, I started watching it and ever since I’ve been saying to loads of other friends “Have you watched ‘The Midnight Gospel’ on Netflix?” because I’m d y i n g to talk about it with everybody.

I literally can’t categorise this “TV show” to you. It’s like if animation had a baby with a philosophy podcast and then put that baby onto an IV drip of psychedelics. It’s this swarm of different stimuli which you kind have to zone in on and absorb individually and yet somehow collectively.

So like, “Clancy” is a spacecaster who sets up “spacecasts” (podcasts) with creatures from other simulated worlds and he interviews them. But when Clancy transports himself into these worlds, it’s not like they’re sat down on some cream sofa with two glasses of water like it’s animated Oprah. No, his interviewees are like in the middle of fighting off a zombie apocalypse or meditating on a mountain or trying to find and save their lost lover. And Clancy just joins them on the journey and interviews them about their “specialism”. These are real people that are being interviewed like, the first episode is with Dr. Drew Pinker. And when you’re watching it, you think that the animation is totally separate to the conversation exchange the characters are having, but that’s not true. They have intersections, they have meaning. It only becomes obvious that it has meaning right at the end of each episode, but if you lock on you’ll see it’s all relevant throughout.

One of my friends was like “Oh I might stick that on tonight and have a joint” and I was like, don’t fucking get high when you’re watching this because it’s already intense enough as it is, like you know that Pendleton Ward and Duncan Trussell have felt some real shit to create this absolute rare jewel. In my opinion, you don’t need cannabis to appreciate these discussions. But if you wanna do it, then hey it’s a “free country”. And it’s not as though there’s a serious, central core plot like there is with Rick & Morty, I mean there is a kind of overarching plot but it’s not always integral. Like ultimately we’re invested in Clancy’s story but also all the stories of all the other people that come his way. There’s multiple plots, there’s multiple dimensions and ways of seeing. It’s a programme which delivers on multiplicity, which manifests itself in everything and everyone we see and know and touch and hear, etc, etc.

This production articulates some of the revelations that psychedelics can give you. Psychedelics don’t make you see the world literally like these animations do, but the sensations of the animation are reminiscent of an acid trip’s oscillating moods and sensitivities. It’s really cool, and it’s very poignant, and it’s my new favourite show to watch. And what’s so great about it is that, it requires multiple watches in order to really absorb everything in its entirety, so it’s a series you can just keep going back to even after you’ve seen them all. It’s re-watchable. Just fundamental goodness all round. Best way to indulge in it is with ice cream. 🍨

***

So that’s it for this week, next Friday’s review is Annie Ernaux’s A Girl’s Story translated by Alison L. Strayer, published with Fitzcarraldo Editions.

Stay safe and well as always, my little caramels. 💁🏽

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nautiscarader · 5 years ago

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2019 in animation - very selected summary

So, I dunno if anyone’s noticed, but this year was crazy strong when it comes to animation, both in terms of amount and quality of it. No matter what type you liked - traditional...

...3D...

...cell-shaded...

...hyper-realistic...

- oh, wait, wait, no, my mistake, that’s clearly live-action.

Anyway, no matter what type of animation is your favourite, this year gave you something. and I’m gonna go chronologically, listing those that I have been able to see. Keep in mind, day only has 24 hours, so I couldn’t see every new season or premiere (for example, I had no interest in OK KO, or She-Ra). Some spoilers below. And Gifs. LOTS OF gifs.

In January: we were still riding on the Spiderverse bandwagon from last year,, which culminated with an Oscar in February. And though as I’ve said, the movie would have worked better imho as a, say, Netflix series, as only two of the spider-people were properly fleshed out, I have to admit, it was a well-earned prize.

Then we were hit by the finale of Steven Universe, and while some complained about the another redemption of cosmic regime, it was an incredibly satisfying ending to a great cartoon... so much so that a whole movie and an epilogue series was made.

plus, it had a segment animated by James Baxter, so it’s automatic win..

January also blessed us with a reboot of another old-forgotten property, Carmen Sandiego, with her second season arriving in October. And it proved that reboots do make sense, but only if you actually do something with it. The story was fresh, creative, and yet, similar in its serialised form to capture the imagination of viewers. Also, grappling hooks for the win.

February was the month of dragons. Not only we got the conclusion of How to Train Your Dragon franchise, but Netlfix gave us second season of The Dragon Prince. While I still consider HTTYD 1 as the best movie of the franchise, as it cleverly told the story of a conflict without any obvious villain, HTTYD 3 was a satisfying conclusion, strengthened by the Homecoming special in November.

TDP S2 on the other hand, did everything season 1 did, except better. For once, the studio finally broke their piggy bank and bought a new graphics card, so the choppy 15FPS animation of S1 is gone. The story got darker, more mature, yet whimsical, and it only made us hungry for more. Luckily, S3 was just around the corner.

March gave us season 2 of Craig of the Creek. I have to admit, I missed out on this cartoon in 2018, and it was a humongous mistake. CotC is quite possibly the most wholesome cartoon out there, telling amazing story about a boy, his friends, and his family, glorifying the mundane adventures in the creek to truly epic proportions. The family is especially important part, I do not remember a cartoon where bonds between family members were as well written as here. Definitely a must-watch if you have missed it as well.

On 8th of March, the International Women’s day, DC Superhero Girls 2019, aka My Little Pony But Humans And With Superpowers, started, and it was a blast. Creator. Lauren Faust, has once again proven that whatever she touches turns into gold. The shorts were funny, clever, and changed just enough of the DC universe to feel familiar, yet show us new, interesting scenarios.

In April, Missing Link had its premiere, showing that traditional, stop motion animation not only has place in modern times, but it can deliver spectacular scenes, though of course, we expected nothing less of studio Laika.

In May, one of Disney’s long-running series, Star vs The Forces of Evil had its finale, and that brings us to the first screech of the list. Many people complained about the direction the show has taken, some claiming it has gone off-track in S3, some saying it was S4 that dropped the quality. Some, like me, saw nothing wrong with it, but the finale let people dissatisfied. If anything, it was too short, and definitely could use an epilogue movie that would tie some of the remaining plot threads in something bigger than one single pan-shot.

Rest in piece, laser puppies

Wait, they’re alive? Well, then... rest in piece, Hekapoo and her puppies.

This month also presented a first contender for this Summer’s line-up, Twelve Forever. The cartoon took us into wild, bizarre land of imagination, and offered quite a few very mature lessons about growing up and acknowledging one’s responsibilities. It also provided much needed representation, both in terms of colour and sexuality.

Sadly, amidst scandals with its creator, the show was canned, though it’s also Netflix’s fault for not marketing it enough.

A-and maybe the show was just a tad too... creepy....

Also somewhere in May some Games might have been lost and some Thrones burned, but no one cares about it anymore. i think it was popular for a while, though.

However, 12 Forever was just a start. June gave us Amphibia, my personal top-bingeable cartoon of the year. Disney has hit a jackpot, giving us an incredibly creative fantasy show with rich mythology and enough emotional conflict to create fantastic storytelling. The only slight complain was the scheduling, as episodes aired daily, meaning the season was over by the end of the month. But honestly, the amount of humour and adventures with Anne in the forg world we got compensates that thousandfold. Book 2, coming in 2020, can only makes thing more interesting.

Going for a hat-trick, in August we got the premiere of a cartoon that I was betting would be my personal favourite, Infinity Train... Until I learned of its schedule, even weirder than Amphibia’s. While Amphibia took a right turn, and gave us 20 episodes, a perfect amount for both plot and filler stories, Infinity Train... turned out to be a mini-series with just ten episodes, airing daily, two per night. And that, in my opinion, was a fatal mistake. Not only we now know that the story is not over, as Season 2 arrives in January, but the short episodes and its density gave very little time to leave an impact on us. If it was at least spaced out, then maybe I wouldn’t be so judgemental, but for me it was a blow that deflated the balloon I was clinging to since 2016 pilot. Still, there is more to come, and the story was more than interesting, so we’ll see if I get used to the pocket mini-story arcs.

September. Remember Steven Universe? That cartoon that ended? SIKE, HAVE A TV MOVIE. And by gods, old and new, what a phenomenal movie it was. A musical telling its own, contained story of betrayal, trust and finding yourself, based on Rebecca Sugar’s mis-adventure with a phone that reset itself... I have seen this movie at least ten times, and its OST is one I come back to constantly on Spotify. The songs are amazing, catchy, incredibly-well written, deep, and, as usual, send very adult messages about growing up and finding one’s identity, which SU was already famous for. Must watch.

Continuing the theme of reboots that actually make sense, Ducktales finished its second season after duck-bombs in March and May, with a heart-breaking story of Della Duck and humongous finale, extending DT’s universe to other Disney Afternoon shows. Season 3 promises even more, and DT is a golden standard of making a reboot that stays faithful to a more than half-a-century old material, while adding enough material to keep things fresh and funny for modern audience. What I’m saying is, Disney could really learn from Disney (pictured below).

But while some things start, some have to finish. October saw the end of My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, a show that has taken Internet by the storm in 2010 and...

...okay, cringy brony things aside, this was a clever re-imagining of the decades-old property, and its popularity, especially amongst the people outside the target demography is a proof of its quality. The ending was perfectly serviceable, nothing that stood out, in my opinion, but it definitely didn’t disappoint either. MLP FiM will live in history as the cartoon about pastel tiny horses that made adult men cry and gave them enough passion to create years of of visual crack. And porn. Lots of porn.

November: Just In case if one season of human and elf adventures was enough, The Dragon Prince Season 3 arrived in November, and it provided a thrilling conclusion to its first smaller story arc. Though I wish the season was longer, and it dived into the history of Elves’ and Humans’ animosities, I would be lying if I said I didn’t binge-watch it all in one sitting, gripping my chair.

Do you like Green Eggs and Ham? Yes, yes, I do, Sam-I-am. Question: how do you take a classic poem, made purposefully of limited vocabulary, and turn it into a thirteen episode series with a beginning, middle, and end? The answer: You add bunch of weird stuff and the mother of all complicated backstories... at least by the original’s standards. And here’s the thing: this is the first Dr Seuss’ adaption where it works. Somehow the writers were able to stretch each verse of the famous poem into a surprisingly emotional story about friendship, losing and restoring hope, as well as following your dreams. Plus, it gave us Fargo-esque team of Bad Guys. Come on.

And just in time for Christmas season, we were blessed with Klaus, a clear contender for a Christmas classic in my opinion. This STUNNINGLY beautiful traditionally animated original Netflix movie is a very, very clever reinterpretation of St. Nick’s mythos, telling a deep, and very realistic story of greed and selfishness, and how can one turn their life around by changing their life, one present at a time.

We’re about to end the year, so HOW ABOUT SOME EMOTIONAL TRAUMA, KIDS? Yes, Steven Universe Future is here, and from the looks of it, Steven’s problems are just beginning, since they mature with him. The show’s too real, man. However, it also provided much needed levity, giving us a familiar taste. Nothing more to say, as the show is still airing, and it will surely give us more emotional moments.

And that’s a wrap for 2019. As I’ve said, it is not exhaustive by any means, and from the looks of it, 2020 is gonna be as packed as its prequel. So yeah, the world might be on fire, but at least we got some nice cartoon to binge-watch.

Happy new year everyone! At least I have time until 6th of January when the first episode of Infinity Train Season two arriWHAT DO YOU MEAN IT’S OUT ALREADY

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melancholicvampires · 6 years ago

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A light summer breeze brushed Carmilla's wavy hair. She took a walk to the church garden, which was a lovely sight during the blissful season. Birds singing excited songs, flowers blossoming in vivid colours, surrounded by buzzing bees and butterflies longing for nectar and the sun gracing nature with her warmth and light. The garden was filled with lavender, daisies, irises, peonies and roses of pink and red at thise time of the year. An old great oak spending shadow to those who are in need of rest from the sovereign sun. The oak was a silent observer and participant of his surroundings, the lively visitors, that come and go as they are born and die within his sweeping branches or on his bulging roots. Carmilla often found herself asking how it must feel to stay in one place for the eternity of life. Part of her longing for such a settled life, the other part scared of being chained and never able to leave one place. Countless oppurtunities and events in need of witness would go astray while seeing others embraced by the muse of nature, writing, drawing, falling in love. It would just be a life filled with regret, wouldn't it?

Carmilla reminded herself to take Amalia with her to the garden one day, sitting under the canopy of that attentive tree. It was a pity Amalia always had so little time, burried under numerous notes and thick books. Carmilla sighed. It not seldom worried her, when Amalia was given no time for herself. She so often had to help the villagers with their small wounds and it angered Carmilla. She asked herself how this village even survived without a doctor at those moments. ‘Humans are delicate creatures’ is what her mother used to say, however she wouldn't have expected them to be as fragile as the wing of an insect.

Carmilla thought about preparing a small picnic for Amalia and considered what food she liked. The church was usually quiet. Enzio tended the plants early in the morning, otherwise the garden rarely had visitors, except from the frequent visits of critters. Carmilla didn't mind, quite the opposite, she enjoyed the peaceful isolation. Today however the garden was not the usual silent paradise she was hoping for.

“If you would just talk to me, I could explain to you", a well known voice said, however in a tone of desperation she rarely heard nowadays of Célestin. She remembered it from when he was a child and she would pull pranks on him, always asking to stop. Now it had become much harder to play tricks on him, Carmilla thought with a little wistfulness in her heart.

“We already did. We are just turning in circles. You tell me you would explain everything, but you don't explain anything”, Enzio countered, his arms crosses in front of his chest.

“Give me one last chance and I will explain!”.

“You repeat yourself", Enzio sighed. “I still need to take care of a few tasks. So if you would excuse me, I want to have those finished by the end of the day instead of arguing with you any longer”.

He turned on his heel without waiting for a response and slammed the door of the church shut.

Célestin fell back on the bench, exhaling deeply and rubbing his temples.

“Always thought he would never even dare to consider raising his voice against you”, Carmilla said.

Célestin startled by hearing the voice of the involuntary listener, slouching and quickly hiding his face in his hands again. “How much did you hear?”.

“Sadly only the last part of your romantic conversation. Did I miss out on anything?”. She took a seat next to him on the bench.

“Be glad you didn't have to sit through the whole disaster. He was right about us turning in circles. It went nowhere!”, he groaned, “Just as I thought the day couldn't get any worse. I had a bad dream, I woke up with a headache, my favourite blouse ripped and my hair is terribly dry. And the weather! It's too warm, the sun dazzles me and those annoying critters are wherever I go and can't stay quiet for a second! Whatever sadistic creature is up there must have taken loathing on me. Enzio always says there's a merciful god, but I don't believe that those horrors are mercy. It's a living nightmare!”. He raised his voice gradually with every new exaggeration.

She caressed his back and examined his hair for blemish, but couldn't find any. His blond long hair was still as shiny and soft as usual. He might have grown and is harder to trick, but he’s just as dramatic as he used to be when he was a child. He always complained about every single minor coincidence that was even a little inconvenient to him. She remembered how he complained a complete week and didn't speak to her for a whole year and merely gave her cold stares, all because she hid his favourite toy for a day. No matter what she tried to cheer him up, whether it was cooking his favourites dish or reading a play he adored to him, he would consistently stay in his role. He also always hated summer, especially the burning heat and dazzling sun. It would disturbe his appearance on stage. Carmilla always liked the summer months. The warm sun kissing her cold skin, the flowery scent in the air and sparks of the fireflies at clear nights.

“You're right. I can see some black strands coming through".

“Just cut them off”, he said in a monotonous voice.

“I'm joking. They are still golden blond and as soft as cotton". She awaited a snarky comment as reply, but only heard a deep sigh instead.

She gave him an encouraging slap on his back. He straightened his back out of reflex and rubbed the spot where she hit him.

“Ouch!”, he cried, showing his sharp teeth, “What was that for?”.

She shrugged her shoulders. “Thought I would cheer you up that way".

“You are supposed to do it lightly and not beat the air out of my lungs".

“I tried to be as gentle as possible. Perhaps you should work out more often”.

“I wasn't expecting you to hit me", he protested, “And you don't just magically solve the problem by hitting me".

She felt pity for him, although only a tiny bit.

“I'm curious. Why is he so important to you? I don't remember you being so heart broken over the others”.

“Let me explain it to you. Did you ever admire a dress, presented in a window of a shop? So you enter it, try it on, see that it looks and fits perfect on you and buy the beautiful dress with all it's frills and bows. As you are home you try it on again, however you realize it almost slips off your shoulder or is too tight at odd places. The bows and frills look like a cheap doll on you. Maybe the dress wasn't right for you after all, but the blonde girl with the elaborate curls, you saw earlier on the street, would have worn it like an enchanting princess. It might not be right for you, yet you had a pleasant moment of feeling delighted when you first wore it. Do you understand what I mean?”.

Carmilla remembered all those times she stared at dresses, being captivated by them, spending too much money on them, only to realize it didn't look right a few days later. Whenever this occured she always repeated the same old saying to herself. To sleep a night over it. However she told herself the verse a bit too often.

“I suppose I do", she mumbled.

He nodded satisfied and began smiling. Not the smile of a lovesick fool she so often saw in the plays he was in, but a genuine smile. “You see, when I'm with him, I want to stay in the moment and stop time. There's not that lingering doubt, instead I want to treasure everything of him. His voice when he sings, how his eyes shine when he tells stories, the way he smiles and moves when he plays the violin and the words he speaks, that are like hearing a poem from a muse. Don't get me wrong. I love the relationships I had. All of them were lovely, with a few exceptions. Yet there was always this lingering solitary. It's not like that with Enzio. There is no word, that do justice to describe what I feel, when I'm with him, but being complete”.

“Why don't you tell him what you just told me?”, she asked as she remembered an easier way to solve the problem, “Why don't you erase his memory of the incident? It's just a small detail you would have to erase after all"

He looked at her with eyes wide open and slightly backed away from her, like her question broke a taboo.

“I can not tell him that! It's one thing telling you that, but it's another to tell the person I love all that. Especially when he doesn't want to listen to what I say", he exclaimed, “And I certainly won't erase or attempt to change his memories of the evening. I've never seen him so at ease and glad. I won't take this memory from him. But most instantly he's not prey”.

It was almost adorable seeing him like he was in love for the first time, Carmilla thought to herself. Her brother who always knew the right words to say to whomever striked his liking and who was always confident enough to even use lines, that were dripping with kitsch.

After a while of silence she finally said, “I would ask you if you learned talking like that in the theatre, but you always phrased every sentence that melodramatic. I hope you won't be brooding over your lost love and barricade yourself in a castle for 400 years. I've he's still in there. He isn't alone at least”.

“I understand his isolation. Perhaps I should move far away and hide from the cruel world".

Carmilla rolled with her eyes. “You wouldn't survive two days alone out there”.

Célestin put on a proud smirk and suddenly grabbed her shoulder, eyes glistening and wearing a broad grin on his face. “You could talk to him for me!".

“Is that your grande idea? Did you got that from the theatre? It's ridiculous. I won't get involved in your lovers’ tiff”. Carmilla drew her shoulder away from his grib.

“You've seen how our dispute went. It doesn't matter what I say at this point”. He returned to a slouching position, starring at the ground. “I understand he might need distance and time, but I'm scared of losing him".

She knew he was right. Enzio was still too upset as to listen to what Célestin has to say, especially because he doesn't explain well. She knew the feeling of ugly regret.

“Fine. I play the role of the mediator in your silly marriage dispute”, she grumbled. Célestin raised his head with joyful hope in his eyes as Carmilla lifted a finger, the way older sisters do when they lecture their younger siblings. “But first I would like to know what's in it for me”.

“My infinite gratitude for your selfless deed?”.

“Oh please, you can do better than this". Carmilla crossed her arms.

“Well, Amalia and yours truly will be at the pub in the evening. I could arrange something between you two. If you bring Enzio I’ll pay for your drinks. But don't tell him I'm there. Invite him over to drink and forget about worries. A round at the pub just between two friends. I don't want him to get suspicious or decline the offer because of me”.

As he mentioned Amalia, Carmilla blushed all over her face. “How do you know that I like her?”.

“Aside from you telling me in this very moment, it's hard to unsee the looks you two exchange, Millie”, he answered with a triumphant smirk.

“Don't call me that!”, she hissed, cringing. She hated that name. It always makes her feel like a naive little child. “You're so childish". She got up from the bench, keeping her arms crossed and raising her head slightly to make her appear taller than her small physique.

“Says the one who’s too scared to ask the lady she laid eyes on out".

She could hear his amusement and how his smirk got wider.

“You should be quiet, because I'm doing this for you", she replied without a glance at him. She wouldn't grant him that favour.

“Whatever you say, Millie".

She made an annoyed noise, loud enough for him to hear. As she put her hand on the doorknob of the church entrance, she mumbled “Idiot" and slammmed the door behind her.

The loud door slam filled the almost empty halls of the church with a deep echo, startling Enzio as he assembled flowers on the altar.

Carmilla put her hand in front of her mouth. “Pardon the disturbance. It wasn't my intention to scare you”.

“No need to apologize. I was just surprised someone would visit the church at this hour", he said and continued his work on decorating the altar.

She approached the altar and stood before him. The sound of her otherwise silent footsteps whispered through the modest, but impressive building. There was always a feeling of awe and respect, when she looked up the high ceiling, throning over her small figure. And yet it appeared so small and narrow from the outside, however that impression was deceiving. Enzio was still focusing on his work, already used to the old church. She wondered how it must be to live in such building, filled with history, secrets and unknown passages. If he ever examined any of that arcana knowledge? She would ask him someday. To her it was an impossibility not to explore them. Her residence for the time being, although old, didn't offer many of such secrets to her dismay.

She cleared her throat. “I saw you had quite a dispute with my brother”.

“Did Célestin ask you to talk with me and only to repeat what he has said already? You don't need to waste your time on this”. He was still focussing on his flower composition.

That was exactly what she would have liked to do. This whole discussion already seemed overexagerated to her, since it is merely a misunderstanding. Although a complex one.

She thought of Amalia. At least Carmilla would be able to spend some quality time with her this evening. And she would have felt bad to leave her part of the deal unfulfilled. A part she soesnt like to admit to herself felt bad for Célestin. She doesn't want to keep him from the feeling of romantic love. Something that feels true for an eternity.

“He did", she admitted, “I want to speak honest with you. I understand your disappointment in my brother and I won't force you to do anything you aren't willing to do. However I believe he deserves a second chance”.

He cut a bloomed flower head from its green stem with strained fingers, still not looking up, but he listened to every word she says. He tried working as quiet as possible when she spoke, avoiding any pesky rustling of leaves or noises from cutting the flowers. It appeared to her a better concept to talk around it for a while, however seeing him pretending to focus on trivial work was reason enough for her to be blatant about it.

“I cannot give you a satisfying explanation. Maybe you will get one someday, maybe you won't. However it doesn't matter for now. You only need to know he wasn't doing anything of what you think. He does not see you merely as a way of passing time. You should have heard how he talks about you. I've never heard him talk this way about any other lover he had. I believe he means it. He wouldn't lie to me".

“He said the exact same words to me”.

“It is more than that, isn't it", she concluded, leaning against the altar, “After all both of you want the same thing and yet you hesitate to make the next step, eventhough you are aware of his reputation and he apologized on every possible occasion. So what is holding you back?”

He sighed and finally laid the scissors and roses down, forming a fist with his hands and spreading his lips together. “I don't comprehend why he would see more in me than any of his other lovers. I'm not rich or well-known. I'm not even confident enough to go on stage like he does”.

“Don't you notice that this is exactly what he likes about you?”.

He put a questioning look on. To her it seemed so obvious, it was almost frustrating to see him being so oblivious. How humans wasted their limited life time with unnecessary doubts and thousands of worries, she would never understand.

“My brother can tell you all that and knowing him I'm sure he already did so. But to give you reassurance, he appreciates your kindness, compassion and the talent you have. And you needn't worry about being anything less than others or not being enough as you said. He told me countless hours of your brilliant masterpieces”, she gave him a wink.

He leaned against the altar next to Carmilla, posture and tense shoulders loosened. He sighed in relieve. “He wouldn't stop asking me about new compositions. At first he was only giving compliments out of politeness, but he always asked and would sit down to hear them, without making a single noise while I played the violin. So I composed more pieces whenever I had time, since he would want to hear them".

“You see?”, Carmilla made an explaining gesture, satisfied with how she solved her temporare couple counselling. There remained only one task. “How about we spend the evening in the pub? The day feels so long and draining already, I could use some indulgence and glasses of wine at end of this day".

The drunken banter and cheap wine weren't of interest to her. Under regular circumstance she wouldn't even have thought about spending her precious late hours in visiting a cheap establishment like this. Usually she indulged in reading the same dusty yellowed books over and over again on her couch, squeaking with every so tiny movement. Yet all her thoughts already wandered to being captivated by the soft and smart voice of Amalia, while telling stories of sharp scalpels and skilled hands, red from blood.

“An evening out sounds like a welcome change from all the trouble of the couple past days", he agreed.

“So it's decided. I'll see you after dusk in the pub”.

Before she went to leave, Enzio gestured her to wait and picked up a few white roses, binding them to a small bouquet.

“Célestin mentioned how much you adore white roses and I imagine they look beautiful in your mansion. And please give those to Célestin”. He handed her a bouquet of white carnations.

She stared at the flowers in admiration. She already knew a spot the roses would look lovely on. “These are beautiful! Thank you. I'll take good care of them”.

“I have to thank you”, he said.

“Then I gladly accept your thanks", she replied. “Oh, and wear something nice this evening".

#where are the turtles #chapter #draft #Carmilla #Célestin #Enzio

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sundaynightnovels · 6 years ago

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11/11/11 Tag Game (again!)

aaaand i’ve also been tagged by @fluffythewritingplant for a different set of questions!!! you have a lot of questions huh HAHA but they sound fun so thanks for tagging me in this! <3 1. What is your favorite part of writing? characters! characters interacting!! characters doing things! character dialogues!! characters characters characters! 2. Do you prefer reading or writing? HA i haven’t read a novel in a while. but yea i like them both but... yknow. how bout reading my own writing. i’m narcissistic like that 3. How many people have read your stuff? since the next question is specifically about irl, i’m assuming this is about online??? well, i guess all of yall on tumblr have seen my snippets and excerpts right heh (blatant advertising here) (also in case yall don’t know how i differentiate them, snippets are drabbles that i write outside of my main wip and excerpts come directly from the wip draft itself heh) so yea, all of you!! <3 (i guess?????) 4. How many people irl have read your stuff? kinda mentioned this in my previous 11/11/11 tag, but not much. if it’s school stuff then yea, but if it’s my own personal stuff, not really. maybe like a handful in the past, but right now in the present? no one has read my current wip as of yet. 5. Are there any books or movies that inspired your writing? hmmMMMm. in general i guess studio ghibli (in how they make the mundane little everyday stuff magical, i love that), percy jackson (humour lol), mmmm... i actually really don’t know. i’ve been writing for a long time, so i think everything probably just accumulated and it just culminates in this mess that i call my own brand of writing. my friends (who have read my work in the past) say that i actually have a style -- i’m not sure how true that is HAHA but that’s good to know, but i really have no idea what in particular inspired it. 6. How many WIPs do you have? One (or is it two??? but they are of the same... universe-thing.) OKAY like i’ve finished my first draft of my main novel called like all things out of season, and now i’m working (well, barely) on the companion novel so yea. floating in my head are about three vague forms of ideas though. one of which i have tried numerous times to write but never finished, another is something that i’m like ooooo i’ll write it right after i finish my current one (guess that ain’t happening), and the last is the most vague, most formless one that i just kinda have a feel on but not rly. 7. What are some ideas you had to throw away because you just didn’t have the time to work on them? i’m sure i’ve lost a lot over the years, especially because my memory sucks. also, since my memory sucks... do you expect me to remember these lost ideas??? 8. Have you ever written any poetry? Wanna show some of your stuff? the first time i ever touched poetry was two years ago for a creative writing class. they all kinda suck... do i want to show my stuff??? hmmmmm.... let me take a peek at what i’ve written then well it is pretty cringe but if you wanna read it (scroll through if you don’t want a cringe fest)

(1. don’t ask me about the formatting, idk why i did it this way 2. i think the assignment was... okay who am i kidding, idk what the assignment was about. but i think i just thought it’d be interesting to do a poem using like chinese mythology or something like that. speaking of which, the AU that i wanna write of my novel is kinda also about chinese mythology hmmm... did i say too much) 9. What’s your favorite line/scene you’ve ever written (several are possible of course)? i don’t have a favourite line, but for a scene... i’ve mentioned this somewhere else before (in response to an ask i think), but there was this really important scene that i knew, even before starting my novel, that i had to write and it was simply about this man telling them a story. and i had no idea what i’d write, how it’ was going to play out and everything, but then it came out so beautifully and evocative even though while writing i had no idea what i was doing and i actually felt what i was meant to feel in that story and i just lkjkdlfkjsdlfkd i have a lot of feelings to that and i can’t show it to yall cuz it’s like, the first main turning point of the story. right after that scene was this kinda sleepover-ish scene with Shou and Jun and i loved writing that too because shou was adorable and excited and jun was understandably not impressed and yknow, it was kinda important too in the whole state of things. OF COURSE before that i enjoyed writing the scene where almost all of them (except the female yu) converged together in the noisies’ place and just had a whole lot of mess and fun yeah that entire portion was great because they all happened kinda altogether at once. 10. What’s your favorite quote i don’t think i have one 11. What’s your favorite quote by someone you know? well it’s not my favourite, but it’s the most iconic one that i can remember right now. we were predrinking before going to a club and one of my friends bought vodka, which yknow tastes like nail varnish and is just terrible (i mean... even if you like vodka... you gotta admit, it feels like it can melt your throat off) while others bought like ~~ wine~~ and stuff and she was like “well we just wanna get drunk right so might as well jump straight into it” and that line stuck with me ever since. girl’s got her priorities straight. (if this makes me seem like i like drinking, i really don’t. and i hate wine HAHA) 12. What’s your favorite book? you are a devil. also. no, ain’t answering that. thank you, next. 13. Which book do you regret reading? i had a bunch of them when i was younger, but... i don’t really remember right now. really 14. Is there something you regret writing? when i was younger i once wrote something in the pov of a cat. do i regret it? no. it was really stupid though. 15. If your OC’s were actual people in your life, what would your relationship be like? oh ho ho. zhen would be the laziest friend ever and i’d probably be really annoyed at her because it’ll be impossible to go out and hang out with her, but yknow what? i’m basically the same.

shou would be annoying in a different way, he’ll be so overly-excited and energetic that i’ll just be like... stop. and he’s the sort who’ll go around talking to random strangers on the street and as a massive unsociable introvert, i’ll be drowning there in my shyness and inability to talk as he goes out yammering and yammering about who knos what (true story, i have a friend as sociable as him. even when we’re talking to mutual acquaintances, i’m just there. a statue, meant to decorate the setting in which she’s in) i can’t communicate with kids, so i’ll probably be really really awkward with lu. like really. maybe i’ll talk to him a little bit, but i can foresee it to be a very uncomfortable interaction, at least on my part. lol yu(f). i don’t think i can talk to her either. she’s too stressed out and working too hard and i don’t like to bother people like that, especially if we aren’t friends yet. ren would be really easy to talk to, he’s just so laidback and chill and nice, like he’s probably the kind of classmate you’ll just end up casually talking to when you meet on the way to class or on the way out from class. i don’t know if we’ll actually become friends, but we’ll end up being at least friendly acquaintances. i think i’d probably avoid teng in real life. he’s way too loud and dramatic and remember, i’m an introverted girl who doesn’t like to have attention on herself... and with him, yknow you’re gonna get all the attention. likewise with jun, you’re gonna get so much attention with him. but i think i could be friends with him tbh. he acts aloof and is pretty snarky and prickly but once i get past that (if i ever do, which to be frank i might not), i think we could be friends. i probably won’t be friends with yu (m) because he’s that strong silent type and unless i’m made to sit with him in class, i probably won’t ever start up a conversation with him. i most likely wouldn’t be friends with jia because she’s the really attractive, popular type yknow? she’s a nice person and i’d probably be friends with her IF we ever spoke to one another, but considering chances of that are low, i don’t think we’d end up friends. i’m reusing the above questions ^ and tagging a few more people @insearchof-solace (sorry tagging you back just because i want to know your answer for the last one HAHA) @usuallydecentwriter @sunnydaysarealwaysgrey @farrradays

#personal tag #personal #writeblr #my wips #my OCs #not sure if i should tag this to my OC tags but #hmm #probably not

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mollymauk-teafleak · 7 years ago

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hello!! would you mind doing an ari and dante prompt where they have to babysit dante’s baby brother and make it really fluffy w cute little baby because i need happiness 🤧

Hey, I’m sorry this is so short and kind of pretty bad but I didn’t want to make you wait any longer for it, I hope you like it

“You know, I really don’t think this is what your parents meant, Dante,” Ari piped up helpfully from the sofa, draped across it languidly as he watched his boyfriend sit cross legged on the floor next to little Miguel’s baby bouncer thingy (he didn’t know what it was really called, the little guy sure seemed to love it though). “I think they meant, like, just make sure he doesn’t fall out of the window or something…”

Dante raised his eyebrows at him over the book he was holding, “When my parents aren’t here, I’m solely responsible for his safety and psychosocial development. I take that very seriously, Ari.”

“I’m just saying, man, I don’t think reading him Langston Huges poems is going to get you very far. He spent the whole of the last one chewing on his own foot.”

Dante blinked, extracting his nose from the book and frowning at his little brother, “Hey, come on. Don’t eat your limbs, buddy. That’s not gonna get you into Harvard when you’re older.”

Ari snorted with a dry laugh, pulling himself up, “That’s your main concern? He’s one.”

“Got to give him the best start in life,” Dante shrugged, though he put the book down and reached over for one of Miguel’s toys instead, the little fish that crinkled when he grabbed it in his little starfish hands. The little guy’s dark brown eyes, like two perfect little drops of melted chocolate and every bit as sweet, lit up as soon as he saw it, making garbled noises and grabbing for it. Ari couldn’t help but feel a warm burst of pride that Miguel’s favourite toy was the one he’d picked out for him.

“And besides,” Dante continued, giving Miguel the fish and gently pushing some of his dark, perfectly round curls away from his eyes for him, “This is the first time Mom and Dad actually let me babysit him. I want to do a good job.”

Ari smiled to himself, deciding it wasn’t important to mention that Mr and Mrs Quintana had specifically made sure Ari would also be in the house with their two boys, while they themselves went out on their first date in a year. They thought he was the more responsible one in their relationship, for some reason.

“Why don’t you come and read me poems instead?” Ari hinted hopefully, reaching over and nudging Dante’s knee with his foot, “It’s been ages since you did that, I feel like I’m being replaced over here.”

“Aw, you getting jealous?” Dante chuckled, batting his leg away.

“Hey, I’ve already lost my dog to that baby,” Ari pointed out, “I can’t lose my boyfriend too. The line has to be drawn somewhere.”

He wasn’t wrong, ever since little Miguel arrived, Legs had apparently adopted him as her own puppy and didn’t understand why all these other people kept interfering. She was proving his point right now, curled up by his bouncer, tail thumping the floor as she watched him very carefully, attentive to every adorable baby squeak and squawk.

“Aw, don’t be,” Dante grinned, hopping up with his ever present energy, coming and flopping down on the sofa next to Ari, wrapping his arms around him, “I’m only spending so much time with him so I’ll be really, really good when we have kids.”

Ari could feel himself going red, elbowing Dante, “Dude, shut up…”

“Nope, I’m being deadly serious,” Dante insisted, leaning against him entirely now, legs and all, “And you better catch up or I’m going to be the favourite parent already.”

“Like hell you will!” Ari laughed incredulously, shoving at him.

Before long, the two were wrestling on the sofa, accompanied by the loud, uncomplicatedly happy babyish laughter of little Miguel Ángel Quintana as he watched with his big, adorable eyes.

#aristotle and dante discover the secrets of the universe #aaddtsotu #ari mendoza #dante quintana #fluff #cute #ficlet #Aristotle and dante #ari/date

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green-violin-bow · 7 years ago

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Hawksmoor, BBC Sherlock and historiographic metafiction

First:

This piece is not of academic quality or rigour. I left university eight years ago; I studied literature in two languages and did well at it. Nevertheless I am no longer in academia and have not written an essay since then. My sources are partial, dependent on what I can get access to through my local library, through academic friends, or what I choose to pay for on JSTOR. I work full-time and have put no time into e.g. referencing (always my least favourite part of essays).

Although I personally hold out hope for unambiguous Johnlock still, I would not class this as a ‘meta’ arguing that it will certainly happen. This is a reading, undertaken for my own satisfaction and interest, jumping off from the inclusion of ‘Hawksmoor’ as a password in one scene of The Six Thatchers. I do not particularly mean to suggest that Mark Gatiss and Steven Moffat are deliberately playing with/off literary criticism. They may well be holding two (or more) time periods in tension, however, in a way that I choose to explore through the lens of the literary tools described here. I do not seek to challenge or disprove other fan theories.

I am no television/film studies scholar. There are probably layers and layers of nuance and meaning that I’m missing because I simply have no frame of theoretical reference in that field (and one of the primary ‘texts’ we are talking about here is, after all, a television show). The abundance of television and film references discovered by Sherlock fans have made it clear that the show’s creators deliberately allude to other visual media within modern Sherlock all the time. I believe my approach here is valid because Hawksmoor, a literary text, is pointed to in the show, and because ACD canon itself was a literary text. But I want to flag up this important way in which my analysis is deficient.

I tagged a few people in this but I’m aware this is more of a musing/essay than a traditional ‘meta’ so don’t worry about reading/responding if it’s not your thing!

The Six Thatchers

In The Six Thatchers, Sherlock visits Craig the hacker, to borrow his dog Toby. On the left of our screen (taking up an entire wall of Craig’s house, realistically enough…) are lines of code, in the centre of which is written ‘Hawksmoor17’.

I was interested in finding out more about this. I decided my first port of call would be the ‘detective novel’ Hawksmoor, by Peter Ackroyd.

Peter Ackroyd

Peter Ackroyd is a historian and author, who has written a huge array of fiction and non-fiction, including:

London: The Biography (non-fiction)

Queer City: Gay London from the Romans to the Present Day (non-fiction)

The Last Testament of Oscar Wilde (an imagining of the diary Oscar Wilde might have written in exile in Paris)

Dan Leno and the Limehouse Golem (novel, presenting the diary of a murderer)

Hawksmoor (novel)

In his work London is present, constantly, a character in itself, woven into the very fabric of the story as irrevocably as it is into the mythos of Sherlock Holmes.

Hawksmoor

In brief, Hawksmoor is a postmodern detective story, running in two timelines. Each timeline focuses on a main character: in 1711, the London architect Nicholas Dyer; two hundred and fifty years later, in the 1980s, Nicholas Hawksmoor, a detective, responsible for investigating a series of murders carried out near the churches built by Dyer.

Ackroyd plays with the ‘real history’ of London throughout, muddling and confusing the past with fictional events, with conspiracy and rumour.

There was a real London architect named Nicholas Hawksmoor who worked alongside Christopher Wren in eighteenth-century London to design some of its most famous buildings. He also designed six churches. Ackroyd chooses to change the eighteenth-century architect’s name to Nicholas Dyer, and to make Nicholas Hawksmoor the twentieth-century fictional detective instead – a deliberate muddling together of timelines and of ‘facts’.

Ackroyd had drawn inspiration for Hawksmoor from Iain Sinclair’s poem, ‘Nicholas Hawksmoor: His Churches’ (Lud Heat, 1975). This poem suggests that the architectural design of Hawksmoor’s churches is consistent with him having been a Satanist.

As well as changing the historical figure Hawksmoor’s last name to Dyer, Ackroyd adds a church, ‘Little St Hugh’. Seven, in total.

The architect Dyer writes his own story, in the first person and in eighteenth-century style.

Only in Part Two of the novel does Nicholas Hawksmoor – a fictional detective with a real man’s name – appear, to investigate the three murders that have so far happened in 1980s London. Written in the third person, the reader is nonetheless invited into Hawksmoor’s thoughts, his point of view.

As the novel proceeds, Ackroyd employs literary devices so that the stories – separated, apparently, by so much time – begin to blur. In particular, the architect Dyer and the detective Hawksmoor are linked. For instance, both men experience a kind of loss of self, a “dislocation of identity”, upon staring into a convex mirror (Ahearn, 2000, DOI: 10.1215/0041462X-2000-1001).

The cumulative effect of all the parallels is that the reader starts to lose any sense of temporal separation between the time periods; starts to see Dyer and Hawksmoor as almost the same person; to suspect each of them of being the murderer and the detective at the same time. The parallels between the time periods “escape any effort at organization and create a mental fusion between past and present” so that “fiction and history fuse so thoroughly that an abolition of time, space, and person is […] inflicted on the reader” (Ahearn, 2000).

Importantly, I believe, Hawksmoor again and again “tries to reconstruct the timing of the crimes, but this is from the start impossible” (Ahearn, 2000). This is a rather familiar feeling to Sherlock Holmes fans.

At the end of the book, Dyer and Hawksmoor come together in the church, take hands across time, or perhaps out of time. They become aware of one another. Their perspectives dissolve and seem to merge into one person, into a new style of narration not like either of them: “when he put out his hand and touched him he shuddered. But do not say that he touched him, say that they touched him. And when they looked at the space between them, they wept” (Ackroyd, 1985).

Historiographic metafiction

Hawksmoor is a postmodern detective story. It has been classified by critics as a work of ‘historiographic metafiction’. As a detective story, it lacks the most familiar feature – a detective who is able to sort and order the events and facts, before finally drawing together all the threads to present a coherent, satisfying and plot-hole-free conclusion. In other words, a solution to the mystery.

So what is ‘metafiction’? Waugh defines it as “a term given to fictional writing which self-consciously and systematically draws attention to its status as an artefact in order to pose questions about the relationship between fiction and reality” (1984).

In Hawksmoor, Ackroyd uses a popular literary form (the detective story) to unsettle our understanding of fiction, reality and history. An Agatha Christie detective novel (for example) relies on an accepted, understood structure, where the reader has definite expectations of what the outcome will be; as such, Christie’s novels “provide collective pleasure and release of tension through the comforting total affirmation of accepted stereotypes” (Waugh, 1984). In metafiction, however, there is often no traditionally predictable, neat, satisfying ending: accepted stereotypes are disturbed rather than affirmed. The application of rationality and logic to the clues gets the detective no closer to solving the crime. Readerly expectation (“the triumph of justice and the restoration of order” [Waugh, 1984]) is thwarted.

Hutcheon coined the term ‘historiographic metafiction’, fiction where “narrative representation – fictive and historical – comes under […] subversive scrutiny […] by having its historical and socio-political grounding sit uneasily alongside its self-reflexivity” (Hutcheon, 2002). It is a kind of fiction that explicitly points out the text-dependent nature of what we know as ‘history’: “How do we know the past today? Through its discourses, through its texts – that is, through the traces of its historical events: the archival materials, the documents, the narratives of witnesses…and historians” (Hutcheon, 2002).

Whereas a ‘historical novel’ will present an account of the past which purports to be true, a ‘historiographic metafiction’ has a combination of:

deliberate, self-reflexive foregrounding of the difficulty of telling ‘the whole story’ or ‘the whole truth’ especially due to the limitations of the narrative voice;

internal metadiscourse about language revealing the fictional nature of the text;

an attempt to explain the present by way of the past, simultaneously giving a (partial) account of both;

disturbed chronology in the narrative structure, representing the determining presence of the past in the present;

‘connection’ of the historical period structurally to the novel’s present;

a self-consciously incomplete and provisional account of ‘what really happened’ e.g. via ‘holes’ in the [hi]story which cannot be resolved by either narrator or reader (Widdowson, 2006, DOI: 10.1080/09502360600828984).

The above points are certainly true of Hawksmoor. The reader of Sherlock Holmes will find some of them very familiar – for example, Watson’s self-conscious in-world changing of dates, names and places; and the impossible-to-resolve timeline. The audience of BBC Sherlock will also find these features very recognisable, especially from Series 4 of the programme.

I’d like to examine BBC Sherlock itself as a ‘historiographic metafiction’: a ‘text’ which self-consciously holds the past and present fictional events of Sherlock Holmes’ life in tension, not merely as another adaptation of the source text, but as a way of destabilising the accepted ‘[hi]story’ and mythos of Sherlock Holmes.

The Great Game

The Sherlockian fandom is well-known for its practice of ‘The Great Game’:

“Holmesian Speculation (also known as The Sherlockian game, the Holmesian game, the Great Game or simply the Game) is the practice of expanding upon the original Sherlock Holmes stories by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle by imagining a backstory, history, family or other information for Holmes and Watson, often attempting to resolve anomalies and clarify implied details about Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson. It treats Holmes and Watson as real people and uses aspects of the canonical stories combined with the history of the era of the tales' composition to construct fanciful biographies of the pair.” [x]

There are a number of interesting features about the Great Game. It:

pretends that Sherlock Holmes and John Watson were real people;

ignores or explains away the real author Arthur Conan Doyle’s existence;

attempts to use ‘real’ historical facts (texts…) to resolve gaps in a fictional text;

in turn, produces additional (meta)fictional texts, often presented as ‘fact’ in journals set up for the purpose;

in so doing, adds constantly to the (meta)fictional destabilisation of chronology and holes in the story, as different, competing ‘versions’ are added by a multitude of authors.

The Sherlock Holmes fandom, as it attempts to elucidate ‘what really happened’, only destabilises the original (hi)story further – drawing attention, over and over again, to the gaps and inconsistencies in the original canon tales.

I would argue that the Sherlock fandom has been engaged, for over a century, in an act of collective historiographic metafiction.

The writers of BBC Sherlock are aware of themselves as fans, and of the wider Sherlockian fandom. They paid tribute to Holmesian Speculation in the episode title of Series 1 Episode 3. The title – ‘The Great Game’ – is a signal, an early marker of postmodernity in BBC Sherlock, a sign that the Sherlockian fandom will not be absent from this metafiction.

Implicating the reader/audience

There is an interesting moment in Hawksmoor where Detective Chief Superintendent Nicholas Hawksmoor goes to investigate the murder of a young boy near the church of St-George’s-in-the-East. The body is beside “a partly ruined building which had the words M SE M OF still visible above its entrance” (Ackroyd, 1985).

As Lee says, the “missing letter is "U," ("you") the reader” (1990).

Elsewhere in the book, Hawksmoor receives a note instructing him “DON’T FORGET … THE UNIVERSAL ARCHITECT” alongside a “sketch of a man kneeling with a white disc placed against his right eye” (Ackroyd, 1985).

Lee suggests that this drawing refers to “detective fiction’s transcendental signifier” Sherlock Holmes, and that the “Universal Architect, here, can only be the reader, since it is he or she who is in possession of all the histories: the historically verifiable past, the eighteenth-century text and the text accumulated through reading”. Thus, the reader is “doubly implicated not only as a repository of the past, but also as a co-creator of artifact and artifice” (Lee, 1990). In the Sherlock Holmes fandom, this is more true than in almost any other; co-creators indeed.

The missing ‘U’ in Hawksmoor can be clearly linked to the daubed ‘YOU’ in ‘The Abominable Bride’, a sign that, from that point on, BBC Sherlock will be clearly and mercilessly implicating its audience; putting the Sherlockian fandom back in the story, where it has always belonged. This includes the writers and creators of BBC Sherlock.

I also think there is reason to link the ‘YOU’ daubed on the wall to another piece of graffiti in BBC Sherlock – the yellow smiley face in 221b. An all-seeing, ever-present audience within Sherlock and John’s very home.

It is often repeated that Arthur Conan Doyle only continued to write Sherlock Holmes stories out of financial necessity and due to public demand; that he was bored and exasperated by his creation. The Sherlock Holmes fandom is (possibly apocryphally) known as having worn black armbands in the street in mourning for the fictional detective when Conan Doyle attempted to kill him off in The Final Problem.

The Sherlock Holmes fandom has long been considered importunate and unruly. As Stephen Fry puts it in his foreword to The Case Book of Sherlock Holmes: “Holmes has been bent and twisted into every genre imaginable and unimaginable: graphic novels, manga, science fiction, time travel, erotica, literary novels, animation, horror stories, comic books, gaming and more. Junior Sherlocks, animal Sherlocks, spoofs called Sheer Luck and Schlock; you think it up, and you’ll find it’s been done before. There is no indignity that has not been heaped upon the sage and super-sleuth of Baker Street” (2017).

And yet, with every new adaptation, there is a tendency to regard it as a blank slate, in direct conversation with the canon of Arthur Conan Doyle. There is a tendency to forget the changes that fandom itself has wrought on the figure of Sherlock Holmes – a weight of stereotype and expectation which warps the character to a pre-fit mould in every incarnation. As Fry says, Holmes:

“rises up, higher and higher with each passing decade, untarnished and unequalled. Because, I suppose, we need him, more and more, a figure of authority that is benign, rational, soothing, omniscient, capable and insightful. In a world, and in daily lives, so patently devoid of almost all those marvellous qualities, how welcome that is, and how grateful we are, for its presence in our lives. So grateful, that we won’t really accept that Sherlock Holmes could ever be classed as ‘make believe’. Between fact and fiction is a space where legend dwells. It is where Holmes and Watson will always live” (2017).

This is the traditional understanding of Sherlock Holmes and its fandom, and is highly reminiscent of the voiceover by Mary Morstan in Series 4 Episode 3, ‘The Final Problem’: “I know who you really are. A junkie who solves crimes to get high, and the doctor who never came home from the war. Well, you listen to me: who you really are, it doesn’t matter. It’s all about the legend, the stories, the adventures. There is a last refuge for the desperate, the unloved, the persecuted. There is a final court of appeal for everyone. When life gets too strange, too impossible, too frightening, there is always one last hope. When all else fails, there are two men sitting arguing in a scruffy flat like they’ve always been there, and they always will. The best and wisest men I have ever known – Sherlock Holmes and Doctor Watson.” [transcript by Ariane Devere]

The conception of Sherlock Holmes as “a figure of authority that is benign, rational, soothing, omniscient, capable and insightful” shows what we, the reader, want: a traditional detective story, with an all-knowing detective, who uses rationality and logic to assess the clues and brings us smoothly, at last, to a solution which reasserts the order of things; where justice is done and society is made safe once again.

BBC Sherlock, however, resists these comforting fictions. The detective unravels, becoming more emotional, more human as the story progresses. Mysteries go unsolved. The narrator gets more unreliable with every episode. Characters inhabit strange states, seemingly alive or dead as the story demands. The ‘rules’ of traditional detective fiction are flouted left, right and centre.

Viewed as a historiographic metafiction, BBC Sherlock aims to hold up the historical text (ACD canon) against the modern one (BBC Sherlock) in such a way as to slough away a century of extra-canonical fan speculation and addition, and give a new reading to canon.

‘Writing back’: re-visionary fiction

I would now like to look at Peter Widdowson’s journal article, ‘Writing back’: Contemporary re-visionary fiction’ (DOI: 10.1080/09502360600828984). He argues that there is a “radically subversive sub-set of contemporary ‘historiographic metafiction’” which, while being “acutely self-conscious about their metafictional intertextuality and dialectical connection with the past”, ‘write back’ to “formative narratives that have been central to the textual construction of dominant historical worldviews”.

Widdowson explains that his term ‘re-visionary’: “deploys a tactical slippage between the verb to revise (from the Latin ‘revisere’: ‘to look at again’) – ‘to examine and correct; to make a new, improved version of; to study anew’; and the verb to re-vision – to see in another light; to re-envision or perceive differently; and thus potentially to recast and re-evaluate (‘the original’)” (2006). He points out that this is closest to Rich’s approach to feminist criticism: “We need to know the writing of the past, and know it differently than we have ever known it; not to pass on a tradition but to break its hold over us” (Rich, 1975).

This act of ‘knowing it differently’ can also be achieved by “the creative act of ‘re-writing’ past fictional texts in order to defamiliarize them and the ways in which they have been conventionally read within the cultural structures of patriarchal and imperial/colonial dominance” (Widdowson, 2006).

Widdowson lays out what he regards as the defining characteristics of re-visionary fiction, first negatively by what it is not:

Re-visionary fiction does not simply take an earlier work as its source for writing;

It is not simply modern adaptation – instead it challenges the source text;

It is not parody – whereas parody takes a pre-existing work and reveals its particular stylistic traits and ideological premises by exaggerating them in order to render it absurd or to satirise the ‘follies of its time’, a re-visionary work seeks to bring into view “those discourses in [the source text] suppressed or obscured by historically naturalising readings. The contemporary version attempts, as it were, to replace the pre-text with itself, at once to negate the pre-text’s cultural power and to ‘correct’ the way we read it in the present” (Widdowson, 2006).

As to what re-visionary fiction is:

First, it challenges the accepted authority of the original. “[S]uch novels invariably ‘write back’ to canonic texts of the English tradition – those classics that retain a high profile of admiration and popularity in our literary heritage – and re-write them ‘against the grain’ (that is, in defamiliarising, and hence unsettling, ways)”. This means that “a hitherto one-way form of written exchange, where the reader could only passively receive the message handed down by a classic text, has now become a two-way correspondence in which the recipient answers or replies to – even answers back to – the version of things as originally delineated. In other words, it represents a challenge to any writing that purports to be ‘telling things as they really are’, and which has been believed and admired over time for doing exactly that.”

Second, it keeps a constant tension between the source and the new text. A re-visionary fiction will “keep the pre-text in clear view, so that the original is not just the invisible ‘source’ of a new modern version but is a constantly invoked intertext for it and is constantly in dialogue with it: the reader, in other words, is forced at all points to recall how the pre-text had it and how the re-vision reinflects this.”

Third, it enables us to read the source text with new eyes, free of established preconceptions. Re-visionary fictions “not only produce a different, autonomous new work by rewriting the original, but also denaturalise that original by exposing the discourses in it which we no longer see because we have perhaps learnt to read it in restricted and conventional ways. That is, they recast the pre-text as itself a ‘new’ text to be read newly – enabling us to ‘see’ a different one to the one we thought we knew as [Sherlock Holmes] – thus arguably releasing them from one type of reading and repossessing them in another.” The new text ‘speaks’ “the unspeakable of the pre-text by very exactly invoking the original and hinting at its silences or fabrications.”

Fourth, it forces the reader to consider the two texts together at all times: “our very consciousness of reading a contemporary version of a past work ensures that such an oscillation takes place, with the reader, as it were, holding the two texts simultaneously in mind. This may cause us to see parallels and contrasts, continuities and discontinuities, between the period of the original text’s production and that of the modern work.”

Fifth, they “alert the reader to the ways past fiction writes its view of things into history, and how unstable such apparently truthful accounts from the past may be”, making clear that the original text, though canon, was also just a text and should not necessarily govern our perceptions and understanding forever.

Sixth, “re-visionary novels almost invariably have a clear cultural-political thrust. That is why the majority of them align themselves with feminist and/or postcolonialist criticism in demanding that past texts’ complicity in oppression – either as subliminally inscribed within them or as an effect of their place and function as canonic icons in cultural politics – be revised and re-visioned as part of the process of restoring a voice, a history and an identity to those hitherto exploited, marginalized and silenced by dominant interests and ideologies.”

That last point, I think, should also apply to queer re-visionings of source texts (and indeed, Widdowson uses the example of Will Self’s Dorian: An Imitation re-visioning Oscar Wilde’s The Picture of Dorian Gray in his article).

We can view BBC Sherlock as a re-visionary fiction which aims to ‘speak’ “the unspeakable of the pre-text by […] hinting at its silences or fabrications.”

BBC Sherlock as re-visionary fiction

Not only does BBC Sherlock have to hold itself up against the original canon of Arthur Conan Doyle; there is also a century of accumulated speculation and creation by an extremely active and resourceful fandom to contend with.

I think that BBC Sherlock asks us to re-vision ACD canon, but has a few sly jabs at the Sherlock Holmes fandom (including the writers themselves) along the way. Let’s look at some concrete examples:

John Watson’s wife:

In BBC Sherlock, the woman we know as Mary Morstan has no fixed identity. Her name is taken from a dead baby; she is not originally British; she is an ex-mercenary and killer; she is variously motherly, friendly and threatening; she shoots Sherlock in the heart – or does she save his life? In Series 4, her characterisation is more unstable than ever. She is a romantic heroine, a ruthless killer, a selfless mother, a consummate actress, a wronged woman, a martyr, an ever-present ghost, and the embodiment of John’s conscience. She is also the manifestation of the Sherlock Holmes fandom’s speculation about John Watson’s wife: did he have one wife, or six? Was she an orphan, or was she at her mother’s? When did she die? How did she die?

Ultimately, however, if you hold BBC Sherlock up against ACD canon, it highlights the fact that so many Sherlockians have tried to compensate for: in order to reconcile the irregularities in Mrs Watson’s story as narrated by Watson, she would need to be a secret agent actively hiding her identity. Examining BBC Sherlock against ACD canon makes us apply Occam’s Razor – the idea that the simplest explanation will always be best. John Watson’s wife was only written into the story because homophobia was so pervasive at the time that ACD was writing that his characters – and by extension he himself – would have been suspected of ‘deviance’ if there had not been a layer of plausible deniability in the shape of a wife.

And there you have it: the central problem of Mary Morstan/Watson, in both ACD canon and BBC Sherlock – she shoots Sherlock in the heart – or does she save his life? Look at ACD canon again. Does Mary Morstan’s engagement to John Watson hurt Sherlock Holmes, to the point that he replies, at the end of SIGN, “For me, …there still remains the cocaine-bottle”? Or does Mary Watson save his life? In the nineteenth century, suspicion of a romance between Sherlock Holmes and John Watson could have meant imprisonment or even hanging; many men suspected or accused of same-sex relationships chose suicide rather than total disgrace. Mary Watson’s presence provides Holmes and Watson with a lifesaving alibi.

Let’s have a look at this against the criteria for a ‘re-visionary fiction’:

Challenges the idea that Watson ‘told things as they really were’ – instead, it introduces the idea that Watson deliberately obscured the facts of his and Holmes’ partnership

Keeps the pre-text Mary Morstan constantly in view – a startling contrast, which rather effectively comments on the position of both women and queer people in the nineteenth and twenty-first centuries

Enables us to abandon our “restricted and conventional ways” of reading the original – if it makes no sense for Mrs Watson to have existed in ACD canon, then the reader must radically reconsider Holmes and Watson’s relationship; no longer ‘just’ a friendship, but a lifetime’s commitment, as close and loving as a marriage. BBC Sherlock encourages this re-visioning by setting Mary up as a rival to Sherlock; by having her attempt to get rid of him; by highlighting that she both kills and saves him. It re-casts Sherlock Holmes as the dominant romance of John Watson’s life, in every version.

It causes us to see parallels and contrasts between the two time periods: the societal homophobia that made Mrs Watson a necessity in ACD canon has largely gone in modern Britain. But BBC Sherlock hints at a profoundly closeted bisexual John Watson who strives after a ‘normal’ wife who “wasn’t meant to be like that”. The continued presence of a Mrs Watson very effectively shows us that societal attitudes are not as profoundly different as we may think.

BBC Sherlock shows us how the existence of a Mrs Watson has been written not only into the [hi]story of Sherlock Holmes and John Watson, but into the fabric of society: Sherlock Holmes is a great man, but God forbid he should also be a happy, human man, in a loving relationship with another man. The cultural script has been written: the great figures are either straight, or they are nothing. There is always a wife.

As discussed above, the presence of Mrs Watson is also important politically and culturally. It draws attention to the total lack of agency for nineteenth-century women, and to the restrictive narratives imposed on female characters in today’s culture. It makes terribly clear the extent and dangerousness of the homophobia in nineteenth-century Britain. It highlights the fact that there are still countries today where people are forced to hide their sexualities for fear of being imprisoned or killed.

The Watson baby:

In BBC Sherlock, the woman we know as Mary Morstan is revealed to be pregnant on the Watsons’ wedding day. In ACD canon, Watson never mentions a child from his marriage. In Holmesian speculation, plenty of children have been suggested for Watson, especially since it is often posited that he must have had more than one marriage (that Watson might be infertile is not something the proponents of the ‘Three Continents Watson’ school of thought often like to suggest).

As a re-visionary fiction, then, BBC Sherlock forces us to examine the source text: in a time when reliable contraceptive methods were virtually non-existent, why did John Watson and his wife never have a child?

The options, broadly, are:

Mrs Watson was infertile (if Watson only had one wife)

Watson was infertile (if he had more than one wife)

They didn’t have sex, either due to ignorance (but Watson was a doctor…) or reluctance

Mrs Watson only ‘existed’ because societal homophobia made her a necessity (see above).

John Watson:

In Series 4 of BBC Sherlock, John behaves in an unrecognisable manner: he beats Sherlock bloody, so that his eye is still bloodshot some little time later. This is said to be due to the pain of losing his wife, and the fact that her death is Sherlock’s ‘fault’.

Viewed as re-visionary fiction, as metafiction, BBC Sherlock here satirises the idea of the ‘deutero-Watson’ which has existed since Ronald Knox wrote his Studies in the Literature of Sherlock Holmes. It also, however, critically examines the fact that, in ACD canon, there are (at least) ‘two Watsons’: one, the narrator, seemingly the most reliable and loyal of fellows, straight (in all senses) and true, good in a fight; and a second, the ‘true’ John Watson behind the narration, the man we discern when we look beyond the surface of the tales. A man who is devoted, above all, to Holmes; prepared to adopt Holmes’ habit of ‘compounding a felony’ to follow the idea of justice as opposed to law; prepared, in fact, to break the law if Holmes thinks it right; prepared to abandon his wife at a moment’s notice, when Holmes calls; prepared to alter all kinds of details in his stories to protect their participants. (Also, presumably, a bit of a joke about the accidental ‘dual personality’ that ACD gave his Watson by naming him James and John on different occasions.)

Looking at ACD canon through the lens of BBC Sherlock, the entirely unreliable nature of Watson as a narrator comes to light, but the enduring feature of his stories – his love for, and loyalty to Holmes – provides the obvious answer to why he should be so unreliable. Watson may be ‘two people’, but he lies, he breaks the law, he abandons his wife and his patients for only one person: Holmes.

Ultimately, the reader understands that they have been lied to, because the truth would have been impossible to tell at the time ACD was writing. Famously, the final story in the Sherlock Holmes canon, The Adventure of the Retired Colourman, ends with the words, “some day the true story may be told.”

If BBC Sherlock is seen as re-visionary fiction, Series 4 of the programme becomes a representation of the artificiality of the construct that we think of as BBC Sherlock and – viewed through its lens – ACD canon becomes visible as an equally artificial construct, filtered through the writings of an unreliable narrator and governed by the societal and cultural imperatives and prejudices of its time.

Every trick has been employed in Series 4 to highlight its artificiality: lack of coherent structure, temporal uncertainty, incoherent character arcs, introduction of a deus ex machina character, fluctuations of genre, and members of the crew actually appearing on screen. Just as in Hawksmoor, the ‘case’ of Series 4 defies solution. BBC Sherlock and Hawksmoor are both postmodern detective fictions. We have been told that this is ‘a show about a detective, not a detective show’. The form of the show, like the form of the traditional detective novel, leads us to expect a neat, tidy ending, explained carefully by an all-knowing figure of authority. The makers of BBC Sherlock, however, have done everything they can to pantomime a lack of care for, or understanding of, their own show. They have simultaneously inserted themselves into the story (Mark/Mycroft; giving varying accounts of when/how Series 4 was written; lying and saying that they lie) and withdrawn the ‘grand narrative’, the fiction of the omniscient narrator.

Why?

For over a century, ACD canon has been read in the same way: as the most archetypally logical detective story available to us. The fact that the canon is a huge mess of inconsistencies, requiring the collective effort of thousands of people to pick away at, is typically explained by the idea of an omniscient but uncaring storyteller: Arthur Conan Doyle.

This is particularly ironic for a fandom which supposedly wishes to disavow the existence of an author at all.

And yet, the problem is, if you don’t slip into extra-universe speculations on ACD’s attitude to Sherlock Holmes, you have to face head-on the conclusion that Watson is a very, very unreliable narrator indeed.

And you have to face why.

@devoursjohnlock @garkgatiss @221bloodnun @tjlcisthenewsexy @may-shepard

#sherlock meta #hawksmoor #bbc sherlock #acd canon #historiographic metafiction #postmodern detective fiction #hawksmoor17

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