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unluckycl0v3r · 4 years

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Queenie x Reader: A Winter Wonderland

A/N: OH my god, this is probably as late as it could possibly be. I will not spare you any excuses because it honestly does not matter, just know that your request has been deeply appreciated. I loved this request so much and I struggled a lot with this concept, mostly because I haven’t written anything like this before. Plus Queenie is such a complex character to write that it amazes me that I was even able to do this. Despite the fact you may have forgotten this request, or you’re just some stranger looking for some late night reads, I truly hope you enjoy this. BTW, if you don’t know, I started writing this in like July and finished about 90% of it. I have just finished this 10%. Merry Christmas, Happy Holidays, and Happy New Year’s everybody!!

Requested by: @badeeaswife you are a lovely human being I hope you know

Warnings: Mentions of homophobia, mentions of abuse nothing too graphic I don’t even think there’s cursing in this. This is supposed to be a stupid fluffy Christmas story xD. Also the last 10% isn’t edited lol I’m sorry I’m lazy and ig that counts as a warning

Walking into the dining area of the orphanage in which you live and work in, the kids you take care of are a little rowdier and louder than they usually are. A smile was brought to your face when you realize exactly why, the news finally broke out to the kids. Of course, the other staff and head of the orphanage could no longer hold the news.

“Settle down, kids, settle down.” You said softly as you stand in front of the room where everyone could see you. The kids quieted down, a few whispers still lingered but that never bothered you, and their eyes found yours. “Yes, the news is true. This year we will be holding our very own winter formal!” The orphanage was erupted in cheers and your smile brightened, along with the other staff in the room. When the room quieted again, you continued, “We have found the funds to have our own theme for the dance, and found volunteers at a close by no-maj school to come in and help out!” More cheers came from the room and all the hard work you put in the past few months have fully been worth it for this reaction.

A few years ago after growing up your whole life in an orphanage, you decided to invest in your own orphanage to help avoid the abuse you experienced and witnessed. It would be the first orphanage to home kids of magical background. It was a hard investment considering you were a woman, but you weren’t always alone to take care of everything. With your friend William Tran who helped with funds and investments, you found the staff to give your children an education of magic and no-maj lessons you found important, and cooks to give your children meals. At first it started off very small with one or two children you had to take care of with your friend, but it soon turned into a huge facility. The number of children were still relatively small, just around thirty, and throughout all the years you have had no luck in finding much funds to plan fun events for the kids. Though, as your facility grows, you began receiving more funds and even some donations! After some raising some donations and keeping the secret from the kids for months as to not get their hopes up, you were finally able to officially plan a winter formal dance for your kids.

“It is all ages, so even our little ones can come, but only our year 8’s are able to have dates.” You clear up politely and find a table with the staff to finish your breakfast. You made it all ages because you weren’t sure if you were able to do this every year. You wanted to have something special for everybody there. You felt the kids deserved this, especially the older ones.

Being an orphan yourself, you knew the hardships it came from being tossed around from one severely religious orphanage to another. It came with shame and abuse, and you knew once you became smart enough and old enough that you couldn’t let another kid face those same hardships. Especially those with magical abilities such as yourself. So with William Tran, you created your very own safe place for children.

Your orphanage was growing again because the magical school near your home was letting out for winter break and the kids there with no home will be coming back to spend winter break with you. You understand how disappointing it is to come to a place with no family of your own, and feeling left out. You can’t personally get every child a gift of their own, so you thought at the very least you could give them a celebration to remember.

That afternoon, with some volunteers at your orphanage, you and the staff make your way to the no-maj school that has offered up their gymnasium for winter break. Some of the staff greeted you with smiles and hugs that made everyone feel so welcome and they wasted no time taking out their supplies to help with decorations. Somehow decorating was one of the most difficult things of this whole event because it’s the part you wanted to be perfect for the kids.

For hours everyone put up streamers, fairy lights, and props to make the gymnasium feel like the perfect winter formal. By the evening when the sun started to set, it was decided they would continue tomorrow. With the actual dance looming only a week away, you start becoming nervous about it. When you get back to the orphanage, you sit at the desk in your room and start brainstorming what food and drinks to serve there within the budget. You wanted your children to be absolutely spoiled this winter.

The next few days feel like blurs between supervising and putting together the dance. You are pretty much a mess when it’s almost 8 in the evening and it’s completely dark out, starting to snow outside, and you’re still in the gymnasium of the no-maj school when your friend and colleague comes up behind you.

“It’s getting late, (y/n)” He says and you jump in surprise, almost falling from the ladder you were standing on and dropping the decorations you were holding. You blushed in embarrassment from being so startled and get off the latter to collect the items you dropped. Will drops down next to you to help.

“I know, but I’ll stay back just a little longer.” You promise and Will gives you a wry smile.

“You’ve been working non stop for these kids, (Y/N/N). Have you done anything for yourself recently?” You look at him quizzically, not understanding the problem he was concerned with. Sure, you worked hard and long, but you aren’t burnt out yet. Nervous, sure, but not very overwhelmed. Soon over half of your kids will be leaving again for school and you want to give them a break to remember.

“Something for myself? Like what?” It was a rhetorical question, you weren’t actually concerned in what you could be doing for yourself. It was one of the things that were never your concerned with in the first place. But of course what comes with a question will always be followed up with an answer.

“Like… do you know what you’re wearing for this formal you’re spending so much time on preparing?” Will asks, and his handsome face is scrunched up waiting for an answer. He hasn’t shaved his face since yesterday and blonde stubble is coming in on his chin. His hair is combed back and he’s dressed relatively nice. You realize that you actually haven’t thought about what you would wear or your actual involvement in the formal, which was now tomorrow. William saw the panic set into your face as your eyes widened.

“Oh, shoot! I don’t know what to wear!” You shout and begin pacing back and forth from where you stood. Will laughed at your melodramatic attitude and grabbed you by the shoulders to steady you. Your breathing has quickened, and Will desperately hopes you won’t fall into your episodes of hyperventilating.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay.” Will soothes, rubbing his hand along the forearm comfortingly. “I know someone who can help.”

“What? Who?” Your voice is strained and you’re trying not to cry. You focused so much on the event being perfect you forgot to make yourself perfect too. You are the face of this dance. You don’t want people thinking you don’t care about this event just because you weren’t able to get dressed up. But here Will is, stress free and smiling comfortingly.

“Her name is Queenie Goldstein and she’s an old friend of mine. She’s very talented. It’s almost like she can read your mind.” You start to calm down significantly as Will gives you this information.

“What about cost? How much am I having to pay?” Will shakes his head and his smile widens.

“Don’t worry about that.” You begin to argue but he cuts you off. “I’ll call her tonight and she can work on you tomorrow.

“But that’s not enough time!” You say, starting to worry again.

“(Y/N), she’s magic. It’ll be done just in time for the dance.” He assures you and you finally nod in agreement to his plan. Even more reluctantly, he had you clean up and out of the school sooner than you would have liked to. “Everyone will get the dance set up in plenty of time tomorrow.” Then ushers you into his car to drive you home and put you to bed as if you were a toddler. You would be angry, but secretly you liked feeling taken care of like this. You wouldn’t admit it, but he made you feel safe and comfortable. So, that night you slept better than you have all week barely worried for when you had to meet this mysterious woman in the morning.

The next morning you wake up just before dawn as you usually do and continue with your morning routine as usual, the anxiety of meeting this Queenie still in the back of your mind. You’re starting to get antsy, but try not to push Will, you don’t want to seem panicked like yesterday. Finally, after waking up at the kids in the morning and serving them breakfast, Will comes up to you with the same easygoing smile he always carries.

“Queenie is ready to see you.” He informs, slipping you a piece of paper with her address on it.

“Now?” You ask as if you haven’t been waiting for this all morning and were inconvenienced.

“Hurry along, she’s a busy woman.” He winks at you and sits back at his table to finish breakfast. You try not rush your eating since you try to be an example for the kids, but you can’t help it when you end breakfast just a few minutes early and usher the kids to their usual chore schedule. Of course, you let them off early to prepare the dance and assigned certain staff to watch over certain kids, so it wasn’t a problem that you up and left everyone. Plus, you were sure Will would keep things from going up in flames. He has always been able to think on his feet during disasters.

Finally arriving at the apartment that Will had written on the paper, you were about to knock on the door when it swings wide open. You were taken aback by it, but then completely starstruck when the woman behind the door smile a dazzling smile that had you practically drooling. This woman… how could you even describe her? She was slim and graceful, radiating such a calm… almost hypnotizing aura. Her hair was light blonde and curly hair that came just to her chin, and she had one dimple on one of her cheeks. It made her seem even more charming. Then there were her eyes… they were like an emerald jewel glistening in the sun. She was definitely the most magnificent woman you had ever laid your eyes upon. You saw Queenie’s cheeks tint pink as her beautiful and luscious, pink lips stretched as she began to speak.

“Hello, dear. You must be, (Y/N)?” She kept her smile big and tight and blinked at her a few times.

“Yes, I’m (Y/N), and you’re Queenie? The mind reading dressmaker?” A giggle escaped Queenie at your joke seemingly before you even spoke it, but it didn’t weird you out since the only thing you could focus on was how beautiful the sound was. You wanted to record it and play it like music. Oh, god, you wanted to run away. You wanted to close the door and run away because it was specifically these thoughts that made you suffer growing up. The shame and the guilt crashes down on you as you take in Queenie’s beauty, and you see Queenie’s smile falter for a second before turning up sympathetically and placing her hand on your arm.

“Come in, honey. We have a lot of work to do before that cute little dance of yours.” Her smile was welcoming and it made you even more guilty for things you were thinking. You felt like she was now a victim to your criminalizing thoughts. She didn’t seem as distraught as you as she gently laid her hand on your arm and pulled you into the apartment.

The apartment is bright and elegantly spacial as Queenie lead you past the livingroom and kitchen and brings you into a smaller room filled with cloth with mirrors and measuring tapes. Queenie leads you onto a light colored wooden stand that faces three mirrors. Looking at yourself, you feel suddenly embarrassed and look away before noticing the small blush that creeps onto your face.

“Hm, what color, what color?” Queenie hums to herself as multicolored cloth is seen flying by your heads. “Oh yes, of course!” You don’t understand how she already knows what color to make your dress, but she continues focusing anyhow. You hear sewing machine turn on itself as cloth floats over to it and sews itself up.

“So, how do you know Will?” You decide to ask once you feel comfortable staring at your shoes, so you don’t have to stare at yourself or the beautiful woman standing behind you. If you could see her, you’d see that a reminiscent smile finds its way onto her lips that shows her cute little dimple.

“We dated many moons ago. He was a sweet boy.” She says softly and you feel your stomach drop. You feel disappointed, but you can’t really place as to why. Suddenly you feel a slim arm wrap around your waist and the young woman’s hands gently caressing your stomach. You look down to see a light colored measuring tape, but the touch still made you blush. “Don’t worry, darling. That’s long over now. No more competition for you.” Queenie pulls her hand back and gently touches your waist as she does so. It makes you shiver and the words make your stomach do flips. A floating clipboard and pen floats next to the both of you, jotting down your measurements. It feels like she can read your thoughts

“He talked about you a lot, you know. He felt like a protective older brother.” You smile at Queenie’s words, remembering you and Will as young kids trying to make it through together. Queenie then measured down your body and the width of your arm.

“He always felt like a protective older brother. I always felt safer when he was around.” The beautiful young woman behind you smiles from your smile you two seem to share a moment. You looking at her and her looking at you, and it feels like you both are falling into each other. The stare makes you feel lightheaded and you can’t decide whether it’s from her drowning stare or if you’re dehydrated. Oh, you’re dehydrated, alright. All the water is in her eyes and you want to drink it all up.

Queenie coughs into her arm to break eye contact and you see a hint of pink on her cheeks. “So, Ms. (L/N), do you have a date for your dance tonight?” By now the sewing machine in the room is going rampant and the lady behind you is doing nothing but twirling your hair very lightly and holding your shoulder, the yellow tape still in her hand. You clear your throat and smile.

“It’s not my dance to bring a date.” You answer cripictly

“Oh, but you want to bring a date, don’t you?” You can see Queenie through the large mirrors in front of the two of you and you see her smile brighten and her hands on your shoulders tightened. Yes, of course you do. “Yes, of course you do!” She giggles, speaking the words right out of your head. You’re so taken aback that you blush darkly.

“I never said that.” You turn to look back at her again defensively, and she only giggles again.

“Who is he?” She’s about to answer her own question with a guess, but stops herself short and gasps. “It’s… not a he, is it?” You’re blushing again and you suddenly feel very hot. How does she know? She couldn’t know…

“I have to go.” You say suddenly, barely above a whisper, as you tear away from her grasp and start for the door. You don’t see the troubled, almost offended, look that falls upon Queenie’s face.

“But your dress isn’t ready!” She exclaims feeling anxious and horrible for making you feel uncomfortable. She follows you out of the room and through the main hall.

“I’ll pick it up when it is.” You say louder, more definitive and confident than before.

“Hey, please wait.” Queenie pleads and reaches for your hand. Even though she hardly grabs you, you stop and turn to look at her. Your confidence immediately crumbles to shame as you look down to avoid her eyes. Those wretched eyes trying to pull you in. Like a tide, you try to avoid its’ current.

“Hey, it’s okay.” She soothes, you close your eyes when you feel her fingertips lightly pull the hair away from your face. It’s so soft and comforting you almost leaned into the touch. “No, there’s nothing wrong with you.” She reassures you, moving her hand so her thumb now gently caresses your cheek. “Of course I’ll go with you. I was hoping you’d ask.”

You furrow your eyebrows quizzically and open your eyes to find her smiling sheepishly. “How did you-?”

“Legilimency.” She answers directly. Your cheeks darken again and you smile, a dark chuckle coming from you.

“So, you knew.” It wasn’t a question. Despite her attempt at reassurance, you still felt ashamed for the strong feelings for this woman.

“No, not at first.” She said honestly, dropping her hand from your cheek when she feels she’s offended you. You feel her hand trail down your arm and when she gets to your hand, her fingers play with yours. Cautious, like she’s waiting for your reaction. You don’t give one. “I could hear some thoughts, but for awhile I thought they were about Will.” She drops her hand completely this time and she looks almost nervous. “But maybe I was just blind from my sudden attraction to you as well.”

A silence falls upon the two of you, but it’s not awkward. It’s another moment when your eyes meet hers and you can’t help but smile. “This isn’t weird?”

Queenie seems so genuine when she holds your hand and looks into your eyes then says, “No, this isn’t wrong.” Because she knows the question you’re really thinking and she also feels the same way about how everyone will react when they find out.

“Then, no mind reading help anymore,” You start, and she smiles when she resists herself from correcting you. “Will you be my date to the Winter Formal?”

“Well, my, my, I have never been more honored to accompany you.” A ding from the sewing room was heard along with the silence from the machine. “Ooh! Your dress is ready!”

You had arrived to the winter formal a few hours before the dance was supposed to begin to make sure everything was in order. The minute you walk in, you were amazed. The room looked so much better than you could have ever imagined. Starting with fairy lights hung all across the ceiling, and paper snowflakes hanging all over. The food trays were being brought in with all the goodies one could want. The kids were being fed dinner before the formal so you wouldn’t have to worry about them being hungry either. A live band was being hired for the event and where he was going to perform was currently being set up. You were so proud of the event you were holding and so excited for the kids to be able to experience this.

As the kids began to arrive, the winter formal seem all the more magical, despite the fact that most of it was done without magic. The only problem was the dance has been going on for an hour and you’re still alone. You tried not to be too disappointed by that, but watching the other kids dance around with their dates made you feel all the more lonely. Not only that, but if Queenie did show up, what would the kids say about her? It’s not she ever discussed her sexuality to her kids or any kind of romance for that matter.

You tried to rationalize in your head that even if your date stood you up, at least your kids wouldn’t hate you for your sexuality. That made you relax some, and you enjoyed seeing everybody dance around so happily.

“What are you doing standing here all alone?” You turn your head to find Will standing next to you. You return your gaze to the dance floor.

“I could ask you the same thing.” Will chuckled and smiled a bit.

“Well, may I have this dance then?” Will stands in front of you and offers his hand. Part of you is reluctant, mostly because you were saving yourself. Then you realized that if she wasn’t coming you’d be wasting all your time moping about it.

“Oh, why not?” You decided and took his hand. He leads you to the middle of the dance floor where he proceeds to hold your hand with one hand, and put his other hand at your waste. You placed your hand on his shoulder and begin to dance.

“I hope you aren’t too upset with Queenie. Sometimes she isn’t too good with plans.” He reassures and you’re reminded that he has had personal experience with her. He knows more about her than you ever will.

“It’s quite alright. Nothing to fret about too much.” You shrug, and you meant it. It wasn’t like a super serious date. You asked her way last minute so technically she has the right to not show up.

“Look at you, always being the strong type.” Will gives you a warm smile and suddenly you’re filled with warmth and magic that only Christmas can provide. Suddenly, will turn around and for a split second you’re confused, until you see who’s behind him.

“Pardon my interruption, but I believe you’re dancing with my date.” There she was. Standing just behind Will was the most beautiful woman you had ever laid your eyes upon. She looked absolutely miraculous with her golden, curly hair pinned up against her head, wearing a tight red dress with a floral pattern etched in the lacing and the skirt of her dress hanging just below her waist, and read high heels to finish the look. You were stunned, starstruck, when you saw her.

“Yes, of course, my apologies.” Will steps aside and Queenie steps forward in her place.

“I hope you didn’t think I’d bail on you, honey.” Her voice sounded sweet, drenched in sugar, and you were hypnotized by her eyes once again.

“I’m not going to lie, I was a bit afraid of that.” You admitted then she gave you a sympathetic smile and cupped your cheek with her hand, softly caressing it with her thumb.

“I’d never leave you stranded like that.” Warmth and goosebumps traveled all through your body, and you felt like you were flying. Queenie then leaned down and placed a chaste kiss to your lips as you closed your eyes. Her lips were so soft and tasted so sweet that you instantly wanted more, but she pulled away. It was as if there were no kids, there was no dance, and it was just you and Queenie dancing idly under the sparkling snowflakes. You couldn’t have asked for a better Christmas gift.

A/N: Yes, I’m sorry this was soooo long, but I hope what lacked in time was made up for in content. Again, I really hope you enjoyed, and if anyone would like a request then please leave one. Even if it takes me 6 months to write. I love you all thank you for taking the time to read this <3

#request #fanfiction #imagines #fantastic beasts #fantastic beats and where to find them #queenie #queeniexreader #Harry Potter #harry potter fandom #Harry Potter fic

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fyrapartnersearch · 5 years

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So it is written

Hello and good day.

This will be probably my last post on FYRA for a longer period of time. But I hope to find at least one who would share my interest. Anyways back with a new request! This one will be more specific as it only targets one certain fandom. I have had plenty of amazing original roleplays in the past, but now my desire is slowly favoring canon universes once again. It makes character building (in my opinion) also a greater challenge which I also quite enjoy to be honest. I have a strong penchant for including original characters and ideas that can be added to the pre-existing plot. Also very happy to expand on the given worlds and open to AU’s. Okay so I am a really big nerd when it comes to the supernatural, mysterious, urban myth and fantasy. Love combining those given elements with organized crime, complex characters, cataclysmic events and dark schemes that all unravels as time goes on.   Just so you know, a little about me.

You must be at least 18+ of age when you want to start original roleplay with this gal here. As I am in my twenties, I prefer maturer partners. I accept anyone, regardless if they are male or female. What I expect is a decent (if not very good) grasp on grammar, the ability and will to write creatively, shoulder a great part of the plotting and responsibility as well as passion for roleplaying. Of course this should be seen as a fun hobby but I really like to invest… I wish for my partner / friend to take equal initiative.   Here are my cravings and guidelines! Even though they are only limited to a few, I made sure to filter out the ones I know I wouldn’t role-play anytime soon. So if you are interested in something I didn't mention here, I am afraid I have to decline. Sorry.   Btw, call me Gil ;)   The roleplay I have been wanting to do for such a long time is none other than Devil May Cry.  Replaying the game brought back some really good and nostalgic feels - but the latest game one was one of the best in my opinion. Such creativity, especially with urban mythology, monsters and other interesting elements. Hence why this game is right up my alley and one of my favourites of all time. If this does not interest you as much, I am also keen on roleplaying Castlevania or next gen Harry Potter! But my main interest still remains with DMC, just so you know. :)  What it entails: 

Alright, so you are writing with some of mature age. I have 11 years of writing experience when it comes to the game. This will be a fair warning that this request is not for the faint of heart. There will be violence, swearing, gore, intimate scenes, uncomfortable subjects, drama, conflict and other dark themes included within the story. I have few limits but I will respect the boundaries of my partner, so do not shy away from telling me. Just so you know, I won’t fade to black or skip out on the nitty gritty. Go big or go home. Interests: My line of interests are very dynamic when it comes to genres. I love conceiving my own lore inside a stories, be it an original or a pre-existing story. Gothic fantasy among others are one of my favourites. I am not opposed to tapping into some science fiction, action, romance, crime, action or thriller genres, in fact I encourage it. Inspirations for me are Lovecraft, Hellsing, Blade, Underworld, etc. As for the fandom inspired RPs, I am more than willing to bend some rules and be a little indulgent. Writing: 3rd person perspective. My writing is wide-ranging and flexible, which means that frequently, word count will go up 1000+ per reply - though it highly depends on the given situation and partner. Quality over quantity as they say - but why not both? I love detail in description, and I am actively seeking someone of the same infamy. My partner should have a basic grasp on grammar, punctuation and somewhat of an interest in knowledgeable writing. I also double! (preferably, but we can always discuss whether it makes sense for our roleplay our not.) World building and sharing the burden: You should be active and help me shape the world around our characters. Even if we discuss many things during and before the roleplay, how we wish for things to play out and take its course, I am always happy to be surprised with a secret of my partner’s character I didn’t know before. You don’t need to lay out all your cards on the table… keep it a little mysterious and suspenseful. Just enough so we can work with the ideas, but not completely kill off the suspense. Characters: I write canon as well as OC characters. Faceclaims, GIFs, drawings, mood boards or just a plain physical description is absolutely sufficient. Whatever floats your boat when it comes to visualising your character and their backstory, I’m on board. Characters should be written as opulent, flawed, unique, talented, heroic, villainous, spiteful, angry, and everything in-between figures. In other words, don’t be scared of making them ‘human’, even when they are non-human. Romance: Openly play and accept characters of both genders, preferable m x f pairings, but I am open to m x m and f x f relationships as well. I have more experience with m x f relationships, so I might be more adept with this one. If the chemistry of two characters compel me, I will ship them no matter what! When it comes to sexual scenarios and intimacy (intercourse, foreplay, all that jazz). I encourage eroticism, but always in a tasteful, sensual manner (that goes for romance as well). The passion must be felt through the screen, even if it’s just a mere description of someone’s deep train of thought. Content: Drama, violence, sex, metamorphosis, symbolism, action, romance, pretty much everything is a-okay. I am unbothered by certain subjects that may or may not be uncomfortable for the general public. Roleplays are fictional stories and we best keep viewing them as such. If there are things you are uncomfortable with, name them and I shall respect those boundaries. But don’t be surprised when suddenly one of our characters bites the dust, or gets tortured. It may be difficult to write and read, but it is all part of the story and furthering the plot. My roleplays imply and involve brutality, mayhem, psychological and physical torture as well as other things. But I also endorse beauty, serenity and placid moments, scenes or characters. I love it when it comes full circle… everyone- and everything has a beautiful and hideous side. Both should be embraced like Yin and Yang. Communication and friendship: OOC-chat friendly! I love meeting new people and making friends. Plus it strengthens the compatibility between us. Communication is the alpha and the omega. If there is anything that bothers you, or if you think you are left out in some way (be it a mistake on my part or we’re both at fault here), don’t be scared to tell me. Really, it won’t be taken personally - since I know that we slip up every now and then, we’re only human after all. It is also completely sufficient if you only type out a few messages per week. I am super chill about it. It doesn’t bother me re-writing a scene to fit the narrative more. If there are mistakes, they can be corrected - just to get that out there. We can always exchange opinions and see what would benefit the story most. I will also voice my opinion should something arise that could be bothersome. Partnership: An active roleplayer is wanted without a doubt. Can’t do the thinking for two now. Let’s row this boat together Limits: Subject matters I avoid are pedophilia, bestiality, necrophilia, vore, scat, furries and various other bizarre fetishes. Also no one-liners or text-talk messages. The sentences have to be cohesive, coherent and decently structured.    Now a little more information about myself.

I live in CET central Europe. My response rate varies throughout the weeks, depending on my schedule.  I study at a university full time and work a job on the side and both are keeping me fairly busy. My writing will increase most likely during the weekends. If I should hit a hiatus, I will let you know as soon as possible. I understand when you are busy as well and won’t be able to respond, though I prefer if my partner does not ghost me. At least let me know what’s going on so I can adjust and put the roleplay on hold if needed!  Mediums I roleplay on are email and googledocs. Though I also have Discord in case for OOC chat!   I prefer if my partner messages me first on email, giving me a brief description of themselves, their cravings as well as ideas. That way I can see if we’re compatible and if it bears any potential.   Message me here: EMAIL: [email protected] Hope to hear from you soon! Lots of love!    

Yours sincerely,

-Gil

#indie rp #independent roleplay #oc rp #multiple paragraph #para #long term #email #tumblr #aou rp #submission

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swanandapirate · 6 years

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anonymous swan (1/1)

It was @captainwiley’s birthday a couple of days ago and to celebrate the joyful day the world gained such a wonderful and crazy person, I’ve written a fic. This is inspired by how @captainwiley and @artandteaandstuff got introduced to each other but with our lovely ship instead (the road is a bit bumpier because have you met Emma and Killian?) ♥

summary: A Google Docs AU where Emma and Killian both get asked to beta-read something of David’s and start anonymously bickering about every conceivable grammatical and lexical and any other feature of the English language in the Google Docs Comment section but what happens after David decides to intervene?

Ohhh intrigueeee.

rating: T for some swearing

~10,000 words

ff.net / ao3

Major love to @ofshipsandswans for listening to me ramble ♥

(Let’s pretend that once Docs assigns you an animal it stays the same. Sorry for the mistakes, btw. Selina is not only amazing but also my beta)

She sat sunken in the soft leather couch, tucked in a corner with a blanket hiding everything from the neck down. Soft music sounded through the room, drifting to every nook chasing away the quiet, the eerie feeling that occasionally lingered in an empty apartment. Emma placed her palm on her face, fingers sliding into her hair as she tiredly rubbed her eyes. It wasn’t even nine yet, school hadn’t been particularly demanding as her early morning class got canceled and she got to sleep in, and still, exhaustion seemed to follow her every move and step. It didn’t help that the days were getting shorter, daylight becoming scarcer, any sign of warmth vanishing into clouds of air.

As tempting as it might be, she wasn’t going to go to bed at nine pm on a Friday. She just couldn’t. That was not an option. She was twenty-one, not seventy-one, for crying out loud. Though she did fit the description with her warm blanket, mug of hot chocolate with a dash of cinnamon, and an episode of that soap opera her best friend and roomie Mary Margaret insisted on recording and that Emma secretly watched when she was alone in their apartment.

Mary Margaret was out on a date with Emma’s brother David, who basically had become a second roommate to Emma. She didn’t mind, however. She loved her brother dearly, ever since they met in middle school, they’d been two peas in a pod and after David’s mom—their mom— decided to adopt Emma, their bond only became stronger. Mary Margaret was thrown into the mix when Emma befriended her in high school and when she introduced them, it was—according to her brother and Mary Margaret, Emma was more skeptical about it all— love at first sight.

It was best that she stayed up until they returned. Emma knew Mary Margaret: dimmed lights and a shut bedroom door would lead to a discussion because she was concerned about Emma’s welfare and social life and so on. And if there was anything Emma could live without, it was the concerned mom speech. She already got her fair share of those from her actual mom, she didn’t need them from her sister-in-law as well.

The lock of the door clicked as the key was turned and Emma hastily grabbed the remote control to stop the episode. She threw the blanket off her and grabbed one of her books. When David and Mary Margaret walked in, slightly giggly and drunk on some expensive Italian wine, she seemed less the spitting image of a socially deprived person and more of that of an intellectual seeking diversion. Not that they would notice anyway, so focused on each other.

“Hey Ems,” her brother greeted her, wide smile on his face.

Oh, he was drunk. He absolutely never called her Ems.

“Hi, David.” Emma looked up, trying to keep herself from laughing. “Wow, it seemed like you two had a great night.”

“We did,” Mary Margaret replied. “Your brother is such a gentleman, Emma. He makes me swoon.” The way Mary Margaret stretched out the word made Emma cave, her laugh filling the apartment.

“Good that he does, Mary Margaret.” She put the book back down, wiping a tear caused by her moment of amusement away, before contently sighing. “Well, I am pretty tired so I’m going to turn in. Night, guys.”

“Night, Emma. We love you,” they said in sync. The alcohol clearly did not blur their supposed true love bond.

Emma snickered. “Love you too, lovebirds.”

The last thing she saw before she closed the door was her brother caressing Mary Margaret’s face while they lovingly gazed at each other and the last thing Emma thought before falling asleep was how she yearned for that kind of love as well.

-/-

“Morning,” David groaned as he emerged from his and Mary Margaret’s room, shutting the door quietly, most likely to grant his girlfriend a few additional moments of sleep.

Emma sipped her coffee with an amused smile while jumping off the stool next to their breakfast counter and grabbing an extra mug to provide David with a necessary kick of energy.

“Morning to you, too. How’s the hangover?”

David flashed her a grateful smile as he accepted Emma’s kind gesture and wrapped his hands around the warm mug.

“Bearable, actually. Mary Margaret forced me to chug something that seemed like a gallon of water so I’m sure that, once I properly wake up, I’ll be as fit as a fiddle again.”

“Good.” She wriggled back onto the chair and continued to munch on the Pop Tart she had chosen as breakfast. “I wasn’t looking forward to spending my Saturday with two grumpy zombies.”

Emma could see the effects of the coffee on David as his gaze became more open, more attentive and as the corners of his lips subtly began to rise.

“How is my lovely sister doing this morning, by the way,” he inquired after a moment, his cup almost empty already.

Narrowing her eyes, Emma took a sip again, watching David over the rim of her mug and trying to figure out why it suddenly seemed as if he was attempting to coax her into doing something she would not like. She knew that tone, had heard it far too often over the years.

After clearing her mouth, she decided to go for the direct approach. It was far too early to beat around the bush. “What do you want and/or need?” She asked, eyebrows shooting upwards.

“You remember that dissertation I’m writing to get my degree?”

She did remember what he was talking about since he had been fretting over the ten-thousand-word paper for months now and the deadline kept on creeping closer. It was important to her brother, if he got his criminology major, the chances of him getting hired as a police officer—a lifelong dream of his— would increase considerably. So, she had endured every freak out session and every lecture about the exact subject he had chosen because that was what siblings did. Once the time came for Emma to write hers, in social studies this time, she knew David would do the same for her.

“Yeah, it’s difficult to forget.” Emma nodded. “But what does that have to do with me?”

She stood up to clear her plate, halting by the trash can to clear some of the remaining crumbs and depositing it in the sink. Turning on her heel, she faced her brother again.

“I need you to work your magic.” David had an apologetic look upon him as he shrugged, his police-themed PJ’s moving along.

“Which is?” She encouraged him to be more specific, to tell her exactly what she needed to do to help him.

“Read it over, give me some feedback, correct the errors that are most definitely in there?” he spoke, his voice rising as if, besides the work he had written, he was now also second-guessing his request to her.

Emma didn’t consider herself a nitpicker, but she had an eye for details and an affinity towards the English language fed by countless stories read and countless tales originating from the depths of her mind. It was a mere hobby, nothing more than an escape when things got too much to handle and people became too demanding that had originated when she was still a foster kid. That did not change Emma’s devotion or attention to detail, however; if anything, it enhanced it.

She wasn’t a nitpicker but she was the kind of person that noticed when commas stood in the wrong place or when the author should have used whom. Numerous of David’s high school assignments had to pass Emma’s watchful gaze first before getting the green light to be handed in and Emma couldn’t understand why her brother was so hesitant about asking her help now. She loved to help him, time and time again.

“David,” she said, soft and reassuring. “Of course, I’ll do it, you’re my brother. I’ll happily correct whatever mistakes I find and give some constructive feedback.”

A joyful smile broke the surface of David’s worried expression. He approached, arms open to embrace her in a hug. Emma wanted to comment on how this was all a bit too much for a simple read-through but as she felt his hand cup the back of her head, she reconsidered, basking in the warm feeling and memories.

-/-

She had to search for the right moment to tackle David’s text. Late in the evening hardly ever worked because her mind was often too clouded with the information it was bombarded with throughout the day, her eyes too tired after staring at textbooks and screens for over six hours, and her fingers fast to make a mistake as they were slow to take commands after writing down seventeen pages of notes. Emma doubted either of those elements would ameliorate the text, if not even worsen.

About four days after David had asked her, Emma finally sat behind the small wooden desk in the corner of her room, opening her laptop and shoving the chair closer. She scoured their Messenger chat to find the link to a Google Docs he had sent her, Emma claiming it would be easier to comment and adjust things on there and David following her advice.

She drank from her mug of coffee, slightly burning her tongue and rubbing it to the edges of her teeth to get rid of the feeling. Softly humming along to her Spotify playlist, Emma saw the link transform into a site and the site slowly loading and supplying a so far six-thousand seven-hundred-word-essay. She could do this, this was what she did best.

As she began to read the introduction to get a general view of what criminological theory she most definitely would not understand the essay was about, she noticed something. Footprints. Steps of someone else who had taken the path she was about to embark on. The words flashed by as she rapidly scrolled down to see if the entire document had already been scrutinized by someone else. And indeed, it had. This “anonymous python” had consistently left feedback on what her brother had written, the blue boxes appearing every paragraph or so.

anonymous python: Effect is the noun, affect the verb

anonymous python: Maybe change this word to another one. You use it thrice in two sentences.

At the end of David’s every line, Emma’s eyes dashed to the margin to see what the other proofreader thought, if they had noticed the same things she had before adding her own. She considered every comment the anonymous python had made, nodding her head in agreement with the logical and just ones, and frowning while reading those that were pure nonsense. Before she knew, she was pressing the reply button to refute whatever claim this Python was making.

anonymous python: You should add a comma here, Dave. It will structure your sentence a bit more.

anonymous swan: Please ignore the anonymous python, David. A comma is useless here, put an em-dash instead.

After checking about a third of the document and losing herself in countering any- and everything that Python had said, Emma looked up at the arrows of her clock, awfully close to the time she was expected in class. In a rush, she locked her computer, chugged the remains of her coffee—a drop missing her mouth and running down her chin before her hand hastily wiped it away— stood up, snatched her bag from her bed and dashed away to her class.

She made it with one minute to spare.

-/-

The weariness engulfing her from head to toe, Emma collapsed on her bed, an unceremonious thud in her flannel sheets. The mattress needed to process the shock, the sudden additional weight and softly bobbed as a ship might’ve on the water. Her room hadn’t quite warmed up yet, so, to give her body the warmth it yearned for, she crawled under the covers. A sigh left her lips as she settled in her own little cocoon of warmth and peace. Not feeling up to do anything else, she was planning a nice evening of scrolling through every social media app known to mankind. Emma struggled to retrieve her phone out of her jeans’ pocket without letting the cold air hit her skin, wriggling around in her sheets and turning from left to right.

A small blinking light caught her attention and she paused the fight against her sheets and pocket. Her eyes turned into slits to be able to determine the source, which was her laptop, still standing on her desk. She forgot to turn it off, right. Just before she could take the decision to ignore it, to keep it like this until the next time she needed it, her brother’s voice appeared in her mind telling her that it was bad for her computer. He wasn’t even here right now and still, he was lecturing her. Grunting, Emma reluctantly lifted her sheets and let the shivers attack her body. Three steps were all it took to reach her desk. Her fingers hit the right combination of keys to unlock the device and she began the close all the tabs she had accumulated during her last browsing session. As she moved her mouse to the red box that would close David’s paper, a sentence caught her interest.

See new changes made by anonymous.

It certainly wasn’t David, or it would’ve said that he made the changes and she didn’t change anything since she last saved everything. It had to be them. The anonymous python. With a strange feeling, a mix of excitement and apprehension, swirling inside of her, Emma looked for the alterations that had been made while she was away.

anonymous python: Excuse me? I do have a degree in English literature, I think I know when a comma is necessary, thank you very much.

“Oh, we’re being snobby, are we?”

Emma snorted and rolled her eyes. So, Python was that kind of person. All indignant and offended when someone knew better and pointed out their mistakes. Also known as Emma’s least favorite kind of person.

anonymous swan: Well, they clearly failed to teach you the most basic of punctuation.

She was already sitting at her computer, reading the document, and the adrenaline had given her new energy, so she might as well continue to do so instead of mindlessly scrolling through social media and watching cat videos. That way she could claim to be productive even if she didn’t actually do anything for school.

Suddenly a blue box popped up on the top of her screen with the white depiction of a snake in it, signaling that the anonymous python had returned.

Shit.

In a surge of panic, Emma shut the page down. Eyes wide and heart beating way faster than it ought to, she stared at her desktop image, hoping that they hadn’t seen her. It was one thing to anonymously bruise someone’s ego, a whole other thing to be in the same online room at the same time with that person, both painfully aware of what had been said.

It was time for a food break—or at least, that was what Emma told herself. She went in search of something to eat and came across a little message from Mary Margaret.

Good evening, Emma. You probably forgot but my archery class is tonight so I won’t be home ‘till late and David is staying at his own place. There’s leftover spaghetti in the fridge for you to devour. Enjoy and see you tonight.

-MM

Times like these made Emma really appreciate her friend and her caring nature. Mary Margaret was sweet, so innocently and selflessly sweet. Emma had told Mary Margaret numerous times that she could also just send a text, seeing that it was indeed the twenty-first century but Mary Margaret persisted and unknowingly brought a smile to Emma’s face every time she found a yellow post-it stuck to the refrigerator, or their table, or her bedroom door.

Emma removed the spaghetti, placed it on a plate and stuck it into the microwave, drumming her fingers against the counter as she waited for her serving of warm food. The seconds ticked away before the machine made a releasing sound while announcing her food was ready.

Plate in hand, she returned to her room and, more importantly, her computer. Taking a deep breath and first a bite of the still too warm food, Emma unlocked her computer again, bracing herself for the response of her online…— of somebody.

Oddly enough, they hadn’t reacted to her obvious jab, so Emma felt her nerves settle, only to be replaced by raging fire as she saw what they had reacted on. Which was almost every comment of hers.

anonymous python: Wrong. Your formulation is even worse than Dave’s original one.

anonymous python: A semicolon? In this sentence? I think not.

Emma was fuming. The audacity of this person. She spent the next half hour alternating between arguing on every comment they made, proving why exactly she was right and angrily chewing on her food. Reading and beta-ing were what she was good at. She didn’t need some know-it-all pointing out all of her mistakes when they were, in fact, not. There was a reason David specifically asked for her help.

(She was ignoring the fact that David had clearly asked someone else as well.)

With more force than was necessary— and healthy for her computer— she shut her screen, in dire need of something to distract her, to lead her away from her place of absolute rage and vindication. It was Python’s right to comment on her remarks as she did the same on theirs but the big difference was that hers were correct and fair criticisms while theirs were just a whole load of crap set out to drive her up the wall.

How very childish.

Continuing to revise David’s paper wasn’t in the cards right now, so she left her desk and decided she’d watch some more of that soap opera. It was the perfect opportunity seeing that Mary Margaret wasn’t getting home until late. As the title track played, Emma chose to be the bigger person and to not get carried away in this feud that had somehow unleashed. She was a responsible and smart adult and was better than this.

-/-

“Son of a bitch,” Emma yelled, fingers typing at inhuman speed. “I’ll show you just how fucking American I am.”

-/-

Emma woke up to the jingling sound of a notification and groaned, burrowing her head deeper into her pillow. She’d created this rule for herself that once she woke up, she could not go back to sleep so as her hand sloppily hunted for her phone, she prayed to Zeus that the time would be some ungodly hour so she could go back to sleep.

Zeus disappointed her.

As he often did.

Tapping her code, Emma saw what had caused her phone to chime and take over the role of her alarm clock.

David Nolan created this group chat. You, David Nolan and Killian Jones are a part of it.

Why would her brother create a group chat when they already had one? And who was this Killian Jones?

It was most likely by accident, a butt-dial sort of incident, though Emma failed to see how it was possible to add two random people who had never interacted to a group. His butt must’ve been oddly specific. Mental images flashed by her closed eyelids, turning her expression into a grimace. Thinking about her brother’s butt was a very bad idea. She should probably stop and focus on the overall situation. David hadn’t sent any additional messages which almost confirmed Emma’s suspicion of it being an accident.

Emma Nolan: ?

Emma Nolan: What’s this?

The white bubble appeared instantaneously and Emma awaited what her brother had to say.

David Nolan: A request to the both of you to stop bickering in the comment section of my paper. Your like little children.

The two of them? Was this mysterious Killian Jones the anonymous python that plagued David’s essay? She reread the message to assure she wasn’t imagining things but that was the message that his text contained. And a mistake.

Killian Jones: Dave, *you’re

Emma Nolan: *you’re

They’d responded at the exact same time and his message was all the confirmation she required. Oh, he was it, alright. Python felt the insistent need to call David Dave on every other comment and it was yet another thing about him that annoyed her and here he–Killian Jones–was using the exact same nickname with the exact same casual air that made Emma roll her eyes every single time. Why did people feel the need to nickname someone else and then only use their nickname? Dave this, Dave that. Emma was quite frankly annoyed. Even more than she already was.

David Nolan: You got my point, so quit it.

David Nolan: Though I am eternally grateful to you both for doing this. Just stop bickering.

The moment Killian had seen the message, Emma could feel him staring at her, assessing her. Not in the creepy way of course, but he wasn’t replying, nor was she, neither of them willing to acknowledge each other now they knew who exactly was hiding behind those pseudonyms. It felt like an online stare down to see who would crack first.

Even though she wanted to be strong, to show this Killian Jones just how stubborn she could be, her brother was still online, awaiting an answer, and what he was asking her—them— was only fair. Emma sighed and typed out a short answer before pressing send.

Emma Nolan: Okay.

Killian Jones: Fine.

-/-

“ Mary Margaret?” Emma said, her right hand holding a wooden spoon as she stirred a pot filled with vegetables and made sure their dinner wouldn’t burn.

“Yes?” her friend answered, walking around their dinner table and stretching her arms to set the plate and glass she was holding on the other side.

“Do you know a Killian Jones?” Her eyes focused on the orange of the carrots and the green of the broccoli.

“Why?”

Because he was incredibly annoying and a smartass and because Emma had discovered that he was also breathtakingly gorgeous after clicking on his Facebook profile. But she still hated him, let that be clear.

Mary Margaret inspected her work, quickly checking off a list of things they would need for dinner and when she concluded everything was present, she rearranged her dark pixie cut and looked up to Emma, who avoided her gaze and went on with stirring with the utmost concentration.

“Doesn’t matter, just answer the question, please,” she muttered.

There was a silence but Emma didn’t dare to turn around to see what was taking Mary Margaret so long before answering. She was just about certain what kind of look Mary Margaret’s expression would bear.

“I know him,” Mary Margaret finally gave in. “He’s one of David’s good friends. Killian is very nice, slightly full of himself but he has a heart of gold.”

Even though Mary Margaret appeared to be convinced of her view on Killian Jones, Emma couldn’t accept it. Mary Margaret saw the good in everyone even when there wasn’t any good to be found. She would give a speech about how everyone was redeemable and that one only needed to hope, so her opinion wasn’t reliable.

“I think you’re depreciating how full he is of himself because he seems pretty egocentric to me.”

And even that was an understatement.

Emma lifted her eyebrow, having found her confidence again and finally facing her friend.

“Why are you asking me this if you’ve met him?” Mary Margaret’s fair skin creased as she frowned.

Extinguishing the fire, Emma removed the vegetables and placed them on the table, turning around to grab the other components of their dinner.

“We haven’t met in real life,” she explained, “We’ve only interacted via Google Docs.”

“And it did not go well?” Mary Margaret assumed correctly.

Thinking back to what had been said, she shook her head, blonde locks slightly swaying along. “Not well” was an understatement too.

“To summarize: we fought incessantly and David made us promise we would call a truce.”

They both settled in their opposite chairs, Emma serving herself and getting ready to eat until she noticed that Mary Margaret hadn’t taken any food yet and was instead staring at her with a confused look.

“I can’t say that this doesn’t surprise me,” she spoke, drawing her eyebrows together anew. “I always thought you two would hit it off. Maybe you should you get to know each other a bit better, you do have some things in common.”

Getting to know him better was just about the last thing Emma wanted to do. It could only end up being a disaster.

“Well, it’s never going to happen. I hate Killian Jones.”

She visibly ended the discussion by taking a large bite of her food, overacting the whole thing to make her message clears but that didn’t stop Mary Margaret from making one last comment that did absolutely nothing to reassure her.

“If you say so, Emma.”

-/-

anonymous python: For goodness’ sake, Swan, he used the wrong tense here. How did you not see that?

anonymous swan: It’s creative license, Jones. It can work. Also, we’re not supposed to bicker and it’s Emma.

anonymous python: We aren’t bickering if you just agree that creative license in a dissertation is bollocks, Swan.

anonymous swan: EMMA. And no can do, sir. I suppose we are bickering.

-/-

anonymous swan: Jones, I am begging you. Please stop changing everything to British spelling. We’re in America. Adjust.

anonymous python: Normally I prefer to do more enjoyable activities with a woman begging me, but you’ve left me no choice. Care to show me?

David Nolan: Jones, stop hitting on my sister. And what did I tell you about bickering?

anonymous python: We’re just having a bit of fun, David.

David Nolan: Then have fun somewhere else than my dissertation.

anonymous python: You heard him, Swan. Let’s have fun somewhere else. Drinks on me tonight, The Merry Men, 9 pm.

David Nolan: No, you’re not doing that.

anonymous python: Don’t fret, Dave. You can join too.

-/-

She shouldn’t actually go, should she? He must’ve been joking, daring her to do something only to not show up to make fun of her. But why would he invite David as well? He wouldn’t do that to his friend, would he? Even though Emma did not hold him in any high regard, he did seem like a good friend to David. So, his proposal must’ve been genuine.

That didn’t help with sorting out her thoughts, it only gave her more questions, more doubts and fears. One thing, however, was blatantly clear.

Killian Jones confused her.

And not in a good way.

(Or so she told herself.)

-/-

The neon letters of the bar flickered against the inky night, a lighthouse in the dark to guide her ashore. She hadn’t figured out yet if it was a trap leading her to the cliffs or not.

Emma inhaled, the cold air almost painfully filling her lungs and shut her eyes. She hadn’t entered, hadn’t met him for real, hadn’t gotten drunk and she was already regretting this.

A decision had to be made. Either to enter or to go home. The internal debate with herself couldn’t last the entire evening or she would freeze. Wrapping her red leather jacket a bit tighter around herself, she shivered. Go inside or go home. There was a warm bar right in front of her and if she chose to go home, she would have to wait for a cab in the cold.

In the end, the prospect of feeling her fingers again won as Emma pushed the heavy wooden door and entered the bar. The heat warmed her skin and she knew she had made the right choice.

Her eyes roamed the room as she searched for her brother’s sandy colored hair, but to no avail.

“And here I thought you wouldn’t show.” Emma was startled by the voice suddenly appearing to her right. And by the accent. It didn’t make it difficult to guess who it belonged to despite the fact they had never spoken. She felt her heart speed up as she faced the source. “Swan.” He smirked, a cheeky and cocky thing that told Emma she had made the wrong choice. “Pleased to finally meet you.”

His hair was a chaos of black, his eyes a sea of blue. And if the dim bar light did not mislead her, his beard a haze of red. No amount of Facebook profile pictures could’ve prepared Emma for this.

“You know my name is Emma.” She stared at him with a raised eyebrow, the picture of not amused and unimpressed. Or so she hoped.

Jones laughed, a resonant thing, while pushing up the sleeves of his light blue shirt which totally did not make him ten times more attractive.

“I do, but I like Swan.” He shrugged. “It suits you.”

“And why is that?” she said, the suspicion coloring her voice.

Their eyes met and even though Emma wanted to look away, she couldn’t; the connection was too strong to sever. He didn’t move either, or blink, or answer the question she’d asked him.

“Feisty and beautiful.” was his reply after a minute or so. Perhaps it was more a couple of seconds. She had no idea. It was like the hard drive of her brain had been deleted and she’d forgotten how to do the most basic of things. Like breathing. Emma took a deep breath through her nose as she shook herself out of the trance. “I must say that your profile picture does not do you justice,” Jones continued.

Emma is surprised her eyes don’t roll out of her skull but the heat rises to her cheeks, nevertheless.

“Wow.” Emma scoffed. “It’s a good thing that you’re buying because I’m going to need a lot of alcohol to handle this.” Her hand drew a circle around his silhouette in the air.

“Say no more,” he smirked and led her to two empty bar chairs.

-/-

“Jane Austen? That’s your favorite author?” she almost shouted in disbelief. Emma had to stop herself from laughing. “Is it because you see yourself as a Mr. Knightley? I hate to break it to you, you’re not. At most a Mr. Elton.”

“I beg your pardon?” He looked genuinely affronted but Emma didn’t know if it was because she was mocking his choice of favorite author or because she was comparing him to one of the worst characters in Emma. “What’s wrong with Jane Austen, she quite frankly wrote terrific books. Who’s your favorite author, may I ask?” he challenged her.

It didn’t take Emma long to come up with a name.

“Hemingway,” she said before taking a swig from her bottle of beer and contently nodding as she thought about it again.

Jones tilted his head and quietly hummed as he considered her answer.

“Very good author,” he finally reacted and Emma was about to start beaming with pride when he continued to speak, “but definitely not worthy of the honor of being your favorite. You need to pick someone who deserves it, with whom you would love to be friends. I for one would love to be friends with Jane Austen. Hemingway… not so much.”

“What?” She tried to find some sign of ridicule or humor but found none. He was being completely honest. And she did not agree in the slightest. “That’s bullshit. I don’t need to like Hemingway as a person to like him as an author.”

“But who he is as a person is reflected in his books. Trust me, I have a degree in literature.”

“Ugh, this again,” she complained and rolled her eyes, a very common occurrence when she was in the company of Killian Jones, it would seem.

“It’s the truth. Oh no!” he suddenly shouted.

Emma almost fell off her bar stool, her hand flying up to her chest in shock and barely missing her bottle of beer on the counter. She looked around, eyes frantically searching for something amiss before they landed on Jones again who sat calmly on his stool, amusedly watching her.

“What?”

“We’re bickering, Swan,” he announced. “David would disapprove.”

Emma clenched her jaw in anger while she attempted to get her heartbeat back to normal.

“You just scared the shit out of me. Where is David by the way?

Jones raised his shoulders, showing that he did not know either what was keeping her brother. Bent on finding out why he hadn’t shown up in the last hour, she fished her phone out of pocket and dialed David’s number. The bar and the area surrounding it kept on getting busier, so as the dial tone rung in Emma’s ears, she left Jones there and went in search of a place where she would be able to hear what David’s most likely lame excuse for running late would be. The continuous ring stopped with a rustle, telling her he had finally picked up.

“Hello?” he said.

“Hey, it’s me. Where are you?” She settled against a brick wall in some hallway not frequented by other people.

“Um.” Emma narrowed her eyes as David struggled to get a uniform answer out. This was suspicious. “I can’t make it.”

“Oh really?”

“Yeah, sorry, Emma. I have to go.”

And abruptly she was met with the end of the call and silence. Nothing in that call seemed like her brother. The last-minute cancelling—could you even call it that if he was supposed to be here an hour ago— the general vagueness, the abrupt end of the call. Odd. Very odd.

Thinking about it had her frowning as she walked back to the spots Jones and she occupied earlier and that he was still protecting against predators

“Is everything okay?” His eyes showed concern for her.

“Yeah,” Emma reassured him, smiling to get rid of the scowl on her face. “David is not coming.”

Grabbing her deserted bottle of probably lukewarm beer, Emma climbed back onto the stool.

“I don’t really mind if I’m being honest. I’m quite enjoying myself with the present company.”

Were they sitting closer than before? They must be. Emma wasn’t able to discern his distinctive smell before, nor could she see the small scar on his right cheek or how long his eyelashes were. It almost managed to take her breath away.

“I should probably go home,” she whispered.

“Come on, Swan, don’t let a man drink alone.” She felt his gaze trace her face as he pleaded with her, both verbally and physically.

They stared at one another again and for a split second, Emma was certain they were going to kiss. He was going to lean in or she was and their lips would meet and she’d be kissing Killian Jones. The other people around them would disappear as they focused on each other and how their tongues would interact and time would stop as they pulled and pushed, fighting for control and the upper hand. She would moan, he would groan, the feeling so satisfying and it would definitely be mind-blowing. She would instantly regret it.

“I have to go,” she said weakly. “I have an early class tomorrow.”

It was a shit excuse and they both knew it.

-/-

“So?” A chirpy voice behind Emma spoke. At this hour, there was only one person in this apartment that scattered chirpiness: Mary Margaret. “How was your date with Killian?”

How she reminded Emma of how her mom behaved when she went on her first date. Way too nosy and excited about the whole ordeal.

“It wasn’t a date,” Emma reminded her friend. “David was supposed to show up too but he bailed on me.”

Which still confused her. Her brother, who had gone to great lengths to avoid that Jones spent time with her, was suddenly okay with leaving them alone at night, with alcohol involved? It seemed awfully out of character for David. He considered himself her savior, the big brother that had to keep all harm away from his little sister. Killian Jones was far from being harmless and David was aware of that.

“I know.”

“You know?” Emma turned her head, suspiciously eyeing her sister-in-law. If there was one person that could make David not act like himself…

“I might be the reason why?” Mary Margaret grimaced and confirmed Emma’s suspicion.

What the hell?

“Mary Margaret!” came out as a shout. Emma didn’t even try to hide her displeasure.

Of course, she meddled. After her comment from before about how she thought they should get to know each other, Emma could not be surprised that she made sure that they did. She couldn’t be surprised but she could be disgruntled.

“Sorry.” Her hands went up as a defense mechanism. She didn’t seem sorry at all, making it all so much worse. “But, how was it?”

Emma let her change the subject because deep down she’d been wanting to discuss it with someone. She hadn’t rightly figured out what exactly it was she wanted to discuss but she knew she needed to verbalize it, even if it was only an attempt to. Killian Jones did things to her, things she couldn’t wrap her mind around, things that were all over the place as if they swung from left to right, from one opposite to the other and she was stuck watching it all take place.

“He’s … urgh.” It was both a sigh and a grunt at the same time and the best thing she could think of to describe her evening.

“Emma Nolan at loss for words, I didn’t think I would live to see this day.

“I’m not at loss for words I can give you a million words to describe Killian Jones. Aggravating for instance. What else?” She bit her lip in thought, trying to prove she hadn’t lost any of her magic powers. “Oh!” She raised her finger a bit too excitedly as another word came to mind. “He’s also pedantic, conceited and most of the time very…”

“Distracting?” Mary Margaret prompted with a look of compassion.

Emma let her shoulders sag, her whole body following as she dropped herself on their couch. It took a lot of energy to pretend. “Very,” she faintly admitted, hair strewn across the leather and eyes glued to the ceiling.

She felt her legs being lifted as Mary Margaret made room for her to sit on the couch too.

“Emma, there is nothing wrong with asking him to hang out again,” she assured her, a squeeze following meant to emphasize her words but Emma shook her head disagreeing. Mary Margaret couldn’t know that for certain, she lived in this brightly colored fairytale world where everything went great and everyone was happy and got their Happily Ever After. Emma didn’t believe in all of that. This thing with Jones wouldn’t lead to that if they—she— acted on it. She didn’t know where it would lead her and that was why she wouldn’t dare to take the plunge. Staying safely ashore was far safer than risking to drown.

“And grant him the opportunity to gloat at every given moment?” She sat back up, trying to shake off the conflicting feeling and immersing herself back into her earlier mindset. The mindset from when Jones was just still anonymous python and she couldn’t stand the sight of him. Maybe Mary Margaret would believe the act she was putting on. “No, thank you. I need to stay as far away from Killian Jones as possible.”

-/-

“Swan?” Emma froze, her hand still reaching out for the box of hot chocolate mix and her eyes shutting as she winced while hearing the nickname only one person in the whole world called her. Just her luck that that one person was also the one she was avoiding with might and main. But apparently, she couldn’t even go to the supermarket in peace. Maybe if she didn’t move, continued to stand there with her hand in the air, he wouldn’t approach her? Perhaps he would just walk by with an acknowledging nod and she would go about her day without having to face Killian Jones after she very obviously stood him up two weeks ago. Who was she kidding, the universe wasn’t kind enough to grant her that gesture. “What a lovely coincidence.”

Taking a breath, she turned around, a neutral expression on her features instead of the alarmed one they bore.

“Jones,” she curtly addressed him.

He was wearing a dark burgundy sweater, a pair of dark jeans and a warm coat over it to protect him from the outside temperatures; his hair was still a controlled mess and his cheeks slightly rosy due to the cold but what caught Emma’s attention the most was the smile that did not waver from his face.

“I’m happy I’m running into you.”

Emma had noticed that. She needed to be strong, however, to not get distracted by the way his eyes crinkled.

“Why exactly is that?” Her brow skeptically furrowed.

He moved his shopping basket to his left arm to take a step closer to her. Her body wanted to back away but the rack with hot chocolate mixes was in the way. The distance between them had declined so much that, because of their height difference, Emma was now forced to look up to look him in the eye.

“I’ve been meaning to ask you something but I didn’t want to do it via Messenger.”

There was a foreboding silence as they watched each other. He wouldn’t dare. She had just gone through two weeks of agony and he wasn’t about to reset her whole process by saying what she thought he was going to say. He couldn’t.

“I wrote an essay for an academic publication-” Emma felt her chest deflate as she let the air out of her lungs in relief. He wasn’t. She mentally thanked Zeus. “-and I was wondering if you could take a look at it?”

“Take a look?” Emma repeated harshly. “Why?” She didn’t give him any time to reply and answered her own question, “To boost your ego? You know what, I think I’m gonna pass. Hey, I have an idea. Maybe you should ask one of your flings, I’m certain they’d love to have the scoop of reading the essay of the prodigal Killian Jones.” To finish her statement, she added a sly smirk— though it was more of a sneer.

They bantered and jabbed, all with the same air of sarcasm and mockery, this was what they did. But why did he appear so defeated, then? So sad? He wasn’t supposed to; he was to supposed to counter with his equally clever remark, another battle in their never-ending war.

“Emma, please, would you read it,” he begged. It wasn’t the way he said it but what that caught her off guard. He’d never called her Emma before. Never, not even once. He purposely and stubbornly refused to. So, this was dead serious. “I’m begging you. I’ll do anything in return. I just need a second set of eyes.”

The desperation drenched his words and Emma could feel her resolution of staying detached fall apart, piece by piece.

“Okay,” she said, before thinking about what she was doing. Her heart clenched at the sight of his distressing disposition and wanted to banish it once and for all. She was pretty sure it would do everything in its power never to see that look again. “You can send me the file. I have to go now but I’ll take a look tonight.”

“Thank you so much, Swan.” He managed to smile a small smile. “You’ve earned my eternal gratitude.

She had no idea what to with that.

Not even five minutes later, her phone chirped.

Killian Jones has sent you a friendship request.

Sighing, Emma clicked accept. It was just a Facebook friendship, she was aware, but still, it was more. She’d agreed to help like a friend would. They suddenly became friends instead of fluctuating in the grey zone of enemies-but-not-really. It felt weird to enter this new territory. To have Killian Jones as a friend while she spent so much time being annoyed by him and far too much time with him residing in the back of her mind.

Killian Jones: Thanks again for doing this, Swan.

Emma Nolan: No problem. So, what do you want me to do precisely? Spelling, grammar, anything else?

Killian Jones: Well, spelling and grammar should be on point, but it can’t hurt to double check. It’s mainly the message, however. Do you get what I’m saying? Am I not repeating myself? Is there a clear structure? etc. I’ve read it so many times now that I’m second guessing every word and phrasing.

Emma Nolan: I can do that. I’ll read it as soon as I can.

Killian Jones: Be kind, Swan.

Emma Nolan: Eh. I’ll see how good this is before making any promises.

-/-

It wasn’t just good, it was incredible. Written with passion and intelligence. He incorporated humor in an academic essay and managed to get away with it. He drew her in from the very first sentence and kept her attention for the whole thirteen pages, the speed with which she was reading only increasing so she could see what else he had written. Fuck, he was talented. And she now had to admit it to him.

anonymous swan: I would add em-dashes here just to clarify the structure of your sentence.

anonymous swan: Good metaphor, I’d go even further with it. Compare more to it, the reader won’t mind one bit

anonymous swan: I thought you said creative license in academic essays was “bollocks”? Someone isn’t being consistent.

Killian Jones: I was expecting you to be more critical

Emma Nolan: So was I, but there was nothing to be critical about. It was really good, surprisingly enough.

Killian Jones: You think so?

Emma Nolan: I do. Well done, Jones.

-/-

Killian Jones: Swan! Guess what!

Emma Nolan: What?

Killian Jones: Because of my essay, I got nominated for the Newcomer of the Year award!!

Emma Nolan: Wow, Impressive! Congratulations!

Killian Jones: Thank you! Apparently, they attempted to reach out to me as soon as it got published, but they got my contact information wrong. The award ceremony is tonight and I thought I’d ask you to come along as a thank you.

Emma Nolan: Jones, I’ve already told you that I did absolutely nothing, stop trying to thank me. Emma Nolan: Besides, fancy award ceremonies and I don’t mix. I’m going to skip. But have fun!

-/-

“Have you heard the news?”

Emma startled as her brother barged into her room without knocking, without so much as a word to warn her of his entrance. In confusion, she took out her earbud, the white pod still blasting her playlist of study music, and silently asked him what he was doing with wide eyes and raised eyebrows.

“Have you heard?” he repeated, his voice insisting.

Slamming her book shut and pulling out her other earbud, aware of how she would not be able to do any studying when he was interrogating her in her room’s door opening, she turned to him, begrudgingly giving him her full and prompt attention.

“Heard what, David?” The annoyance was obvious in how she almost spit the words out.

“Killian’s essay got nominated for some prize.”

“I know. Good for him. I already congratulated him.” She failed to see why David had to kick down her door and announce it, interrupting her sacred reversion time. She was finally being productive.

“That’s all?” he asked, disappointed about something Emma couldn’t figure out.

What more could he want?

“Yeah,” she stretched out the word, watching him. “I was invited to come along but I passed. What else do you want me to say?

“Emma!” She was definitely missing something to understand this whole situation. “He asked you out and you said no!”

David provided her with the missing information, but she was wrong, it did not help whatsoever to understand.

“What? I said he didn’t need to thank me with some fancy dinner.” Her voice rose in pitch as she slowly began to comprehend what was going on and tried to defend herself. She was innocent.

“Knowing Killian, he took it as a rejection.”

“No, he didn’t,” Emma was convincing herself more than David at this point. “What are you talking about?”

David grabbed his phone, ceremoniously cleared his throat and started reading, “5:21 pm: “Mate, do you think it’s a good idea to ask your sister to join me? But like on an official date,”” he horrendously copied Jones’ typical lilt. “And then just now, 7:57 pm: “Dave, I don’t know what to do anymore. I’ve tried so many times, but I think she’s just not interested. I should give up. Anyways, I have to go. I have a ceremony to attend.””

Her brother was awaiting a reaction but Emma was right there with him, no idea how or what she should react. All she knew was that she didn’t want him to give up. So, all this time spent talking and bickering, that was him trying?

“What happened to him being this suave ladies’ man?”

“Do you really believe that’s who he is? Or even was?” His blue eyes were solemn as he questioned her opinion of his friend. She could see it there, the close bond the two of them had, the way David wanted to protect Killian. Perhaps the reason he never introduced Emma to him wasn’t because he wanted to protect her, but because he wanted to secure his best friend’s fragile heart.

“No,” she answered, head and eyes cast downwards in shame. “Okay, but what do you want me to do about it?”

The look he gave her didn’t leave a lot to the imagination and if it wasn’t quite clear yet, his arms crossing in front of his chest did tell her what he wanted her to do.

“When did you become such a fan of Jones and me together?”

His stern gaze and posture softened again as he thought of an answer which led Emma to think that the answer would be something she wasn’t ready for yet.

“Since I saw how much you’ve both changed since you met one another.” He stepped closer and went to sit on a corner of her desk. “Mary Margaret had to open my eyes but once seen, it could not be unseen. I didn’t completely realize how much you two were talking.”

“About your dissertation,” Emma clarified.

David looked down at her, not a trace of pressure or implication. Only a simple question with no underlying meaning; he was giving her the freedom to answer as she pleased. “Are you sure about that?”

They weren’t only talking about his dissertation. Every conversation might’ve started that way but they slowly but surely drifted to another topic, time and time again. She’d gotten to know a lot about him over the past few weeks she’d considered him a friend, and he about her, more than she cared to admit.

She shut her eyelids and shook her head. Once she reopened them, David sympathetically watched her. The hairs on her body stood upright with the realization that she wanted to try too. Finally, she had gotten ready to risk it, to give him a chance. But Killian told David he was done trying. Fuck.

“Now go.” David shook her out of her contemplation.

“What?” Emma replied in confusion.

“To the ceremony.” David grabbed her arms and helping her out of her chair. “You might still make it on time.”

She had only just come to the realization that she liked him and she already supposed to go and tell him? Oh no, she could not do that. Emma needed at least another couple of days or so to accept it all, and then visit him on her own terms, and then maybe bring up the topic. This was going way too fast.

“David, I can’t just barge in!”

What would it look like? Her swinging open the doors of a black and tie event in her sweatpants and oversized sweater, hair a mess—and not the good kind like Jones’— out of breath and sweating, disrupting some important person holding a speech and all eyes flying over to her just to say that she liked Killian Jones enough to want to date him. Emma’s worst nightmare, that was what it looked like.

“Yes, you can!” he disagreed, pushing her out of the room.

“Why are we yelling?” Mary Margaret appeared in the hallway and joined the conversation.

Before Emma could turn around and answer her question, placating Mary Margaret and downplaying everything to avoid her interference, David took the opportunity to recruit her onto his side.

“Emma is going to Killian’s ceremony to tell him she likes him.”

Waving her hands, she attempted to transfer the message that that wasn’t what they were doing. Everyone needed to calm the fuck down. David needed to stop pushing her, both physically and emotionally; Mary Margaret needed to stop looking at her with that sparkle of hope in her green eyes; and Emma needed the space to breathe and not freak out about everyone knowing she liked Jones.

“Oh my god!” Mary Margaret joined the yelling and simultaneously did so with Emma.

“No, I’m not!”

Her head was starting to hurt and to relieve the pain, Emma began to rub her temples with the tips of her fingers.

Mary Margaret came closer and tenderly placed her hands on both of Emma’s shoulders.

“Emma, you should,” she advised, bringing the yelling to an end with her soft voice. “It would be so very romantic.”

David came to stand right next to her, nodding and echoing what his girlfriend had said, yet again a reappearance of their trademarked true love bond.

“Why are you two like this?” Emma inquired as a last refusal, no idea what she was supposed to do right now. She could feel those two sets of eyes staring at her and pulling her over that line, convincing her, regardless how hard she might be against the idea.

“Emma.” She looked up at her brother and sister-in-law, who were standing awfully close to her in a tiny hallway. “Do you like Killian?”

“Yes.”

Mary Margaret smirked, an unsettling sight because she was not the type of person that smirked. Emma knew that it was decided. They were going.

“Then put on that pretty dress in your closet—you know that soft pink one— and go to the ceremony. I’ll drive.”

Emma supposed it was time to do some grand romantic gesture of her own. Ugh.

-/-

She slipped into the dark room, her dress swishing against her bare legs, and softly closed the door behind her. Scanning the room, she went in search of him and after some squinting, she could spot him in the front row. He looked an awful lot like the day she ran into him at the supermarket, nervous and afraid, with as only difference the suit he was wearing instead of his woolly sweater.

“To end our evening, we would like to announce our Newcomer of the Year,” the slightly balding man on the stage announced. Emma smiled, she had made it just in time. “The winner of this prize is a young, up-and-coming author. After recently having graduated in the studies of English Literature–”

And never shutting up about the fact that he did, Emma thought.

“–our laureate received acclaim for his dissertation and he managed to prove again with his recently written essay that this was all due to his talent and dedication. We are very pleased to announce that this year’s winner is Mr. Killian Jones.”

She clapped and whooped as she saw him walk towards the stage with a brilliant smile, pride swelling and spreading in her chest. He truly deserved this.

Killian reached the microphone and accepted the little statue, giving the host a handshake and looking at the bronze prize in awe.

“Thank you very much. I cannot properly express what it means to have your support. Writing and reading have been passions of mine ever since I was a young lad and to take this path was, therefore, a logical option I’ve not once regretted. Me standing here today would not be possible without my brother and mother who read countless stories until their voices went hoarse, without the amazing friends I have, and without the incredible people who read and gave feedback when the doubt grew too large and to whom I’m eternally grateful. So, thank you. I will treasure this moment forever.”

His speech was met with loud applause and Killian left the stage again, still shaking his head in disbelief. She was about to surprise him again. Waiting in a corner of the room until the mass of people wanting to congratulate him had dispersed and he was alone again, Emma left the shadows and walked over to Killian, who was admiring his prize yet again.

“I believe congratulations are in order. Newcomer of the Year, well done.”

Killian’s eyes left the trophy and moved to her, wide and blinking to see if this was real.

“Swan,” he breathed. “You’re here.”

She shrugged. “I decided that I might try one of these fancy award ceremonies.” Jones beamed as she leaned in. “I particularly liked your speech. Tell me, are there a lot of incredible people that read your text? Or was it just me?”

“Just you, Swan. You are more than enough.”

Fuck these stupid fancy award ceremonies for not being an appropriate place to attack him with her mouth.

Five Years Later

“Are you nervous?” she asked, running her hands through his dark locks, making them look just right. After taking a small step back and nodding approvingly, her hand slid down, settling on his cheek and caressing the soft skin there.

“Why would I be nervous?” His blue eyes looked up and betrayed that his confidence was all just an act.

Which Emma already knew, of course. She knew how he reacted to publishing his own work, to letting people he didn’t know and trust read the things he had worked on for weeks, months and even years sometimes.

“Because I know you and you’re publishing something that’s a bit bigger than just an essay in a magazine this time.” Emma’s eyebrows rose and Killian let out a sigh.

“Yeah,” he finally admitted, covering her hand with his own. “I’m bloody nervous.”

A smile crept on her face and she curled her free arm around his, pulling him closer to her to whisper a confession in his ear.

“I was waiting until you would say that.”

“Were you?” he questioned, tilting his head and lifting one expressive eyebrow.

Moving her head up and down, Emma confirmed. “So I could do this–” Her lips gently brushed his, an innocent thing, but it wasn’t about passion right now. It was about calming him and his nerves down and kissing her almost always seemed to have that effect. “– and tell you that your book is amazing and that everyone is going to love it. It’s the best thing you’ve ever written, Killian. And it can’t hurt that you had the world’s best beta-reader who also happens to be your lovely wife.” She winked, earning a laugh from Killian. “I’ve finally picked a favorite author that deserves it and that I love ” The words carried the memory of their very first date— first according to Killian, Emma wasn’t really convinced of that— and managed to eradicate the last remnants of stress inside of Killian as his hand stopped trembling and his eyes only contained love.

“You’re brilliant, you know that, right?” He cradled her cheeks before letting their foreheads touch.

“And you’ll do great, you know that, right?” she whispered back with closed eyes, reveling in the moment.

“I love you, Swan.”

She felt his lips on hers again and kissed back, the sensation still making her feel lightheaded as it had when they first kissed on the parking lot of the venue Killian had won his first award.

“Go knock them dead.”

He winked one final time at her before walking out on stage, a thunderous applause welcoming him, and Emma left the backstage to join the audience.

“Hello everyone, welcome and thank you for being at this reading,” Killian greeted his fans. “I’ll be reading the first couple of chapters and afterwards, you can get your copy signed if you’d like.”

The book on the stand was opened and Killian began to read.

“This book—and all of its em-dashes— is dedicated to the anonymous swan.”

A/N: This fic—and all of its em-dashes— is dedicated to the notorious nonnie

#cs ff #captain swan #cs au #cs crew #my words and sentences #notorious nonnie

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olmopress · 5 years

Text

Episode III: The Return of Manovich

week 11: Vincent Miller, “Key Elements of Digital Media” / Lev Manovich, “The Language of New Media”, Principles of New Media: 2. Modularity, 4. Variability, 5. Transcoding

Today I am very Happy. Even if yesterday night AS Roma lost to some unpronounceable and unspellable German team. You know why? No, it’s not because I am going out why someone I like. And neither because I decided I want to try and go to a rage room once. None of these romantics things.

It’s because today, Hideo Kojima’s long-awaited and frankly strange-looking new game Death Stranding is out!

This is me being happy with the copy of the game I just bought from this pedantic guy at GameStop who really wanted to sell me their useless (and of course expensive) fidelity card. I do not fidelize. I do not permanently associate with the revolting logics of media capitalism. Btw yes that in the background is Patti Smith’s Horses signed by herself. I am so cool, I know. What can you do.

ANYWAYS

Why is this relevant? Well, for a number of reasons. First of all because a videogame is a digital object, a digital medium. So it’s important to us. Secondly, because the themes of this game are SOOOOOOO damn interesting and appropriate for what we are doing in this class.

BUT MOST IMPORTANTLY

Because I decided to have yet another theme-based post. So Ladies, Gentlment, and all the other 7456 genders out there in the wide wild world, let me introduce you to this week’s issue of my blog, which will be entirely

VIDEOGAME-THEMED

Yes, I will. Sorry not sorry.

OK so as it is now customary I will skip Miller because I don’t like riassunti and synthesis and also I want to continue my honeymoon with Manovich.

Here’s me with my boy Lev.

Today we deal with the last three of Manovich’s Principles of New Media. Today I also want to be reader-friendly so I tell all of you from the start that I am going to explain briefly the principle and then pick an example, of course from some videogame. OK fellas? Ready to go.

Principle No. 2: Modularity

Well, modularity is quite easy. Manovich uses it to explain how digital objects are assembled through independent parts, which working on their own constitute the totality of the aforementioned object. A good example from videogames is the phenomenon of pop-up textures: that thing that happens when you’re playing a game in 3D graphics which uses real-time rendering, but optimization hasn’t been done well enough (or you’re just pushing the graphics beyond your hardware capabilities) and so you get some textures to be rendered with a delay. And this sucks because, well, it’s not very realistic and it makes you realize you’re just playing a videogame.

youtube

:( this is extreme tho. Sometimes it’s just OK.

[Btw pop-up textures are essentially what Manovich is referring to at page 39 when he writes about “distancing” and “level of detail”]

Manovich refers to this also as the “fractal structure” of digital media, which very cool and very LSD-like. So, yeah, cool.

BUT EVEN COOLER THAN THIS

is how this made me think of Aristotle. Your friendly neighborhood Western-culture-generator philosopher loved to talk about how the whole of something is more than the sole value of its components. Which, in some ways, doesn’t really seem to apply completely to digital media.

SOMETHING TO REFLECT UPON

Oh. And I was also thinking that maybe, MAYBE

MAYBE

all this modularity in our daily lives is also affecting the way our minds work. Like we now struggle to create coherent, consistent (“hardwired” Manovich would say) arguments or chains of reasoning, but instead rely completely on modular frames of understanding. Like we now tend to see things as separate and independent from each other, and we have trouble in looking at the bigger picture.

“OF COURSE YOU MUST BE WRONG, WE’RE AS CAPABLE AS EVER IN UNDERSTANDING ISSUES IN THEIR TOTALITY. BUT NO KID CLIMATE CHANGE IS NOT REAL BECAUSE ADMITTING IT WOULD MEAN RECONSIDER THE PRIVILEGES I GREW UP AS EXPRESSIONS OF A POST-INDUSTRIAL COLONIAL SYSTEM OF EXPLOITATION YESTERDAY SNOWED IN BERGAMO SO NO TROUBLE”

But let us not be distracted by such irrelevant issues.

Principle No. 4: Variability

Now this is obvious but still so cool. However, the question of variability is so multifaceted and complex that is difficult to pin it down to a single definition. I’ll try my best, though. I would say that

the concept of variability refers to all the ways in which digital objects can be modified, altered, or updated at the source of their distribution.

That is, without having to physically change anything. The only thing that variability needs is some form of the refresh button. It is a sort of physically invisible mutation, a “liquid” transformation, as Manovich says. And of course this has to do with Numerical Representation, Modularity, and Automation.

Before getting into the real interesting stuff about variability, Manovich makes seven examples. A couple of them will help grasp the concept better. So yeah, example three reads like this:

“Information about the user can be used by a computer program to customize automatically the media composition as well as to create elements themselves” (37)

In that unfortunately incomplete masterpiece that Metal Gear Solid V: The Phantom Pain is, you get to play as badass Venom Snake aka (sort of...) Big Boss, a super amazing and incredibly skilled soldier who has to infiltrate military compounds and all sorts of other infiltrable things between Afghanistan and Zaire around the mid-80s. In this game, you can decide what kind of equipment to bring with you, and approach the mission the way you like best. You can bring big-ass noisy weapons and just have a crazy battles, you can use assault rifles of sniper guns with silencers and be very quiet, and you can also use guns with tranquilizers so that you don’t kill anybody. You just put them to sleep.

Now, the cool thing about it is that the more you progress in the game, the more enemy soldiers will adjust to your playing stile. For instance, I remember using only tranquilizers with pistols and sniper rifles. So I would get lots of headshots, because when you headshot someone, he instantly falls asleep. After a few missions, most of my enemies adapted and started wearing helmets! So it was much harder for me to get those headshots.

See? This is an example of automation and variability.

There is also of course example number six. The one about periodical updates. Again, for anybody who ever played a videogame online, this is usual business.

I remember I once was thirteen. Yeah I know that’s hard to imagine, but for a moment just please bear with me. When I was thirteen I was very much into multiplayer FPSs. At that time particular, me and my friends would spend entire days on Call of Duty: Black Ops. Now, the online multiplayer was constantly updated and amended, so that if someone discovered that a certain build for a weapon made that weapon totally over-powered and impossible to play against, the guys at Activision would correct the flaw and balanced the game again. But variability in the game also occurred when DLCs were released: new maps, new weapons, new elements would ‘enter’ the world of the online game and of course alter it. It was cool, really. Cause the game evolved throughout the season. But the you had to buy the new one and spend other money and start back again and… really, can we just say fuck capitalism? That game could have lasted decades. Damn.

ANYWAY

By far the most interesting thing to me came at page 40, when Manovich discusses variability in terms of interactivity and hypermedia. In particular, he distinguishes between two ‘versions’ of interactivity.

Open interactivity: an interactive object “in which both the elements and the structure of the whole object are either modified or generated on the fly in response to the user’s interaction with a program.” (40)

Closed interactivity: an interactive object “that uses fixed elements arranged in a fixed braching structure” (40) and therefore on which users have only ‘liberty of order’. That is, they can only choose in which order to interact with the elements.

Now, try to follow me for a second. I think this distinction opens up one possibility of categorizing videogames. But we need to add one more category. We have

Linear games (Super Mario, the first Metal Gear Solid, Resident Evil 4…) which display a ‘limited’, ‘scripted’ interactivity. That is: you have to follow the path that has been chosen for you by the developers. You cannot decide in which order to do things. You go ahead with the game – interact with it, sure, but you basically witness the story unfold in front of your eyes passively.

Open world games (GTA, Spiderman, Pokémon games…), which essentially function on a principle of closed interactivity. You’re free to roam around and do whatever you want, to choose your own ‘order of interaction’ with the elements on the map, but you cannot act on the storyline, which is still linear and scripted for you. The story doesn’t change, no matter what you do inside or outside of the main missions.

pure RPGs (Fallout 4, Final Fantasy, Skyrim, Mass Effect…) which instead function on a principle of open interactivity. Your choices inform the way in which the game unfolds in terms of story, world, and sometimes even gameplay. The interaction is open because it allows to be formed in response to what the player does.

I should totally write a narratology of videogames.

I’ve already written a lot and I want to get to the last principle, but

I NEED

to point out something that comes around the end of page 41. Ready? So Manovich writes:

“The principle of variability exemplifies how, historically, changes in media technologies are correlated with social change. If the logic of old media corresponded to the logic of industrial mass society, the logic of new media fits the logic of the postindustrial society, which values individuality over conformity. […] In this way new media technology acts as the most perfect realization of the utopia of an ideal society composed of unique individuals. New media objects assure users that their choices—and therefore, their underlying thoughts and desires—are unique, rather than preprogrammed and shared with others.” (41-2)

Now, I am not sure precisely where Manovich stands on this argument, but this definitely rang a bell for me.

HEY LEV, EVER HEARD OF A LAD CALLED PASOLINI?

Because yeah, digital media gave us this fantastic possibility of escaping omologation because anybody can see, read, do whatever they want without any authority providing them with univocal content.

But are we really sure this is the triumph of individuality? Couldn’t this be just a new, and much more subtle and devilish form of conformity?

My bro and spiritual-granddaddy PPP believed so. And you, he was writing in the early seventies – not long before being brutally killed by neo fascists with the complacency of the State a Roman kid in Ostia – and virtually all of his predictions are becoming a terrible reality. Because Pier Paolo believed the (back then) new consumer society (which let’s face it gave birth to digital media the way we know it today) was only a new, horrible, de-humanizing form of fascism.

youtube

This is for anybody who understands a little italian and loves tragic heroes talking about the horrors of late capitalism on winter beaches.

BUT WE HAVE TO COME TO AN END, DON’T WE?

Principle No. 5: Transcoding

I’ll be very brief, this is easy. Manovich defines transcoding starting from the difference between the “cultural layer” (pretty much the visual, the interface) and the “computer layer” (basically code) of digital media. Using the example of videogames again, the cultural layer of a videogame is all that you see happening on the screen, while the computer layer is the code ‘behind’ it that makes it all happen in that way.

Fine, cool. Transcoding, Manovich says, happens everytime these two layers—these two languages, really—start to mix and mesh with each other.

The best example that I can come up with right now—and I am sorry if I can’t think of anything better but you know I have a graceful lady waiting for me, his date—has to do again with open world videogames.

SO HERE’S THE THING, I THINK

Open world videogames emerged and became the next big thing of gaming when the internet was already a big thing. And there’s a reason for that. It’s because the structure of an open world mimics, in many ways, that of the WWW.

THINK ABOUT IT

An open world is somewhere were you can roam around (I want to say navigate so badly!) pretty much everywhere you want. Most of the times you can jump from one places to another, sometimes using a nice menu/database of possible locations (reminds you of anything? Hyperlinking? Search engines, anybody?). You can’t really create much, but you can see everything. Well, that to me sounds like WWW.

COULD IT BE LOVE? TRANSCODING?

I think it is, baby.

We’re sadly at the end of our ride

But don’t be afraid!

THERE’S STILL ROOM FOR MUSIC AND VISUAL ARTS

Today we celebrate videogames, so what’s better than a collection of some classics in videogame music history? Enjoy.

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As for visuals, I want to come full circle. Hideo Kojima’s game have always been blessed with amazing character design and illustrations by his bro Yoji Shinkawa. Death Stranding is no exception. Except that there is an exception, because these times the characters are actors! Great actors! Like beautiful Lea Seydoux who I hope one day to marry. Or at least to hookup with, come on. Anyways, that’s beyond my point. I just wanted to introduce this beautiful promotional picture for Death Stranding.

It really is beautiful.

до свидания!

Image Sources: Parade, Pure Nintendo, Tech in Asia, GIPHY, Know Your Meme

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meggannn · 7 years

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andromeda review

I finished the game Monday night so I’ve had a few days to think over my feelings. No major plot spoilers in this post but putting behind a cut anyway.

I want to rip the bandaid off, so I’ll get the bad news out of the way first.

THE BAD

It’s clear what influence Frostbite -- and by extension EA -- has had on Andromeda, and it’s not always good. It’s a big world, which was kind of what they signed on for by setting the stage in a new galaxy: if it wasn’t big, people would complain we never got to “really see” Andromeda. So they made it big and pushed the exploration thing. It’s not as big as Inquisition, thank god, with not nearly so many pointless fetch quests, but there are still enough sidequests to deter the average player and don’t really move the plot further. I’m actually the kind of dedicated idiot who actually doesn’t mind collecting pointless shit across seventeen maps if it actually gives me more information about the lore or characters, but when it just comes with XP and a check mark, it irritates the living heck out of me. Andromeda has a fair amount of both types.

In the long run, this is a very minor complaint, more about what Bioware doesn’t put in the game than what they do, but I was let down in the lack of… creativity? In the new Andromeda species. After finishing the game however, for plot reasons, I can see why there are several reasons why they would keep the bipedal humanoid alien design, but it’s still a little disappointing. Lore-wise, I think traveling to a new galaxy would be the perfect stage to design more mind-bending aliens like the Leviathans or rachni (the Reapers controlled the direction organic life evolved in the Milky Way, but not Andromeda, right?). Aliens with different types of societies! Aliens that are bigger or smaller in scale than us! Aliens that have different ideas of the word ‘intelligence’! And we got only two sentient species, one of which actually has some form of settled home in Andromeda, the other of which we try to slaughter when we’re within fifty meters of each other.

For people who have played the original trilogy, it becomes kind of obvious they’re retreading familiar ground, and sometimes it gets predictable. Not just with their themes -- which I expect -- but their plot twists. I’ll avoid spoiling too much. There are also moments it feels as though they’re trying to ‘top’ the trauma Shepard went through in the original series by putting Ryder through worse, so much so that when Ryder’s in serious danger it feels a bit like they’re crying wolf. They somehow managed to do this without making Ryder feel like ‘the new Shepard’ -- which is a good thing -- but still, it’s a bit odd and disconnecting. It’s like you can see the talks at the tables when the creative director said “and then we’ll do THIS” and nobody considered if it was, um, logical.

With the writing, there was occasionally a lot of -- for lack of a better phrase -- telling and not showing, or in some other cases, stretching the limits of lore believability just to create conflict for the player to fight. I tend to hate when people use “show don’t tell” as a criticism because I think they’re usually overlooking something, but this is a common theme with BW games and in Andromeda it happens pretty consistently. We are constantly told that the angara are always “free” with their feelings and rarely if ever hide their emotions from the world, yet aside from Jaal’s consistent emotional vulnerability (who I thought was great btw), angara mostly tend to speak and talk and walk exactly like us. Having a conversation with an angaran NPC felt exactly like an asari or human NPC, except, you know, in how they looked.

((MILD PLOT SPOILERS: If you’ve reached Aya you’re probably fine to read)) I’m obviously relieved Bioware didn’t go in the colonization direction -- something I didn’t want to have to worry about the first place -- but instead there’s an undeniable white savior (or “human savior”) theme instead. (It became especially prominent later in the game.) This is difficult to document exactly because it’s not as explicit as other classic examples -- in MEA, Jaal has a large presence and is actively involved in protecting and saving his people; the Initiative/Ryder has to work their ass off to prove their intentions are peaceful and even then the angara are portrayed to rightfully still be skeptical -- but at the end of the day, the angara are a POC coded culture and ~only a stranger can save them~. The angara have also become Mass Effect’s elven equivalent from Dragon Age, in terms of how much and how often the story throws them into the mud. At least unlike the elves, they don’t argue that it’s the angara’s fault, but after a while it feels like slow and cruel torture of a native species that’s already been through hell.

The Chosen One narrative is how Bioware operates, I get it. But I’m getting tired of people treating the Pathfinder/Inquisitor like a hero-in-the-making before they have the chance to prove they’re even a person. (Sorry to keep bringing DA2 up, but this is why I liked Hawke so much -- you worked to Championship from the ground up, and everyone knew it.) What is so freaking special about the symbol of Pathfinders that makes everyone flock to you when you first step onto the Nexus? Did the Initiative really pin all their hopes on scouting landscapes and settling colonies in hostile or extreme environments on the shoulders of four people?

The disappointing LGBT romances are already well-documented, but I have to give a particular call-out to how they handled the only mlm’s storyline, because it was terrible. (It’s honestly astounding how it passed the desks of multiple people and nobody thought to say hey, maybe this is offensive?)

After watching Jaal’s romance… I’m still not convinced aliens should ever be straight in any circumstance, but I don’t think just a patch would solve this one -- I think Jaal’s romance employs a lot of you’re-the-girl-of-my-dreams tropes that were meant to specifically appeal to women, so swapping Sara for Scott in this case might feel lazy or contrived. Liam’s romance, though -- which I LOVED and I highly recommend people watch if they have a few minutes on Youtube -- is completely free of any sort of gender stereotypical tropes and would work just as well with any Ryder.

Okay now onto the good stuff, which was fortunately most of it.

THE GOOD

Despite all of the above, I really, genuinely, enjoyed this game and think both old and new Mass Effect players would enjoy it. There are some growing pains -- Ryder asks a few dumb questions for exposition that most ME fans know by heart and other times an NPC comments on this or that lore reference that new people wouldn’t understand in the slightest, but it doesn’t ruin the experience. I finished at around 75 hours and 97% completion with most of the remaining activities the ‘no lore included’ fetch quests I was complaining about earlier. And despite my whining about the sidequests, I actually did genuinely like them, for the most part. They gave me more information about each of the worlds and how people live there, often because the same people would give me multiple quests, or reference each other, so the locations felt like real places that people lived in.

The companions and their relationships -- including romances -- are really good. Like, not to call it leagues better than Inquisition, because Inquisition had great companions, but unlike the Inquisitor I actually felt like Ryder had a place on the ship. I knew what their job was, sure, but I also know who they were when they interacted with people, even allowing for the freedom of player choice. The Initiative isn’t military, and neither is your ship, though plenty of the squad have professional firearms and crisis training, which is a great shift from Shepard and the Normandy -- it comes with more casual banter, but it also has its downsides, because there will be fights on your ship between people, because many of them are not professionals, just highly skilled expertises, and they aren’t used to working with others. It sucks because you have to mediate the arguments, but it’s also realistic.

The animation is fine, and yeah the CC sucks and I wish it were better, but it’s hardly the end of the world. Mass Effect always did better with aliens than it did with humans, so it’s hardly a surprise, and personally I think if people are going to throw a fit over their PC not having the right kind of eyebrows or a glitch where a character holds a gun backwards that happens once in a 70+ hour game, and that ruins the entire experience for them… they might want to pick another hobby.

I’ve seen people complaining that the writing is shit, and it’s true that occasionally I’ll hear a cheesy line and think a fifteen year old could’ve done better, but the largest majority of the time, I wonder what those complaints were smoking. The writing is great. I feel like these are all real people -- and I especially feel Ryder is a real person, a real sister/brother, a real twenty-something thrown into a million problems they’re unequipped to handle.

I was surprised to actually be… impressed by the way they handle angaran relations. The white savior thing is still true and will always be true, but I appreciate that Ryder has to work their ass off to prove they’re trustworthy, and even then, the angara that still openly distrust aliens aren’t wrong for it, and Ryder has to respect that or risk their respect. They’re wary, and they have every right to be, and the story doesn’t punish them for it. (Even the Roekaar are slightly sympathetic in a way, because a majority of them are fighting because they’re scared.)

Open world games are usually something I dread, but I didn’t mind the open landscapes for the most part, because the Mako -- I mean Nomad -- gets you around pretty fast, you’ve got banter to listen to in the meantime, and the upgrades really helped whenever the terrain became challenging. Don’t get me wrong, sometimes it’s really too much, but for the most part, I honestly didn’t mind, and I was surprised I didn’t.

The journal prioritization system reminds me of DA2 in a good way; compared to previous ME games, and even Inquisition, MEA makes it a lot easier to tell which quests are worth doing/plot relevant, and which would just amount to my dicking around in the wilderness for XP or loot.

The combat is excellent -- not to rag on the original series’ system because there wasn’t anything particularly wrong with it, but I can definitely see major improvements in creativity and flexibility. It’s fluid, much more mobile, and the jumpjets let you get so much more creative. Letting people mix and match powers is a little far-fetched, but you can handwave a lot of with SAM’s profile implant, so I don’t really mind. The only irritating thing is that you’re limited to three powers at once, but since you have about a million powers available to you in the first place and can equip four favorite profiles at once, it seems a fair trade. (I’ve found a way around this anyway -- instead of bringing up the HUD and going to favorites, if you pause the game in the middle of combat, you can fool around with your skills AND change profiles and resume combat with no cooldown.)

It felt like ME1 in all of the best ways. Like I mentioned above, it’s true they’re sort of treading familiar ground in their themes and plot twists, but there were certain parts of the final mission in particular were most definitely purposeful references to/love letters to the original trilogy. It makes it feel like the start of a new journey; I told a friend when I finished that I felt exactly like I had when I finished ME1 for the first time, excited and scared and pumped to start playing sequel.

My overall experience was a great one; I’m planning on starting my second playthrough as soon as I can, probably tomorrow. It was familiar to old fans who loved ME1 for its newness and strangeness, it’s friendly to new players, and I think it’ll be remembered strongly in the future if it is the beginning of a new series like I expect it to be. (LBR, if it isn’t “part one” of a new story...... it makes no sense. It’s practically screaming for more.)

#andromeda spoilers #mea #mass effect andromeda #megan plays me

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visionandperception · 7 years

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Unfolding of the cold reason (Eurus) in Sherlock

Introduction

Okay, so first of all, EMP is the line here, thanks to everyone who years before S4 aired saw and observed (nowadays, I think EMP is the only solution, and then we can get if you want “dream within a dream”, etc.)

Okay, so I started this meta as a reply to “Look at me. Look and play.”, and here it goes a special shoutout to @justshadethings ! Extremely interesting and worth a reading, I highly indicate this meta, which inspired me. I don’t have much to add, but the analysis approached:

Irene’s theme played as Sherlock’s Heart

Bach played as Sherlock’s Brain (pure logical, a proper machine)

Eurus is Sherlock’s Brain in the “reason and logical, emotionless”

From that, I decided to talk about the personifications Eurus assumed along S4. If someone has already done this, sorry, and I really don’t want to be repetitive.

So, let’s go? We had in Season Four...

Lady in Red, also known as Faith. (x)

(x)

“E.”, according with the credits, Elizabeth, and there we have William’s parallel!

Eurus is a part of Sherlock, of William Sherlock Scott Holmes. Therefore, naming one facade of his cold and emotionless brain, Elizabeth when disguised inside his mind is more than reasonable:

[William] Sherlock (different name) Scott (common name) Holmes,

Eurus (different name) Elizabeth (common name) Holmes.

Coincidences? I wouldn’t believe so.

The Therapist. John’s therapist, actually.

And finally Samara ops, Eurus Holmes, “third Holmes sibling”, or as we are going to refer here, Sherlock’s side which is “emotionless brain, cold machine”, in all her grace.

By the way, Death Waits For Us All In Samarra and Eurus being quite relatable (at least physically, as I have never seen The Ring) to Samara is enough to a long meta, don’t you think? But I guess there are many by now.

We saw all of those multiple characters, Eurus, Therapist, Faith (lady in red), E. (lady in the bus). Now, let’s analyse them as parts of Sherlock.

I’m going backwards, alright?

Eurus is his emotionless side, and with The Final Problem he finally understands why he’s better when having her as just a part of him,because sentiment does count. As so many people have already analysed her as Sherlock’s brain, and successfully made amazing points, I’m not going into this topic, not specifically, but from the point that she’s Sherlock’s brain, and once Faith, E. and Therapist are all Eurus’s disguises, they are all from a same “family”, sides of Eurus, that are going to eventually touch his heart, emotions, not always intentionally or purely.

The Therapist (TT)

About Eurus as The Therapist, I’m not 100% sure when concerning her meaning inside Sherlock. After all, she’s the pure brain, the machine dressed in a disguise.

I’m not a therapist, but here’s a short description:

Psychotherapy -- also called talk therapy, therapy, or counseling -- is a process focused on helping you heal and learn more constructive ways to deal with the problems or issues within your life. It can also be a supportive process when going through a difficult period or under increased stress, such as starting a new career or going through a divorce.

Generally psychotherapy is recommended whenever a person is grappling with a life, relationship or work issue or a specific mental health concern, and these issues are causing the individual a great deal of pain or upset for longer than a few days. There are exceptions to this general rule, but for the most part, there is no harm in going into therapy even if you're not entirely certain you would benefit from it. (x)

Psychotherapy is a collaborative treatment based on the relationship between an individual and a psychologist. Grounded in dialogue, it provides a supportive environment that allows you to talk openly with someone who’s objective, neutral and nonjudgmental. You and your psychologist will work together to identify and change the thought and behavior patterns that are keeping you from feeling your best. (x)

So, what can we conclude?

As John’s therapist, “Eurus” listen to people (John, and I know there is a relation between John and people, but I’ve read those metas a long time ago, so the information that justified the relation was archived). John, and people, are talking specially about feelings, emotions, and she’s supposed to try to help her patients.

Eurus as a therapist is more than Sherlock making a supposition inside his head about what John’d do if Mary died violently to save his (Sherlock’s) life. Actually, going along with this thought, this is the pure brain that relays in calculation with the emotion mask. She’s Sherlock being more sensitive and human, listening and trying to help the others (and he’s been doing this, as a consulting detective! In many cases he forged emotion, and in others he’d to listen and help the clients/victims so the case would be solved, and he did it with tact.). However, she (Eurus, the pure reason and brain) doesn’t care, it’s all a plan, there’s an objective, for example, solve the case.

If you spend more than five minutes with Eurus, the emotionless machine, you get reprogrammed. (I don’t have screenshots, but this is what Mycroft says in The Final Problem). It’s interesting that then, inside his head, he considers that the Eurus inside him has an impact so deep and strong on people, even on himself, because sometimes he’s going to play a game between himself, emotion and reason and fail in noticing they can be harmonic.

Always remember that The Therapist is a ramification of Sherlock’s side which is pure reason, aka Eurus, a proper machine, but for some variable deals with emotion. Therapist-Eurus faces John’s suffering, confusion, and all of his emotional, broken heart, but is disable of helping wholeheartedly because she’s just a part of Sherlock. TT is the brain who has contact with emotion, but she isn’t there to help, but to use the information she can get, in the case, about John.

(x)

But Eurus, even with TT mask doesn’t understand emotion in the way she “gets what you’re saying because she’s already felt like that”, it’s cold and distant! The East Wind probably analyses emotion as an aside fact.

She’s the image Sherlock had tried wanted sell:

“I’m a high-functioning sociopath.” and within this journey he finally completely sees that he doesn’t want to be, and in fact isn’t, this person.

(this is from season 1, and sherock looks like a baby we shall protect, btw,)

Eurus!Therapist is his brain trying to process and deal with emotion, John’s feelings, but failing miserably because this isn’t about his mind, but his heart. There you get the dialogue that was so well analysed in the meta I quoted above. Play me/Play you. He first plays Bach, and I can’t go on about this, because it’s not my area, but from what I understood, it’s his brain, it’s Eurus, and I’m trying to make this less confusing but his own cold brain knows she’s not Sherlock, not all of him. He is, fatally I may add, guided by sentiment although he might reinforce the contrary, because usually feelings aren’t consider something clever.

However, being able to understand yourself, and consequently your feelings, is extremely important. You have to be strong to open your heart (and maintaining it closed isn’t a sing of weakness, of course). And one of the processes which transform Sherlock in a good man is, when dealing with all his own façades, sides, the acknowledgement of the value of feelings.

Sometimes she, the brain without a heart, manages to leave Sherrinford, obvious when she wants, and dresses the therapist mask, unsuccessfully trying to help John with feelings (among other topics, of course, I don’t want to neglect anyone’s line of work :) ), but usually this doesn’t work, because you need a heart to understand another heart.

“The man you are today is your memory of Eurus”.

Sherlock is somehow guided by sentiment, but he represses it all the time. Eurus is the cold machine, and this memory of how he can be just a brain, without a heart, affects him ‘till today. And it isn’t a nice memory. No, no, no, it’s so far from that.

Stop and see Sherrinford

And then locked in Sherrinford, a weird version of Azkaban is Eurus. I know not just me thought the beginning of the word Sherrinford didn’t make much sense as instantly you remind Sherlock. And this is because Sherrinford

About the name:

Sher (r) + in + ford

Sher is obviously a diminutive for Sherlock, maybe a nickname.

In (self-explaining)

Ford, here’s the meaning:

(Cambridge Dictionary)

Okay, so what the f*ck? Sherlock is in a river that’s not deep and can be crossed?

Well, river=water, and Sherrinford is located in the middle of the ocean, but more than that, Eurus, his heartless brain. So, I’m going to kick, because...

reason: not sure this makes sense, but wanted to talk about and hear everyone’s ideas!

This high-security prison (between quotation marks, we may agree :)) , is Sherlock. Sherlock is totally surrounded by water, that is, sentiment, feelings, and inside a little island is the part of him who is “brain without heart”, however...

1) He can cross this region of his mind (he’s a mix of feelings, reasoning), because it’s not to deep, He won’t drown, and there you have:

He CAN reach John.

2) This part of him, Eurus, the logical is in an island in an infinite ocean of feelings, that is, the only part of him that hasn’t drowned in his feelings.

3) Sher is locked in Sherrinford.

It’s different from Irene’s Sher-locked, because that was highly related to feelings. Eurus is the opposite, but again, Play you. And Sherlock plays from his heart, but Eurus isn’t programmed to read pure sentiment, so she think he’s has sex, but she can’t look beyond (again, this meta is wonderful).

Faith

Finally we got to Faith. I have to say nothing is clear to me, basically a big mess, but it’s worth a try. She’s a blatant John mirror, and one of Eurus’ masks. She’s totally fragile to Sherlock’s eyes, but it’s all pretending.

There are two angles I want to talk about here:

1) As John’s mirror, and people have explained this so perfectly I don’t dare to add much more, we see how Sherlock helped John that day 1. There is even a flashback, John with his walking stick, back in ASiPink!. It couldn’t be more obvious.

Sherlock: You’re suicidal, you’re allowed chips. It’s one of the only perks.

Wait, but who was eating chips in the dark a while ago?

This happened in S3, Sherlock was back from Serbia, torture and an uncountable time where the only thing that made him stay alive was one word “Ammo”. Telling, isn’t it? When he comes to London and finds the person behind the ammo getting engaged, and wanting him away from him. He says she is allowed chips because he knows what’s like to feel like that. We can guess we’re there in the airplane or even before, but if we’re in the airplane, don’t forget Sherlock has taken a dose capable of killing him because he’d rather die right there than have to fight in Eastern Europe for his life.

Oh. Wait.

Molly: He (John) would would rather have anyone but you. Anyone.

Inside his mind, do you remember the last scenes of TST? Again, John doesn’t want him close. Actually, things haven’t been worse since the rooftop. But now Sherlock isn’t eating chips in the dark “alone” in 221B.

Eurus is with him, but now she’s more of a memory. Blond, careless about her life, wondering around with a gun in her bag, just waiting ‘till a moment. His mind visits himself! The thing is that she’s also John, but at the same time she’s the degraded side of Sherlock, eating chips in the middle of the night, lonely. Faith is one more part of Sherlock, nobody’s made of just one thing!

(x)

Sherlock: I think she liked me.

Faith and Sherlock aren’t okay. And Sherlock and John weren’t okay when they first met. They spent a whole evening, and that was really fun, after all, John moved in after knowing the mysterious Sherlock Holmes for a couple of days, perhaps even less!

Faith is a projection of John, suicidal there in Barts, but she’s also Sherlock. Her presence is very important for his realization about how “(...) your life isn’t your own”. He’s still understanding how John felt when he jumped from that roof, in front of his eyes, and I think the river’s scene is the apex. There it finally happens and they see each other for the last time.

That’s his (all of Sherlock, Eurus + feelings +whatever we may add) contact with his mind processing the affect of his own fake suicide, John’s suicidal thoughts, finally, a topic which is disturbing him a lot.

Do you know how far John relationship with E. went? No? Well, so don’t I, but for this part this is not the most relevant thing.

I’m going to sum up in one short paragraph:

E. is the part of Sherlock which isn’t overwhelmed by feelings, E. is in the ford, there in Sherrinford, and “she” can flirt with John without greater regrets or pains. She’s the pretty lady in the bus who smiles and receives a smile back from that guy with a flower in his head, John. And he’s married, but you’re still flirting from time to time, because this is how your relationship works. Well, sometimes one of the part didn’t notice when the other intended to flirt.

Although Sherlock believes John’d go for it and smile back, the Angel Mary would haunt him. I don’t have the link because I read this meta more than one month ago, but Sherlock thinks John, with this modeled and inhuman image of his wife, would create a Mary!Ghost to cope with her loss, but more than that, she’d be his subconscious (but then we are going to The Lying Detective).

Oh, and here the Elizabeth = William parallel comes to end my analyse.

Okay, I don’t know who I should tag, so I’m going to tag some old fellows, and people who I suppose are exploring this subject, if you don’t want do be tagged, please tell me so I can remove you from here:

@thelostsmiles, @somedrunkpirate , @badsnowfo, @shawleyleres, @sherlock-overflow-error, @isitandwonder (hope I won’t bother tagging you :) ), @monikakrasnorada (you’re EMP, so...)

#meta #sherlock #analysis #water #eurus #E.#elizabeth #emp #sherrinford #john #the therapist #faith #season 4 #sherlock holmes #elizabeth=william #sherlock meta #mine

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