What annoys the FUCK out of me about the ‘all historians are out there to erase queerness from history’ thing on Tumblr is that it’s just one of those many attitudes that flagrantly mischaracterises an entire academic field and has a complete amateur thinking they know more than people who’ve spent fucking years studying said field.
Like someone will offer a very obvious example of – say – two men writing each other passionate love letters, and then quip about how Historians will just try to say that affection was just different ‘back then’. Um…no. If one man writes to another about how he wants to give him 10 000 kisses and suck his cock, most historians – surprise surprise! – say it’s definitely romantic, sexual love. We aren’t Victorians anymore.
It also completely dismisses the fact of how many cases of possible queerness are much more ambiguous that two men writing to each other about banging merrily in a field. The boundaries of platonic affection are hugely variable depending on the time and place you’re looking at. What people mock us for saying is true. Nuance fucking exists in the world, unlike on this hellscape of a site.
It is a great discredit to the difficult work that historians do in interpreting the past to just assume we’re out there trying to straightwash the past. Queer historians exist. Open-minded allies exist.
I’m off to down a bottle of whisky and set something on fire.
It’s also vaguely problematic to ascribe our modern language
and ideas of sexuality to people living hundreds or even thousands of years
ago. Of course queer people existed then—don’t be fucking daft, literally any
researcher/historian/whatever worth their salt with acknowledge this. But as
noted above, there’s a lot of ambiguity as well—ESPECIALLY when dealing with a
translation of a translation of a copy of a damaged copy in some language that
isn’t spoken anymore. That being said, yes, queer erasure happens, and it
fucking sucks and hurts. I say that as a queer woman and a baby!researcher. But
this us (savvy internet historian) vs. them (dusty old actual historian)
mentality has got to stop.
You’re absolutely right.
I see the effect of applying modern labels to time periods when they didn’t have them come out in a bad way when people argue about whether some historical figure was transmasculine or a butch lesbian. There were some, of course, who were very obviously men and insisted on being treated as such, but with a lot of people…we just don’t know and we never will. The divide wasn’t so strong back in the late 19th century, for example. Heck, the word ‘transmasculine’ didn’t exist yet. There was a big ambiguous grey area about what AFAB people being masculine meant, identity-wise.
Some people today still have a foot in each camp. Identity is complicated, and that’s probably been the case since humans began to conceptualise sexuality and gender.
That’s why the word ‘queer’ is such a usefully broad and inclusive umbrella term for historians.
Also, one more thing and I will stop (sorry it’s just been so long since I’ve gotten to rant). Towards the beginning of last semester, I was translating “Wulf and Eadwacer” from Old English. This is a notoriously ambiguous poem, a p p a r e n t l y, and most of the other students and I were having a lot of trouble translating it because the nouns and their genders were all over the place (though this could be because my memory is slipping here) which made it hella difficult to figure out word order and syntax and (key) the fucking gender of everything. In class, though, my professor told us that the gender and identity of the speaker were actually the object of some debate in the Anglo-Saxonist community. For the most part, it was assumed that the principal speaker of the poem is a woman (there is one very clear female translation amongst all that ambiguity) mourning the exile of her lover/something along those lines. But there’s also some who say that she’s speaking of her child. And some people think the speaker of the poem is male and talking abut his lover. And finally, there’s some people who think that the speaker of the poem is a fucking BADGER, which is fucking wild and possibly my favorite interpretation in the history of interpretations.
TL;DR—If we can’t figure out beyond the shadow of a doubt whether the speaker is a human or a fucking badger, then we certainly can’t solidly say whether a speaker is queer or not. This isn’t narrowmindedness, this is fucking what-the-hell-is-this-language-and-culture (and also maybe most of the manuscripts are pretty fucked which further lessens knowledge and ergo certainty).
Also, if there’s nothing to debate, what’s even the fun in being an historian?
All of this.
I had a student once try to tell me that I was erasing queer history by claiming that a poem was ambiguous. I was trying to make the point that a poem was ambiguous and that for the time period we were working with, the identities of “queer” and “straight” weren’t so distinctive. Thus, it was possible that the poem was either about lovers or about friends because the language itself was in that grey area where the sentiment could be romantic or just an expression of affection that is different from how we display affection towards friends today.
And hoo boy. The student didn’t want to hear that.
It’s ok to admit ambiguity and nuance. Past sexualities aren’t the same as our modern ones, and our understanding of culture today can’t be transferred onto past cultures. It just doesn’t work. The past is essentially a foreign culture that doesn’t match up perfectly with current ones – even if we’re looking at familiar ones, like ancient or medieval Europe. That means our understanding of queerness also has to account for the passage of time. I think we need to ask “What did queerness look like in the past?” as opposed to “How did queerness as we understand it today exist in the past?” As long as we examine the past with an understanding that not all cultures thought same-sex romance/affection/sexual practice was sinful, we’re not being homophobic by admitting there can be nuance in a particular historical product.
I know a lot of very smart people who are working on queerness in medieval literature and history. And yes, there are traditions of scholars erasing queer history because they themselves are guided by their own ideologies. We all are. It’s impossible to be 100% objective about history and its interpretation. But that doesn’t mean there isn’t good work being done by current scholars, including work that corrects the bad methodologies of the past.
also yeah, the key thing that’s helped me as a student of history is learning that using language outside of modern labels shouldnt erase queerness, but should complicate it.
Okay, are we seriously not going to talk about this majestic af robe from Iron Man 2? Y’all disappoint me.
Hmmm guys, can I make a few additions?
“After months in hell I still look fine as fuck”
“I look soft but I’m Vengeful Prepare To Feel My Wrath”
“I know I’m a delight and you feel honored to be in my presence. You’re welcome.”
“I’m wearing a Black Sabbath shirt because, you know, Iron Man”
“I’m wearing a suit because I am a Serious Billionaire Business Man but also a silly shirt because I Don’t Like Rules and sunglasses to hide im heartbroken”
“I Am supposed to be A Responsible Adult And You’re Grounded Young Man”
Anyway no one can lose this argument because we’re all winning.
I know one of y’all put him dressed in this and it looking all nice and put together like it’s worth a few million dollars or something BUT CAN WE ALSO POINT OUT HOW GOOD HE LOOKS WITH EVERYTHING LOOSENED??? Homeboy is looking like a goddamn snackmealbuffet in that outfit hot damn.
*happy sigh*
How the fuck did you forget the graphic cat tee + sunglasses look
Excuse all of u but how dare u all forget that moment of tony decked in all black with a leather jacket, angry and speaking french? Unmatched
Always reblog
Yeah but we’re forgetting about the reverse strip tease??
Oh and this Look™️ them glasses and jacket tho
ITS BACK
i agree 1001% with all of the above and would also like to add
There once was a girl named Lenore And a bird and a bust and a door And a guy with depression And a whole lot of questions And the bird always says “Nevermore.”
Footprints in the Sand
There was a man who, at low tide Would walk with the Lord by his side Jesus said “Now look back; You’ll see one set of tracks. That’s when you got a piggy-back ride.”
Response to ‘This Is Just To Say’
This note on the fridge is to say That those ripe plums that you put away Well, I ate them last night They tasted all right Plus I slept with your sister. M’kay?
Stopping by the Woods on a Snowy Evening
There once was a horse-riding chap Who took a trip in a cold snap He stopped in the snow But he soon had to go: He was miles away from a nap.
Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night
There was an old father of Dylan Who was seriously, mortally illin’ “I want,” Dylan said “You to bitch till you’re dead. “I’ll be pissed if you kick it while chillin’.”
I Wandered Lonely As a Cloud
There once was a poet named Will Who tramped his way over a hill And was speechless for hours Over some stupid flowers This was years before TV, but still.
THE ONE FOR DO NOT GO GENTLE
IM CRYING
A chap from a faraway land Said two big stone legs (topless) stand An inscription fine Reads “this shit’s all mine” But all there’s to see is the sand.
OMFG,
The Second Coming
The falcon flies wider in scorn All things fall apart, or are torn And now, what rough beast Will arise in the East And slouch Bethlehemward to be born?
Edgar Allen Poe, “The Raven”:
Enthroned on the bust by the door, The raven exclaims “Nevermore!” It’s rather annoying, For I was enjoying My mourning for dear lost Lenore.
Edgar Allen Poe, “The Bells”:
Bells are quite noisy, it’s true, And each has a quite distinct hue, From silver and gold Different stories are told, Foretelling both glory and rue.
W. H. Auden, “Funeral Blues”:
Shut off the clocks and the phone, And let no dog bark with his bone: Let the planes overhead Only say “he is dead”… Now I’m sorry, there’s nobody home.
T. S. Eliot, “The Lovesong of J. Alfred Prufrock”:
A man can walk down on the beach Roll his pants up and munch on a peach; He isn’t deluded And won’t be included By mermaids that sing each to each.
T.S. Eliot, “The Wasteland”:
You called me the hyacinth girl When you gave sweet Shakespeare a whirl; The city’s unreal, And the dead men don’t feel, So let’s let the storm warnings twirl.
Lewis Carroll, “The Jabberwock”:
‘Twas mimsy out there by the wabe And all of the momewraths out grabe. The Jabberwock’s dead (Some kid took off its head, And his father said “You’re my best babe!”).
Beowulf:
Terribly troubled, the Thane Demanded defense from a Dane For fierce in the fen Mighty monsters maimed men Great Grendal gave plenty of pain.
William Butler Yeats, “Stolen Child”:
Come on, human kid, and let’s go, There’s so much to see and to show. Run off with the fae, Hurry fast, skip away, And you’ll never a mortal life know!
John Keats, ‘La Belle Dame Sans Merci":
The sedge is all dry; spring has sped, And the birds that once sang have all fled. The merciless dame Goes on making her claim To young hunks who keep winding up dead.
Lord Tennyson, “The Princess”:
The echoes keep fading away With the splendor that ebbs with the day, But the castle is grand In this bright fairyland, And there’s not that much else I can say.
Christina Rossetti, “Goblin Market”:
At goblin men we mustn’t stare, And we shouldn’t go to their Fair. Their fruit may seem tasty, But we can’t be hasty, And don’t let them play with your hair!
Oh my god, the Beowulf one. Oh.
holy shit, the merciless dame is perfect
I love the jabberwock!
Shakespeare, Sonnet 18
Have I called you a summer’s day yet?
Like the sun, and ur makin me sweat
Even Death is dismayed
Cuz you castin’ no shade
An I wrote this so peeps won’t forget
I’m in awe.
The Tygre William Blake
A tygre with dread symmetry did burn so brilliantly that I asked with a fright in the forest of night, “Did God make the lamb and thee?”
Believe Me, if All Those Endearing Young Charms Thomas Moore
My love whom I gaze on today, if all your looks faded away I would love you still more than ever before and in love with you always I’d stay.
The Lady of Shalott Alfred, Lord Tennyson
A tender young lass from Shalott, was forbidden to spy Camelot. But within her mirror, Lancelot did appear, now the lass from Shalott is not.
Catullus 16 Catullus
To the old queens, Aurelius and Furius: your criticism leaves me quite curious. Do you think I am weak because soft words I speak? ‘cause I’ll fuck both your faces, I’m serious.
The next series of Sherlock, the hit BBC drama, could be the last, the programme’s creator has warned, as he suggested that Benedict Cumberbatch is now such an internationally-renowned actor that he only does the show out of loyalty to its fans.
Steven Moffat, the executive producer of the BBC One show, said that he was “amazed” that the corporation had managed to secure “film stars” such as Cumberbatch, who plays the eponymous detective, and Martin Freeman, his sidekick Doctor Watson, for a fourth series, which is expected to air in early 2017.
He added: “I don’t know how long we can keep it going. I’m personally willing but I’m hardly the main draw. I would be moderately surprised if this was the last time we ever made this show. But it absolutely could be.”
Sherlock, which runs as a three-part miniseries, has become one of the BBC’s most popular programmes, amassing a cult following, and was nominated for six Emmy Awards yesterday.
A Victorian-themed special episode, which aired in the New Year, was seen by more than 12 million viewers on BBC One.
BBC Worldwide, the corporation’s commercial arm, revealed this week that the ninety-minute festive special, The Abominable Bride, was the corporation’s biggest overseas export in the past year.
The Abominable Bride has been sold to broadcasters in 216 international territories over the past twelve months. It was also released in cinemas across the world, selling over 190,000 tickets in America and Canada, and topping box offices in Russia, South Korea, Hong Kong, and China.
Moffat, who is also in charge of Doctor Who, said the shows would not be based on any of Conan Doyle’s best known detective stories. He said: “There are stories that we are making use of in different ways. We’re using stories that people don’t know so much. Now we are getting into equally good, but far less well known, Conan Doyle stories.
The producer said that both Freeman, who starred in the Hobbit films, and Cumberbatch, who was nominated for an Oscar for playing Alan Turing in The Imitation Game, did not do the show for the money.
He added: “We do have two film stars in the programme. They haven’t needed to do these jobs for a very long time. They’re coming back because they want to.
“I’m amazed that we’ve got this far. I thought that once they had become extremely successful, we would only get to do one more series.
“There’s never going to come a time when we do a longer run, because this is what the series has become. It’s an occasional treat where you get three movies. It’s how it works.”
Moffat said that if the pair’s schedule became too hectic to commit to future series, the corporation could return to the show years down the line.
He added: “That’s why I think it’s unlikely that we’ve completely finished it. There would be nothing strange in stopping for a while. It could go on forever, coming back now and again.”
The BBC has made a habit out of keeping Sherlock fans guessing about which of Arthur Conan Doyle’s stories it will adapt for the screen.
The corporation yesterday released this photograph of Benedict Cumberbatch, clad in a scarf, posing with a bloodhound, but it would not provide any insight into the dog’s role in the show.
There is a fleeting reference to the breed in one of Conan Doyle’s short stories about the detective, The Adventure of the Creeping Man, in which Holmes is engaged to discover the cause of the strange behaviour of a university professor.
Newspapers and their headlines…
What this essentially means, is that series 5 might not be on in 2019 as you might have expected.
Personally I wanted the entire series together with series 5 wrapped up by the end of 2020. But it looks like that’s not going to be the case.
First of all, I think I’ve read somewhere literally years ago that Benedict had already signed up for series 5. Meaning that the 5th series are definitely on. But apparently, Benedict is just one of those actors who have a hard time saying ‘no’, because he’s signed up for a great amount of other projects, now having new work lined up for the next three or so years.
It’s pretty much the same with Martin. He’s not having such an enourmous flow of projects as Benedict, because he somehow still has that everyman reputation, but still he’s finally starting to get recognised for what he is, i.e. a fucking fantastic actor, and no doubt he’s got his schedule already filled with work other than Sherlock for the next few years as well.
But as Steven Moffat himself confirmed, both Benedict and Martin have had no reason to do Sherlock for years. They just could’ve found dozens of far more well-paid projects in Hollywood and rejected such a preposterous notion of doing more Sherlock entirely years ago. But they haven’t, have they?
They have repeatedly stated that they were really enjoying themselves doing Sherlock and that they weren’t going to stop doing Sherlock for as long as it was going to be good. Given that Mark Gatiss and Steven Moffat are such fantastic writers, and the whole cast and crew are just a joy to work with, this can be interpreted as Benedict and Martin being happy with doing the series indefinitely (Benedict’s ‘I’d like to age with [Sherlock]’ as the case in point).
So while it’s not necessarily good news for people who still expect Sherlock to have new series every year, it’s still fantastic. We’re essentially getting a better deal than we’ve ever expected to get. Yes, after series 4 of Sherlock air, we might not see new series on our screens again for another 3 or even 5 years. But we’re getting them. And probably the next as well. Maybe in 5 years as well, but we’ll be getting them. And then probably some more. Because, as was previously stated, Benedict and Martin are very busy, but they are still hyped for doing more Sherlock and want to age with their characters. And Steven Moffat is actually saying that chances are, it’s actually going to happen.
This is probably going to be the worst TV-series to watch. They’ll probably be doing new sets of episodes once every 5 or so years (not even the 2-year hiatuses that everyone hates). But it’s also going to be the best TV show in the history of television. Historically-wise, there’s no better way to adapt Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s canon than over the course of decades. Remember, the creator of the original Holmes and Watson kept coming back to writing them every now and again for 40 years. And he managed to do it so masterfully, that despite (or because of) the fact that there’s no specific ending to the adventures of Sherlock Holmes and Dr Watson, we still feel like the characters continue to live on. And chances are, that’s exactly what’s going to happen to BBC Sherlock. Years into the future, the show will finally be complete. But in a way, also incomplete enough, that you’d know it doesn’t end when it actually ends. Benedict and Martin are going to grow old. Hell, we are going to grow old. Yet there’ll be not a single person who’s going to be disappointed in the ending. Because the ending is going to be better than good; there’s not going to be an ending at all. And it’s going to be both the worst and the best thing to ever happen to us. Because that’s how BBC Sherlock essentially is: both the worst and the best, or in other words, just absolutely perfect.
There was also the previous statement about s4 containing a climax of the story they’ve been telling so far. I know there have been metas about how that could still mean a 5-series arc, but I don’t think so. TAB already showed us the major shift in Sherlock’s character that’s necessary to resolve things with John. Generally speaking denouement doesn’t last for 20% of the total story length, which is what it would be if the story climaxed in s4 but didn’t end until s5.
What the Brits excel at is using the television series format to tell a story and then stop when it’s done, so this could indeed be it. BUT these are beloved characters, like you say, and particularly successful versions of them, and the source material is mostly serial in nature. If your future timeline prediction is right, @heimish1881, I’m thinking we’ll get canon johnlock by the end of s4, and maybe future Chistmas specials or one-offs, consulting husbands style? Which would be fucking amazing.
Whatever happens they’ve gotta turn the good ship John Watson around in a hurry. Let bijohns be bijohns 2017!
tbh when tab just came out i was dead set on having johnlock only in s5. i thought they’d take the whole of s4 to be done with mary, with a series cliffhanger being the much talked about three garridebs moment where john gets seriously injured. then a special where john figures out his feelings for sherlock while being unconscious (not mind palace, but sort of a dream sequence) because sherlock figured out his feelings for john in tab; it would only be fitting to have john figure out his feelings for sherlock in another special. and then 2020 series 5 where john wakes up, each of them confessing their feelings to each other, and we get the whole series of john and sherlock being together, solving crimes, domesticity and so on so forth. but
apparently it’s a whole new story. if those ‘sherlock’s going to climax in series 4′ weren’t blatant enough, now we’ve got steven saying that they have no fucking idea when series 5 is going to come out, meaning it could be years in the making, meaning they are not able to postpone johnlock much longer. it’s going to happen sometime in the next few years. so seeing as series 4 is probably the only sherlock thing that’s going to come out in the next few years, johnlock is definitely on for series 4.
but then there’s the question of what’s next. judging by steven’s comments, they are legitimately planning retirement!lock. given the age of the leads, it’s not going to happen for at least 15-20 years. so there should be at least two or three series of sherlock in-between. what are they going to do, i have no idea. but it’s definitely going to be something exciting. after all, it’s bbc sherlock that we are talking about. it’s probably be solving cases and domesticity. and yeah, i’m pretty sure they are going to be doing series, not just specials.
i would’ve liked for the series to go the way i thought they would go. like end it in a few years with johnlock as its climax and still ‘fresh’. so you could rewatch the finished 5 seasons indefinitely from time to time, and be at peace with the fact of it finally having ended.
but then in a way actually doing it indefinitely makes more sense. you know, like they are fans of dr who, the thing that basically has no end. so rather than pull off ‘the office’ they are going to pull off a ‘dr who’ and it makes sense. another, even more valid reason for doing something like that, is being the closest to the original canon. like acd never ended it. it just went on and on, and now, a hundred years later, you just reread it just as a complete thing, but at the same time, with a practically open ending, you feel like holmes and watson still live somewhere among us, solving cases, smoking, having this friendly sort of victorian banter. just enjoying their lives. you know, after all ‘the hound of the baskervilles’ is considered to be the best acd story but he wrote it in like 1902 and still was making hella great stories for the next 20+ years.
so like. johnlock in s4 for bbc sherlock is not going to be the end. it’s going to be the beginning of another, absolutely new chapter. they are going to normalise this experience of seeing an explicitly gay couple on tv. they are literally going to make history. like right now the show is mostly for our enjoyment and it’s also going to introduce that first major canonically explicitly gay relationship into the history of tv. but i think it will become even more important over the years. the impact it’s going to have on our generation will literally echo in eternity. papers will be written, head canons created and accepted. it’s literally going to be talked about in decades or even centuries from now. they are not just doing it for some millions of people to be content watching it nowadays. they are making it to make fucking textbooks, to be the show that everyone knows as ‘the one that made a breakthrough, having introduced and normalised lgbt relationships on one of the most mainstream shows in the history of television, film and art’. because as of yet, it has not properly been done. not as something as major as this. but they will do it. and it’s going to be as massive as you think it is.
I was with you on your original timeline, and wouldn’t be too surprised if these statements by Moffat are lies.
Agreed that whatever happens, this is the moment for this show to make history. Lately I’ve been wondering if the next Ritchie film isn’t going to make them a couple, and moftiss are on a deadline now. Who will let them be gay first?
Humans quickly get a reputation among the interplanetry alliance and the reputation is this: when going somewhere dangerous, take a human.
Humans are tough. Humans can last days without food. Humans heal so fast they pierce holes in themselves or inject ink for fun. Humans will walk for days on broken bones in order to make it to safety. Humans will literally cut off bits of themselves if trapped by a disaster.
You would be amazed what humans will do to survive. Or to ensure the survival of others they feel responsible for.
That’s the other thing. Humans pack-bond, and they spill their pack-bonding instincts everywhere. Sure it’s weird when they talk sympathetically to broken spaceships or try to pet every lifeform that scans as non-toxic. It’s even a little weird that just existing in the same place as them for long enough seems to make them care about you. But if you’re hurt, if you’re trapped, if you need someone to fetch help?
You really want a human.
“Looks like someone for you.”
Jon kicked Ginna’s boots, which were currently resting on the table, and she glanced over toward the door. A clump of knee-high aliens, plump and round and covered in golden fur, were lifting their little pink noses into the air – scenting the air in the bar.
Sashrans. Perfect.
Ginna quickly downed the last of her drink and dropped her feet to the floor. The Gentleman of Fortune was full to the gills of professional companions looking for work, she wouldn’t be the only one in here with a fondness for sashrans. She needed to work quickly if she wanted a chance at whatever job these ones were hiring for. The sound and vibration of her boots caught the attention of the group, and Ginna followed it quickly with a greeting in the quiet shushing sounds of their own language.
A universal translator would take care of most of the talking, but by knowing a little of their language Ginna proved she had worked with their kind before and cared enough to learn it. Caring was probably the most important skill a companion could cultivate.
It paid off. The group of sashrans centered quickly on her and darted over, still in their clump.
“I am human Ginna, companion for hire,” Ginna introduced, tapping the side of her visor to activate the display.
“Sala and Rini, with crew. Spice collectors,” the largest of the sashrans introduced, tapping at their own earbud. Their information began to stream onto Ginna’s display, while her own would be playing in their ear. She was proficient in everything from weapons to mechanics to medicine, xenobiology to politics, and of course survival in any kind of situation from atmosphere decompression in space to a tsunami on a planet. The more varied the knowledge they had the better a companion a human could make, and Ginna prided herself on being one of the best.
As for the sashrans, they’d found a jungle planet with a plant that was delicious to their senses. Cultivation efforts had failed thus far, so the price was high enough to support the risk of hunting for it on its home range. A six-month tour was on offer. It seemed they’d contracted with another professional companion a few times, a man named Drix, and Ginna quickly switched over to the guild’s internal records to see what he had to say of these sashrans and the planet they were harvesting from.
The sashrans themselves would be able to check what Ginna’s former employers had to say about her too.
Drix had enjoyed working with Sala and Rini’s crew, it dripped out of every line of his reports. He’d included good detail about life aboard their ship and the risks of the planet, that Ginna would have to look into closer later to be prepared.
All she needed to know at the moment was that they paid well, the risks were not unacceptably high, and that they treated their human companions well. It sounded like a job for her.
“Sala and Rini and crew, I would take this job,” Ginna told them.
The sashrans shushed and buzzed together, their tones sounding happy to Ginna’s relatively untrained ear, and she hoped she was reading them right. They were such beautiful little creatures, and she’d always enjoyed working for their kind before. They were close enough she could have reached out to touch them, pet their soft velvet fur, but she resisted. Touching them uninvited would be rude.
Finally they turned back to her. “Sala and Rini and crew will, with joy, contract to hire companion Ginna,” the lead one answered.
Contract negotiations went quickly enough, using the standard guild template and modifying it here or there as both parties preferred and agreed upon. Sashrans were easy to haggle with, not like the argumentative akskar. Soon enough Ginna had a contract and three days to prepare her effects for travel.
“It has been a pleasure,” Ginna told the sashrans. “I look forward to being your companion.”
She would have expected them to leave, then, go get their own things ready for launch. Instead the smallest one pushed forward – all wrapped in pale gold velvet fur and their sweet little pink forepaws resting on Ginna’s knee.
“Companion Ginna will now engage in petting for promotion of pack bonding?” they asked hopefully.
“Of course,” Ginna reached out toward the sashran, let them smell her palm, but it seemed this sashran wasn’t shy at all. They immediately pushed their head into her hand. There was nothing in the galaxy so soft as a sashran’s fur. Ginna dug her fingers in around the ruff of the sashran’s neck, gently scratching, and then smoothed the fur all the way down their back.
The sashran made a dreamy-soft pleasure sound, and Ginna mimicked it back. “Oh you sweetheart,” she murmured. Already she could feel that little melting tug in her heart, that protective urge that set some humans on the path to professional companionship.
Come hell or high water, Ginna was going to keep these sashrans safe.
Aw, yes. Look at the adorable scifi! I’m proud to have inspired it.
(I’m so glad you enjoyed it!)
Six months was just about right for a jungle planet tour with a group of sashrans. Ginna loved Sala and Rini and the crew to distraction, and there was still nothing in the galaxy softer than sashran fur, but she was ready to move on. Being regarded as furniture a lot of the time, once they were used to her presence, got tiring after a while. Sala and Rini weren’t looking for a permanent companion, and Ginna wasn’t looking for that either. She’d joined the guild because she wanted to see the universe and meet all the peoples in it, after all.
The spice expedition had been a great success. The sashrans’ hold was full to bursting of dried twigs and leaves, and Ginna had gotten a healthy bonus on top of her already generous pay. There’s only been the one incident with a large angry herbivore who decided the sashrans were infringing too close on its breeding grounds. Still, Ginna had thwacked it in the face with a dead branch and distracted it long enough for the sashrans to make their escape, and only gotten the one cracked rib for her trouble when it tried to run her down.
Ginna hugged and kissed each sashran on the crew one last time. “If you ever need me, don’t hesitate to call,” Ginna told them, wiping a stray tear. Sala and Rini and crew endured this human foible, and were off to sell their goods.
The Gentleman of Fortune was the same as ever, serving interesting foods and drinks from across the galaxy and full of professional companions between tours. Her friend Jon had shipped out with a hunting pack of akskar, but May was finally back from er three-year stint in a lintran colony and they had a lot of catching up to do.
It was great to be back among humans, it really was. Ginna sent some money home and laughed and drank and celebrated with people who had the same base template and urges she did. For about two weeks, it was great. Then Ginna got that itch again and started watching the door of the Gentleman of Fortune, scoping out her options.
Vivid jehes, stolid orhides, hovering mellisugans – none of them felt quite right, and Ginna didn’t approach any of them. Other companions gladly worked up contracts and left for exploration expeditions and disaster relief efforts and new colonies.
Then a big bull barbax pushed into the bar, weight resting on xir heavy knuckles and ducking far far down to fit but still scraping xir cracked and weathered shoulder-spikes on the frame. The barbax swung xir heavy head from side to side, small beady eyes – well protected under a heavy brow – sweeping the space.
Perfect.
Ginna jumped up to stand on top of her chair and screamed as loud as she possibly could. The barbax rocked back, then sprang forward toward her, slamming xir knuckles hard against the floor in pleased approval.
.
Three days later Ginna was shipping out for a nine month tour with a crew of barbax miners. The desert planet they were headed for would be a nice change of pace from the muggy humidity of her last tour, and the barbax being so much bigger and heavier-armored than she was meant she didn’t have to worry about being a body guard on this trip. Much more relaxing.
Barbax liked shiny things, and already they’d bought Ginna a cute cropped jacket with imitation shoulder spikes to match them, and several bracelets and necklaces. It would have been rude not to wear them, and Ginna had to admit she looked good even if it wasn’t her usual style.
The bull barbax, Zab, absently grabbed Ginna by the waist and settled her on xir shoulder. Ginna easily settled in between the big spikes – they made good handholds as she was carried onward to the ship.
“Twisted xeno freak!” some human snarled after Ginna and the barbax crew. “You’re a traitor to human-kind. You make me sick!”
Gina laughed. “Jealous you lack the emotional capacity to cut it as a companion?” she mocked.
The xenophobe’s embarrassed and angry expression was the last thing Ginna saw of the station. Then the ship doors closed behind them, and she turned to face her next adventure with a smile.
Ginna returned to her home base at the Gentleman of Fortune absolutely glittering with platinum and rough citrine.
A fact – For all their strength, a barbax is not fast enough to evade a nest of sand snakes. For all their armor, a sand snake’s teeth can still pierce them.
A human companion, fueled by adrenaline, is more than fast enough to evade. But they might instead dive in between the panicking barbax and destroy the sand snakes attacking them.
Another fact – a sand snake’s venom is deadly to a barbax. Their blood coagulants are destroyed and they bleed out from even such a tiny wound. Their armored hide is too strong for the tourniquet that might save them. A human, bitten by a sand snake, gets off with a painful wound and some bruising.
Ginna tied her bandana around the bleeding wound on her thigh and got to work. Zeb and Gnar and Agi were bitten. The crew, their family, piled around them, drumming against their hides in mourning. They had two hours to live, according to the barbax medic.
Ginna delivered a cure in 30 minutes. Thirty minutes with the clock racing. Thirty minutes far too long, with death creeping up on her friends. She drew a liter of her own blood, repurposed a mining centrifuge to separate it, and filled three big syringes with plasma. Her red blood cells would be toxic, foreign to the barbaxes bodies. She could only hope her plasma was less so.
They might die of it; but they would die if she didn’t try.
Facts – the only place a barbax is tender enough to be injected by even the strongest medical needle is in the vein along their gumline.
– it takes five minutes for blood to circulate all the way through a barbax’s body.
– it takes another minute after that for a sand snake wound to clot, and the blood loss to cease.
The barbax crew trumpeted and pounded their knuckles against the floor with surprised joy. And only then, only when the slow bleeding had finally stopped, did Ginna sit down and cry with relief. She was shaky and dizzy from drawing so much blood, and badly bruised from getting jostled by the panicking barbaxes, and the wound on her own thigh was very painful now that she had nothing else to focus her mind away from it, but she’d done her companion’s duty and saved her friends.
She was fussed over, tended to and praised. She explained what she had done, and was given far more sweets and water than she could possibly consume to replenish herself when she explained that’s what she needed to recover.
Zeb and Gnar and Agi were sick for a week, with the aftereffects of the sand snake poison and purging their bodies of her alien plasma, but they lived. That was the important part.
It turned out that having given a part of herself into the barbax (nevermind that it was just plasma and their bodies purged it afterward) Ginna had done literally what was done symbolically for a barbax crew-bond. She was now crew-bond to the barbax she’d saved, and since Zeb was the senior bull and crew-bond to the entire crew, that meant she was too. She was family – married to the whole lot of them, in essence.
Ginna was not exactly sure how she was going to break that to her moms.
Thankfully the barbax had a laze faire concept of marriage. None of them thought it odd that Ginna planned to leave still at the end of her contract. They would have gladly kept her if she wanted to stay, but she didn’t.
They would have weighed her down with a quarter ton of jewelry, to be decorated the same as one of them, but thankfully Ginna talked them out of it. Her crew were miners by trade, but they were craftspeople by inclination, and they made her beautiful sets from the platinum they were mining that weren’t too heavy for her fragile human limbs. The style was armor-like and spiky and set with beautiful rough citrine that would have been discarded as mining waste otherwise.
Ginna wore it proudly. She spent one last evening drumming with the barbax crew, and then she was back among humans, back at the good old Gentleman of Fortune. Elizabeth was fresh back from the jungles of Shur with a lathan colony, and they had a lot of catching up to do.
Ginna was in no rush to head out again. She took some classes offered through the guild, brushing up on her knowledge base, and pondered her options carefully. She wanted something new, something different.
Late one evening – or maybe it was early morning by that point – a faint high note echoed through the Gentleman of Fortune. There was a collective intake of breath, an uncomfortable quiet, and Ginna looked to where everyone else was looking. A roughly human-sized shimmer was drifting deeper into the bar.
A tintillian. Ginna had never actually met one, she’d only ever heard of the telepathic aliens. They were not strictly corporeal in the same way most contacted species were.
The tintillian chimed again, hopeful, almost plaintive. And no one was answering.
Ginna was singing back the tintillian’s note before she really thought it through. It chimed again, a lower note thankfully or Ginna might not have been able to hit it, and Ginna again mimicked it. As Ginna held the note, it chimed a double note in harmony with her, and drifted closer.
The note Ginna was singing cut off, her heart in her throat, but the tintillian recoiled and drew back before it touched her. Began to drift away.
Metal. Right. They couldn’t abide concentrations of heavy metals and Ginna was encased in platinum. Ginna began ripping all her jewelry off, stacking it in a loose pile on the table. What had possessed her to wear so much of it?
“Help!” Ginna pleaded, turning her other ear toward Elizabeth as she struggled with the earrings. “Liz, please.”
Elizabeth laughed and relented, quick to help her out of all her platinum. Ginna took her boots off too, they had metal eyelets. And her pants had zippers, so they had to go. And her bra had an underwire, so Ginna wrestled that out through her sleeve and finally stepped toward the tintillian in just her shirt and boxers.
No one else was trying to approach the still-chiming tintillian. Telepathy was beyond what most of them were comfortable with. There would be no universal translator for this interaction, it would be direct. Mind to mind.
At least Ginna halfway stripping was far from the weirdest thing that had ever happened in the Gentleman of Fortune.
Ginna sang the note again, and the tintillian harmonized and moved back toward her. It changed as it got closer, until Ginna was almost looking at a mirror – a transparent shining woman. It lifted its hand, and Ginna echoed the motion. Her fingers were shaking, but Ginna cleared her mind and was full of only curiosity and affection when the tintillian merged hands with her. Like a point of golden light.
Suddenly, through it, Ginna was weightless, boundariless, her self wrapped around by the fear and curiosity of the others in the bar. Ginna laughed aloud, that joy echoed, rebounded, and strengthened as the tintillian drifted forward to merge completely.
Ginna’s affections were bare, all the connections she’d made with her contracts exposed, her trainings mulled over, her self weighed and judged and found adequate. The burning curiosity that had made her approach it pushed Ginna to delve into the tintillian in turn. It was all starlight and nebulas, ancient and brand new.
The job on offer was midway between exploration and rescue – a star nursery where an expedition of the tintillian’s mind-mates had disappeared. They had two months to map what they could, and recover the lost mind-mates if possible.
Ginna’s physical and psychological needs would be met, and the terms of her regular contract were seen as acceptable.
The merge faded, and the tintillian winkled out – off back to its vessel to prepare. Ginna dropped back into her own body and sagged into her chair.
“So?” she was asked, people crowding around. She didn’t need the tintillian to practically feel their burning curiosity.
“I got a two-month contract,” Ginna said.
She took a small seated bow for the cheers that echoed through the bar, and accepted the celebratory drinks that were passed her way.
First professional companion to contract with a tintillian. This was definitely going to be one for the history books.
[ THE END ]
I will write no more of these. Thank you! I’ve had a lot of fun in this ‘verse.
If you want to read about Elizabeth, please turn your eyes toward the very cool fill that Chrissy did utilizing the Gentleman of Fortune and companions guild concept. [link]
(if anyone else uses these headcanons please let me know I’d love to read it!)
(lol I lied have another Ginna fic)
Loren’s first run as an apprentice companion was supposed to be an easy one. A short contract, with low danger and a seasoned companion of the guild as mentor. Loren got along great with both Jon and the akskar crew. Every conversation was an argument, a test of skill and ingenuity. Some humans found akskar to be exhausting, but Loren felt right at home. It was just like being back at the old shipyards with er sibs.
So it was great, it was really great until they ran into danger way above Loren’s paygrade. Space was dangerous, vast and unexplored and unpredictable. So on Loren’s first practice run e ended up stranded with a dead ship on a dead planet. At least Jon and the akskar weren’t dead too.
Theirs wasn’t the only ship downed.
“Jon? That you?” A voice crackled faintly in through their companion visors while the akskar were still folding their long limbs into their own protective gear.
“Ginna!” Jon answered, relief obvious in his voice as he tapped the side of it to answer. “I’ve got an apprentice and a family of young akskar politicians. What have you got?”
“Jehe musicians and a dead ship. My scans show a cave we can shelter in near enough to both ships for scavenge. Coordinates incoming.”
Loren had no idea how this Ginna had managed to scan for a cave through the radiation bursts, but e was glad of it. Loren was surprised the coms were still working when everything else was totally fried–but they did say that companions guild coms and universal translators were always the last thing to go. They could pass through the pinch of a black hole undamaged, they said.
Jon relayed instructions, which Loren and the akskar followed, so they were weighed down heavy with emergency supplies and broken ship bits when they headed out onto the planet’s ravaged surface.
Ginna and her crew had already made it to the cave and were sealing it into a habitable zone by the time Loren’s group arrived. Loren couldn’t tell much about Ginna other than that she was tall and she’d managed to keep her jehes from fluttering and panicking, which was impressive.
Once they were sealed in, and the akskar were comfortable enough to start a circular argument and the jehes to rest, Jon pulled Loren over to conference with Ginna. Ginna’s hair was all tight corkscrew curls tied back with a bandana, her smile big and friendly, when she took off her helmet.
“We’ve got food, we’ve got water, we’ve got radiation shielding – but we’ve only got about a day’s worth of air,” Jon started, once brief introductions were over.
“A day and a half,” Ginna corrected. “The akskar and jehes balance each other out a little bit.”
“And I can give us another two or three if I can repair the jehe and akskar air filters, or splice them together. There’s got to be enough working parts between them to make one functional filter.” Loren volunteered. It wasn’t so different from tech splice e’d done as a kid, just to see if something could be made from what was supposedly junk. Loren had grown up doing this stuff.
“Air first.” Ginna nodded. “Then we need to get word out, let people know where we are. It’s time to call in favors. What are our best contacts, other than the main guild office?”
“These akskar are offshoots of the grand trunk,” Jon said, which Loren had not known. They were practically royalty! Minor royalty, but still. “If we get word to the trunk, they’ll send help. And their line is allied to the fruiting bough consortium. One of their main officers owes me a favor.”
“Good,” Ginna nodded and turned toward Loren as if expecting em to chime in.
Ginna’s expression softened. “First time out?“ she patted Loren’s shoulder when e nodded. “Don’t worry. Jon and I have both been in tighter spots and lived to tell. I’m thinking my best contact will be the barbax miners. A little radiation storm like this is nothing to them, and they’ll send people if I call. I’m kind of married to over fifty of them now, they keep expanding the crew.”
“Married? To fifty barbax?” Loren boggled, but Ginna and Jon just laughed.
“It’s the kind of thing that happens on accident,” Jon said. “It far from the weirdest thing you’ll see if you stick with the guild.”
Loren kind of hoped e’d live to see weirder things. Being stranded on a dead world with two dead ships was bad. Really bad. But Jon and Ginna kept joking back and forth with each other, smiling and laughing. And if experienced companions like them were in good spirits that had to be a good sign.
Loren worked on the air filters. E worked on the air filters for a very long time. Loren got one working at about 31% to give them another half day, and then went back to the ship to scavenge parts from the kitchen to get the other one up to 67%, and that was the best e could do with what was available.
“I couldn’t have done better myself,” Jon praised. He and Ginna were working on cobbling together a communications array that would punch through the radiation storm, which was difficult with everything fried. They tried and tested and argued companionably back and forth–when they weren’t looking out for the crews they were contracted to. The emotional labor of keeping the akskar from falling into despondency while confined and the jehes from fretting themselves sick, and keeping them from antagonizing each other with their different needs and ways of being, was weightier than Loren would have expected.
Jon and Lauren had their work cut out for them figuring out new arguments and games to play with the akskar to keep them entertained. Ginna spent a lot of her time grooming and singing to the jehes in their own chirping language to keep them calm.
That was what being a professional companion was all about.
Not that Loren was all that sure e was going to get the chance to earn professional status. One day became two, became three, and nothing any of them tried was working to get a message out. Loren scavenged from both ships over and over again, with Jon and Ginna and alone, but nothing e brought back helped.
Loren couldn’t give up, though. That was why peoples from all over the galaxy hired human companions. Because humans didn’t give up, not until their last breath. Loren repurposed parts of a water filtration unit to get the more broken air filter to 72%, but that was only going to give them a few more days, and e went back to figuring out ways to make a stronger emergency beacon with Jon.
Ginna didn’t.
Loren found her up in the top of the cave, right by the entrance where their radiation shielding was weakest. She’d stripped down to her underthings, her body marked with scars here and there, and decorated over and around them with gleaming ivory-white tattoos against the warm brown of her skin. Loren could see the languages of akskar, sashrans, barbax, and others she wasn’t familiar with. Ginna was sitting cross-legged on the ground, eyes closed and face turned up to the dark sky. She was humming a long droning note under her breath.
“What are you doing?” Loren demanded.
“Trying to think in tintillian,” Ginna answered in a faraway voice, not opening her eyes.
“What? Why?”
“We can’t send a pulse, ping, or beacon out of here strong enough. So tintillian.”
Loren stamped er foot. “What good is thinking like another species going to do!? You could be helping us brainstorm better ideas. You can’t just stop. You can’t give up and die. We’re companions! Our contracts are counting on us!” Loren’s voice broke, tears far too close to the surface, and Ginna finally opened her eyes.
“Nothing in the galaxy can communicate better than a tintillian. They are connection,” Ginna explained, very gently. “They’re not individual. They’re like… fractals. Music where each note is a symphony and what we perceive as an individual is just the echo of a single riff. I contracted with them, once. I was inside it for two months, like a misplaced f flat in a nebula-choir of angels and starlight, and sometimes I can still feel it. Connect.”
Loren’s breath caught at the realization. “Stars and galaxies. You’re that Ginna,” e breathed. She was only one of the highest ranked professional companions, and came up in dozens of case studies. She’d provided the baseline measurements for companionship in more new species than anyone else. There wasn’t a species she’d shun, or a challenge she’d back down from.
Ginna smiled, that warm friendly smile that immediately forgave Loren for interrupting and being suddenly starstruck. “I’m that Ginna.” She tapped her visor where it was laying beside her. “And I’ve got two hours left before I have to do a radiation decontam, so I’m going to spend them being a very loud f flat.”
“Right. Sorry,” Loren backed away as Ginna’s eyes closed and she took her hum back up. “Thank you.”
Loren retreated, awkward stumbling back over er boots, and hyperventilated at Jon for a little bit. Jon just laughed.
“Careful with that puppy-crush, kid,” he teased. “Ginna’s ace. She doesn’t go for anybody.”
About an hour and a half later–when Loren was in the middle of a spirited game of leapfrog with the akskar crew to keep them entertained–Ginna returned. There was a pinging sound, like metal heating under the sun, a faint smell of ozone, and Ginna walked into the main part of the cave haloed in a shimmering glow. There was music, vast and incomprehensible under her voice when she spoke.
“Strip to your skivvies, Jon, and figure out what you want to say to the guild! We’re in contact.”
okay, listen for a sec. We all know the “”“"American”“”“” Harry Potter universe houses are trash for many, many reasons. One of the reasons is that America is too big to have just one wizarding school where there are only 4 houses, right? so I propose that we in MA instead start sorting ourselves into these exclusive New England houses I made up as I wrote this post:
-Dunked Donut (those who are loyal to their ideals, strong-willed and hardworking but susceptible to black-and-white thinking)
-Duck Boat (those with a hunger for life experience, sharp and analytical but also impulsive and desperate for thrills)
-Lobster (those who are blue-blood types with a taste for power and the intelligence to lead effectively but tend to be overzealous and can’t appreciate the subtleties of teamwork)
-Murphy, they’re literally just the Dropkick Murphys we made a whole house for them and none of them even attend the school it’s just in case one of them shows up one day
Florida Houses:
-Sunburn
-Gator
-Pub sub
-Gun
California Houses:
-In n Out
-Chili Peppers
-Redwood
-Drought
Tennessee Houses:
-Mountain Dewds
-Cowboys without Horses
-Drunken Housewifes
-Dead Deer Collectors
Oregon Houses:
– Sasquatch
– Dysentary
– Hippies
– Hipsters
Missouri Houses:
-Tornados
-Corn
-Suburban Deer
-Mosquitos
New York Houses:
-Bacon, egg, and cheese
-Road Rage
-Constant Yelling
-Pizza
Nevada Houses:
-Air Conditioning
-Stripper Glitter
-Chlorine Hair
-Indie Band
wisconsin houses:
– cheddar
– gouda
– mozzarella
– the green bay packers
Ohio houses:
– corn corn rotate soy
– Hell Is Real
– industrial river pollution
– buckeyes
Texas houses:
– piney woods
– black gold
– cow manure
– big hair
– Keep Austin Weird
(We need five, because everything’s bigger in Texas)
Illinois houses:
– Cubs
– Sox
– Bears
– Blackhawks
nah fam Illinois houses are
– The City
– South of I-80
that’s it, that’s all, we only have two houses
North Carolina: – cookout -Eastern barbecue – Lexington Barbecue
Washington has Two schools, one for each half the state aside the native school
WetSide School:
-Starbucks -Rain
DrySide:
-Flannel -Wildfire
They’re technically one school but WetSide gets all the funding
Colorado:
-Weed
-Hiking
That’s it those are the only houses
Haha wait what if it was more like the actual boarding school house system used in real life? the New England school would be divided up like
Mainepain
New Hampster
Masshole
Connecticunt
Vermonster
with everyone from Rhode Island having to live in a shed out the back
Oklahoma Houses:
Traffic Barrels
Parking Lot Grackle
Blue Whale
GUTS
Capital District New York Houses:
Jimmy’s Lunch: Nothing can kill you, trash princess. DADA experts. Day drinkers. Either your best friend or a large squishy projectile to hurl at your worst enemy.
Honest Weight: Hippies and SJWs. Keep sharing witchcraft with the NoMajs, which is great for Herbology profits. Raging fight between the PETA crowd and the Care of Magical Creatures geeks.
677 Prime: Power and people who think they can tell the difference between $15 dollar wine and $50 dollar wine. Good at flashy charms and transfigurations.
Whistling Kettle: Nerds with a good sense of smell. Great at potions, if only they’d study – they’re too busy doing their “passion projects.” Tend to be good on a broom.
Actually the more I think about it, the more I completely disagree with the Cap Dist houses.
Stuyvesant – The *really* old families all belong here. As often as not, they’ve got name recognition but their wealth is failing. Social, charming, ambitious.
Stewart – Second youngest official house. The grand catch-all. Solid, dependable, kind with just enough fun.
Henry – Tinkerers & intellectuals. Named for Joseph Henry, former Albany Academy professor & secret wizard. Has become more codified and less daring over time, but still focused on intellectual pursuits.
Muh-he-kun-ne-tuk – Youngest official house. Named for the Mohican name for the Hudson River. Strong focus on combating the erasure of Native contributions to magic.
Egg – Unofficial house. Rebellious mix of the other houses that comprises of a whole lot of “who says we can’t?” attitude. Interested as much in modern muggle science as magic. Named for “The Egg,” they take pride in the fact that what failed elsewhere just might work here.
