#yes they’re dressing up as their actors previous roles

[maryhanaae4]

happy (late-ish) halloween

[aion-rsa]

Doctor Who: Perfect 10? How Fandom Forgets the Dark Side of David Tennant’s Doctor

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As recently as September 2020 David Tennant topped a Radio Times poll of favourite Doctors. He beat Tom Baker in a 2006 Doctor Who Magazine poll, and was voted the best TV character of the 21st Century by the readers of Digital Spy. He was the Doctor during one of Doctor Who‘s critical and commercial peaks, bringing in consistently high ratings and a Christmas day audience of 13.31 million for ‘Voyage of the Damned’, and 12.27 million for his final episode, ‘The End of Time – Part Two’. He is the only other Doctor who challenges Tom Baker in terms of associated iconography, even being part of the Christmas idents on BBC One as his final episodes were broadcast. Put simply, the Tenth Doctor is ‘My Doctor’ for a huge swathe of people and David Tennant in a brown coat will be the image they think of when Doctor Who is mentioned.

In articles to accompany these fan polls, Tennant’s Doctor is described as ‘amiable’ in contrast to his predecessor Christopher Eccleston’s dark take on the character. Ten is ‘down-to-earth’, ‘romantic’, ‘sweeter’, ‘more light-hearted’ and the Doctor you’d most want to invite you on board the TARDIS. That’s interesting in some respects, because the Tenth Doctor is very much a Jekyll and Hyde character. He’s handsome, he’s charismatic, and travelling with him can be addictively fun, but he is also casually cruel, harshly dismissive, and lacking in self-awareness. His ego wants feeding, and once fed, can have destructive results.

That tension in the character isn’t due to bad writing or acting. Quite the contrary. Most Doctors have an element of unpleasantness to their behaviour. Ever since the First Doctor kidnapped Ian and Barbara, the character has been moving away from the entitled snob we met him as, but can never escape it completely.

Six and Twelve were both written to be especially abrasive, then soften as time went on (with Colin Baker having to do this through Big Finish audio plays rather than on telly). A significant difference between Twelve and Ten, though, is that Twelve questions himself more. Ten, to the very end, seems to believe his own hype.

The Tenth Doctor’s duality is apparent from his first full appearance in 2005’s ‘The Christmas Invasion’. Having quoted The Lion King and fearlessly ambled through the Sycorax ship in a dressing gown, he seems the picture of bonhomie, that lighter and amiable character shining through. Then he kills their leader. True, it was in self-defence, but it was lethal force that may not have been necessary. Then he immediately topples the British Prime Minister for a not dissimilar act of aggression. Immediately we see the Tenth Doctor’s potential for violence and moral grey areas. He’s still the same man who considered braining someone with a rock in ‘An Unearthly Child’. 

Teamed with Rose Tyler, a companion of similar status to Tennant’s Doctor, they blazed their way through time and space with a level of confidence that bordered on entitlement, and a love that manifested itself negatively on the people surrounding them. The most obvious example in Series 2 is ‘Tooth and Claw’, where Russell T. Davies has them react to horror and carnage in the manner of excited tourists who’ve just seen a celebrity. This aloof detachment results in Queen Victoria establishing the Torchwood institute that will eventually split them apart. We see their blinkers on again in ‘Rise of the Cybermen’, when they take Mickey for granted. Rose and the Doctor skip along the dividing line between romance and hubris.

Then, in a Christmassy romp where the Doctor is grieving the loss of Rose, he commits genocide and Donna Noble sucker punches him with ‘I think you need somebody to stop you’. Well-meaning as this statement is, the Doctor treats it as a reason to reduce his next companion to a function rather than a person. Martha Jones is there to stop the Doctor, as far as he’s concerned. She’s a rebound companion. Martha is in love with him, and though he respects her, she’s also something of a prop.

This is the series in which the Doctor becomes human in order to escape the Family of Blood (adapted from a book in which he becomes human in order to understand his companion’s grief, not realising anyone is after him), and is culpable for all the death that follows in his wake. Martha puts up with a position as a servant and with regular racist abuse on her travels with this man, before finally realising at the end of the series that she needs to get out of the relationship. For a rebound companion, Martha withstands a hell of a lot, mostly caused by the Doctor’s failings. 

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Series 4 develops the Doctor further, putting the Tenth’s Doctor’s flaws in the foreground more clearly. Donna is now travelling with him, and simply calls him out on his behaviour more than Rose or Martha did. Nonetheless the Doctor ploughs on, and in ‘Midnight’ we see him reduced to desperate and ugly pleas about how clever he is when he’s put in a situation he can’t talk himself out of.

Rose has also become more Doctor-like while trapped in another reality, and brutally tells Donna that she’s going to have to die in order to return to the original timeline (just as the Doctor tells Donna she’s going to have to lose her memories of travelling with him in order to live her previous life, even as she clearly asks him not to – and how long did the Doctor know he would have to do this for? It’s not like he’s surprised when Donna starts glitching). Tied into this is the Doctor’s belief in his own legend. In ‘The Doctor’s Daughter’ he holds a gun to Cobb’s head, then withdraws it and asks that they start a society based on the morals of his actions. You know, like a well-adjusted person does.

What’s interesting here is that despite presenting himself as ‘a man who never would’, the Doctor is a man who absolutely would. We’ve seen him do it. Even the Tenth Doctor, so keen to live up to the absolute moral ideals he espouses, killed the Sycorax leader and the Krillitanes, drove the Cybermen to die of despair, brought the Family of Blood to a quiet village and then disposed of them personally. But Tennant doesn’t play this as a useful lie, he plays it as something the Doctor absolutely believes in that moment, that he is a man who would not kill even as his daughter lies dead. It’s why his picking up a gun in ‘The End of Time’ has such impact. And it makes some sense that the Tenth Doctor would reject violence following a predecessor who regenerated after refusing to commit another double-genocide.

In the series finale ‘Journey’s End‘, Davros accuses the Doctor of turning his friends into weapons. This is because the Doctor’s friends have used weapons against the Daleks who – and I can’t stress this enough – are about to kill everyone in the entire universe. Fighting back against them seems pretty rational. Also – and again I can’t stress this enough – the Daleks are bad. Like, really bad. You won’t believe just how mindbogglingly bad they are. The Doctor has tried to destroy them several times by this point. Here, there isn’t the complication of double-genocide, and instead the very real threat of absolutely everyone in the universe dying. This accusation, that the Doctor turns people into weapons, should absolutely not land.

And yet, with the Tenth Doctor, it does. This is a huge distinction between him and the First Doctor, who had to persuade pacifists to fight for him in ‘The Daleks’.

In ‘The Sontaran Strategem’ Martha compares the Doctor to fire. It’s so blunt it almost seems not worth saying, but it’s the perfect analogy (especially for a show where fire is a huge part of the very first story). Yes, fire shines in dark places, yes it can be a beacon, but despite it being very much fire’s entire deal, people can forget that it burns. And fire has that mythical connection of being stolen from the gods and brought to humanity. The Time Lord Victorious concept fits the Tenth Doctor so well. Of all the Doctors, he’s the most ready to believe in himself as a semi-mythic figure.

Even when regenerating there’s a balance between hero and legend: the Tenth Doctor does ultimately save Wilfred Mott, but only after pointing out passionately how big a sacrifice he’s making. And then he goes to get his reward by meeting all his friends, only to glare at them from a distance. His last words are ‘I don’t want to go’, which works well as clearly being a poignant moment for the actor as well, but in the context of Doctor Who as a whole it renders Ten anomalous: no one else went this unwillingly. And yet, in interviews Russell T. Davies said it was important to end the story with ‘the Doctor as people have loved him: funny, the bright spark, the hero, the enthusiast’.

It’s fascinating then, that this is the Doctor who has been taken to heart by so many viewers because there’s such an extreme contrast between his good-natured front, his stated beliefs, and his actions. He clearly loves Rose and Donna, but leaves them with a compromised version of happiness. They go on extraordinary journeys only to end up somewhere that leaves them less than who they want to be, with Russell T. Davies being more brutally honest than Steven Moffat, who nearly always goes the romance route. Davies once said to Mark Lawson that he liked writing happy endings ‘because in the real world they don’t exist’, but his endings tend towards the bittersweet: Mickey and Martha end up together but this feels like they’re leftovers from the Doctor and Rose’s relationship. The Tenth Doctor doesn’t, as Nine does, go with a smile, but holding back tears.

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It’s a testament to how well written the Tenth Doctor is that the character has this light and shade, and with David Tennant’s immense likeability he can appeal to a wider audience as a result. It’s not surprise he wins all these polls, but I can’t help but feel that if the Doctor arrived and invited me on board the TARDIS, I’d want it to be anyone but Ten.

The post Doctor Who: Perfect 10? How Fandom Forgets the Dark Side of David Tennant’s Doctor appeared first on Den of Geek.

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[365days365movies]

February 19, 2021: The Phantom of the Opera (2004) (Part 1)

I love musicals.

Hands down, when talking cinematic adaptations of musicals, my favorite is Little Shop of Horrors. I’ve seen it MANY times, and will see it many, MANY more. And I’m not the only one. I mean, obviously, but in this case, I’m referring to my girlfriend. She’s chosen to represent herself with a GIF from her favorite musical, Hairspray. So, here she is:

Ravishing. Now, because it’s currently our anniversary, I let her pick today’s movie from my list. And so, she chose a musical that neither she nor I have seen: 2004′s The Phantom of the Opera. And some of you may now be saying, “What, this guy said he liked movie musicals, and he hasn’t seen TPotS? That’s like saying you haven’t seen Grease, or Singin’’ in the Rain, or, PFFT, West Side Story!”

...About that...

Yeah, yeah, I know! It’s insane, and I’m a hypocrite. I’ll be getting to the rest of those eventually, and one of them’ll be coming in the next couple of days, I promise. You can probably guess which one. Anyway, fact of the matter is that we’re gonna watch it tonight, and I’m looking forward to it. 

However, there’s another factor to this, and that’s the fact that this film...doesn’t have the best reputation amongst fans of the original musical. And, yeah, this should ideally be the Michael Crawford version, but the Butler version is the one I have access to, so we’re going for it. SPOILERS AHEAD!!!

Recap (1/2)

Paris, 1919, back when the whole city was in black-and-white for a year. They lost the budget for color after World War I. Anyway, at an old opera house, an auction is taking place, and items found within the theater are for sale. One of these is a music box with a monkey on it, an item which sponsors a bidding war between an older woman, and an older man in a wheelchair. I’m sure we’ll find out who they are eventually.

Anyway, a broken chandelier is also up for option, and was involved in the mysterious disaster of the “Phantom of the Opera” fiasco. They turn it on with electric light, and as they raise it to the ceiling, the organist goes fuckin’ NUTS. The song’s so loud that it REVERSES TIME, and we’re now in color, in the year 1870 at the same opera house.

The theatre, managed by the soon-to-retire Monsieur Lefèvre (James Fleet), has just been purchased by Richard Firmin (Ciaran Hinds) and Gilles André (Simon Callow), who are there to observe. On stage, a rehearsal for the opera Hannibal is taking place, and the costume’s are already...like, a LOT, not gonna lie. The headliner for the show is soprano (and drama queen supreme) Carlotta Giudicelli (Minnie Driver), and is being funded by patron Raoul, Vicomte de Chagny (Patrick Wilson). 

The background dancers are instructed by Madame Giry (Miranda Richardson), and include her daughter, Meg (Jennifer Ellison), and her adopted daughter, Christine Daaé (Emmy Rossum). As the rehearsal takes place, an accident happens on stage, almost injuring Carlotta. Enraged, she leaves, and refuses to perform.

Meanwhile, Madame Giry finds a letter from the Phantom, who demands his normal monthly salary of 20,000 francs, as for Box 5 to be left open. While the new owners think that this is ridiculous, they also note that it’s pointless without a lead singer for their show. 

However, Christine is volunteered, and shows that she is indeed a talented singer. The show goes on, and Christine is a smash, much to Carlotta’s dismay. At this point, Raoul also discovers that this is his long lost childhood friend (and possibly long lost love) Christine, which she also noticed earlier.

But this is because of a mysterious teacher, who sings to her from the walls of the theatre. Meg comes in to congratulate her (through song), and asks who her tutor is. Meg responds...in song (”Angel of Music”).

Afterwards, Madame Giry also congratulates her, and tells her that the Phantom is pleased with her. Right after, Raoul also pays her a visit, and the two reconnect on shared memories of times in an attic in the summer. She tells Raoul that she is visited by an Angel of Music, and cannot go to the dinner that night with him. And the Phantom agrees, as he locks Christine in her room. YIKES. 

And as literally every person in the theatre except Christine leaves, the Phantom serenades her, angered by Raoul’s presence, and Christine’s potential dalliance with him (”Mirror”). And through the mirror, he takes her to a mysterious crypt beneath the theatre. And as they sing their strange duet in the form of the title song (”The Phantom of the Opera”)...I try to resist talking about Gerard Butler until later. And it’s hard. It’s SO hard, guys.

But, OK, he takes her away on a...sewer horse...how the FUCK did he get that horse down there? And wait, WAIT, does he put her on that horse to walk her, like, 20 feet to the gondola? Like...WHY DO YOU HAVE THE HORSE? That is...monumentally wasteful. Where do you keep the horse? Does he feed the horse? How much? How often? With what? Does the horse eat the sewer rats? Is there naturally growing sewer hay? Does the Phantom’s salary go towards buying food for the horse, or buying new horses when the original ones DIE OF STARVATION - WHAT THE FUCK IS WITH THIS HORSE?!?!? WHOMSTVE THE FUCK

And yes, I love this fuckin’ song (not the singers, but we’ll get there), but this is distracting me alongside the statues of naked men in the sewer, because...well, Joel Schumacher. What can I say, it’s kind of his aesthetic. Anyway, we get officially introduced to the Phantom of the Opera (Gerard Butler), a very handsome-looking man who likes wearing a half-mask.

I say handsome, because the Phantom in this movie, looks...fine. HE LOOKS OK. HE LOOKS LIKE A DUDE WEARING A MASK. What, did somebody throw a hot candle at his face once, and he freaked out over it and ran into the sewers forever...WITH A HORSE? NOT OVER THE HORSE SHIT.

Look, the Phantom is supposed to be HIDEOUSLY scarred. Famously, in one of the film adaptations of Phantom, actor Lon Chaney Jr. purposely distorted his own face using adhesive face in order to play the role of the hideously disfigured character. Now, other versions have just given him severe, and I mean SEVERE burn scars. But behind the mask, Butler looks...fine. HE LOOKS FINE GODDAMMIT. He looks like he’s wearing the mask because it looks edgy and shit.

But OK, what’s happening in the movie? Oh, right, more serenading (”Music of the Night”), with another song that I like quite a bit. This and the previous song were songs Id heard before, and that I’d already had on my playlist. They’re great, what can I say? Now is Butler doing it justice? Ehhhhhhh, we’ll talk about that in the Review.

During this song he kinda seduces her, or attempts to, and also shows her a wedding dress. She sees herself in it and IMMEDIATELY faints, Jesus!  Curtain falls on Christine while she’s in a bed, and we go back to her room, where Meg is looking for her. She finds the mirror, and is about to go back there, but her mother finds and stops her.

Meanwhile, stagehand Joseph Buquet (Kevin McNally) tells the chorus girls of the legend of the Phantom, and describes a physical description that doesn’t match him...even a little. We cut back to Christine, who wakes up in what my girlfriend refers to as a “bomb-ass HQ.” Which is fair, let’s be honest. Anyway, she heads over and tries to unmask her new masked lover (?).

He’s not the biggest fan of this, and he emos all over the screen (”Stranger Than You Dreamt It”). And then, as he puts his mask on, we suddenly (and I mean suddenly) jump to 1919, where the old woman, Madame Giry, bids farewell to...wait, that’s Raoul? HOW DOES HE LOOK SO MUCH OLDER THAN HER, WHAT???

Back in the past, inexplicably, the theatre owners and manager sing about the theatre and the Phantom’s demands ("Notes..."), and are soon joined by Raoul, who brings them a separate note, saying not to look for Christina any further. THEN, Carlotta joins them, delivering a letter of her own from the Phantom, warning her not to return to the theatre.

In his letters, he details how his theatre is to be run, threatening a disaster if Christine is not cast in the lead role, and if Carlotta is not cast in a silent role. However, the theatre owners and Carlotta refuse to obey, and Carlotta is cast in the role, as the owners try to appease her (”Prima Donna”).

That night, during a performance of Il Muto, Carlotta’s singing the lead role. Additionally, Box Five is full, and the Phantom is PISSED. So, like a Phantom do, it’s time for some good old fashioned petty revenge! He switches her throat spray, causing her to lose her voice on stage, and causing the audience to laugh when the show ends abruptly. They quickly and publicly recast the role, giving it to Christine instead. Well, mission accomplished by the Phantom! Guess we’re good without retribution. And then he hangs the stagehand.

Well...fuck, man. Realizing that the Phantom is EXTREMELY dangerous, Christine goes to save Raoul, who she...is in a relationship with now? Wait...wait, hold up, the fuck did I miss? I mean, yeah, he probably is gonna kill Raoul, but there is, like, NO lead-up to their connection before this point.

Anyway, as Christine explains that there is a Phantom when Raoul says he doesn’t exist...wait, WHAT? MOTHER FUCKER BUQUET JUST NOT MURDERED IN FRONT OF EVERYBODY WHAT IN THE FUCK DO YOU MEAN????? YOU LITERALLY HEARD THE...you know what? Break. BREAK. This is...this one’s tough.

See you in Part 2!

[jumukus]

A3! Event: Re: Tag Match Halloween Episode 2 Translation

Mankai bunch is forming a pair for the upcoming Halloween event.

Kazunari, Manager and Kamekichi: Happy Halloween!!

Itaru: I'm having dejavu here…

Tenma: They're always like this whenever Halloween comes around.

Hisoka: Manager, Kamekichi and Kazunari like festival and Halloween.

Homare: Speaking of which, Hisoka-kun, you also like looking for people who have marshmallows during Halloween, right?

Omi: It still feels kind of unreal that the Halloween season is here again.

Banri: Since we lost to God-za last time, we've gotta get our revenge this year.

Azami: God-za, huh… Bet Shifuto will join this year.

Taichi: He'll most likely wear the witch costume since he's the current top actor at God-za!

Sakyo: Just like the previous years, everyone will go on pairs and perform an Etude during the Veludo Way Halloween event.

Kazunari: With that said, we're gonna use these cards to decide on the pair again!

I've prepared several heart and clover cards here. Pick one and make a pair with the one whose number is the same as yours!

Izumi: Okay, guys, let's go ahead and draw a card.

Misumi: I'll go with this card~!

Chikage: I'll choose this, then.

Tasuku: Hmm, guess I'm going with this one.

Citron: Oh! I'm teaming up with Sakuya this time! This is room 101 pair~!

Sakuya: I'm counting on you, Citron-san!

Kumon: What number do I get~...

Omi: Looks like you're teaming up with me, Kumon. Let's do our best.

Kumon: 'Kay! Hehe, I'm so looking forward to it!

Muku: Tsumugi-san, I think we got the same number!

Tsumugi: You're right. I'll be counting on you, then, Muku-kun.

Muku: Me too.

Sakyo: Are all the pairs decided yet? Y'all better start rehearsing your Etude with your own pair, then.

Juza: Okay.

Yuki: Next, we're gonna decide on the costumes.

I've already made some lotteries for the costumes after I heard we're gonna participate in the Halloween event.

I won't accept any complaints once you draw the lots, of course. Alright, go pick one.

Taichi: I wonder what costume I'll be wearing this year~!

Muku: My costume is…

A, A vampire…!

Tsumugi: I'll be a bat.

Izumi: Whoa, amazing, your costumes are perfect for each other.

Muku: I know, right!

Though I think Tsumugi-san will suit the vampire costume better than me…

Tsumugi: Don't say that, Muku-kun. I'm sure you'll look really cool as a vampire.

Though I've gotta admit my bat costume will look so much better on you…

Muku: Totally not! I also believe you'll be a really cool bat, Tsumugi-san!

Tsumugi: Thanks. I'd like us to do our role-building while giving each other advice.

Muku: Me too! I'll do my best!

Guy: Looks like we're all done drawing the lots.

Izumi: Hm? I think we still have one paper left here…

Yuki: That is yours.

Izumi: Huh? So you include mine too. I didn't know that.

Yuki: Well, it's more fun to not know what you're gonna get, isn't it? Hurry up and open it.

Izumi: Ye-Yep.

(I'm feeling nervous somehow. My costume is…?)

"Prisoner"...

Kazunari: For real!? You're gonna dress up as a prisoner!?

Tsuzuru: That was my costume last year. So it's your turn this time, huh…

Yuki: You got that of all things?

But don't worry. I'll make your costume adorable.

Masumi: You look cute in whatever.

Azuma: Fufu. I can't wait to see you all dressing up.

< Episode 1 | Masterlist | Episode 3 >

[jimlingss]

The Colour of Our Voices [10]

Chapter 9 - Chapter 10 - Chapter 10.5 OR Chapter 11

➜ Words: 4.8k

➜ Genres: 98% Fluff, 2% Angst, Slice of Life, Broadway!AU

➜ Summary: He wasn’t supposed to hear. He wasn't supposed to know. But the instant Jimin came into your life and pulled the curtains back, you couldn't hide backstage anymore. You were no longer merely a phantom of the opera.

➜ Warning: Spoilers to the musical Les Mis.

cr.

You show up in sweats.   If you could, you’d take a swig of the rosette right about now. But you’ve long run out and decided not to buy more after the other day’s embarrassing stunt at Jimin’s doorstep.   You still cringe when you think about it.   So instead, you eat chocolate. You gnaw on the king sized bar like it’s Halloween and you’re indulging in the post-trick-or-treat spirit.    Your hair is also unwashed, a spectacular three day record now. It’s itchy at some parts and when you scratch, white fluff comes dusting from your scalp. You haven’t showered in general for a while. There’s no point, really. Not when you don’t have any arrangements, responsibilities, no job to go to.   The unemployed life isn’t actually a bad one — as long as you don’t think about the inevitable doom of your bank account and having to go into debt to pay off bills.   Your life sort of feels like that picture of that dog that’s sipping on coffee while thinking ‘this is fine’ and the room is on fire. But what can you do?   “Is she…”   “...yeah…”   “....it’s true then?”   There are whispers that you’re not unaccustomed to, stares behind your back that you can feel and sense in your peripheral vision. “...the ghost singer…”   You turn around to look and the girls immediately seal their lips, looking away. They pretend to be discussing other things, but still, you hear it all around you.   “So is she really the Phantom? How is that possible?”   “Don’t ask me.”   “Do you think she can really sing?”   “Probably not. She’s only here because it would bring in publicity. We all know that.”   Your efforts are fruitless. They’re right. You’re not going to get a role. You’re only here to satisfy people’s curiosity.    “L/N Y/N?” The girl reads off her list. “Is there a L/N Y/N here?”   Fuck it.   What do you have to lose? You’ve lost it all anyways.   “Here!”   You raise your hand, voice loud and clear. The murmuring of the girls cease once they confirm that it is you. But you pay them any mind, finishing the chocolate bar in the awkward silence. You chew your mouthful and smear your stained hand on your grey sweatpants, leaving a streak of brown on your thigh.   You toss the wrapper in the garbage.   “Uh...right this way,” the girl says as she gestures past the curtain.   Many auditions take place in closed off rooms, but it’s an open stage this time. A modest size with the pianist tucked in the corner. There are five people sitting before the front row, a panel of them — some producers, directors, writers — you don’t know and you don’t care much for their titles either.   It feels like you’re on some TV show, ready for their judgment.    Your nose runs with snot and you wipe it away with the back of your hand. “Hi.”   “You’re L/N Y/N?” There’s a shuffle of papers, people peering up at you past their glasses.   “Yes.” You swallow the last bit of chocolate in your mouth, clearing your throat. You hope your teeth aren’t stained. Well….if they are, it wouldn’t be the biggest deal.   “You worked at the Phantom of the Opera production?”   You should probably head to the supermarket after this and get some ice-cream. You’d definitely feel better with it, curled on your couch with a warm blanket and some television to drown out the silence of your apartment.   “Y/N?”   The call of your name has you focusing again. “Pardon?”   The woman is dressed cleanly in a blazer with her hair pulled back into a bun like yours. But hers is undoubtedly neater, probably holding a bunch of pins, maybe even hair-sprayed. Yours was bunched up carelessly with a stretched elastic you found on the floor of your closet.   “You worked at the Phantom production?” she repeats.   You give her a bland answer, but one that’s unfortunately the entire truth. “As an intern.”   One of them pipes up, “Can you tell us any details about your previous work at the Phantom production?”   “I did coffee runs.”   “Umm….” The younger female in the middle gestures with her hand. “Did you do anything else?”   “I swept the floor. I did a lot of paperwork and printed things out for the director there,” you list out and shrug. “I don’t know. Things like that.”   They exchange looks with one another, probably not expecting such a boring response. “Did you...contribute to the performance in any way?”   Your eyes dim. Of course — this is what they wanted to know all along. It’s the reason you’re here in the first place. But they shouldn’t have beaten around the bush. If they asked over the phone, you would’ve told them. They didn’t need to waste their time like this.   But unfortunately, the honest truth isn’t as glamorous as they think it is. “The actor couldn’t sing, so I did. Behind the curtain.”   “And how did that come about?” someone asks with a frown, and you can see the girls peeking out from the curtain to your left, listening in.   “They needed someone,” you deadpan. “I volunteered.”   “Well...alright then.” He clears his throat and the others shift uncomfortably in their seats. You wonder what it is that they wanted to hear from you, what kind of gossip they were anticipating. “What are you singing for us today?”   “Do you have a preference?”   “Uh…” They look at one another and some shake their heads. “No, not really.”   You approach the pianist with a sigh. You didn’t prepare, but after countless auditions, you know all the basic audition pieces inside out. Every lyric is embedded into your mind. Pathetically enough. But they’re all the same — they gave you the same outcome of failure.    “Do you have any sheet music?”   The pianist blinks at you and timidly points to the top of the upright piano. “You can look in the binder.”   You flip it open and grab for the first paper-clipped set, passing it to him. “Here.” Then you step up to the middle of the stage again, cueing the pianist with a lifeless hand and the notes start, light and optimistic much to your displeasure.    Usually, you’d begin to feel your palms become clammy. But instead, your fingertips are sticky from melted chocolate. “There’s been a change in me.” Your voice draws from your chest hastily without much care. “A kind of moving on.”   Typically, your heart would be pumping fast to the point where you could feel it all the way in your throat. Your mouth would go dry. A cold sweat would wash down your body. But you don’t feel any of these things.    “Though what I used to be, I still depend upon.”   Your knees don’t quake. You don’t need to hide any tremors in your hands.    It’s not a real audition after all. This is a joke.   And if anything, you feel pissed. No matter where you go, you’re strung along by people for their own entertainment.   “For now I realize. That good can come from bad.”   It’s supposed to be a touching song sung by Belle in Beauty and the Beast. It’s supposed to be gentle. Hopeful. But every word is filled with your aggression. It’s hostile and indignant. You’re exhausted at being humiliated and you wail out the lyrics in grief. It tears from your throat.    If they wanted to hear you sing, they were going to hear alright.   “That may not make me wise. But fuck,” you ad lib, “it makes me glad.”   “And I—” you belt the note in a kind of bitterness reserved for a resentful villain, and a kind of sadness bleeds into it. It’s not at all like a kind protagonist that’s meant to be a delicate princess. Your voice even warbles against your will, cracks at the top, but you don’t care. You embrace it. “I never thought I’d leave behind my childhood dreams. But I don’t mind.”   You look off to the top of the stairs in the small auditorium. You’re reminded of how you once sang on a stage like this, how a brunette boy appeared from thin air and began clapping for you.   “For now I love the world I see.” You shut your eyes to savour the memory. “No change of heart, a change in me.”   You stop. The piano slows and ends. It goes completely silent.   One of the men open their mouth and then closes it. “Um….”   You spare them from having to sugar coat it and tell you how awful you are. “Thanks for the opportunity.”   You step off the stage, grab your bag, and brush past the crowd of males and females preparing to audition. They all stare at you — but for reasons you’re wrong about. Though you don’t dwell long enough to find that their expressions aren’t of detest. You hop down the stairs and take the emergency exit out.   //   You don’t know where to begin with your belongings.   For one, you’re going to need cardboard boxes bigger than those containing your instant noodles. If you’re going to go home, you need to pack up your furniture somehow. But in the meantime, you haul out your dusty luggage from the back of your closet. You kick the busted wheel to roll it a few meters before hurling it on your bed with a sigh.   You’re not sure what clothes to leave behind and which to take with you.   The mattress dips underneath your added weight and you look over to the hanging dresses that you never go to wear, blazers and pencil skirts that are unwrinkled and were only pulled out for the occasional audition….   You stand on your feet after a prolonged moment, not yet feeling the urge to dump all the hangers onto your bed and fold up the clothes into neat squares. Instead, you put it off by heading to the kitchen for more ice-cream.   But as you grab for a spoon, you pass by that counter. The one with the abandoned ticket pushed to the side. It catches your eye and you’re suspended in your spot, feet rooted to the ground. You almost forgot — it’s tonight.   You hold the ticket up to the light. It’s a dark blue with a streak of red, a young girl on it facing the horizon. Les Misérables, a front mezzanine middle row seat.   It wouldn’t hurt to do one more thing before you begin packing to go home…   Right?   //   You’re startled when the bell at the top of the door jingles to signal your entrance.   “Welcome to the Bloom Room!” A female in a green apron turns around with a bouquet of flowers and shears in the other hand. All around her are fancy floral arrangements, from wreaths to overflowing vases. The fresh scent overwhelms your senses, vibrant hues that render you even more uncertain. “How may I help you?”   “Umm..”   She smiles softly at you. “What kind of flowers are you looking for? Anything specific at all?”   You glance at the surroundings, still unsure. Maybe you should get something that’ll convey how sorry you are, for showing up drunk at his doorstep, for saying all those mean things to him. Something that’ll make amends, to tell him you really miss him, his presence, friendship.   You should get something that’ll communicate how thankful you are for him — for always being there even when you pushed him away, for always supporting you, for being your backbone when you needed it.   “Just….something nice, please,” you end up telling her with a modest smile.   “Certainly.” She leads the way, through the shelves and cases of flowers and bouquets. The florist glances at you, sincere in her gaze. “What’s the special occasion?”   “Oh no, there’s not a special occasion.” You shake your head and your hands, and the volume of your voice quiets as you try to explain. “Well, not really. I’m just bringing it with me to a show tonight. Someone I know is performing for the first time on stage.”   “How exciting! What’s your relationship with this person?” She stops at a station that has jars filled with single flowers, an array of brown paper and ribbons on the side. “Friends? Family member? Boyfriend or girlfriend?”   “Umm…..” You don’t know why it’s taking you so long to think about it. “Friends…?”   And you certainly don’t know why there’s a hint of doubt in your voice either.   The florist’s pupils flicker up to you, a hint of a knowing smile gracing her features. “How about peonies? They’re very delicate and I think it’ll be perfect to bring with you to a show. Seven of them and some baby’s breath and lilacs.”   “That sounds nice.” You nod and she begins to choose them. But you wonder if it’s strange to bring flowers to him. You clear your throat. “Is it…” The woman turns to look at you. “Is it weird to give flowers to a guy?”   “Not at all,” she assures you. “Trust me, everyone loves to get flowers.”   “Do you…..think I should deliver it or give it to him?” You’re unsure of what protocol is. You’ve never bought flowers for anyone before.   “Oh, you should give it to him,” she tells you without a trace of doubt. “That’s just me, but I think it’s much more personal to hand-deliver.”   You nod and there’s a moment of quiet before you remember something. It flickers into your mind, a memory hitting you in the face. And your eyes light up.   “C-Can I get them in purple?”   //   The show starts at seven thirty, so you arrive twenty minutes beforehand.    Your ticket gets scanned and you shuffle into the auditorium. There are lots of people, a sea of glamour, couples going on dates to musical fanatics eager to watch their favourite theater performance to critics ready to analyze the show. You tug on your little black number that ends at your knees — it’s modest and simple, but one of the many dresses that you never got to wear. But there's not a lot of time to be self-conscious or to second guess yourself. The people are a tide that rushes in, and you’re overwhelmed, pushed forward by their force and unable to escape.   The theater is grand, brightly lit with the red curtains pulled down. You find your seat and hug the small bouquet of flowers in your lap.   When the show finally begins, the lights dim down completely and it’s glorious. Music begins to play, thundering through the auditorium, and men march onto the stage holding sledgehammers. “Look down, look down. Don't look 'em in the eye.”   Your eyes search for Jimin, but he’s not here.   If you remember the details of his role correctly, you have a feeling he won’t show up for a while. So you sit back and try to relax and watch. But the anticipation and excitement of seeing him keeps you on alert. Any time there are characters entering the stage, your eyes always scan across.   It’s not until an hour later that you finally see the familiar boy at the very corner of the scene, catching the edges of the spotlight. Immediately, a smile tugs into your cheeks.    Jimin’s singing with the others, wearing a long brown coat with disoriented hair. He plays the part of a young man from a rich family well. You can practically see the fire in his eyes.   “Look down and show some mercy if you can! Look down, look down, upon your fellow man!”    The song is similar to an anthem, riling up the crowd for a revolution. “It'll come, it'll come, it'll come... It'll come, it'll come, it'll come…”   Jimin doesn’t have a main role, but he’s still on the stage of Broadway, singing with many others. You’re happy to see him, elated that you know the boy that’s actually performing, and you have to hold back from giving a sudden standing ovation.    “Before the barricades arise?”   The crowd breaks up as the police enter the stage and just like that he disappears again. But ten minutes later, it’s his time to shine again. Jimin’s one of the nine men — the main character, Marius, and the supporting character, Enjolras, taking the limelight, but he’s one of the many students sitting around a table, at a supposed bar.   “Red!” one of them sings.   The male playing Marius faces the audience. “I feel my soul on fire!”    “Black!”   “My world if she's not there!” the main actor responds with vigor.   “Red!” Jimin belts with others.    “The colour of desire!”   “Black!” he sings again, and you can pick up his voice between the timbre of others.    “The colour of despair!”   Jimin sings with the actors and it echoes throughout the theater. While he never sings a line by himself, you can still hear his tone ever so slightly before it melts away. “The dark of ages past! Red — a world about to dawn! Black — the night that ends at last!”   His appearance is sweet albeit short. You see him one more time right before the intermission when the cast comes onto the stage and sings for the hope of the future in ‘One Day More’.    Afterwards, it’s a fifteen minute break. It’s an hour and a half through the show, but the intermission allows people to relieve themselves at the restrooms or grab a drink at the bar. In your case, you stick around, grasping the bouquet. The brown paper crinkles under your grip and you peer at the curtain as if hoping he’ll run out.   Instead, you catch Jimin coming out from the left door as the other people are spilling out of the auditorium.   But it’s bad timing.   He doesn’t come to where you are, but towards the orchestra section, right by one of the closest rows to the stage. An older woman and man stand, clapping and jumping. He runs into the woman’s arms and squeezes him.   It’s his parents, and you smile before turning around to walk away, not wanting to interrupt the intimate moment with your presence. His parents must be proud.   You’re happy for him.   //   The show continues afterwards. Jimin makes a few more cameos here and there without singing any lyrics, simply in the crowd at the barricades. Although, he does say a few lines.   “See! The people unite!” — “So what are we going to do with this snake in the grass?” — “You wear an army uniform.” And when Éponine dies, he comforts Marius. “She will not die in vain…”   But Jimin does sing one line by himself in the song ‘Drink With Me’. His eyes sweep across the audience floor as he steps forward, pretending to take a swig of the empty beer bottle. “Here’s to pretty girls who went to our heads!”    And you swear he looks right at you.   As if he had memorized where you would be seated.   But Jimin looks away right after, his eyes passing your spot. You release your held breath, realizing it was your imagination. There was no way he could actually see you.   The show lasts another forty minutes, filled with the spectacular performances of the leads, their beautiful voices that captivate your attention and everyone else’s. During the finale when the storyline has wrapped up, everyone comes onto the stage again. You see him one last time there.   Jimin is singing, smiling wide, looking out at the audience.    It could not be a better Broadway debut.   You muse that he truly belongs on the stage — there’s no place else he should be. Along with the rest of the audience, you give a standing ovation. The applause roars throughout the auditorium, actors and actresses bowing and waving goodbye.    When it dies down, the bright lights come on again. People begin trickling out and you’d leave as well, if not for the bouquet of flowers you’re still holding onto.   You look around. “U...Um excuse me…”   You stop someone who looks like a worker and they blink at you, confused. You swallow hard and hand over the flowers. “C-Can you give this to Park Jimin? He was an actor in the production.”   “Sorry.” The teenager awkwardly points to a family that’s gathering their belongings to show he’s with them and he offers a kind smile. “I don’t work here.”   “O-Oh. Sorry.” You bow your head and they say it’s no problem. But you’re still cringing from embarrassment, and now you don’t know what to do, how to give it to him without having to face him. You should’ve thought about this better.   But before you can contemplate any solution, you hear a sudden—   “Y/N?!”   Jimin’s sweaty. Like he sprinted here as fast as he could the second the curtains fell. His parents are nowhere in sight, probably in the lobby, but he's here with you. Still in costume. The nineteenth century french clothing — blue trench coat, puffy white shirt underneath, brown slacks.   His hair is riled up with what looks like soot pressed to his cheeks, makeup of some sort that makes him appear even more disoriented and soiled. But he doesn’t care. You don’t either.   His chest rises and falls as he tries to catch his breath. The two of you stare at each other, pupils locked into one another’s, holding the other’s attention. Captivated. Then after a beat, the biggest and goofiest grin spreads into his face. It’s enormous, causing his eyes to crinkle into half-moons.    “You came! You...actually came!”   “Y-Yeah…” You’re stunned and you tear your eyes away, the intensity becoming too much for you to handle. Your arm extends. “These are for you.”   “Flowers?!” He breathlessly giggles and takes them. Jimin doesn’t fail to notice that they’re all shades of purple, from lilac to violet. Because of you, purple has become his new favourite colour. “I love them. Thank you!”   “C-Congratulations on your debut, Jimin.”   He grins, so much that his rosy cheeks look like they’re about to burst. His teeth peek out, eyes crescent moons. “Thank you. I’m glad you could make it.”   “S-Same here…..” You don’t know why he’s gazing at you so intently at you. It makes it hard to keep eye contact. “You were really amazing.”   “I didn’t have that many lines,” the boy giggles, still giddy and hyperactive. It makes you smile.   “But you were still good.” There’s a lot of things you’ve been wanting to tell him, a million versions of an apology that you’ve practiced in the mirror. And now that he’s here and you’re no longer staring at a reflection of yourself, you gather your courage to face your regrets. “You deserve it, Jimin. I’m...sorry for everything that I said. I’m sorry for being resentful towards you. I’m sorry for being jealous. It wasn’t your fault. And all those things I said to you, I didn’t mean it. A-at the time I did, but now I don’t...I don’t know if that makes it any better but...yeah….I just…..you were great, you worked hard, so…”   It’s the shittiest apology. Worse than the first one you practiced. But you can’t get it out right.    You feel nervous for the first time in Jimin’s presence. A kind of anxiousness that doesn’t make you feel sick. Rather, you feel something else in your stomach — it’s fluttery. Something uncertain brewing there, stirring at its pits.   It feels similar in your chest. It isn’t a foreign sensation, but one you had ignored for a long time now.    Jimin suddenly laughs, noisy and hearty. It squeaks, a higher pitched giggle. It makes you look at him, eyes hesitantly lifting off the floor. And then you yelp.   Jimin picks you up right off the ground, arms locked around your waist. He spins you in a circle, squeezing ticklish laughter out of you. Your hands immediately come to grab his shoulders. The boy is unable to contain the adrenaline pumping through his veins and the overwhelming joy of you being here.   “Jimin!” you squeal.   He laughs. “God, I’m so happy that you’re here!”   “Did you think I’d miss it?” you quip and it feels like forever since you’ve been able to joke around like this. “Not for the world, Park!”   He sets you down to your feet again. His swelling smile might just break his face. He nuzzles into you, hair tickling your forehead. Jimin hugs you tight. He’s so happy, you can practically feel it radiate off of his skin. And your chest blooms with pride instead of envy. “Your Broadway debut was amazing. It only gets better from—”   “Can I please kiss you?”   Your heart stutters.   Jimin pulls himself apart from you. The sudden question has you blinking twice. But the temptation for Jimin has gotten too much. If there’s one thing that could make tonight even more perfect, it would be him kissing you…   You glance at his plush lips before your pupils flicker back to his eyes.   “You don’t need to ask.”   Just like that, he roughly tugs you in by the small of your back. The flowers lose a few petals from the harsh motion. But Jimin doesn’t care. He kisses you like he’s been waiting to do it for months now. He kisses you like he wants you. He’s hungry for it and savours your whimper that’s muffled between his soft lips. He’s been wanting to hear your voice like this.   Jimin’s half-lidded eyes soak up your pleasured expression before he gives in, shutting them to succumb to your scent. He breathes you in and you become helpless in his arms, the pad of your fingers pressing against the nape of his neck. You’re unsure if you want to part just to gasp for air, or if you want to push him even closer.   But your thoughts turn to mush as his hot tongue licks inside your mouth, eager. The pair of you don’t care that other people might be watching, that you’re placed in the middle of the auditorium, that you’ve stolen the spotlight.   When the both of you break apart, you stumble back from each other, mouths swollen. You wipe away his saliva that’s made your lips shiny with the back of your hand. The both of you are dazed and embarrassed, catching your breaths, his own cheeks reddened.    You divert your eyes from one another. But then infectious giggles spill over.    God, you might’ve been in love with Park Jimin for a long time now.

Director Lee sits at his desk with a sigh.   He shuffles his papers before sitting back in his swivel chair, unsure. Right at that moment, a blonde, lean man enters with a hot brewing cup of coffee. The assistant sets it on his desk.   “Are you sure you should be taking in caffeine this late at night?”   “Not like I’ll be able to sleep anyway.” He brings the cup up for a small sip. “I’m still deciding on the main cast.”   “Who do you have?”   “The casting director narrowed it down to these people.” He lays out the applicants of possible options and sighs. “Now I just have to decide who’s going to be part of this and who’s who. You should’ve been there today, Kim. If you weren’t late, you might be able to help me right now.”   “Sorry.” Taehyung sheepishly grins. “My alarm clock didn’t ring.”   The director is disgruntled, but still playful. “Same excuse every time, Kim.”   Taehyung laughs, but still tries his best to assist. He scans over the applications haphazardly, but then his breath hitches. He turns his body to get a better look and his eyes grow wide, recognizing you. “Oh. What about her?”   The director follows to where his assistant is pointing and hums a low note. “Oh. Her. We called her since we heard she was the ghost singer of Phantom.”   “Oh yeah.” The blonde nods. “I heard about that.”   “I was thinking about tossing her papers.”   “Why?” Taehyung looks at his mentor, genuinely curious.   “Well, her audition was….” He struggles to find the right words. “Impactful. It was really something. She stood out, that’s for sure.”   “Then….?”   “I just don’t know if we could find the right place for her.” He shrugs and taps his finger against the armrest of his chair. “She might outperform the other actors and actresses.”   Taehyung makes a noncommittal sound at the back of his throat. “I don’t know. But I think she should be considered for a role. That’s just me, but I have a good feeling about her. You said it was impactful, right? Isn’t that what we should be going for?”   Director Lee glances at his assistant, but Taehyung simply smiles and waltzes out the room.

[sirsparklepants]

A Second Skin: Billy Hargrove’s Leather Jacket as Queer Symbol

We talk a good bit about how queer-coded Billy Hargrove’s behavior and circumstances are, but I think Harringrove shippers, as a fandom, are missing something. Today I want to talk about Billy’s leather jacket, both the significance of the clothing item itself and the circumstances in which he wears it in season 2.

The jacket Billy wears is a leather bomber jacket, very similar to the styles worn by James Dean and Marlon Brando. Which is pretty significant. Yes, they are both celebrities who popularized wearing the leather jacket, but they’re also, significantly, men who’ve been with other men. They’re also gay icons. The leather bar subculture, which is notoriously gay, was an outgrowth of gay men imitating Dean and Brando’s look and the look of many motorcycle clubs at the time. Later, of course, it became a haven for gay men who wished to practice S&M.

The fact that the leather bar look of the 50s and 60s was an outgrowth of the motorcycle club look is also significant. Motorcycle clubs were, by and large, started by men who returned from service in WWII and missed the cameraderie of a homosocial environment. Not everyone in a motorcycle club at that time was queer, but they were much, much more sexually permissive than mainstream society of the time.

(The rest of Billy’s image, by the way, seems very calculated to walk the line between “heterosexual bad boy” and “undercover queer man”. The muscle car and the heavy metal are, upon first glance, a classic symbol of heterosexual machismo. However, while generally much less permissive than the punk scene of the time, the metal scene was still far from socially acceptable, and tended to draw in outcasts like queer kids. The long hair is cut into a mullet, socially acceptable at the time, but the time taken to make sure it looks the way he wants it to is not. Earrings for men in the mid-80s were still socially taboo, especially in a small town. The amount of jewelry overall to his look, in fact, is rather gender ambiguous for the time.)

Now that we’ve established that leather jackets in general and especially leather in the style that Billy wears have a long weight of queer history behind them, let’s get into when, exactly, he wears the jacket(s) - there’s two but one only appears once.

The first time we see Billy in a leather jacket is at the Halloween party, when he famously crosses a whole room full of drunk people just to stare directly into the eyes of another man for a whole minute or so. I wish I could phrase this more seriously, but... I can’t. One other thing of note, here: Billy is, I guess, dressed up like the Terminator, Arnold Schwarzenegger’s breakthrough role. Before he was an actor, Schwarzenegger was a bodybuilder on Muscle Beach in California. This was the area that started the gym gays trend in I believe the mid to late 80s. Combine that with no shirt and knowing Billy is supposed to be from California, and some associations are very easy to draw.

The next time we see Billy wear a leather jacket is when he picks Max up from school and jokes that he’s going to run her friends over. Which is an asshole move, obviously. But he does so after an argument about why they had to move, which sounds very coded, and to my mind he’s clearly motivated by jealousy that Max is coming out okay after a move that clearly disrupted his entire life. This is in the middle of the storyline of two boys vying for Max’s attention, and that jealousy could easily be extended to Max’s ability to have “normal” romantic interests and relationships.

In the next scene with this jacket, Billy engages in extensive grooming and prepping for his date - clearly more than was considered acceptably masculine at the time, given what his father says. It doesn’t feel coincidental that he’s wearing the jacket just before getting into an argument with his father where he is physically pushed around and berated using gay slurs.

Then there’s the scene with Mrs. Wheeler. Billy flirts with her, but it seems clear that the flirting is just cover for manipulation. Billy knows how to use his appearance and an adult woman’s sexuality to get what he wants - something generally out of reach for most teenage boys. Worth noting is that Billy explicitly disavows attraction to a girl his own age in the course of the conversation. The viewer is meant to conclude that he’s interested in older women instead, but as his charming facade drops as soon as he’s out of sight, that’s a difficult conclusion to reach.

Finally, we have the fight scene. The leather jacket here is notable for being shrugged off in cold November weather when it would make much more sense, practically, to leave it on. However, if we take the previous evidence to conclude that Billy’s leather jacket is a symbol of queerness, an easy answer emerges. Billy takes the jacket off before confronting the boy he’s had several sexually charged encounters with because the whole confrontation is him trying to shed his attraction to men the way he’s shed that jacket. Internalized homophobia as well as the external he’s received from his father causes him to lash out, as if he can beat his queerness out of himself by beating the target of his attraction. Over the course of the season, Billy has invented several reasons to touch Steve, much like the Barbara Kruger piece Intricate Rituals, but this is clearly the most violent. His father illustrated to him earlier that night the only acceptable way for touches between men to happen, and he is transferring that onto Steve.

I don’t think the writers intended this in any way, but I find the idea of Billy’s jacket being a queer symbol to be oddly compelling. I think there’s certainly enough evidence for it.

[sneakyneighboururchin]

Genuinely asking here bc maybe I've missed/forgotten some stuff but... when homo- and transphobic stuff is said in DA, it's addressed in game as being bad, isn't it? Like Dorian's first personal quest is about his dad acknowleding his homophobia and apologizing to Dorian. And with Krem, Krem and Bull both correct the Inquisitor pretty sternly if you misgender him, and Bull explains how gender identity is respected under the Qun. Not trying to fight you on this, nor do I think DA is by any means perfect, I just don't recall seeing homophobia or transphobia that isn't quickly shut down by the player or other characters. Don't feel pressured to answer tho, I know it's not your job to pull receipts for every shitty thing in a video game lol

Well first off thanks for being so polite and nice in this message, I appreciate it. I'm gonna try and cover the stuff that I've seen myself and have had pointed out to me by other people but keep in mind that I'm not trans, most of what I'll say here on the transphobia issue is me parroting other trans fans who've said this sort of thing before. I am gay though, so I guess we're clear on that front. It's also been a while since i played any of the games so if i get stuff wrong, I'm sorry. This is gonna be long so sorry for that in advance.

So homophobia and transphobia in our world. Why is it a thing? A combination of humanity hating and fearing what it doesn't understand (which Dragon Age also has) and religion, specifically in my experience Christianity (which Dragon Age does not have). Yes the Chantry and Andrastianism is heavily based off of Christianity and Catholicism but it doesn't have any of the bullshit about sexuality and gender that Christianity does. Neither in it's holy texts or it's teachings. The in universe writing about sexuality, a codex by Brother Genitivi, is also kinda homophobic and doesn't explain why this is a thing in Thedas at all. Queer relations and relationships are aparently viewed by most of Southern Thedas as 'peculiar' but no explanation is given as to why. Now I'm gonna go into specific instances. 

First off, let's look at some of the stuff you've mentioned. Dorian and his dad. Yeah that whole situation hit me pretty close to home as a queer person who's pretty much accepted at this point that my dad will never accept who I am and my mother died still not having accepted me. What Halward did is definitely portrayed as a bad thing, that is correct. The narrative kind of subtly pushing the reconciliation being the good option is a bit iffy. What Halward tried to do to Dorian is straight up abuse and I really don't like plotlines that push making nice with the abuser and forgiving them as a good resolution. This is kind of more personal feelings than straight from the script fact but I wanted to say it anyway. 

Second issue: Krem's treatment. So many trans people have talked about this before me, if you want some more in depth analysis of this you should go check out some of their stuff, it won't be hard to find. The basics though: Krem is voiced by a cis woman. This immediately sets a shitty precedent on the side of the devs lending proof to the theory that they don't care about uplifting trans people, just making money off them. Krem should have been voiced by a trans actor. In the actual conversation with Iron Bull you get the opportunity to be extremely transphobic. And if you do this you get told off, and that's kind of it. The fact that your character even has the option to do that is a) gross from an out of character writing perspective, and b) makes no sense in character. Why would your character have these views? There is no in lore reason for any of the potential groups your character comes from to be transphobic. Also, and this is just my opinion, but if you're transphobic to Krem (even though it makes no sense in universe) the Iron Bull's reaction shouldn't be a bit of disapproval, he should send you through the fucking wall. Seems more in character. Also, gender roles under the Qun also have a lot of potential to be transphobic, they are by no means an improvement on ours imo. Under the Qun your gender is essentially decided by your role. So if you're a fighter you're male. If you care for children you're female. Not only is that pretty hella sexist and reliant on our dumb ideas of gender roles (that again aren't supposed to be a thing in Thedas) it also has potential to be hell for trans people. Yes it would work for someone like Krem, but for someone who was AMAB and good at fighting but they were a woman? Being shoved into male gender roles and treated as a man would not be good. If the writer's intent was to create a society with an entirely different concept of and approach to gender they've done it wrong because of how much of it is reliant on the audience's perception of gender which (going by general gaming demographics) is pretty cis and het normative. 

Now I'm gonna talk about the transphobia that doesn't get challenged. Sera makes a couple transphobic comments throughout the game I believe, the one I can remember in detail is in the Winter Palace when she says someone presenting a certain way isn't actually that. And without any further context the only way the audience can really interpret that is that the writers decided to take a cheap shot at someone cross dressing in a bad attempt at comedy. 

Sera's writing in general is super homophobic because she was written by a homophobe. I'm not gonna go into all of that in this cos this is already too long and I could write essays about it. Other people already have! But basically, she's the only out and out lesbian romance we have in the series, and her writing in that respect is really not good. 

So how about the other games? Well. In origins you can hire sex workers at a brothel. The 'special' on offer is a very masc presenting dwarf in a poorly fitting dress. This was a very transphobic attempt at humour. Zevran, much as I love him dearly, is a walking bisexual stereotype, made worse by feeding into the 'sexy Latine' stereotype on top of that, which isn't an in universe problem so much as it is proof that the writers are guilty of prejudices whether they know it or not. I suspect there's more instances in origins but I can't remember right now. 

In Dragon Age 2 Seneschal Bran has a relationship of some kind with a sex worker named Serendipity, a feminine presenting elf with a very deep voice. This is played as something that Bran should be ashamed of. At least I think so, it could be that he's ashamed of having a relationship with a sex worker. Not that far fetched considering Aveline's weaponisation of the word 'whore' against Isabela. But this is also something that doesn't make sense honestly. Why is sex work taboo in thedas? Christianity isn't around to make it so and Andrastianism doesn't have purity culture going except for their clergy ( which also is never explained why and makes no sense.) Additionally, Uncle Gamlen is super homophobic. Why? There is no reason culturally or religiously for him to be that way? Yes he's an asshole but why is he an asshole in that manner? And you don't even get to challenge him on it! It's passive dialogue that you trigger when walking into his house and you don't immediately get the option to fucking fight him about it? Why put it in then?! 

A good amount of this is off topic from the actual question so sorry about that but TLDR there's a lot of in universe homophobia and transphobia, most of it is not handled well in or out of universe. I do believe that they're trying to do better in this respect, inquisition was a step up from previous games it just wasn't enough of one. 

If you want more stuff like this go check out @dalishious cos they have a ton of very good meta on subjects related to this.

[brianprobablywill]

Just Like This (Joe Mazzello x Reader)

summary: joe helps you out when you need his help for extra credit, but you have no idea how your night will end.

joe x reader, 1.8k words, fluff

warnings: none

author’s note: this is for @royally-rogers​‘ s follower challenge!! jacqueline is lovely, you should definitely check her out and give her a follow!!! she’s been super kind in offering me an extension to submit my piece, and here it finally is!! thanks, jacqueline, for letting me take part in your challenge, and for being an awesome frined <3 enjoy!

“No, no, Y/N, you have to feel it.”

“Fine.” You cross your arms across your chest for the hundredth time that evening, trying to feel it. “It’s almost midnight, where were you?”

Joe looks like he’s about had it. He throws his script onto the sofa, bringing his hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose. “Do you actually care about where I’ve been?”

“Huh?”

“It’s almost midnight.” Joe juts his chin out, looking at you incredulously. “You have to care about where I’ve been, damn it!”

You’re about to snap too, tell him that acting is not your thing, but the sound of a door opening stops you. 

“Whoa, hey.” Ben steps out of his room, glasses perched delicately on his nose. “I’m trying to study.”

“And so are we.” Joe retorts. 

Hardly. You’re only filling in for one play that your college was organising. You really didn’t want to, but participation is a big deal and you’re not going to slack in any area, no sir. This is just something you have to do.

“Keep it down,” your roommate hisses. “These definite integrals are hell.”

Joe scoffs. “Okay, electrical engineering.”

Ben doesn’t leave before flipping Joe the bird, but once the moment to his bedroom door is shut, Joe turns his attention back to you. “Okay.” He turns his eyes to the ceiling, presumably to work out a plan for what to do about your predicament. 

You’re busy picking at the aglet of your converse when Joe exclaims, “Yes!” You watch as he makes his way towards where you were sat on the couch.

Crouching in front of you, he begins, “We’re friends, aren’t we?” His hands come to lay flat on your thighs, sending a wave of electricity through your body.

You nod, letting his eyes make direct contact with yours. 

“Close your eyes for a minute.”

You do.

“And imagine we’re a couple.”

“Oh, no.” Your eyes are open within an instant, looking at Joe, alarmed.

“Hey!” he holds up his hands in defence. “I didn’t think the idea disgusted you that much.” He looks down at his feet, scoffing lightly. 

“No!” you’re quick to respond, twisting your hands together in your lap.

Joe nods, waiting for you to back your answer with some more substance. When you don’t, he asks, “And?”

“Huh?”

“No, what?” He shakes his head. “No, you’re really sweet; no, it’s not like that… no?”

“It’s not like that.” your response is weak. 

Truth is, the idea of dating Joe isn’t disgusting to you at all. Not one bit. It’s almost a little tempting, letting him know how you really feel.

But you’ve been burnt in the past, you’ve been hurt. Your previous attempts at confessing to crushes have gone sideways many times, and you’re not sure if you’re ready to put yourself out on the fire like that. Yet again. 

Joe exhales shakily, using the support of his hands on his thighs to stand up. He holds out a hand to you, prompting you to get up with him. “Is it okay if we pretend to be a couple?”

You nod firmly, not letting a single bit of hesitation seep through. But when Joe takes one step towards you, his hot breath fanning your face now, you wonder if you should have simply said no.

Joe’s lips land on yours in one smooth motion. They’re soft. Joe’s grip on your hand gets just a little more firm. But before you can respond to his kiss, he’s pulled away already, grabbing the script from your other hand and handing you his.

“Let’s switch roles,” he says quickly, turning to sit down on the couch. “You come home at midnight, and I’ll show you how a doting boyfriend would respond.”

“Isn’t acting interpretative? Maybe my interpretation about a loving relationship is different from yours.” There isn’t any real meaning behind your accusation, and you make your way towards the door to ‘come home at midnight’ anyway.

Despite having practiced the scene several times, you still have to look at your-- Joe’s script to find out what you have to do. Joe’s character - Sam - doesn’t really have many lines. It’s just a few grunts and mumbles while your character - Anna - does all the talking. 

“It’s midnight, where the hell were you?” 

Whoa. He’s taking his liberties with expanding on the dialogues, you realise. The conviction is strong with his dialogue. It really feels like you’re his girlfriend. Like he’s really worried about you after you’ve come home late. And it makes your stomach do a little flip, because, damn, is this what it would feel like to have Joe as a boyfriend? 

“Just out,” you try your hardest to match your acting skills with Joe’s, but that’s a losing battle. Half the time you’re really only focusing on Joe, watching how he takes the dialogue and makes a scene out of it.

“Out?” Joe stands up, his eyes flitting over his script briefly before looking back up at you, and you can swear you can see a flash of rage in his eyes. “I called your work.” He put his hand on his hip. “They said you left hours ago.”

Joe’s fingers were slender, the tips pressing into the fabric of his shirt. You’d very much like to smoothen out the wrinkles in his shirt.

“Y/N?”

“Yeah?”

“Dialogue,” he sings, his shoulder sagging. 

Your script falls to the floor as you bring your hands to your forehead. “Oh my god.”

“Hey, hey, hey.” Joe is quick to rush to your side, putting a gentle hand on your lower back. “What’s wrong?”

“I can’t do this,” you whisper, looking at Joe through the corner of your eye. 

“Oh,” he mumbles, not sure what to do for just a second. “Um, sit down?” He slowly guides you to the couch, sitting a considerable distance away from you. 

You know what comes next in the script. Sam apologises to Anna after realising how worried she was, and they kiss. They kiss. And if you’re going to be acting it out with Joe, you’re not sure you can handle it.

Even then, you’re trying to keep it under control. He can’t see why you’re so upset about such a simple thing. So when Joe looks at you questioningly, you only shake your head vigorously, reaching for the water bottle you’d placed on the coffee table.

“Look,” Joe begins, his voice gentle, “I get that you’re not an actor. And I get that this is a difficult task for you.” He goes on once you nod. “Are you sure you can’t pull out of the gig?”

“I’m sure,” you state, even though you’re not. You really want this extra credit, and you were going to get it. 

“Okay. Maybe we can try practicing another day. You’re tired. Aren’t you?” Joe hooks two fingers under your chin to get you to look at him. You can see the concern in his eyes, you can see that he cares about you and wants you to be okay. “You should get some sleep.”

“What if I do horribly?” Your question is meek. You almost already know the answer, but you still have to ask.

“You won’t.” Joe’s hand moves from your chin to your shoulder, squeezing once. “You have me, remember?” He smiles, wide and goofy, and for a minute you forget about the impending doom that’s going to come during your dress rehearsal. “I’ll get you whipped up for the role in no time!” He snaps his fingers.

You can’t help but giggle softly. 

“Sleepytime?” He asks, putting his hand on your back to guide you to stand up. 

But you don’t. You nod, and shuffle closer to Joe, putting your head on his shoulder. “Can you, um, can you call Lucy and tell her you’re staying over?”

“What?”

“I want you to stay.” You look up at him through your eyelashes, heart beating fast lest he says no. “Please?”

“Of course. Of course, sweetheart,” Joe whispers. His next words are a shout, “Yo, Ben!”

“A heads-up would’ve been nice,” you snap, rolling your eyes.

Joe grimaces, shouting again. “Benjamin!” 

Ben’s bedroom door opens immediately, with your roommate storming out, one airpod in his hand, the other in his ear. “What?” he hisses.

“Call Lucy and tell her I’m sleeping over.”

Ben cocks his head to the side. “I didn’t ask you to sleep over.” That’s when his eyes fully take in the visual in front of him. “Oh. Oh.” He smirks, “Okay. I’ll tell her you’re sleeping with Y/N tonight.”

Ben looks like he’s about to say something else, but a hot look from both you and Joe shuts him right up. He holds up his hands in defence, muttering, “I’ll let Lucy know,” before heading back into his room.

As soon as he’s gone, you turn to look at Joe, still leaning on him. “You’re sleeping with me tonight.” You wiggle your eyebrows and give him your best goofy eyes, and it looks like it works, because Joe’s face breaks into a smile and he shakes his head fondly.

“Can’t wait,” he whispers back with equal goofiness.

No more words are exchanged as Joe holds your hand to lead you to your room, waiting for you to change, and then tucks you into bed. As he slides into bed next to you - now changed into one of Ben’s shirts and a pair of sweatpants - you simply have to peep at him, watching as he lays down slowly, putting his hands on his chest. 

His chest rises and falls slowly, and you can see, even in the dark, he blinks. 

The logical part of your brain has no time to stop your heart before you’re reaching up to run a hand through his hair. 

Joe lets out a sharp breath, turning his body towards you and offering better access to his hair. “You’re not asleep?”

You say nothing. Joe can feel the tips of your fingers on his scalp, and it sends a wave of relaxation through him. Hesitantly, he asks, “Do you want to get closer?”

You wordlessly shuffle closer to him, your free hand reaching around his body. You can still play with his hair. And now, Joe can play with yours. You can tell why he likes it - it is very relaxing.

“I like sleeping with you,” you whisper, “just like this.”

Joe giggles softly, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head. “Me too. Just like this.”

You’re not sure which one of you falls asleep first. Just that it’s a very relaxing night for you. And that when you wake up, Joe is there to give you another kiss, this time on the lips. And that you kiss him back, mocking, “Just like this?”

“Yeah, like this too.” Joe sasses, still wrapped up in the high of kissing you.

You’re sure you don’t mind. You could spend night after night wrapped up in Joe’s arms, waking up to sleepy kisses. 

Just like this.

------------

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[lovelyirony]

“But I remember you the way that we rehearsed” for winter13, please?

Fake dating. Bucky didn’t like that it had come to this. He glared at his agent, Natasha, who pays him no attention. 

“And this is necessary exactly why?” 

“Because you scare people,” Natasha says. “And it proves on some level that you have a heart somewhere in there.” 

Bucky snorts. “Let them think I don’t have one. It’s how I get all my roles, right?” 

He had had previous experience in the military. With squared shoulders, a deadset gaze, and good-enough looks to be noticed by a talent scout? He’d been shipped off to Hollywood and gotten typecast as a handsome military man in every single movie. He didn’t mind it. As long as it paid the bills, he’d do it. 

Natasha didn’t like this. Apparently he had to be a “real person” and “interact with people.” 

He did not like that. Why interact with people? He talked with Steve. He made fun of Sam. This was enough! 

“At some point, people grow bored of the whole ‘I’m tough and distant, watch me gaze stoically’“ Natasha tells him. “And I know it goes quickly. With a dating life, it proves there’s more to you.” 

“There’s really, really not.” 

“Then it will boost Carter’s career,” Natasha says. “You don’t want to kick a fellow star down, do you?” 

“I don’t particularly care.” 

Sharon is dragging her heels in the dirt. 

“Maria, what the hell? What’s all this about me dating Barnes?” 

“It’ll be good for his image.” 

"What, to prove he can date someone?” 

“On the nose,” Maria says. “He needs someone that shows a...softer side of him.” 

“Does he have a softer side?” 

“You can make one.” 

“And if I don’t?” 

"Then you have a lower chance of breaking out.” 

“Still a chance.” 

“Do it and I’ll make sure that you get a wine cellar,” Maria says. 

“...fine.” 

- 

They both look at each other carefully. 

“I’m Bucky.” 

“Sharon. Good to meet you.” 

She sticks out a hand for a shake. It’s firm, to the point, and they’re both thinking this might not be the worst. 

“So, how do you want to spin this?” Natasha asks Maria. 

“They meet at a red carpet event,” Maria says. “Bucky asks after her, she gives him her number. They meet up for coffee. Become a thing. Short and sweet, exactly how it should be.” 

They nod. 

Sharon stares. 

“So we don’t get input?” 

“What would your idea have been?” Natasha asks. 

“I meet her at the shooting range,” Bucky mutters. 

“That’s literally the worst idea I’ve ever heard,” Maria says flatly. “Nope. Red carpet. We’ll coordinate outfits a bit, leave the public saying ‘aw’ that it was ‘destined in the stars’ or whatever bullshit they’re going to put in the magazine. Any questions, concerns?” 

“Can I pick the coffee shop?” Sharon asks. 

“Yes.” 

- 

The red carpet event. One of Sam’s newest spy flicks, and Bucky can’t lie and say he isn’t excited. Sam makes a good spy with smooth looks, an easy smile, and a way with a suit and acting like he’s acting for espionage. 

It also helps that he can make fun of him while they’re at the theater. 

Sharon looks nice in a simple blue dress. He’s wearing a blue tie. 

Coordinating. By chance. He almost laughs at the absurdity of it all. 

She saunters over to him. 

“Bucky Barnes, right?” she asks. 

“You, uh, got it,” Bucky says. 

“I’m Sharon. I liked your last movie. You pulled an impressive move with the motorcycle. Was that a stunt double?” 

“Nah, although I did have a nice guy for the building leap,” Bucky answers. “You were in the last murder movie, right?” 

“The detective, yeah,” Sharon says. “How’d you meet Sam?” 

Conversation goes smoothly. Sharon fills in where Bucky breaks off. She doesn’t say anything about his short, blunt answers that so many others flounder over. She doesn’t even pause for any pity when he mentions the prosthetic. 

“Is it a Stark model or something else?” 

“Um. Stark.” 

“Good choice,” Sharon says. “I was reading about the success rates.” 

“What, because you knew I have one?” Bucky asks. 

“No, my cousin’s Tony,” Sharon says. She puts on a teasing smile. “Not everything is about you, Mr. Barnes.” 

“I wouldn’t presume, Ms. Carter,” he answers, a smile playing at his lips. “Mind if I escort you to your seat?” 

Take notice. Pictures. He knows it’ll be on one of those late night “News” stations. (News. What a fucking joke.) 

- 

He gets her number at the end of the night. She slips him a notecard. 

“Special occasion and all,” Sharon says. “I’ll send you the address for the coffee shop once you text back.” 

- 

That night he stays awake a bit longer. He tells himself it’s just because of the fancy, late event. 

It is not because he thinks Sharon may just be one of the most interesting people he’s ever met, and not just because she’s his type. 

Besides, coffee is nice. He can drink it and not answer anything while he’s sipping on it. 

- 

He’s early. By half an hour. She is five minutes late, orders some fancy concoction, and sits down. She looks very nice, put-together. Bucky can already see everyone staring and taking pictures. 

“So, how was your night?” Bucky asks. 

"Not anything happening besides sleep after the premiere, you?” she asks, stirring the foam around. 

“Not really. Ate a hot pocket.” 

He cringes. 

He really made the choice to say that, didn’t he? Ugh. 

To his surprise, Sharon laughs to herself. 

“Glad I’m not the only one who still eats garbage food. The amount of people who say they eat a smoothie bowl...” 

They launch into conversation about stupid foods that celebrities eat, and how much they both would kill for a grease-stained-paper burger that honestly tastes like your aorta is gonna fail. That’s how unhealthy it is. 

Sharon finds out that he likes rock climbing, and she offers to host the next outing at the club she goes to. 

They get photographed exiting. She admires the beat-up car that he refuses to get rid of. 

“Still runs, don’t see why I would get rid of it,” Bucky mutters. 

“Can I just say, for one, that I don’t know why anyone in Hollywood would deny having a car that’s fifteen years old and has a ‘My Son is an Eagle Scout!’ sticker on the back,” she says. “Oh my god, did you get this from your mom!” 

Bucky laughs. 

- 

Dating is easy. 

Feelings are hard. 

Because Sharon can go on dates. They go on walks and answers questions and grin for pictures, and that’s all good. She can do that. 

What she can’t do is at least attempt to stop trying to feel the way his fingers press into her waist, the way she smiles at him. She knows how she’s smiling at him. 

She needs to stop sitting with him at an old diner at sunset, cheeks red with laughter and long-faded sun, and they bicker over who has the best shake. 

She needs to stop taking his jackets and shirts and wearing them out and feeling a sense of pride that other people know that she knows him more than anyone else. The way that he only smiles at her. 

They’ll have to talk to the Oscars board to get him nominated for Best Actor. Hell, maybe she can even convince them to have him win. He’s convincing like that. 

- 

Bucky hates that he has feelings as well as memories. Had lobotomies not been highly risky and (mostly) illegal, he probably would have signed up for one right about now. 

Dating is...nice. He likes Sharon. He hopes that she likes him, at least. Tolerates maybe. 

Natasha says their break-up is scheduled for a month from now. Mutual parting, careers in the way. Whatever excuse is cooked up, he’s sure it’ll make sense. Sharon probably has a life to get back to, and Bucky...he’s sure he’ll think of something to say in the interview when they invariably ask him about it. 

- 

It’s Sharon who comes to his house at ten-thirty at night in old cut-offs, a t-shirt that’s paint-splattered from when she helped him paint his kitchen table chairs one boring afternoon, and her eyes are rimmed with red. 

“Feel free to tell me I’m stupid, but I don’t wanna break up,” Sharon says. “We have a good time, I think you’re probably the only actor in this whole scene that I’d ever date, and you’re the best guy I’ve ever met.” 

Bucky blinks. 

“Are you...me? The best guy you’ve ever met?” 

Sharon giggles a bit. 

“Yeah, you.” 

“Sharon as long as you’ll have me, I’m yours,” Bucky confesses. “Can’t promise I’m the most interesting guy alive.” 

“Says the guy who drives a beat-up town car with stickers on the back,” Sharon says with a snort. She pulls him into a hug. “But yes. I want you, Bucky. I really, really do.” 

- 

They inform Natasha and Maria, who already saw this coming from the moment they met. 

“Another match in the books,” Maria says, pouring a glass of wine for herself. “Who’s next on your list?” 

Natasha thinks, sliding her sunglasses down. “Well, I think Sif and Jane would do quite nicely together, don’t you think?” 

“It’s gonna need more planning than Bucky and Sharon,” Maria says. “You sure you’re up for that?” 

Natasha grins. 

“When have I not been, dear?” 

[therainroguefanfiction]

💙 Heart Beats (Choutarou Ootori) #17: Slippery When Wet✶

📑 Table of Contents | ◂Previous

-ˋˏ ༻❅༺ ˎˊ-

“Ahh, well… you see…” Choutarou blushed, rubbing the back of his head. What was he supposed to say? Surely he couldn’t just come out with the truth.

“We were told of a murder that happened here,” you responded bluntly. Apparently, you could…

“Senpai!”

“What?” You glanced at your boyfriend, but before he could respond, the woman started laughing, making a tic mark appear beneath your eye. “The hell’s so funny?”

“I… haha… I’m s-sorry… hahaha!” The woman took deep breaths, clutching the glass tight so she didn’t drop it. When she finally stopped laughing, she motioned towards the kitchen. “Come have a seat and I’ll explain.”

You started forward but Choutarou grabbed your wrist. “Are you sure about this, senpai? What if she’s dangerous?”

“Relax, Chou-chan. It’ll be fine,” you slipped your hand into his, gently tugging him toward the kitchen.

“Have a seat. Would you like something to drink?” she asked, glancing over her shoulder at you as she reached into the cabinet to put the glass away.

“No. Thanks.”

She shrugged, walking towards another door, which looked like it led to a hallway. “Sean! Get in here!”

“What?” A male voice yelled back before the source appeared in the doorway, shirtless, with a towel over his dripping dark brown locks. His expression turned surprised when he saw the two of you sitting at the kitchen table, one looking annoyed and the other worried. “What’s going on, Sarah?”

“Sit, sit,” Sarah ushered him over, earning a scowl from the male. She took a seat next to him before speaking. “Now, you claim to have seen a murder here earlier, correct?”

“We didn’t see it. A couple idiots did,” you answered, vaguely aware of the disapproving look from Choutarou.

“Ahh, I see I see. So that’s what this is about,” the male chuckled, resting his cheek on his hand. “First, we should introduce ourselves. I’m Sean Warner,”

“And I’m Sarah Veil. We’re actresses – “

“Actors,”

” – from America. Both of our families are close to the Atobe family and the two of us grew up together. We were rehearsing a scene from our new movie. Mrs. Atobe let us use one of their cabins so we’d have privacy,”

“The scene we were practicing earlier was a death scene, where the husband and wife end up murdering each other because mphdfhj – “

Sarah firmly planted her hands over his mouth. “Sean! We can get into a lot of trouble for giving away that much information about the movie!”

“Soffmpry!”

She shook her head with a sigh, removing her hands and re-taking her seat. “Anyway, that’s the story.”

“We must be pretty good to have fooled your friends like that,” Sean said smugly, leaning back in his chair with his arms folded across his chest.

“I don’t know how we missed them, though.” Sarah sighed. “Poor dears. They must be running crazy!”

“If I may, what’s the name of your movie?” Choutarou questioned.

“Slippery When Wet. A murder mystery!” Sean announced proudly. “Due out in the fall of this year~”

You and Choutarou exchanged a look.

-ˋˏ ༻❅༺ ˎˊ-

The sun was starting to peek over the horizon and the boys of Hyotei had received no sleep. How could they possibly even think of sleeping when two of their own were missing? They had gone out on a mission to check out the scene of a murder that Gakuto and Shishido had stumbled upon, but they had yet to return. They had been gone for hours!

“I knew this was a bad idea! I just know something bad happened!” Shishido ranted, pacing around in the same circle he had been creating for several hours now.

“It was your idea to send them,” Yuushi pointed out from his seat on the recliner, one leg crossed over the other.

“No. It was my idea to send Y/N, not Choutarou!” he snapped in return, turning to glare at the tensai.

“So it’s okay for Y/N-chan to be in harm’s way, but not Ootori-kun?” Jirou questioned, cocking his head to the side.

“Yes!”

Before any of them could respond to that comment, Atobe entered the room, dressed in a frilly pinkish-purple nightshirt and black slacks, with Kabaji right behind him. His eyes scanned the room and he raised a brow. “Since when did all of you wake up this early?” he questioned, mainly pointing it towards Jirou, who failed to notice that fact.

“Buchou!” Gakuto cried, springing up and latching onto the captain, who looked mortified at the contact. “They’re gone! They’re dead! Murdered!”

“Murdered? What are you going on about? And get off of Ore-sama!” With some reluctance, Gakuto backed away. “Yuushi! Just what the hell is going on here?!”

Yuushi sighed, glancing at the door. “We were woken up in the middle of the night by gunfire. Shishido and Mukahi went to check it out, and saw – “

“Dead bodies!” Gakuto interrupted. “There were two of them, one man and a woman!”

“There was blood everywhere,” Shishido added, shaking his head as if to rid himself of the memory.

“Yes, well,” Yuushi gave them a look. He clearly did not take too kindly to being interrupted. “After waking them up, Y/N and Choutarou headed over to take a look. They have yet to return.”

“Which cabin?” Atobe questioned, his face devoid of any emotion.

“It starts out East and then a sharp turn and you end up West,” Shishido explained, pointing to make his point.

Atobe shook his head with a sigh, barely refusing the urge to facepalm. “That cabin is being lent to friends of Ore-sama’s mother. They are practicing for their roles in the new movie, Slippery When Wet. It’s a murder mystery,”

“So they… were acting?” Gakuto questioned dumbly and Atobe nodded. “But… Y/N and Choutarou…”

“They either got lost or are talking with the two staying there.” Atobe ran a hand through his hair. “Ore-sama is sure they will return soon.”

“I hope you’re right,” Shishido muttered, staring outside, which was slowly becoming brighter as the sun rose higher into the sky, escorted by a mass of light gray clouds.

-ˋˏ ༻❅༺ ˎˊ-

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[mexicancat-girl]

Another for @bnhawlwweek! Day 2 Prompt: Clothing: Swimsuits

Fuyumi Todoroki/Miruko (Rumi Usagiyama)

ao3: link

It’s ridiculous that Rumi���s so nervous right now. Really. It is.

 She’s used to wearing stuff that shows off a lot of skin. A swimsuit should be no different.

 She runs around every day in a leotard as her hero costume, after all. She’s out there in the world as Pro Hero Miruko, wearing what is essentially a swimsuit while she literally kicks people’s asses, because the higher-ups and the public wouldn’t consider her ‘viable’ enough as a heroine without showing off a little skin.

 “You’re not feminine enough, Miruko.”

 “You’re too muscular, Miruko.”

 “You’ll never get popular, Miruko.”

It’s all a fucking ridiculous balancing act, honestly. If she shows off too much skin she’s ‘inappropriate’ and a slut, but if she doesn’t show off enough skin she won’t win popularity polls because she’s not playing the fanservice card like it’s expected for most female heroines.

 And then there’s her ‘abrasive and mannish personality’, which apparently also doesn’t do her any wonders.

 “You need to smile more, Miruko.”

 “You’re too violent Miruko.”

 “Your merch sales are down, Miruko.”

 Rumi takes in a breath and lets it out, counting down from ten just like her anger management specialist told her to do time and time again.

 Thinking about her managers and the sleaze-balls in charge of the hero system will only piss her the fuck off. Thinking about the misogynistic fuckwads that she has to save on a regularly basis and pander to for her to keep her ranking will make her want to punch a wall.

 She has to keep calm. She can’t step out of the changing room wanting to kill a man. She’s on a date. She’s wearing a swimsuit. She’s going to go swimming and flirt with her girlfriend, and then maybe buy a piña colada if she’s feeling too restless before realizing that she’s more partial to margaritas, downing both of them because she doesn’t want to waste the drinks.

 Yeah. Okay. Alright.

 She can do this.

 Rumi slowly opens the dressing room door, taking a cautionary peak out.

 Fuyumi is standing right outside. Abort, abort!

 She squeaks and instantly shuts the door again, heart jackrabbiting her chest and face flushing hot because oh God, she can’t do this.

 Especially after catching a glimpse of her girlfriend in her swimsuit. Just. God. God, she’s so fucking gay, and such a huge fucking disaster.

 Fuyumi was wearing a one-piece swimsuit. White and simple, with red trim, a red ribbon acting as a halter top to keep everything in place and modest.

 It was the most gorgeous sight Rumi’s ever laid eyes on in her entire life, she’s sure. Like. 1000% sure.

 With a groan, she puts her hands on her warm cheeks and tries very, very hard not to melt into a puddle of goo.

 “Rumi-chan…?” Fuyumi’s voice drifts through the wooden door, sounding so sweetly concerned it should be illegal. If it was illegal, Rumi would have to arrest her on the spot, and—yeah, no, her brain’s going down the drain fast. Abort.

 She tries to reply, but all that gets out is a strangled noise that sounds like a dying rabbit, which wow if that ain’t a huge Mood…

 “Rumi-chan, are you okay in there?” Fuyumi asks once more through the door, tapping it lightly in a knock. “Are you having trouble with your swimsuit…?”

 “No!” Rumi squeaks out, just a bit panicked. Oh fuck, she’s made her girlfriend worries now. Shit. “I-I’m fine! It’s fine! Everything’s fine! Ahahaha…”

 Gah, it’s so obvious she’s not fine! Christ, she’s such a bad actor! It’s no wonder she barely gets into commercials nowadays, much less any huge roles in TV or movies! Ugh.

 “Are your clothes damaged? Did a seam rip?” And now Fuyumi sounds a little panicked and frantic. “That’d be awful! It’s no wonder you don’t want to leave the changing room. I-I could get you an extra set of clothes, if you need it—”

 “I don’t—it’s fine, nothing’s ripped!” Rumi reassures her quickly, still feeling flustered, but not wanting her girlfriend to panic and worry even more. It must be her heroic instincts kicking in, even with a situation as ridiculously mundane as this.

 Though, it’s admittedly a little dumb that she’s being so chicken-shit, hiding and talk-yelling through the changing room door…

 Aw, fuck it. She’s gotta have to put her big girl panties on and just. Open the door. And let her girlfriend see her in her swimsuit.

 Her very frilly, sorta tacky swimsuit that she’d decided was a good idea to buy two weeks ago and is still sort of regretting.

 Rumi crosses her fingers behind her back for good luck, hoping she looks less dumb than she feels, and opens the changing room door.

 It almost takes her aback, seeing Fuyumi right in front of her in all her gorgeous ice sculpture-esque glory. Fuyumi blinks back at her, seemingly equally as stunned and startled.

 Her girlfriend’s hair is pulled back in a little ponytail with a red ribbon matching her swimsuit. And it takes Rumi a hot second, but to her astonishment, she notes that Fuyumi has hairclips in her hair.

 Little bunny hairclips.

 Rumi has to stop herself from clutching at her chest as the realization hits because oh my God, her girlfriend is so fucking adorable.

 “B-Bunnies?” Rumi squeaks out, cheeks aflame as she spastically gestures at her own temples, emulating where Fuyumi’s hairclips sit.

 Fuyumi’s already pink cheeks flush into a deeper pink as her hands fly up to said hairclips. “I-I, um…It’s—it’s going to sound so stupid, but, I…” clearly hesitating, she finally stutters out, “N-Never mind!”

 “They’re cute!” Rumi blurts out, voice way too loud in her effort to assuage her girlfriend’s worries. Clearing her throat, she forces herself back into a normal volume. “I mean, er…They’re…I like ‘em, is all.”

 Fuyumi’s embarrassed grimace wavers and is quickly replaced by a shy smile. “Oh! Um. Do you really…?”

 “Yeah. Yeah, they really suit ya,” Rumi says with a cough, awkward and trying to push through it. She was going to compliment her girlfriend, damn it, and her own terrible social skills weren’t gonna stop her! “Your swimsuit’s nice, too. You look good.”

 Wow, someone get a goddamn camera to catch this spectacular failure of Rumi Usagiyama giving basic compliments. She sounds so eloquent and convincing, she should win an award for Worst Flirting Ever.

 While Rumi beats herself up in her head over her less-than-stellar comments—seriously, could she only think of ‘you look good’?! Who even says that?!—she nearly misses Fuyumi’s answer.

 “Thank you! I…I don’t tend to wear swimsuits very much,” her girlfriend admits bashfully, idly fingering the red halter strap. “Haven’t exactly had many situations where one was needed, honestly…”

 “That so?” Rumi asks, quickly trying to scramble for a decent reply. “Can’t see why you wouldn’t. You must’ve gotten people flocking to take you on a summer date to the beach or pool. Sure thing for someone as smart and nice and pretty as you.”

 Ah, hell, she was rambling now.

 Rumi avoids Fuyumi’s gaze, scratching the back of her neck, smile awkward. Is she coming on too strong? She’s probably coming on too strong. Fuck.

 She hears a giggle, and carefully glances to see Fuyumi flushed and smiling.

 “I was never exactly popular as a person, really, so I didn’t tend to go out much… But thank you,” her girlfriend says, voice soft and warm, but with a sad look in her eyes.

 Rumi decides instantly that she hates the bittersweet tint in those sea-blue eyes and tries for a joke to lighten the mood. “Eh, I dunno. Sounds fake, but okay, babe.”

 This seems to startle a laugh out of Fuyumi, who clamps a hand over her mouth to ride out her ensuing giggles. Her eyes are bright and crinkled, happy; Rumi’s done her job.

 “C’mon, let’s head out. We’ll never get to swim at this rate,” Rumi says, a lopsided smile in place as she nudges her girlfriend. Fuyumi nods, an occasional giggle still stuttering out, and Rumi wraps an arm around her shoulders to guide them outside the changing rooms.

 The action seems to make Fuyumi go pink and duck her head, peering up at Rumi through her clipped-back bangs. Her skin is soft and slightly cool to the touch, surprisingly. Rumi’d always figured that it was just her hands that got cold. Maybe it’s got to do with her ice Quirk…?

 “I really like your swimsuit, by the way,” her girlfriend says, snapping Rumi out of her mesmerized state. Yeesh, she’d spend a whole day staring, if she wasn’t careful.

 “Eh? Really?” she asks, blinking dumbly, a pleased flush rising up her neck.

 Fuyumi giggles and nods. “Yes! It’s really cute. I think you look perfect in it.”

 Rumi feels herself puff up in pride, her confidence coming back full force from the compliment, assuaging her previous fears of her choice.

 She hadn’t been sure about her choice in swimsuit before now. It was a white two-piece, the top a sort of tankini that stopped mid-stomach. The bottom was a skirt made of ruffles. It showed more stomach than she was used to, but that wasn’t a problem; after all, she had a pretty great set of abs, if she did say so herself.

 The problem was that it was…cutesy. Ruffles usually weren’t her thing. And neither were bows, which were decorations scattered across her swimsuit. Even a huge bow decorated the front of her bust. But it fit her well, and it showed off her abs, and it wasn’t too flashy or too provocative. It gave her decent mobility as well, so she could take a swim and not have to worry about accidentally flashing anyone in the process.

 All Rumi had wanted was a swimsuit that was practical, but she’d left the store with the ruffled swimsuit thinking that it looked cute, so it might just help her look cute, too.

 Looks like her pick was right after all, huh?

 “Hell yeah I’m cute!” she hoots, bumping hips with her girlfriend. “But not as cute as you in your swimsuit!”

 “Oh, stop it,” Fuyumi waves her off bashfully, a hand on her pink cheek but still smiling goofily.

 “Just tellin’ the truth,” Rumi says seriously, eyes bright as she gently tugs on the other woman’s bangs. “Specially with those clips of yours? You’re the cutest girl around.”

 Fuyumi was thrown into another fit of giggles and Rumi grinned wolfishly.

 “I, ah…I-I actually got these hairclips to, um,” her girlfriend starts, smile soft and embarrassed. “To match with you…? Sort of.”

 Rumi stops in place, and blinks once, twice. It takes her a few seconds, but then she’s grinning so hard her smile nearly splits her face, and her ears twitch excitedly.

 “You wanted to…match with me?” she asks, still a little in disbelief, pointing at both her rabbit ears. “Seriously?”

 “I know, I know…” Fuyumi sputters out, waving her hands wildly in front of herself in defense, face nearly matching the red streaks in her hair. “It’s…It’s really cheesy and kinda dumb, and—”

 “Babe,” Rumi starts, serious, gently taking her girlfriend’s flailing hands in her own. She leans down and quickly pecks Fuyumi on the nose; if the other woman’s face wasn’t already the shade of a tomato, the public display of affection probably would’ve done it. “Babe, that is the sweetest fucking thing I’ve ever heard in my life. I love it.”

 Her girlfriend’s nervous and mortified smile wobbles, and in just a second, she’s breaking out into a radiant smile so bright that it rivals the sun.

 “I’m…I’m glad,” Fuyumi murmurs softly, leaning forwards to rub their noses together. “I just wanted to show some way of supporting you.”

 “Babe, you’re always supporting me,” Rumi reminds her, but it gets a wide smile from her anyways, her ears perking up.

 “And I always will,” the other woman confirms with a light peck to her lips. Rumi makes the approximate noise of a teakettle and gets a peck on a burning cheek as a reward, the sweet sound of Fuyumi’s giggles in her ears.

 She feels so mushy and soft and warm, like she’s just sunbathed for an entire day. And she hasn’t even been outside for ten minutes, yet.

 Fuyumi’s just got that sorta power, though. Even if she’s got an ice Quirk, she always makes Rumi feel warm and comfortable and oh-so-fond.

 Being with her is worth a hundred—no, a thousand summer days.

 And, honestly? Rumi can’t wait to spend each and every one of them with her.

[v-thinks-on]

The Valley of Fear

Part 5 of The Man Who Sold the World

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In the weeks that followed the debacle of the second Scandal in Bohemia, Sherlock Holmes and Dr. John Watson came to a somewhat uncomfortable truce. They spoke amicably about anything other than the case at hand or any other that Watson may have been investigating, the topic of which was avoided at all costs. The doctor was left to pursue his practice alone with no input whatsoever from Holmes, who instead dedicated himself to housekeeping and music, which left him restless and frequently irritable.

It was early in the afternoon, nearly a month later. Watson was sifting through that day’s mail while Holmes watched from where he lay, strewn across his own chair in a fit of boredom that threatened for the worse. Amidst all the bills and advertisements, Watson came upon an old fashioned envelope. It was nothing special, at least it wouldn’t have been in 1887, but now it could not have been mistaken for an ordinary letter. Even the feel and weight of the paper were different.

Watson tore the envelope open to reveal a page of thick well worn paper bearing a familiar cypher. Holmes craned over to get a glimpse of the seemingly random string of numbers - and one letter - intercut with three words; “Douglas” followed by a repetition of “Birlstone.”

“What do you make of it?” Holmes asked, unable and unwilling to hold his peace any longer.

Watson put down the letter and gave him a reproachful look.

“Look at me, Watson, I’m wasting away. My mind begs to be used!”

Watson let out a sigh. He could feel this was not going to go his way. Still, he tried, “We can’t risk letting him get away again. Another man is dead, and the longer it takes to catch the culprit, the more victims will follow.”

“I can help,” Holmes insisted. “You know I am equal to it. For me to stay here and stagnate would be unfair to the both of us - in Moscow or London it’s the same. This is no life for me, my dear Watson, please understand.”

Watson heard the ultimatum as though it had been spoken aloud; if he did not allow Holmes to work with him, he would leave and that would be that. It stung badly to hear it aloud, even though Holmes had said it with a little more delicacy.

Watson had no choice, he could not bear to see him go, and Holmes knew it. There was no one else in the world who knew who he really was, who shared in his past. That alone may have settled it, but this was not just anyone; this was Sherlock Holmes, the dearest friend he had ever known, returned from the dead. No, he could not let Holmes vanish again.

Still, he reluctantly handed the letter over to the waiting detective.

Holmes glanced at it for a moment before rattling off, “Antique paper” - he sniffed it - “ink too, but still fresh. He was careful not to leave any prints, clearly a forgery - look at those horrible Greek e’s. It’s a standard book cypher, based on an old almanac, if I recall.” He turned back to the doctor and offered, his tone just shy of condescending, “So, what course of action do you suggest?”

After a moment’s consideration, Watson said, “We ought to solve the cypher to be sure - I think an old edition of Whitaker's almanac should do the trick, but we’ll have to go to the library for that. In the meantime, did you see anything in the morning paper?”

“Very reasonable,” Holmes declared, his energy returned with a vengeance. “I haven’t had a chance to look at the paper yet, but that can be remedied quickly enough.”

Watson stood as Holmes reached for the morning’s news. “Mrs. Houghton may know more than the press, especially if the case has already made it to London.”

“Don’t count our intrepid reporters out just yet. And there are advantages to working independently from the official force.”

“There are advantages to working with them too,” Watson said before picking up the phone, cutting one conversation short with another.

“Dr. Holmes, I was just meaning to call you!” Mrs. Houghton exclaimed on the other end of the line. “There’s been another one, out in Sussex this time.”

“I’ve just received a warning about it. I take it Mr. John Douglas was found dead in Birlstone Manor?”

“I don’t think the place is called Birlstone, but you’re right about the victim. I got a call this morning from the country Inspector. Apparently Douglas was shot around eleven last night. According to Inspector Mason, it looks like someone planted evidence of an intruder, but the current theory is that it was someone inside the house. The whole place is set up like the others were, all Victorian, which is why I was called in and I thought you might want to come along.”

“There’s not a minute to waste.”

“I can drive you, I’ll be over in a few.”

They both hung up and Watson turned back to Holmes, who was still flipping through the paper.

Holmes put the paper aside as Watson returned to his chair. “It seems Douglas’s murder was not quite in time to make the morning press. Tomorrow, I’m certain there will be a full feature on the matter.”

“I’m sure,” Watson said, his smile a little smug with his victory.

They were interrupted by a knock at the door.

Holmes and Watson exchanged a glance, but neither was expecting anyone - it was impossible for Mrs. Houghton to have arrived so quickly. Finally, Holmes gestured for Watson to go ahead.

So, the doctor shouted, “Come in.”

The door swung open and banged against the wall.

“A letter for Dr. Holmes!” a small boy proclaimed from the doorway.

He couldn’t have been older than twelve, dressed like a page boy not dissimilar from the one Holmes once had. But his oily hair and rough skin suggested he was a homeless child who had been paid to play the role.

“I am he,” the doctor said and held out his hand for the letter.

The boy handed it to him and the doctor gave him a tip.

“There's more where that came from if you can tell me who put you up to this.”

The boy laughed and shook his head.

“How much did he offer you? I'll double it,” the doctor insisted.

“He said he'd double your offer if I didn’t say anything.”

“And how will he know what you did or didn't say here?”

The boy thought about it for a moment. “He said his name’s Fred Porlock.”

“And where did you meet him?”

“Camberwell, in front of the post office.”

“Could you describe him for me? And then you can go on your way.”

“He was wearing a big yellow jacket. He’s tall and old, with gray hair and a silly moustache that he kept twitching.” 

Dr. Holmes nodded in thought. The moustache must have been fake, his hair could have easily been dyed, and it wasn’t so difficult for an experienced actor to play a man taller or shorter than himself. There wasn’t much he could glean from the description, but at least the boy had seen his face, if he could find him again.

“Did he say anything else?” Dr. Holmes attempted.

The boy shook his head. “Just to bring you the letter as fast as I could. He seemed pretty nervous about it, kept glancing over his shoulder like someone was following him. Are you spies?”

“No,” Dr. Holmes said, though he couldn’t help but smile a little at the suggestion. He handed the boy a sizable payment. “Where could I find you if I had more questions?”

“I’m usually in Camberwell,” the boy said, already running out the door.

If he hurried, Dr. Holmes could probably follow the boy on his next errand, perhaps catch a glimpse of the so-called Mr. Porlock for himself, but the chances of success were low compared to the risk of delaying their journey to the countryside.

“I doubt it would come to anything,” Holmes said, startling Watson out of his reverie. “We would do better to search for answers in Sussex than London.”

“How on Earth do you do that?” Watson exclaimed, caught entirely off guard.

“I’m relieved to find I can still surprise you on occasion.”

“Yes, I fear I’ve become entirely unaccustomed to your tricks.”

“I’m surprised you haven’t mastered it. It’s rather superficial.”

“I suppose I occasionally give Mrs. Houghton a bit of a shock, but I never intend to.”

“You’re much too modest, my dear Watson.”

“Am I?” Watson asked pointedly.

Holmes let out a barking laugh. “A distinct touch, Watson, a distinct touch.”

Watson smiled with his victory as he tore open the envelope the boy had delivered. Inside was a short note from one Mr. Fred Porlock announcing his resignation as turncoat. It had been hastily written, but holding the note and the cypher side by side Watson could see that they had the same distinctive features, forged and genuine.

“It’s a shame,” Holmes remarked, greatly subdued. “Porlock was the first man to turn informant on Professor Moriarty despite the grave risk. He didn’t have the courage for it in the end, but I shall always remember him for having taken the first step. And here he has been reduced to yet another agent playing his role.”

“Perhaps it’s not all in vain,” Watson suggested. “There may be some record of his presence at the Camberwell post office by which we can trace him, and that boy could serve as a witness - if we can find him again.”

Holmes just shook his head. “I fear our Mr. Porlock is long gone.”

As loathe as Watson was to admit it, Holmes was probably right.

They both sat ruminating in silence for a little longer until Mrs. Houghton arrived en route to Sussex.

“This may be our chance,” Mrs. Houghton declared as she waited in the doorway for Dr. Holmes to gather his things. “We’re pretty certain it must have been someone in the house - it doesn’t look like anyone escaped - and they’re all clearly in on it. Really, I don’t know what they were thinking, setting it up like this.”

“I’m afraid they very well know what they’re doing. I doubt the man behind these crimes is among the suspects, but perhaps he has made a mistake that will lead us to him. After all, no chain is stronger than its weakest link, we just need to apply the necessary pressure. Shall we?” The doctor gestured toward the door.

“Mr. Holmes, will you be joining us?” Mrs. Houghton asked with a glance at the doctor.

“I would love to,” Holmes answered with exaggerated politesse, “but I fear the decision is our dear doctor’s to make.”

The doctor gave a reluctant nod and they all made their way out onto the street.

It was nearing evening by the time the three detectives arrived at the old manor that served as the stage for the latest crime. They wound up a long driveway lined in old beech trees and parked in front of a large vegetable patch that encircled the house in place of an outer moat. Beyond that was the inner moat, still full of muddy water, surrounding the grand old manor house. As Mrs. Houghton had explained during the drive, the drawbridge that lay open across the moat was the only way into or out of the house, and it was raised at night.

A stout middle-aged man in plain clothes greeted them as they stepped out of the car. “Inspector Houghton,” he called out, “There you are! Inspector Gregson said you had gone into the city to find a specialist.” He gave both of the amateurs an appraising glance with a measure of disapproval. “We still haven’t found anyone tromping around in muddy trousers. At least one of them is lying, and the whole lot of them are pretty suspicious if you ask me.”

Mrs. Houghton nodded along as he spoke. Then she waved the amateurs forward - “Inspector Mason, this is Dr. Jonathan Holmes, and his friend, Sherlock Holmes. Dr. Holmes has been working with me on the case from the start and should be able to help us get to the bottom of it.”

“A pleasure to meet you,” the doctor said with a tip of his hat.

Holmes, in turn, stepped forward to greet the inspector with an outstretched hand, which the Inspector hesitantly shook. “Pleased to make your acquaintance. I don’t suppose you’re related to the late Inspector White Mason? I am quite familiar with his remarkable work in the Birlstone Manor case, but I didn’t know a penchant for detective work ran in the family.”

“My father was an officer and his father before him,” Inspector Mason explained with equal parts surprise and pride. “It’s good to hear that at least some word of my family’s work has gotten around.”

“The case your ancestor pursued was a very noteworthy one, not the least so in its parallels to the matter at hand. I believe you are quite right, and we intend to find out what’s going on.”

The doctor stepped in - “Shall we go in and see for ourselves?”

Inspector Mason startled and stared at the doctor as though he did not know what to make of him.

Holmes laughed. “Very well, we should not keep our dear doctor waiting.”

Watson was, to his credit, not disarmed by Holmes's smile as he passed, leaving the doctor and Mrs. Houghton to follow after. They exchanged a glance, but the doctor found little sympathy; Mrs. Houghton was on the verge of laughter herself.

Inspector Mason led them over the drawbridge and into the manor. The entire house was an antique, from the architecture,​ to the walls, to the furniture. It had not even been wired with electricity as the Baker Street flat had been. The various trappings lying about that should have given some insight into daily life in the manor looked to be as old as the house and could have once belonged to a country gentleman, but there was little evidence they had been used in the last century.

At the door they were greeted by a butler who, at first glance, looked as prim and proper as any. However, upon closer inspection, his clothes were not quite the right fit and he was more muscular than any butler the doctor had ever met. And then there was the tell-tale sign of a concealed weapon at his hip.

“What can I do for you” - the butler hesitated and what remained of his air of prim composure disintegrated into discomfort - “gentlemen?”

Holmes deferred to Watson with a glance, and so the doctor answered, “The scene itself first, if you will. And then we will need somewhere to interview everyone.”

The butler assented and led them a short way into the study. By the time they arrived, he and Holmes were in the midst of an avid conversation about football, of all things. They lingered at the door while the doctor followed Mrs. Houghton inside. Inspector Mason went off to attend to his own business.

The room had been emptied of its grizzly inhabitant, though some of the blood remained to emphasize the tape outline that marked where it had been. The familiar clues were there; the muddy footprints by the window, the bloody track on the sill, and the lone dumbbell sitting in the corner. The sawed off shotgun had no doubt been taken to ballistics already, assuming it had been present at all.

“Forensics finished up here a while ago,” Mrs. Houghton explained. “They've taken everything back to the lab to be analyzed, we'll get the report in a few days. If you want, I can show you all of their photographs of how everything was when they arrived. They removed the corpse, obviously, and a shotgun which we're taking to be the murder weapon unless they tell us otherwise.”

Dr. Holmes nodded. “Do those footprints match any shoes in the house?”

“The one on the sill was clearly made by one of Cecil Barker’s slippers, it was obviously faked. Someone dipped the slipper in blood and pressed it there, but we're still trying to figure out who. We haven't found the boots that made the muddy prints on the floor.”

“This is truly a marvelous piece of work,” Holmes remarked, having joined them at last. His eyes shone with enthusiasm. “It's a shame your people have mucked about the scene so thoroughly, you haven't left us much to work with.”

He examined the scene, his eyes flitting this way and that, performing calculations the doctor could not even begin to fathom, as familiar as he was with the detective's methods.

“We haven't been ‘mucking about,’” Mrs. Houghton replied, with only a touch of humor to soften her otherwise sharp tone. “The forensic scientists have done their job and now we're doing ours.”

“Things have changed a lot,” the doctor attempted to explain, “The police have picked up a lot of your old methods and they’ve got the resources to more than do them justice. There's even new technology-”

Holmes cut him off with a wave, “No matter, there's enough left to draw a few conclusions.” He rounded on the doctor with an impish smile, “You have your methods, what do you observe?”

The doctor frowned. Though Holmes’s prompting questions had helped him begin to learn to imitate Holmes's deduction, now the detective's tone grated. Would he always have to prove himself - and then not even be Holmes's equal.

Still, the doctor had his pride. He examined the ground until he had gleaned enough to say, “These tracks are clear thanks to the rain a few days ago. I believe they include some of the dark mud we passed by the station in town, perhaps he arrived by train. They go straight from the door to those distinctive marks behind the curtains. Then, after some time, he stepped out and there was some sort of scuffle” - he followed the footprints around the room as he narrated - “And they end here by the body.”

“Excellent!” Holmes exclaimed, and for an instant Watson glowed with pride. “Though, of course, we both knew all that before we so much as entered the room. What do you see?”

The doctor’s smile quickly went flat. Two could play at this game - “What do you see?”

“Aside from the drops of blood on the floor made by the slipper as it was being carried to the window to make that print, a candle that is only barely burned - suggesting that there was only a brief interview between the victim and the perpetrator - and of course the missing dumbbell?” Holmes answered with a smirk and turned to Mrs. Houghton - “I take it your forensic scientists removed the card bearing the initials 'V. V.’ and the number, ‘341?’”

She nearly jumped in surprise, but quickly regained her bearings. “Yes, of course, it's in for handwriting​ and materials analysis. I think they're also sweeping it for fingerprints.”

“It must have been laid down after the crime was committed - see how the blood is smeared here” - Holmes pointed at a roughly rectangular spot on the ground that fit the description. “Shall I go on, or do you want another crack at it?” he challenged the doctor.

The doctor considered the facts and his surroundings for a moment before he responded, “That the candle was only briefly lit reveals little. It could have been lit any time today or even in the past week, especially if someone in the house was involved in setting up the scene. People nowadays use torches or even cell phones to the same effect. The lamp wasn’t even used, suggesting that for anything longer than a few minutes he must have had a different source of light that’s no longer in the room.” He turned to Mrs. Houghton and asked, “Was there anything here earlier?”

She shook her head.

Holmes stepped over to the candle and examined it. “It’s new and can’t have been lit more than a few days ago,” he pronounced.

Dr. Holmes frowned. “That still doesn't mean-”

He was interrupted by a pair of sharp knocks at the door. Without waiting for an answer, the door swung open and banged against the wall to make way for a rather excited young man who must have been none other than Mr. Cecil Barker, the friend of the Douglas’s who happened to be staying with them at the time of their misfortune. He was breathing hard as though he had just returned from a long dash and his pants legs were splashed with mud that could have easily come from the road leading up to the house. He glanced between the detectives gathered in the room.

“Just in time,” Holmes remarked.

“Sorry to interrupt,” Mr. Barker said, paying Holmes no heed. “I have news!”

Mrs. Houghton stepped forward. “What is it?”

“We- they’ve found a bicycle, his bicycle! He left it behind, not far from the house!”

“We may as well have a look then, shall we?” Holmes declared as though the matter was decided.

The doctor, however, turned to Mrs. Houghton, “Would it be possible for you or Inspector Mason to look into the bicycle, perhaps determine its origin? I would rather get a start on interviewing the witnesses, if it is all the same.” He shot a pointed glance at Holmes.

Mrs. Houghton followed his gaze. “You’re sure you’ll be alright?”

“There is no cause for concern,” Holmes answered. “We’re quite accustomed to working together.”

“At least, we once were,” the doctor could not help but add.

Watson regretted it as soon as the words left his lips and for an instant he saw a look of deep hurt cross Holmes's face, but it was gone as soon as it had come, replaced by a smile he may have only fancied was a little forced.

“Don’t worry,” Holmes insisted in his easy way, “we’ll manage.”

“If you're sure…” Mrs. Houghton said and allowed Mr. Barker to lead her out of the room.

And so, Holmes and Watson were left alone. Watson was about to apologize, but Holmes spoke first.

“What now?” he asked, watching Watson with steely gray eyes and a sharp, critical air.

Watson hesitated, suddenly uncertain, “Well, I was thinking of interviewing the witnesses first…”

“Yes, you said as much. Who first? You seemed to have a plan.”

Watson glared at him, but he didn't really have much more of an answer. The doctor had just planned on hearing the witnesses’ stories and going from there. Was it not Holmes who had always cautioned against theorizing too much before the facts of the case were known? Watson elected not to dignify Holmes with a response and instead led the way out of the study and called for the butler.

The butler promptly arrived and greeted Holmes with a smile.

He seemed ready to resume their conversation about football when the doctor interrupted in his closest imitation of Holmes’s exaggerated politeness, though it came out a little sharper than the original, “Pardon me.”

The butler turned on him with a somewhat uncomfortable, “Sir?” that was a tad more aggressive than was proper.

“We’re finished in the study,” the doctor explained, “Do you have somewhere prepared for us to interview the witnesses?”

“Will the dining room be sufficient?” the butler answered stiffly.

The doctor nodded and answered with a smile, “It’ll do quite nicely, thank you.”

The butler exchanged a glance with Holmes, who merely shrugged in an intimation of innocence, before leading them to the stately dining room that would serve as their base of operations for the next phase of the investigation. The room was rather sparse aside from the requisite period appropriate decorations. The table bore a few small scratches and stains that indicated a few meals had been eaten there recently, but not many. Mostly, it seemed to be a set piece like the rest of the house.

The butler made to leave with a sharp nod to the doctor and an easy wave to Holmes, but the doctor motioned to detain him.

“While you are here, we may as well interview you first.”

With another glance at Holmes, the butler nodded and took a seat across from them at the table.

“For starters, I don't believe I ever got your name,” the doctor began.

“You can call me Ames.”

The doctor frowned - that was a point against the butler. “Your full name, please.”

Holmes cut him off with a dismissive wave before the butler could refuse to answer and asked all too casually, “What was Mr. Douglas like as an employer?”

The doctor shot Holmes a glare, but accepted the line of questioning. “It was Mr. Douglas who hired you?”

The butler nodded. “I met with him personally.”

“And what terms were those?” the doctor pressed.

“That’s between me and my employer.”

Holmes nodded in agreement. “Of course. All we need is to know is what you observed on the night in question and then you’re free to go.”

“Now wait a minute, Holmes!” the doctor exclaimed. “That may be all you need to know, but I have a few other questions I’d like to get to.”

“Really? And what essential questions did you have in mind?”

The doctor took a deep breath and tried to forget his insufferable companion.

At last, he turned to the witness and asked as cordially and professionally as he could, “If you don’t mind, I would like to begin with your own history, starting with your name please.”

Holmes made a noise of impatience, but did not interrupt. He had leaned back in his chair to watch the proceedings with the air of a critic observing a piece by an artist for whom he had very low esteem.

The butler considered for a moment, but seemed to take pity on the beleaguered doctor, “My name is Phillip Cole. John suggested I take on the name Ames while I worked here.”

“Do you know why?” the doctor asked with a glance at Holmes.

The detective continued to judge his performance in silence.

Mr. Cole shrugged. “Maybe he thought it fit the theme of the place better.”

They would come back to the question of Mr. Douglas, instead the doctor continued on in order - “Mr. Cole, where are you from?”

“London. I’ve lived in the city for most of my life,” Mr. Cole said.

“I wouldn’t live anywhere else,” Holmes put in with a wistful smile.

Watson tried to catch Holmes’s eye, but he was staring off into space with a distinct air of melodrama. Knowing him - a former spy no less - it was probably just an act, though Watson could not fathom to what ends.

The doctor forced himself back to the matter at hand. “Where were you employed before coming out here?”

“I was a bouncer at a bar in London.”

“How did you meet Mr. Douglas?”

“He came by the bar a few times, asked me a lot of questions, though he could have just asked for a resume” - Holmes chuckled - “eventually he offered me this job.”

“And what does your job entail?”

Mr. Cole shrugged. “Mostly delegating things to the maids and the rest of the staff. Mr. Douglas tells me what to do and I pass it along.”

“You don't have any prior experience as a butler,” the doctor remarked.

“None whatsoever.”

“Do you know why Mr. Douglas hired you for the job?” the doctor asked as delicately as he could.

“I guess he just wanted the extra pair of hands.”

“You said he specifically sought you out.”

“Maybe I looked the part.”

“I see…” the doctor said, torn between hiding his disbelief and pushing for a real answer.

Holmes seemed to have no such qualms and gave the witness a skeptical look.

“Well, he did seem nervous, the past few days especially, like he knew what was coming, but I'm no bodyguard,” Mr. Cole insisted.

The doctor had gleaned enough about Mr. Cole for the time being, so he turned to his late employer. “What was Mr. Douglas like?”

“You mean aside from all this?” Mr. Cole gestured at their surroundings.

The doctor smiled. “Yes, how would you describe him?”

“He seemed pretty normal otherwise, always stopped to chat with me when he had the time. Not afraid to speak his mind either. He got into a fight at the bar one time, didn't do too poorly either. He wasn't one to back away from a fight.”

That seemed to match the original rather closely, but that could have been the man himself or the butler’s invention.

“Did you know anything of his past?” the doctor asked.

Mr. Cole shook his head. “I didn't ask and he​ didn't say.”

“What about the other members of the household? Mr. Barker and Mrs. Douglas?”

Mr. Cole chuckled darkly. “If they weren't having an affair, well, I can't fathom what else they’ve been up to meeting in secret in the dead of night. John seemed to know it too, or at least suspect. He and Cecil were best friends until Ivy entered the room. Your little tiff earlier had nothing on the fights John and Cecil have and I for one can’t say I blame the man. Cecil practically lives here, no clue why John lets him.”

“How was the relationship between Mr. and Mrs. Douglas?”

“Seemed normal enough, I suppose. She is a lot younger than him, closer to Cecil’s age. She seemed to care about him in her way, always worried about him when he was out.”

“What happened on the night of Mr. Douglas’s death?”

“Nothing unusual, I don't think…” Mr. Cole trailed off in consideration. “They did have a woman over for dinner.”

“Did you get her name, by any chance?”

“Mary, I think.”

Watson tensed. It could not be the same, she would not go under the same name, this was the wrong case. And yet, Watson had also heard her posing as Miss Irene Adler in disguise.

“Did you get her last name?” He asked, though he wasn’t sure he wanted to know the answer.

“It started with a 'W,’ I think, Weston, no, Watson, that's what it was!”

Mary Watson.

Dr. John Watson blanched.

He remembered his dear, beloved wife, wasting away while he - a doctor, for goodness’s sake! - could only stand by and watch. Unlike Holmes, he had seen her die, the coffin he buried had not been empty. This- this was a mockery of her memory, the only thing of her he had left.

His fists clenched.

“Is everything alright?” Mr. Cole asked from a great distance away. “Do you know her?”

Watson forced himself back to the present and shook his head in an attempt at a  coherent answer.

“Could you describe her to me?” he asked, his voice still a little choked.

“Sure,” Mr. Cole answered sounding anything but. “She was well dressed and all - not bad looking. She was small with short brown hair…” he trailed off as he searched his memory. “Very sure of herself. She was nice enough, but she almost acted like she owned the place.”

Watson nodded. That was her. She could have easily cut her hair and dyed it or worn a wig. She had used that name on purpose - it could not have been anyone else. He did not doubt that she had kept in character as she had when the doctor met her. It was unlikely that she had let anything slip. But still, he had to try.

“How does she know Mr. and Mrs. Douglas?” the doctor asked.

Mr. Cole shrugged. “I didn’t ask.”

“You must have heard something,” the doctor insisted.

Mr. Cole hesitated, but obliged, “I didn't overhear much, I wasn't eavesdropping. They seemed to be friends, if a little distant, maybe a bit awkward or something, but I didn't see anything.”

“Did you overhear any of their conversation?”

Mr. Cole glanced at Holmes before answering, “I don't think so… just small talk. If you don't mind my asking, what does this have to do with the murder? She left long before John - well - died. I saw her out myself.”

“An excellent question,” Holmes said and turned to the doctor with a pointed look.

The doctor glared at him. “It has everything to do with the case!”

“Do you really expect to gather anything from that line of questioning?” Holmes asked, but some of the edge in his voice was gone.

Still, the doctor bristled, even as he tried to focus on the witness. “If you don't​ know anything more about-” he did not want to honor her with the name she had falsely claimed, “her, we may as well continue on to the crime itself. How did you spend the remainder of the evening?”

Holmes was mercifully silent as Mr. Cole answered, “Well, first John asked me to raise the drawbridge. It was down later than usual because of their little dinner party and he seemed a bit nervous. After that, I went to put away the dishes,” he said with a chuckle.

The doctor gave him a questioning look, and he explained, “When John told me to get out the silver for dinner, I thought he was joking. But no, there really was silver. It was in a pantry all the way on the far side of the house. When I went to take it out, it looked like it had never been used, it was badly in need of dusting. But they cleaned it up in the kitchen and used it for dinner.”

“What happened then?” the doctor pushed things back on track.

“I was putting away the silver when I heard someone frantically pulling at the bell - the house is full of bells and pulls so that John or anyone else can call me from wherever they are. I ran to the front of the house where I met Mrs. Allen - she’s the housekeeper. We found Cecil and Ivy arguing at the door to the study. At first I thought they were having a lover’s spat, but then Ivy shouted to us that John was dead. She said she had called the police and that there was nothing to be done, but I insisted on seeing for myself.” He shook his head like a man who now knew the error of his ways. “What I saw, well, I'm sure you've seen the pictures. I'm not ashamed to say it will haunt my nightmares for years to come.”

The doctor nodded. He remembered how the presumed Mr. Douglas had been found, he saw the body. The sight of a man with his face blown in had lingered in his nightmares even long after he knew the victim had earned his fate.

“Did anything more happen before the police arrived?” the doctor asked.

Mr. Cole shook his head. “It wasn't long, it's a short drive to town from here, though it doesn't seem it.”

“I believe that is all,” the doctor said, “Thank you very much for your cooperation.”

“You're welcome, good luck to the both of you,” Mr. Cole said and stood to take his leave.

“Please ask Mrs. Douglas to join us.”

Mr. Cole nodded and left them alone once more.

Once his footsteps had faded out of earshot, Holmes asked, “You mean to say you couldn't ​tell he was a bouncer? You must have seen how he stood at the door, blocking it as he invited us inside, the scrapes from fights with unruly patrons, and of course the 'concealed’ weapon.”

“I had my theories,” the doctor said.

“But only one fit all the facts.”

“I don't know,” the doctor exclaimed. “There are many other explanations I could think of, and many more I'm certain I couldn't. So much of this case hinges on who the suspects really are, I wanted to hear it from him.”

“You think our criminal mastermind would let something slip in an official interview?”

“One of his employees might. And no one can keep a story perfectly straight. If you ask enough questions they’re sure to make some sort of contradiction.”

“As is an honest witness. You won’t get anything directly tying the culprit to their crime this way, just loose suspicions.”

“Perhaps that’s all you see, but somehow I’ve managed by it,” the doctor retorted. “What method do you suggest?”

“Perhaps something a little more subtle, that’s all,” Holmes said with an enigmatic shrug.

“I’m a detective, not a spy!”

Holmes's gaze turned sharp and Watson readied himself for a retort, but suddenly the detective let out a harsh barking laugh.

“A distinct touch, Dr. Holmes,” he said with a mirthless smile.

The doctor frowned, but did not feel nearly as bad as he knew he should have. Instead of apologizing, he turned to face the door and wait for the next witness to arrive.

She did not take long to announce herself with a steady knock at the door.

Holmes was silent, so the doctor said, “Come in!”

The door swung open to make way for a middle aged woman whose dress and worn hands declared her to be the housekeeper.

“Good afternoon,” Holmes greeted her, his easy congeniality returned as though it had never gone. “Thank you for taking the time out of your busy day to answer a few questions for us.”

“Not at all. Mrs. Douglas sent me down ahead of her and said she’ll be ready soon,” the housekeeper explained.

“Let's get to it then,” the doctor said, “Do have a seat.”

She sat down and the questioning began. Holmes said little, only interrupting every so often to make some conversational comment that threatened to draw the witness away from the inquiry altogether.  But they did not last long and on the whole he was a silent observer, even going so far as to feign boredom with an occasional yawn.

As far as the doctor could tell, Mrs. Amy Allen, as she identified herself, was just as she seemed to be. She told them that she was an experienced housekeeper from London who had been hired by Mr. Douglas to do a somewhat unusual, but well paying and otherwise reasonable job. Dr. Holmes believed her, though a background check would confirm or deny the sentiment.

She was reluctant to say too much about her employers beyond that they were generally polite and agreeable. When pressed, she acknowledged that there were not infrequent disputes between Mr. Douglas and Mr. Barker, but did not dare speculate about their cause.

Her testimony about the evening of the crime corroborated Mr. Cole’s account. She had met her employers’ dinner guest and identified her under the same alias. After dinner, Mrs. Douglas had gone upstairs and suggested Mrs. Allen turn in as well. She had heard a door slam, but no gunshot. Like Mr. Cole, she had been summoned by the ringing of the bell and had found Mrs. Douglas and Mr. Barker arguing in front of the study. She had also entered the study briefly and found the same grisly scene.

“After that I helped Mrs. Douglas upstairs. She was so shocked she could barely cry. I offered to keep her company, but she said she would rather be alone, so I returned downstairs to wait for the police to arrive,” Mrs. Allen concluded.

Her story matched the original sequence of events well, but she was, by all appearances, innocent. At the very least, the doctor doubted there was much more to be gained by questioning her more now. He reflexively glanced at Holmes, but the detective appeared lost to the world, his eyes were half shut, out of boredom or in thought the doctor did not know.

So he relied on his own judgement and said to Mrs. Allen with a smile, “Thank you very much for answering all of our questions, you're free to go.”

Holmes seemed to startle into awareness, but it was a little too forceful for the doctor to believe it.

“Yes, do have a nice afternoon,” he said as Mrs. Allen stood to leave. “Those petunias will bring some nice color to that patch by the windows.”

Her eyes widened in surprise, and then she let out a peal of laughter. “You must have seen them on your way in. I do hope so, you have to come by and see them this evening when I've planted them. Good afternoon to both of you as well, and good luck.”

With that, Mrs. Allen took her leave. Mrs. Douglas greeted her at the door and took her place at the table.

“Good afternoon,” the lady said as though there was nothing good about it, but she remained composed.

The doctor could not tell whether her voice carried some undercurrent of antagonism or just the pain of loss. Did she, like the original Mrs. Ivy Douglas, know her husband - if they truly were married - to still be alive and feared for his freedom, or was she completely in the dark as the housekeeper and butler seemed to be? Or was she but another actress in yet another murder staged as a piece of macabre theater?

And what of Holmes? The doctor glanced at his companion. He seemed to have roused himself from his pretended rest and was now hunched forward, examining Mrs. Douglas with a curious air. The doctor wondered what Holmes found so intriguing, but prepared himself for the worst. As unfortunate as it was, he had a much easier time of things when Holmes was feigning disinterest, even if it was a little unsettling not knowing what he had planned.

The doctor greeted Mrs. Douglas with a solemn nod. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

“Yes, a real tragedy,” Holmes said, almost dismissively.

Mrs. Douglas looked taken aback, as anyone would be by the detective’s tone and piercing gaze. But she asked without a hint of trepidation, “Have you found anything out yet?”

“We are doing everything we can,” the doctor answered, “and we hope that your testimony could help shine a little more light on what happened. No trifle is too small to be of use.”

“I fear there is little I can add. Have you spoken with Cecil yet?”

“What information do you think Mr. Barker will provide?” the doctor asked.

“I didn’t see anything; Cecil wouldn’t let me into the study, said it was too terrible. And he’s known John for much longer than I have.” She spoke in a very matter-of-fact, straightforward way, though her expression remained clouded.

“He’ll have his chance,” the doctor assured her. “Now, can I have your legal name?”

She gave him a look of confusion, but answered all the same, “Ivy Douglas.”

“And your maiden name?”

“Blackmore. Why? What does my name have to do with the case?”

“It’s just a legal matter and good practice to ascertain the identities of one’s witnesses. And where are you from?”

“Newton Abbot, in Devon, though I haven’t lived anywhere long,” she said with a dark chuckle. “As strange as this all is”  - she gestured at the house around them - “I’ve really settled down since I married John-” her face fell.

She busied herself with her handkerchief and the doctor gave her a moment to recompose herself.

When she seemed ready, the doctor asked, “There was something unusual about your marriage?”

“I know this isn’t what you’d call a normal household. But I never thought anything like this would happen, John just had some peculiar tastes, that’s all.”

The doctor gave her another moment to recover before moving on, “You said you moved frequently. What for? Work?”

She shook her head. “You could call it youthful restlessness. I lived hand-to-mouth for a while, doing odd jobs or just living by what people were kind enough to give me.”

“How did you meet Mr. Douglas?”

She hesitated, drawing her handkerchief up to her face as though to preserve her appearance of self-possession. “I returned to London to try and get my life together. I was staying at a hotel and he happened to be staying there too - he had returned to England looking for a fresh start too. We met at the hotel bar and it wasn’t long before we were married.”

“And how did you meet Mr. Barker?”

“He’s an old friend of John’s from America. He moved back to England not long after we moved in here and since he’s been around more than he hasn’t.”

“What do you know of Mr. Douglas and Mr. Barker’s pasts? You said they knew each other from America?”

“They tell all kinds of stories of California and their time in Silicon Valley. That’s where they both made their fortunes mining virtual gold.”

“And that’s where they were before they came to England?”

“Yes.”

“What about their lives before then?”

“John avoided talking about his life before he went to California, but I could tell he was afraid of something from his past. He’s had nightmares and once I heard him murmur the name ‘Bodymaster McGinty.’ I asked him about it, but he refused to say any more. A few times, he mentioned a ‘valley of fear’ that he was afraid he would never escape, but that was all he would say about it. I can only assume that’s what happened.” Mrs. Douglas let out a small gasp and ducked behind her handkerchief once more.

She seemed to know her story at least, but whether it came from her or her husband was anyone’s guess. “Do you know why your husband had such peculiar tastes?” Dr. Holmes attempted.

“I always supposed he was just old fashioned,” she said with a shrug.

“Was there anything else that struck you as unusual about your life here?”

She shook her head.

“Mr. Cole and Mrs. Allen mentioned you had a guest last night, who was she?” the doctor asked.

“I think she’s a friend of John and Cecil’s - I don’t know her. Mary Watson, that was her name. Do you think she may have been involved? They did seem a little wary of her, but I was only there for a little while before I went upstairs.”

Before Dr. Holmes had a chance to continue questioning her about the night of the murder, there was a knock on the dining room door.

“Yes?” the doctor called out, perhaps a little impatient.

It was Mr. Cole with Mrs. Houghton in tow.

Dr. Holmes let out a sigh of relief and waved her inside at the same time as Holmes said, “Just a moment, Inspector, if you would be so kind as to wait outside until we’re done.”

She remained standing in the doorway, watching as the argument unfolded.

“What? Why?” the doctor demanded.

“Why do you feel the need for official oversight? You were doing plenty well on your own, weren’t you?” Holmes gave a dismissive wave and his tone suggested it didn’t really matter how well or not Watson was doing.

“What are you playing at?” the doctor snapped. It felt like Holmes was just making argument for argument’s sake.

“I just don’t appreciate your implication that we need official supervision,” Holmes retorted. The nonchalant way in which he said it only served to feed Watson’s ire.

“I let you come along to help! But you’ve done nothing but critique my methods and obstruct my investigation. Mrs. Houghton and the other ‘officials’ have done more to contribute than you have.”

Watson glimpsed a flash of hurt in Holmes’s eyes, but it was gone before he had time to fully register it, and then Holmes was on his feet, towering over them all. Watson could feel a subtle undercurrent of powerful emotion radiating from him - his hands seemed to shake by his sides - but Holmes kept his tone perfectly casual. “I refuse to work under these conditions. If you don’t think you need my help, then so be it - see how you do without me.”

And with that, Sherlock Holmes slunk from the room.

[yoyo-inspace]

BREAKDOWN of the His Dark Materials teaser trailer

If you’re like me and love speculating and pausing a trailer for every frame to try and figure it out - this is definitely the post for you!

If you’re not like me and would like things to come as a surprise to you, or don’t want to speculate much with months still to go before seeing the finished product, then maybe this is not the post for you. 

Anyway, below the cut, I’m going to proceed to poke and prod at the HDM teaser trailer to see what it can tell us - and also freak out a lot. Because I do that.

Alright, so first off, this is definitely a teaser trailer. As they’ve said across multiple social media accounts, it was more to keep interest up and to give the fans something, a little tease, so to say. It’s also mostly just showing off core members of the cast, or famous actors in the cast. As many have pointed out - no daemons! “We’re keeping our daemons close” as they said on twitter. Probably still in post-production would be my guess? But I’ll happily take what we have so far and run with it. So, let’s start!

First off, we have two shots which should be very easy to guess for anyone who’s familiar with how the story starts. 

Yes, that’s right, it’s Lyra in the cupboard. Listening in to the conversation and presentation Lord Asriel has for the scholars. The strong light in the second one could just be the light in the room outside, but my personal guess (considering how much stronger the light is from the first picture) is that it’s the light from the projector when Asriel shows off the pictures. 

Next up is this: 

A very vague shot of someone moving a volume of Encyclopædia Britannica. My guess would be that this is still at Jordan, maybe something involving the Master and the Librarian, or possibly even Lyra moving around the college. Why they chose to focus on it in the trailer is interesting though. Maybe just to show off the setting? 

Next up, it’s our first look of James McAvoy as Lord Asriel!

oh my god he looks so good as Asriel I’m so hyped So I think this is quite obviously the retiring room. Probably after the attempted poisoning, when the other scholars are starting to file in. Asriel’s look, the way he turns his head up, accompanied by the very next clip makes me think that this might be Asriel looking suspiciously at the Master since he now knows what he tried to do. 

Because, right next up, we have Clarke Peters as the Master of Jordan College - or as we now know him, after “La Belle Sauvage”, Dr. Carne.

Maybe him locking eyes with Asriel across the room after realising that he’s still alive. At least I think this is still in the Retiring Room. Probably very early episode 1 stuff. It’s interesting that they’re focusing so much on him in this - even giving his name a spot in the trailer. I don’t know if they’re doing that because he’s a famous actor and it gives name recognition, or if they’ve expanded his role somewhat. I’d honestly be fine with that. I’ve always found him to be a fascinating character and the movie butchered a lot of that by having it be Fra Pavel trying to poison Asriel instead but I’m getting off topic. 

Next up we have Lyra in her blue dress - running away!

Everything points to this being the night she runs away from Mrs. Coulter’s cocktail party. If I’m not mistaken, that was in London, but I think they still filmed this in Oxford. Either way, not much to take away from this other than 1) that scene is in there and 2) we’re getting more teaser trailer shots of Dafne Keen as Lyra and that’s pretty hype. That blue dress looks great. 

Next up, it’s time for Ruth Wilson as Mrs. Coulter in these two shots!

I’m taking them together because due to the way she’s dressed and the building around them, they seem to be from the same scene, or at least the same area.

The first one simply sees her opening a door at a distance. The building could either be churchly, something Magisterium related, or it could be a scholarly college building. Look, it’s (most likely) Oxford, it’s very hard to tell one from the other. 

Second is a close-up (doesn’t she look great!), and the clip shows her walking slowly, confidently, while a bunch of men run and seem to be in a bit of a hurry. I honestly have no idea what this could be in relation to the book - but we know we’re getting an expansion of her character and that we’re getting more Mrs. Coulter stuff, so this could very well be one of those. The men running, at first glance I thought they were Magisterium guards, but at a closer look, their clothes make them seem more like scholars, possibly theologians or something similar. Could also be other people working for the Magisterium, but my bet is scholars for now. As to what they’re running to (from?) that Mrs. Coulter seems to be in no rush about - your guess is as good as mine. 

Next up we have some dramatic music along with reveals of the names of some of the actors, as well as shots of said actors directly afterwards.

First up is Dafne Keen.

Lyra, in the North. She turns her head, looking quite scared, or worried. There’s not a lot of clues to where this would be taking place (except for like, in the latter half of the show, probably). Possibly when she finds Tony Makarios, or when their camp gets attacked. But given the solitude of her her, it could just as well be her 1) by Bolvangar, 2) right before she’s taken to the bears or 3) on her way to stop Asriel. Either way, likelihood is high that nothing good is happening. 

Ruth Wilson! 

Look at that outfit! I love it! Still no idea where this could be! I mean, it’s most likely in the North. It seems to me as this series will take a page out of the latter books, and follow multiple storylines along with Lyra’s. In Northern Lights, I think there was only like a chapter or two, or perhaps even just parts of a chapter, that were not from Lyra’s perspective. I for one would be all for more Marisa stuff - and my guess would be that this is one of them. Her getting to the North, her in the North - either way, she’s somewhere cold. This might even be her ending outfit, from when she confronts Asriel. It’s a very big hangar she’s in either way - could that be Bolvangar? Would they have such a big hangar? Or somewhere else? Maybe she still hasn’t gotten to the north, but is dressed for the occasion. Who knows. 

James McAvoy’s turn next!

Looking appropriately shady. Given the equipment (and the state of it) in the background, my guess would be that this is very late in the series - possibly when Lyra arrives at his “prison”. He looks like he’s had a rough time, despite everything. And his hair seems very similar to how it looked in that livestream James McAvoy did on his last days of filming. (Is it just me, or does his hair have more grey streaks than in his first appearance? Did the bears make your hair turn grey, Asriel?)

Next up, Clarke Peters!

Again, the focus on the Master is surprising, but not unwelcome (to me at least). But I’m also thinking that maybe he will just not be that big of a character, and they might just be focusing on it for name recognition. Either way, he’s probably at Jordan here, sitting in front of a fireplace. My guess would be that it’s his talk with the librarian, about Lyra and her destiny and betrayal and all that. He has cause for looking concerned. 

And now, he’s here! First shot of Lin-Manuel Miranda as Lee Scoresby! 

Looking very serious indeed! The person that’s out of focus that he’s looking at might very well be Lyra - this could be just after they’ve first met, or Lyra telling him what Iorek is about to do.

The next shot, someone taking their gun out of a holster, is shown quickly afterwards. Probably still Lee, but I’m unsure if it’s the same scene as above. Lighting seems very different. Though Lee is not the only one with a gun in this trailer, and we’ll get back to that shortly.

But before that, while we might not get a look at our favourite armoured bear in this teaser, we do get to hear him (or a roar, at least). 

This shot shows some terrified guard scrambling away from something that’s clearly terrified him (and maybe broken down a door) while other guards stand around with weapons. A solid guess would be that this is Trollesund, and this is when Iorek’s broken in to get his armour back. The way this guard is dressed makes me think that maybe the people running around Mrs. Coulter earlier might actually have been other people working at the Magisterium. Hmm.

So, speaking of guns and weapons. 

We see Mrs. Coulter in a fancy hallway, following someone who seems to have taken something (at least he has something in his hand). Doesn’t seem like he’ll get very far though, as Mrs. Coulter has a gun (!!!) and apparently a really calm, secure aim. Could this be one of the spies John Faa and Farder Coram sends out? If so, we know that doesn’t go very well, even if the detail of Mrs. Coulter taking care of it is slightly different. Could also be something completely different. On that note - she’s wearing a lot of blue so far, isn’t she? 

Next up we have some poor guard throwing himself (or being thrown) out a very fancy window. Yeet out the magisterium Given the look of the buildings, I’d say this is still Trollesund, and this might be the work of Iorek. 

What follows is the crescendo of the trailer with a lot of shots being thrown at the viewer at rapid-fire pace. 

A shot of someone (Lyra? Mrs. Coulter?) in a snowstorm, reacting to a very strong light. Given the colour of the hat, my guess would be Lyra, and possibly the moment Asriel activates his machine, or at least around that timeframe. 

Another shot of Asriel up next, in a truck (??) with a lot of equipment. He doesn’t look as worn out as the previous clip of him, so my guess would be that this is a shot before he gets captured. Which means that, just like I speculated before, we might get to follow the rest of the characters beside Lyra. Interestingly, this seems to be one thing that this tv series has in common with the movie - something I honestly don’t mind, as split storylines is usually what works better in a tv or movie format than following a single protagonist all the time. 

Following shots seem to all be from Bolvangar. First off we have a sciency-looking person pulling a lever. Given the next shot, this might be the lever that starts the process to sever Lyra from Pan. 

Lyra screaming, stuck in what seems to be a very small box. Could this be the intercision machine? Most likely. 

A shot from above, with people waving - specially a lot of children. I think this could be Lyra & co. leaving after Bolvangar. Seems a bit less chaotic than the fight in that case, but it could be that they’re leaving after the fight. Unsure if that’s Farder Coram and John Faa at the bottom, but it very well could be! That could very well be Lucien Msamati and James Cosmo. 

Lyra in her North outfit that we’ve seen previously (with the red hat). Unsure if these are the Tartar guards of Bolvangar, or the hunters that take her there in the first place. Either way the surrounding doesn’t quite seem to fit either situation (though I definitely think it’s Bolvangar). 

Lyra looking terrified, in more clinical clothing, in front of some kind of machinery. Someone is standing behind her as well. Probably by the time she’s captured and being taken to the intercision machine. 

Once we go North, Mrs. Coulter seemingly seems to wear red. This looks like the same thing she’s wearing under her jacket up above. It’s also a strange angle, her reaching out for something, first person POV. It’s definitely in Bolvangar, given the building she’s in. Could she be reaching out for Lyra (having her moment when she saves her?) or is she reaching out for the box she thinks contains the alethiometer. She looks very entranced by whatever she’s after. 

Finally, the last shot after the title reveal.

Lyra closing the box with the alethiometer. And yes, it’s square! Ish! Well, it’s round, but it’s in a box that is square. Looking a lot more like how a compass actually looks honestly even though the alethiometer was never meant to be the compass in the title but that’s another tangent. 

So, that’s that! Any thoughts? Do you disagree or agree with any of my interpretations? Any thoughts you all have of the parts that left me confused? 

[rendezvousroger]

After The Afterparty (Ben Hardy x Reader)

Summary: Y/N is a famous actress who is best friends with the BoRhap cast. After the afterparty of the Golden Globes, the BoRhap cast and Y/N head over to their hotel rooms to continue the party where a drunk Y/N and a drunk Ben have some confessions to make. 

A/N: I’m soooo excited for this!!! I enjoyed writing this so much because this is exactly what I’ve always dreamed of. I also love writing about Ben Hardy and the rest of the BoRhap cast since I have so much love for them. 

Music, drinks, laughing, dancing, glam and Ben Hardy. 

You were having a night. 

It was the afterparty for the Golden Globes Awards and you were there to celebrate the win of your dear friend Rami Malek and your win for “Best Performance by an Actress in a Supporting Role in any Motion Picture”.

You’re a recognized, young actress and you met Rami a few years ago while filming a movie. You two instantly became very close friends and when he told you he was playing Freddie Mercury for the Bohemian Rhapsody movie, you were extremely excited and happy for him. It was a well deserved role. 

Rami constantly invited you to hang out with the rest of the BoRhap cast and you gladly accepted every time since you had just got done filming a movie, meaning you had free time before the release, interviews and press conferences started. 

The first times you hung out with the cast, they showered you with questions about your movies and acting since they loved your work and as stated before, you’re a very recognized actress. You gladly gave them your best acting tips and even helped them practice their scripts. You soon became good friends with all of them.

Joe never failed to make you laugh, Gwilym constantly wanted to know more about your previous works, Rami was always the same Rami you knew from years ago, Lucy became one of your best friends and Ben.. well, everyone could pretty much tell and see there was something going on between the two of you, but neither of you ever admitted it. 

When Ben and you first met, he was pretty nervous. He constantly told you about how he loved every movie you’ve been in and how he admires you as an actress. You couldn’t help but think it was cute how he acted around you. 

It wasn’t until a few weeks after meeting for the first time, that Ben started to see you more as a close friend than just a famous actress. And Joe swore Ben didn’t see you just as a close friend, but instead as someone he had feelings for. Whenever Joe reminded you that, you just rolled your eyes and laughed, but you knew deep down you also had feelings for Ben. 

“How’s my golden actress?” 

Rami asked as he wrapped you into his arms for the millionth time that night. He was holding a champagne glass and giving you the widest smile you’ve ever seen. 

“As happy as my golden actor should be.” You smiled at him and clinked your own champagne glass with his. 

“This is our night,” he started, his Freddie side coming out as he pointed at everyone, “we need another round!” 

“More champagne?” Gwilym asked, looking at his empty glass of champagne and rubbing his eyes. 

“Yes! More!” Rami exclaimed dramatically and let go of you to grab Lucy’s arm and take her for more champagne. 

Everyone was drunk already, Joe and Ben were dancing like fools all over the room and you were sitting down next to Gwilym trying your best to not laugh at how drunk he was.

“I see you wanting to laugh at me.” He said and poked your nose.

“You’re just so silly when you’re drunk,” you laughed, “you can barely keep your eyes open!”

Gwil was about to say something in his defense but Joe sat down between the two of you, making Ben sit down to your left.

“What are you two doing sitting down?” Joe looked at you and then at Gwilym.

“Processing.” Gwil said.

“There’s nothing to process!” Joe stood up and held his arm out for Gwilym, “Let’s go do the bab dance!”

You laughed as you saw Joe’s poor attempt to pull Gwilym up from the sofa, and after what seemed like a few minutes of convincing Gwil, they finally left to dance and get more drinks, so you were left alone with a tipsy and happy Ben Hardy.

You smiled at him and rested your head on his shoulder.

 “What a night.” You whispered and he gently grabbed your hand.

“I know.” He said as he played with the rings on your fingers. 

You closed your eyes for a second, taking in the eventful night you were having and feeling grateful for your award and your amazing friends. You were feeling so peaceful and happy as you were resting your head on Ben’s shoulder, taking in his scent and feeling him breathe while the music of the afterparty played in the background.

“Y/N?” Ben whispered, making you open your eyes.

“Yeah?”

“You look gorgeous tonight.” He said and you giggled.

It was probably the hundredth time Ben had complimented you on the way you looked tonight, each time making your heart flutter. 

“Thank you,” you sat straight and looked at him, “you look very good too.”

He smiled and looked at the floor and you playfully poked his cheek.

“Hey lovebirds,” Lucy’s voice snapped you out of the little moment you were sharing with Ben, “time to follow the party at the hotel!”

You checked your phone to see the time and were surprised when you saw it was almost 3AM already. The cast had decided to follow the afterparty at the hotel they were all staying in and of course you were invited.

You said your goodbyes to the few famous celebrities who were still at the afterparty and made your way to the limo with the rest of the cast. 

Once you arrived to the hotel, all of you tried to decide on whose hotel room you were going to continue the party.

“Let’s just go to my room,” Rami said, making his way to the elevators, “less thinking and more drinking darlings!”

You followed Rami to his suite and Joe was quick to play the music, you watched Rami pour tequila shots for everyone and Gwilym trying his best to keep his eyes open. 

“Here you go lovebirds.” Lucy winked at you and Ben as she handed you both tequila shots.

“They’re never going to let that die.” You said to Ben.

“Nope, never.” He smiled and wrapped his arm around you.

“Let’s do it all at the same time!” Joe exclaimed and held his tequila shot up.

“At the count of three!” Ben joined him.

Everyone held up their tequila shots and started the countdown. Once all of you drank your shots, you joined Joe and Gwilym with their bab dance and even Ben joined.

You couldn’t stop laughing at Ben’s horrible attempt at dancing with Joe and Gwil.

“Stop it!” He demanded with a smile on his face.

“Keep trying!” You said between laughs, “I believe in you.”

Ben rolled your eyes at you and your smile began to fade as you watched him run to you and grab you by the waist. You felt him start to tickle you on your sides, making you scream and laugh at the same time.

“Stop Benjamin!” 

“This is for you laughing at my dancing.” He said and kept tickling you, making the both of you fall down to the floor.

Ben wouldn’t stop tickling you and there you were on the floor, a laughing mess, still wearing your dress, and Ben still wearing his suit.

“Please!” You begged and he stopped, his arms still wrapped around you. You two just stayed there staring at each other with the biggest smile on your faces. 

You being drunk made you even more emotional, but as you were staring into his beautiful, green eyes you couldn’t help but feel more in love with him, and you knew you were still going to feel the same way the next day being hungover and the day after, when you’ll be completely sober. Your feelings for him weren’t going to change. 

He was beautiful inside and out, and he was exactly the kind of man you wanted to be with. 

“Come on.” Ben smiled as he stood up and helped you stand on your feet.

“BEN!” Joe screamed, “Come give me some love!”

“I’m on my way sweetie!” Ben screamed back at him, making you giggle.

Joe and Ben’s relationship never failed to make you realize why you loved being friends with them so much.

You went to the balcony to get some fresh air and saw Lucy standing by herself looking at the night sky. 

“Hey there.” You said and walked towards her.

“Hey.” She smiled.

“I thought you were with Rami.” You winked, hoping she would catch what you meant.

“Oh I was,” she winked back at you, “he is just taking a nap right now.”

“A nap? At 4AM?” You asked.

“He said the party’s not over yet, so he will rest a little for now.” She laughed and you did too.

“Of course.”

“So,” Lucy looked up at the sky.

“So…” 

“Ben?” She smiled and awkwardly winked at you.

“He’s inside.” 

“Y/N!” She nagged.

“What?”

“You know what I’m talking about.” She looked straight into your eyes.

You sighed and closed your eyes, thinking carefully about what you were going to say.

“Is it obvious?” You bit your lip.

“That the two of you are crazy for each other?” She said with a wide smile on her face, “Very, obvious.”

“I don’t know..”

“Don’t know what?”

“Maybe it’s all in my head,” you looked down, “maybe I’m the only one who feels something.”

“I hope you’re joking.” Lucy turned you around to face her, “Look at me.”

You looked at her. Her eyes were red and you smiled at her messy hair and smudged lipstick. What a way to celebrate Rami’s win. 

“He loves you, he wants you and he thinks you’re out of his league.” She said.

“Why would he think that?”

“Because you a-“

The door opened, not letting Lucy finish what she was saying. 

“Ready for round two!” A very happy Rami stood by the door, with Ben by his side.

“Well,” Lucy went back to you, “see you later.”

She followed Rami and they both went inside. Ben closed the door and made his way towards you.

“Where’s your lover?” You asked Ben.

“In bed,” he said, “next to Gwilym.”

“And how do you feel about that?” You acted surprised and Ben joined your little acting scene.

“Heartbroken.” He fake sobbed.

“It’s okay, I’ll keep you company.” You smiled and once again, rested your head on his shoulder.

“You’re more than enough.” He said, making you smile and snuggle closer to him.

He softly played with your not so curled hair anymore and you thought about how Lucy told you he felt you were out of his league. You didn’t want Ben to think of you as that.

“Ben,” you whispered, “I’m so happy I met you.”

“I’m happy I met you too, Y/N.”

“I mean it Ben.” Your tone was serious, and you turned to face him.

He stared at you, a little shocked by your straight face and the way your eyes were staring deeply at his. 

You could feel the tension between the two of you. His eyes were telling you his love for you and you were hoping yours told him the same thing. And you wanted to tell him, but you couldn’t find the words. 

You stared at his lips and tried your best to hold yourself from kissing them, they looked so soft, so pink and so kissable.

“Y/N, I want you to know that I-“

You cut him off by pressing your lips to his. It took him a few seconds to kiss you back, but he did. You pulled away to look at him, hoping you’d made yourself clear. 

He was looking at you in a different way now, you could see lust in his eyes, and he could see the same in yours. 

You stared at each other, not saying a word but somehow knowing exactly what the other wanted to say and then connected your lips again, this time the kiss was longer, more passionate.

Ben pulled you closer as he placed his hands on the small of your back, pressing his lips against yours and making you wrap your arms around his neck. There was an urgency in your kiss, you both had been wanting this for a long time. You craved this. You craved each other. 

“I want to be with you.” You mumble against his lips and feel him smile, he gently bites the bottom of your lip, making you kiss him harder. 

Once you pull away you stare at his green eyes and he softly strokes your cheek, his gaze making you feel like the most beautiful person in the world.

“I want to be with you too.” He whispers and gives you a quick peck on the lips.

You lean in closer to him so you could kiss him again but the sound of applause made you both jump.

You both looked over and you instantly felt your cheeks heat up as you saw Lucy and Rami standing by the door, clapping and smiling.

“It was about time!” Rami shook his head in amazement.

“This is beautiful!” Lucy said and pretended to wipe away tears from her eyes.

“We need to wake up Joe and Gwil,” Rami told Lucy and her smile grew wider, “this is better than winning a Golden Globe!”

Rami and Lucy cheered and went back inside. You turned to face Ben and saw him already looking at you with loving eyes and a smile on his face.

“Now they really are never going to let this die.” You said and wrapped your arms around his neck.

“I know,” Ben smiled, “it was about time though.”

“It sure was.” You smiled back.

Ben pressed your lips against yours once again, softly kissing you, not wanting this moment to end.

“BEN AND Y/N?!” 

You heard Joe’s scream from inside followed by Lucy, Gwilym and Rami’s cheers.

You and Ben smiled against each other’s lips without pulling away from the kiss.

Things were just getting started.

[sapphireswimming]

Hi hi hi I am very much interested in this undeadwood thing you keep posting? Do tell

Why hello yes! So UnDeadwood is a four mini-series set in the Wild West townof Deadwoodwhere lawless and supernatural activities are afoot

It’s a Critical Role-related show (sharing much of the cast) played in realtime using the Deadlands Reloaded RPG system. It’s created and run by Brian W.Foster with a cast of:

Travis Willingham, playing Matthew Mason, theonly Reverend willing to take up the post in Deadwood after the church had beenburned with the previous minister still inside, a man who seems a little out ofhis depth

Marisha Ray, playing Anabella Whitlock, a highlyeducated woman interested in “chemistry, alchemy, and the sciences of theworld,” newly married and new to town seeking closure after the death of hersister

Matthew Mercer, playing Clayton “The Coffin”Sharpe, a highly regarded sharpshooting gun for hire who “never turns his backon anything,” an unnerving man of few words who knows how to keep himself tohimself

Khary Payton, playing Aloysius Fogg, a charismaticformer slave who’s good at tracking others but isn’t looking to be found, whosereputation has preceded him to a town in which he’s only just arrived but isliking very much

Anjali Bhimani, playing Mrs. Miriam Landisman, arefined woman who knows how to handle herself, recently arrived from Chicago tosee if she and her husband’s… businesscan fill the town’s needs

and co-creator Ivan Van Norman as The Bartender,who can top off the player’s drinks (and pour shots when their characters are shot),give them tips when they’re stuck, and cash in their poker-chip fate points

It’s really cool – there’s a miniature set up of town’s main street on theircoffin-shaped table and the actors are dressed in fancy western attire(complete with facial scars and mutton chops). They stay in character the entire timeand it’s just very fun to watch

As for content warnings, what I remember so far is language,innuendo (largely stemming from a non-explicit scene you could expect from aWild West saloon), and some unsettling “snake like creatures” that left behinda pit full of body-horror carnage

UnDeadwood airs Fridays at 7pm Pacific (Oct 18, Oct 25, Nov 1, Nov 8 2019) onTwitch. Or you can catch theepisodes as videos the nextSunday or podcasts the next Friday

Check out the trailer,first episode (~2hours), and this hilariousscene that put the show on my radar in the first place!

[accio-spaceman]

VORTEX Magazine - Issue 122

(April 2019)

Download PDF version for FREE on the Big Finish website

Partners In Time

At last! The Doctor and Donna are back!

[Above Cover for “The Tenth Doctor Adventures Volume Three”, featuring (l-r, top-bottom) Catherine Tate, David Tennant, Jacqueline King, Bernard Cribbins, and two Judoon.]

The Doctor and Donna Noble are arguably one of the most popular Doctor and companion pairings ever, and their adventures in space and time continue in The Tenth Doctor Adventures Volume Three. David Tennant and Catherine Tate reprise their TV roles for a second run of audio adventures from Big Finish.

(Full Article Under Cut)

Producer David Richardson says: “I actually got very nervous in the weeks before recording, as I did on their previous box set. You are just so aware that you are going to be working with two of the biggest stars in this country, and you want them to have a brilliant time and for the whole thing to run smoothly.

“The night before recording I just told myself, forget the nerves, treat it like any other production and it will be great. And actually by the time David and Catherine arrived at Moat Studios, the nerves had totally evaporated.

“David and Catherine don’t behave like stars – they walked in as two normal people who get on with everyone. When you’re sitting having a cup of tea with David Tennant talking about The Avengers or whatever, you’re really just chatting to a lovely human being.”

It was director Ken Bentley’s first time directing David and Catherine, and before recording began he admitted to Vortex: “I’ve not had much time to think about it as we’ve been extremely busy through August and September. I only just managed to squeeze in the time to schedule it!

[Above (l-r) David Tennant and Catherine Tate]

“I’m like any fan, dying to hear what the Nobles, Wilf and The Doctor get up to. What a dream cast!” 

– Russell T Davies

“I always get excited about working on a new range. The bit I love the most about directing is working with actors, and to work with actors new to me is always something I look forward to.

“In my line of work it’s the rehearsal room and the recording studio where the magic happens, and it’s always a treat to watch professionals bringing roles to life.

“All actors work and respond differently. Part of my job is to quickly figure out how an actor likes to work so I can help make the recording go as smoothly as possible for them – and for everybody else. It’s a challenge I enjoy and I like to get it right. So it’s exciting for me to work with an entirely new team and to figure out what makes them tick.”

[Above Cover for “No Place” by James Goss, featuring (l-r) Bernard Cribbins, Catherine Tate, David Tennant, and Jacqueline King.]

The first story in the set is No Place by James Goss. Script editor Matt Fitton says: “We knew straightaway we could bring the wider Noble family into it by having Donna and Sylvia together, so we gave James that brief. It meant it had to be set on Donna’s contemporary Earth, since her mum isn’t aware of her space and time travel yet.”

Former Doctor Who showrunner Russell T Davies, creator of Donna, Sylvia and Wilf, tells Vortex: “I’m so excited about the return of the Noble family. I put in a request to Big Finish never thinking they’d actually pull it off. But, I might have known, they’re unstoppable! Marvellously, I haven’t heard the adventure myself yet, so I’m like any fan, dying to hear what the Nobles, Wilf and the Doctor get up to. What a dream cast!”

Jacqueline King was delighted to be back as Sylvia.

She says: “Since we finished on TV I’ve seen David a couple of times, and I keep in touch with Bernard because he’s so gorgeous! He and I did the quiz show Pointless. And Catherine was in a play which Bernard and I went to see together, so that was lovely. We’ve just not been all together so there was so much to catch up on. I felt desperately maternal towards Catherine, wanting to know how she was!

“I was very jealous that David and Catherine were going on to do more stories over the next couple of days without Bernard and myself. Bernard and I were joking, asking, How can you do that? That’s just disloyal!

“It was lovely, and if we could have carried on I would have but it was just one day. It would be heaven if we could do more!”

Matt continues: “James came back with this ‘haunted makeovers’ idea which was great, and as it was being developed we asked James to keep in mind a role for Wilf in case we were able to get Bernard Cribbins – perhaps just a cameo role. As it turned out we learned fairly early on that we could have Bernard for the whole day, so it all worked out perfectly and Wilf was fully included in the episode at the storyline stage.”

In a similar vein to what the TV show did at the time, No Place taps into the zeitgeist of what is currently popular on TV, which in this case brings in the feed of ghost and home makeover reality TV shows.

“If you’re a fan of either Buzzfeed Unsolved or Homes Under The Hammer you’ll find lots to love in this.” 

– James Goss

James explains: “Honestly, when you think about it most horror films are home makeover shows! Family moves into house on haunted graveyard. Tries to do it up. Ends up running away screaming/being dead/finds out they were always dead so probably shouldn’t have bothered wallpapering the downstairs bathroom. This was inspired by that. Imagining a horror film but with Kirsty Allsop following our screaming family about. And making the screaming family the Doctor, Donna, Sylvia and Wilf.

“If you’re a fan of either Buzzfeed Unsolved or Homes Under the Hammer you’ll find lots to love in this. We’ve got a ghostbox, we’ve got replacement light fittings, we’ve mysterious voices, we’ve endless discussions about plumbing. The one thing we couldn’t do was Hammer’s endless, appalling punning music track. (Presenter: ‘They really do love this hopeless place.’ Music: ‘We Found Love in a Hopeless Place’)!”

Producer David Richardson adds: “I’m struck by how creepy it all sounds. Some of the sequences in the old house are really unsettling even without any effects or music, which is a sure sign of how great the writing, performances and direction are.”

[Above Cover for “One Mile Down” by Jenny T Colgan, featuring (l-r) David Tennant, a Judoon, and Catherine Tate.]

One Mile Down by Jenny T Colgan continues the Doctor and Donna’s adventures when they find themselves in an underwater city and encounter the Judoon.

Matt continues: “In terms of using new series monsters, the Judoon are one of the most recognisable and the Tenth Doctor has some history with them, meeting them several times during his era.

“Because of what’s been established on screen there are certain monsters he’s meeting for the first time, but with the Judoon he knows what they’re about and how they work. They are not power-crazed evil monsters, they are mercenaries working for other people, and their agenda isn’t always immediately clear. It’s nice to have that bit of potential uncertainty – are they an ally? Are they a threat? We get to play with that in this story.”

“We have individuals in the Judoon ranks which we’ve touched on before. There’s the trainee, Klo, who starts to side with the Doctor and Donna, realising they can do some good during the story, which is a fun thing to play with.” The story’s setting lends itself to a good soundscape, with a city beneath the waves.

Matt explains: “In the TV episode Smith and Jones, the first thing we see the Judoon do is control the rain and send it upwards with their H2O scoop.

“That means we can make use of their technology which lends itself perfectly to an audio story.”

Of course, Donna has also encountered the Judoon on TV, and Matt adds: “Watching Donna in The Stolen Earth, we get a reaction from her to the Judoon, but when we checked with Russell he watched it back and felt there was no reason why Donna couldn’t have met them before.

“What’s clearly a surprise to her is the Doctor speaking Judoon, so we were very careful not to have him doing that in front of her.”

[Above Cover for “The Creeping Death” by Roy Gill, featuring (l-r) David Tennant, Catherine Tate, and Lauren Cornelius dressed in 1952 London period-costume, holding a torch.]

Concluding this series is The Creeping Death by Roy Gill.

David explains: “We asked the writers for short pitches – I think they might have sent in three ideas each. I’ve actually been keeping a list of things I want to see in a Doctor Who story, one of which was ‘The London Fog of 1952’, so it was a no-brainer when Roy pitched that one!”

Roy was delighted to be able to write for David Tennant, a fellow Scotsman, as well as Donna.

He admits it was: “Hugely exciting. They’re one of my Doctor Who dream teams, really. The Doctor and Donna are best friends, they’re fast and funny, they wind each other up but most importantly they make each other stronger and better. Their dialogue was a joy to write – and yes please, if the opportunity ever comes up, I absolutely want to do more!”

Roy travelled from his Edinburgh home to attend the recording at Moat Studios in London, and has plenty of happy memories from the sessions.

Roy adds: “Oh, loads! David asking, ‘Is that a Scottish accent?’ as soon as he met me – and then me kind of over-explaining where I’m from (sorry, David...). Catherine cracking up over her lines about ‘bad air’ and cheese and onion crisps… How quickly all the big, exciting scenes flew by in the recording booths.

“Stephen Critchlow talking over lunch about the classic Who he’d been watching with his daughter. Lauren Cornelius telling me she’d loved her character and the story so much that when she got the script she read it from cover to cover then immediately turned it over and read it again! Theo Stevenson saying he’d watched David Tennant’s Doctor when he was about 10 or 12. He was thrilled to be in a Doctor Who – making us all feel ancient!”

Producer David adds: “This story is brilliant! Just a character piece about a group of people lost in the fog and there’s something really nasty out there… David has some terrific speeches, Catherine gets to play out some lovely relationships with the guest characters, and the whole thing feels like it was on TV back in 2008.”

Director Ken Bentley was relieved when recording was complete after three successive days in studio – which Big Finish rarely do.

He explains: “It’s great to know we have a complete box set in the bag! These days availabilities are such that we’re squeezing in recordings as and when we can, sometimes over quite long periods of time. It’s rare to record three days straight and know you’ve got it all, but given the schedule we’re all on it’s a huge relief!”

“The whole thing feels like it was on TV back in 2008.” 

– David Richardson

Responsible for music and sound design is Howard Carter, who says: “I’ll usually go through and work out if there are any background or atmosphere tracks that reappear throughout the play, or any individual recurring effects (specific vehicles or weapons, for example). If so I will create these in advance and add them to the project library so they are ready to drag and drop in when I’m working. I’ll record the foley sound as I go and layer up all the relevant backgrounds and effects scene by scene. Once the full play is assembled I’ll send a draft off to the director and move on to the score.

“I will usually spend a couple of days scoring a play although if there’s more time I will always spend longer (I’m a composer by trade!). At this point I know the play well so will have a sense of the mood, style and pacing.

“If I’m working on a completely new play I’ll create a template and start adding instruments and sounds as I see fit in order to start with a completely fresh palette. Every play is different so I don’t have one fixed approach. There are scene breaks which usually need a cue, and there are sometimes musical directions in the script, but otherwise a lot of the process is instinctive. A play may need a lot of music to keep energy levels up and maintain a sense of pace, or it may need the music to really take a background role and just glue certain elements together. Each one is unique.”

– VORTEX Magazine, Issue 122, Pages 4-8

THE TENTH DOCTOR ADVENTURES VOLUME THREE IS OUT IN MAY ON CD AND DOWNLOAD.

The Tenth Doctor Adventures Volume Three is out in May on CD and Download.

The special edition release comes complete with exclusive production notes, storyboards from Mike Tucker and costume designs from June Hudson.

For full details visit www.bigfinish.com .

(Edited to include Lauren Cornelius’ name in the image description of “The Creeping Death” cover.)