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sullivansgilbert · 5 years

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Reaching out across Tumblr to all my G&S fans, @carpe-mamilia and I just got back from Harrogate from this year’s G&S Festival, and I have some thoughts about the shows which I think I just needed to get down.

Also, bonus shoutout to @carlodivarga-s for being an all-round charming presence and delightful surprise in Harrogate this year!

OK. Here goes.

Princess Ida (Savoynet)

As Stephen Turnbull (he of Harrogate ramblings on Facebook) mentioned, this is a production that could have only worked at the festival. With the two kings portrayed as Gilbert and Sullivan themselves, and the rest of the company (with the exception of Ida herself) costumed as choruses from the rest of the G&S universe.

I know that Ida is written in 3 acts, but to have two 15 minute intervals is a strange experience. Especially as the curtain came down on the Act I at 8:15, it felt as though we were only about getting started and we were all back out our seats and into the bar. When I saw Ida done in Southampton earlier this year, they split Act II in half and placed a single interval more squarely in the middle, and I didn’t think that the pacing or structure suffered as much as it perhaps could have done then.

My greatest issue with Ida is that.. it’s not a very interesting story? And certainly not a very good ending. It feels as though Sullivan far outshines Gilbert. Some of the plot points, too, feel very, well, seen-before? Most noticeably, the male trio dressing up in silly costumes and singing witty songs about it? Done in Patience (and much better, I should add!). That said, Ida definitely has some standout solos, in particular Gama’s two patter songs (’I’m such a disagreeable man’ and ‘Nothing whatever to grumble at’), and Death to the Invaders! is such a TUNE at the top of Act III, though I actually preferred it in Southampton, just as there was more drama and sense of impending peril.

The ending of the whole thing is pretty crap though. Here’s Ida, a feminist ICON who shuns men and rules a chorus of strong academic ambitious women who look down on men, and yet she sort of just limps across the finish line like, oh yeah, I guess I’ll just love you and marry a man and I was wrong about all my studies and thoughts of independence. Ugh.

Y’know what I want to happen to Ida? I want her to shun all the men and grow old, independent, and married to a woman. Princess Ida: a queer legend.

Trial by Jury & The Zoo (LOpSoc)

I can’t say too much about the productions because it was my old university group and I’m sure I can’t write without any bias, so I’ll focus on the shows.

Trial by Jury was my first real show as Musical Director so it’ll always have a spot in my heart, especially having studied law at university. Musically, it’s so well accomplished, at barely 30 minutes, Sullivan manages to cram in so much content, including the brilliant ‘A Nice Dilemma’ sextet (or septet if you count the chorus as one, too), as well as some beautiful patter songs and some great parts for the chorus. You can really see how the rest of the Savoy Operas took inspiration, and to a certain extent, structure, from this first piece.

That said, there are a few familiar elements missing from the piece that become G&S standards later on in the canon, including the contralto exposition song, the romantic leads’ duet, and, well, a second act. Still though, one of my favourites.

The Zoo on the other hand? I’ve now seen it three times, and whilst I enjoy the music, some of it really is quite good, I have no idea what actually happens. I think there are at least 3 plots intertwined with one another, but with no libretto to explore or explain those plots, it’s essentially three totally different stories happening at the same time, just... coincidentally at a zoo. Libretto is pretty naff, but there are some charming songs, such as the ‘Four Tarts and a Couple of Pairs’ jaunt, and the duel of the male and female chorus once the Duke has eaten and faints (??) (’Prop him up upon a chair, lay him flat upon his back’).

Good news though, that LOpSoc were nominated for best director and best chorus for this production which I thought was well deserved.

Ruddigore (Charles Court Opera)

Oh my word. I confess I’ve never been Ruddigore’s biggest fan, but boy oh boy am I a fan of Charles Court Opera, so the chance to get to see this production was high up the list, and it certainly didn’t disappoint. With a cast of 9 (and totally omitting the male chorus), this production was lively, sharp-witted, and for the first time in any production of Ruddigore that I’ve seen, or indeed been involved with, I followed every detail of the plot perfectly.

Only two bridesmaids made up the female chorus, and they also lent their voices to a mixed chorus for the ‘Painted Emblems of a Race’ and subsequent male-chorus numbers (though ‘Welcome Gentry’ was cut) which worked beautifully. Also, a nice little change to Mounted emblems of a race, as the three ancestors were portrayed as severed, mounted heads on the wall of the set. Sir Roderic did have an additional stage presence as he was also portrayed by the accompanying headless corpse come to life.

One of the absolute highlights of this production, too, was lovely, wonderful Simon Butteriss, who is always an absolute joy. With John Reed-esque lightness, but with a voice on form as ever, it was a joy to see him on stage. As it was the whole cast, really. Having seen CCO’s HMS Pinafore at the King’s Head in London in a tiny 100-odd seat fringe theatre with just a pianist, to see them on stage at the Royal Hall in Harrogate with a complete orchestra was really special.

Yeomen of the Guard (National Gilbert and Sullivan Opera Company)

Oh boy. I was so excited for this performance. And I was so disappointed. The victim perhaps of a festival matinee crowd, as I said to dear friends over dinner after the show, there are a certain number of ‘minimum requirements’ I expect of the NGSOC:

The cast remember their lines. Having a certain member of the principal cast prompted from the wings was... well. Awkward to say the least. And garnered the intake of breath you can imagine from the audience.

I expect the principal cast to be able to stick to time with the orchestra. Several times, the cast fell wildly out of time with the orchestra, making for highly awkward listening.

I expect the principal cast to be able to hit all the notes they’re expected to. Naming no names, but, with a certain soprano aria in Yeomen, there’s a rather important note towards the end that you cannot get wrong. And yet.

I expect the show to be lit well. If actors are stood singing in darkness, either the actor needs to find their light, or the lighting director needs to do a better job.

That all said, the chorus were fantastic, to the point I actually longed for them to come back on to stage whenever they were gone, but I must say of Andrew Nicklin’s direction... I found it lacking. The staging was particularly dull and unimaginative, with barely any choreography, or even any movement come to that. My first time actually seeing Yeomen on stage and... ugh. Y’know? That said, there were reports from a friend having seen it earlier in the week at the festival and it being remarkable, so.. maybe just an off-performance.

The Mikado (National Gilbert and Sullivan Opera Company)

Now, THIS is how you do G&S. The company were almost unrecognisable from the afternoon, and the show was packed to the rafters with joy, energy, and sheer brilliance. Genuine laugh out loud moments from a full auditorium who are, I’m sure, more than familiar with the source material! Andrew Nicklin who was conducting, made sure that the pace was kept up, and my word, just, my heart was pounding with, well, a combination of relief and amazement. I loved it.

In particular, Mae Heydorn as Katisha. Fuckkkkkk. This wasn’t your usual Katisha, this was a dazzling, glamorous Katisha, and although you’d think that might not work, it did. And what a voice. On the final note of Act I, Mae managed to outsing the full assembled company and orchestra with a note that travelled and reverberated into our very bones.

My only criticism would probably be that Richard Gauntlett, who also directed the show, delivered some of Ko Ko’s lines so fast, if you weren’t familiar with the show, you wouldn’t have a clue what he’d just said. That and Nanki-Poo, in a typical tenor manner, did tend to rush some of the songs, even when singing as part of a trio - perhaps a little indicative of not listening to his cast-mates. But alas.

____

OK, I think that’s all. A brilliant, lovely few days away. So much G&S. I loved it. So much so, I think I’m going to start a bit of an artistic project to create some more G&S content, so keep an eye if you’re interested!

-- Thomas

#Gilbert and Sullivan #G&S #The Mikado #Yeomen of the Guard #Ruddigore #Trial by Jury #The Zoo #Harrrogate

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david-winters-93 · 2 years

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Time After Time

@hiccuphaddockswife

#sir thomas sharpe #thomas sharpe #crimson peak #tom hiddelston icons #tom hiddelston imagine #tom hiddleston #dark fantasy

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queenpersephonesgarden · 5 years

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little devil darling

Fandom: Bendy and the Ink Machine Characters: Thomas Connor, Joey Drew, Allison Connor, Bendy Word Count: 2408 Inspired by: @squigglydigg‘s rather wonderful theory about the end of Chapter 5, and the Halloween spirit!

Can also be read on FFN and AO3

Mr. Drew doesn’t invite Thomas along for the grand ceremony to herald the Ink Machine’s first awakening on Wednesday night, which suits Thomas just fine; even if he’d been ordered to attend, he wouldn’t have gone back to that studio at night for all the extra pay in the world.

He’s spent more than his fair share of sleepless nights holed up in the dim, flickering lights, all alone, tweaking and readjusting the damned thing over and over. Trying to bring this ‘great technical marvel’ Mr. Drew had clumsily designed to life in a way that actually worked less on belief and prayers and more on engineering and logic. He’s not exactly eager to return unless the sun is up and there are at least a handful of other employees already there, thank you very much.

So, Thomas isn’t there the night the machine finally works, but he arrives the Thursday morning afterwards to see the results after a lengthy, half-coherent phone call with Mr. Drew, who’d been too excited to get half his words out.

He comes in a couple hours early because at least Mr. Drew promised a bit of overtime, and he is a bit curious to see what exactly resulted from the boss man’s special experiment. But when he enters the chamber where the infamous Machine is glugging away gallons of the studio’s precious ink, Thomas is suddenly really wishing he’d taken that vacation Allison had suggested.

“What in the hell?”

The question kind of slips out without Thomas really meaning it to, because Christ Almighty, there is a hulking, dripping thing lurking just in Mr. Drew’s shadow, and for a moment Thomas is afraid to make any sudden moves, attract its attention, but his voice seems to have already done that, if the eerie way it turns its malformed head towards him is any indication.

Thomas can’t help but swallow hard as a goopy, unsettling grin slowly tilts curiously to the side, like it’s watching him, but before he can start retreating out the door the way he came Mr. Drew finally spins away from the Machine.

“Isn’t he wonderful?!” Thomas has never seen Mr. Drew so ecstatic before, face alight with a joy that had all but faded in the last few years of the studio’s decline into bankruptcy. He’s standing up tall and straight as he can without leaning on his cane, like he’s trying to appear as large as the thing standing behind him. “I knew you had it in you, Mr. Connor! Your redesigns really did the trick, my boy! It stopped clogging and accepted the model just like you said it would!”

The compliments practically fly over Thomas’ head, as most of his attention is fastened to the monstrosity Mr. Drew seems to be ignoring rather masterfully.

“Sir,” Thomas coughs, because God, what the hell- “What- uh, what did you-?”

“Oh, he’s just marvelous, isn’t he?!” Mr. Drew turns right around and beams up at the oozing monster like it’s the best Christmas present he’s ever seen, and Thomas feels a chill go down his spine when the thing just angles its head down and continues grinning back even though from here it doesn’t look like it can properly see, what with its eyes being nonexistent. “He’s just a prototype, but he came right out on the first try! I didn’t even have to reset the levers or anything; he crawled right out after the sketch was put in!”

“‘He?’” Thomas asks weakly. There’s a lot more he should be saying – hell, there’s plenty he should be screaming at this point – but his brain is refusing to cooperate. Words are completely failing him, because his eyes can barely comprehend what they’re seeing.

Mr. Drew cheers a bit, shaking his cane around in excitement, and if he were a younger man he might have broken into a happy jig.

“Yes! Bendy, of course!” he says, and.

What?

Is that what this is supposed to be?

Looming just behind Mr. Drew’s shoulder, the thing sways a little bit, like a sudden breeze might make it topple over and crush him.

Thomas musters something that might resemble an understanding smile, and backs out of the room as slowly as he can, trying not to look like he’s running away.

Mr. Drew hardly seems to notice his departure, ecstatically circling back around the Machine, chanting words that aren’t even English and waving his arms around like a loon.

Back where it had been left, the thing that might be Bendy the Dancing Demon hadn’t taken its attention off of Thomas, head still tilted to watch his exit, still smiling smiling smiling.

Once he reaches the corner, Thomas gives up on any pretenses and books it out of there like a bat out of hell.

He can still feel the thing’s invisible eyes on him all the way out of the studio.

While the experiment might seem like a success in some ways, in many ways it most definitely is not.

The strange, towering husk is almost nothing like the little devil darling it’s supposed to be.

Sure, it’s got the iconic horns and the unnaturally wide grin of its cartoon counterpart, but that’s about where the similarities end.

This thing is tall, unnaturally so, like its body is made out of taffy that’s been stretched out too long. It’s horns nearly brush the ceiling and its arms are nearly as long as it’s body. One hand has the glove reminiscent of the real Bendy, while the other is just an ugly, black paw, fingers jagged and curled slightly like claws.

And it drips everywhere, continuously oozing puddles and streaks of dark ink all across the ground wherever it goes, staining the floor just as much as all the damned burst pipes always do.

“It’s a damn menace!” Sammy Lawrence snarls at lunch time, voice booming through the breakroom like it usually does when he’s in a terrible mood and he needs everyone else to know. “Fuckin’ freak thinks it can wander into my studio and-! There’s ink all over the damned walls! How the hell am I supposed to write a damned thing when half my papers are soaked darker than Satan’s soul?!”

Thomas, picking wordlessly at his lukewarm tuna sandwich, watches Eddie and Marge and Frankie all nod seriously in agreement, and can’t help pursing his lips.

The animators and half the rest of the staff are practically in an uproar about the thing, which has meandered its way all across the studio and back in the day and a half since it was brought into existence. At first, they were too creeped out by its’ appearance to say much against Mr. Drew, but ever since it started seriously disrupting people’s work with its random disappearing-reappearing through walls act, they’d been getting a little more vocal about their displeasure in private, where neither the boss man or the thing in question could hear them.

Sammy looks about five seconds away from storming out of the room and demanding a word with Joey, and honestly Thomas is almost tempted to let him; if there’s anyone in this place that can kick up enough of a storm to actually get Mr. Drew’s attention, it’s Sammy Lawrence and his sharp tongue and even sharper temper.

But the same, creeping feeling of being watched is still on him, even now, hours later and with the thing not even in the room, and Thomas isn’t feeling up to pressing his luck right now.

“You managed just fine when the pipes burst, yeah?” he dares to ask, raising an eyebrow at Sammy’s outraged sputtering.

This could become a nice, distracting argument, but even thinking about defending the monster is killing Thomas’s appetite, and he shoves back from the table with a scowl.

“Up yours, Connor!” Sammy hollers after him as he heads out into the hallway.

Thomas waves over his shoulder and skirts around a fresh ink puddle without looking.

Thomas gets called in to deal with another burst pipe in the animator’s department, and ain’t it just his great luck that he finds the thing standing right in the middle of the room, hunched over a bit to accommodate for its massive height and the low ceiling, smiling smiling smiling in that creepy way it does as it seemingly watches Mr. Drew with poor Frankie at the man’s desk.

“It needs to be completely on model this time, Mr. Chambers,” Mr. Drew’s voice is poisonously sweet as he loomed ominously over the animator, expression calm but the look in his eyes bordering on murderous as he stared Frankie down.

Thomas winces in sympathy as Frankie gestures uselessly at whatever is on his desk, face set in a stubborn scowl that’ll probably get him fired.

“Sir, ya said so yourself; the sketches I gave you yesterday were on model! Those Bendy’s looked like every other cartoon we’ve ever released, they were perfect, so I don’t see how it’s my fault the-” he coughed a bit, glanced at the shadow standing right in the middle of the room, and grimaced. “-the model your Machine spat out is as deformed as it is! Maybe you should be taking a look at-!”

“The Machine worked exactly as it was supposed to!” Mr. Drew snapped, and Thomas pretends very hard like he’s studying the leaking pipe he’s over here to fix, because the Machine was working just fine when he’d been working on it, but that was back before all the weird voodoo shit was thrown in, and he’s not sure he wants to see what would happen if he decided to mention that.

Another chill goes shooting up his spine, and Thomas glances over his shoulder to find the thing slowly drifting closer to the wall he’s working next to as both Frankie and the boss man continue their little discussion.

His entire body stiffens at the thing’s approach, and Thomas is just contemplating how much trouble he’s likely to get in if he reaches for his wrench and takes a swing at it, but he doesn’t need to worry; the thing drifts farther and farther to the right until it reaches the corner opposite Thomas. It hits the wall, and Thomas half expects it to phase through the wood like it’s been doing all damn day, but instead it just sort of leans listlessly against it, unmoving for a long minute, until its form slowly crumples up into an awkward, misshapen ball, like a pouting child in timeout.

The comparison does nothing for Thomas’s nerves, and neither does the sudden thud and the sound of paper ripping coming from Frankie’s desk.

“Just do better this time, Mr. Chambers!” Mr. Drew is still smiling that unhappy smile as he walks away, limping heavily even with his cane, not even looking back when Frankie throws up his hands in frustration and proceeds to rip up even more papers from his desk.

“Whatever you say, sir,” Frankie mutters sourly, gathering up his ink pot and a few folders before stalking out after the boss, expression thunderous.

The door slams closed after the duo’s dramatic exit, and Thomas is left with the horrifying realization that he is alone in here, and that thing is also very much still here.

Ruined scraps of paper float gently off Frankie’s desk after it’s owner’s hasty departure, and they scatter a bit across the floor.

In the corner of the room, the thing has started to rock back and forth. A disturbing choking sound is emanating from the back of its throat, and Thomas can feel gooseflesh rising up all along his arms as it thumps it’s head gently against the wall with a gentle splat-splat, staining the wall with ink.

If Thomas didn’t know any better, he’d say it was crying, curled up like a frightened kid and making itself as small as possible.

“Would you stop that?”

He doesn’t mean to talk to it. He doesn’t want to talk to it, because it’s not a fucking person, but it’s crying and he doesn’t know why.

Thomas’s throat rasped, voice curiously strained for some reason. His tone was a lot quieter than he’d meant it to be, but if he tried to go any louder he might really start screaming. “You’re Drew’s special little project, ya hear? You ain’t got nothin’ to cry about. Stop that.”

A half-finished sketch of what looks like Boris the Wolf lands on Thomas’s shoe, and he shakes it off with a scowl.

The thing chokes a little louder, and Thomas gets up and grabs his toolbox and walks back out of the room. Someone else can deal with the leak for now. He’s really not in the mood.

Allison finds him, after work is over for the day and he’s still packing up his things. She bursts into the room like she’d run all the way here from the recording studio, entire body trembling like a leaf in a storm and eyes haunted.

He doesn’t ask, just opens his arms and holds onto her when she falls into him with a gasp.

“I said ‘hi’ to it,” she whispers, voice so hoarse he can barely hear it even when her chin is pressed into his shoulder. “It came up behind me, and I wasn’t thinking, and I said ‘hi’ because I thought it was Sammy and it- I thought-”

She sobs hard, can’t speak for a moment, and Thomas can’t do anything but tighten his arms around her, ignore the angry fire banking in his gut as she shakes apart.

“It said- I thought it said ‘Hi Alice’, and the voice-! The sounds it made- oh, god, Tom, that’s not human, whatever it is, and it’s- it’s so sad-!”

Words fail her, and Allison buries her face into his neck and cries her heart out.

Above them, Thomas listens to ink flow sluggishly through the pipes. It never sounded so much like a moaning voice, before.

Thomas hands in his resignation letter the Monday after a long weekend of thinking.

Marching back out of the studio with his head held high, he ignores the stares of his former colleagues and keeps his shaking hands balled into fists at his sides.

The ink thing that might be Bendy wanders past him on the way out, face still dripping inky tears and smiling smiling smiling all the while.

#Bendy and the Ink Machine #fanfiction #squigglydigg #my writing #Bendy the Dancing Demon #Thomas Connor #Joey Drew #Allison Connor #Allison Pendle #Halloween

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the-haven-of-fiction · 6 years

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What would ask to him or talk about if one day you meet? :)

Hey there!

I would like to talk to him about Henry V, his thoughts on Benedick in Much Ado and how he would portray the character, what he would like to do on stage and screen that he hasn’t done yet, etc.

I’ve been asked something similiar previously and I will copy and paste Top 5 specific questions I would ask him…

Which of your roles to date would you choose as the one that would be shown to current and future generations as representative of your work and why?

How is portraying an actual person different from portraying a fictional character, regarding the body of information available? For example, with Hank Williams being a 20th c. icon, did you find that forming the role was helped or hindered by such information? How does that influence your approach when compared with a strictly fictional character like Sir Thomas Sharpe?

What are your thoughts about editing an original text, for both film and stage productions? When a screenplay is based on a pre-existing source (novel, play, etc.), what do you think is the responsibility of the adapters? Textual edits can have an enormous impact on the viewer’s perception of a character; writers, producers, directors, actors and those involved with the process are then re-shaping what the author initially presented and asserting their own biases over it. For example, what do you think of the cutting of scenes like the Southampton Plot in Henry V from The Hollow Crown?

What specific impact do you want your career to have on people? What type of personal accountability off screen/stage do you see yourself as having? To what extent do you think an actor or celebrity should be subject to public scrutiny?

HAVE YOU ACTUALLY SEEN ZOOTOPIA???

Thanks for the message!

#haven gets asks

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queerwalrus · 6 years

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Tender Loving Kisses On Your Stab Wounds

He hears them before they reach his bench, two men, quietly bickering, voices saccharine with love, bitter with lust. Their feet crunch across the fallen leaves, marking their progress towards John. He closes his eyes against the possibility that they had bought the police with them.

“Hello, Mister Silver.” purrs the Black Canary.

(The DCTV AU porn absolutely no one asked for in which Thomas and James are superheroes and John runs a supervillain crew)

Read on AO3

John Silver, known to the media and the Star City Police Department as Silvertongue, stretches his legs out across the cobblestones of the path in Nassau Square, and tilts his head back to look at the stars.

“This seems like a terrible plan.” says Max Gold, aka the Glider, gorgeous as always in her tight black leather, gold gun strapped to her thigh. Her bike is parked next to them, and her helmet is half-hooked over her knee. She’s sitting forward, ready to run.

“It probably is.” John admits. One hand drifts up to his forehead and pushes his hair back, while the other rests on his knee, letting his thumb rub back and forth across the denim of his tight black jeans. “I’m still going to do it.”

“Are they worth potential jail time?” asks Max.

“Those leather costumes are tight enough that I can tell you they certainly are.” says John, leering in his sister’s direction.

“Size Queen.” bitches Max.

“Jezebel.” John shoots back.

“Jerk.” says Max, not without affection.

“Trainwreck.” says John, in the same tone.

“If this all pans out, I want all the details. You’re taking me to brunch on Monday. With mimosas. And you’re paying.”

John grins.

“Naturally. Now leave me be so our local superheroes can kidnap me for a weekend of kinky, kinky sex.”

Max rolls her eyes, but kisses him on the cheek and straddles her bike.

“Be careful, Johnny.” she says, and pulls on her helmet.

“I’ll make sure they know my safe word.” drawls John, and Max looks unconvinced as she flips down her visor and kicks up the kickstand.

John knows she meant he ought to be careful with his heart, and he hasn’t the courage to tell her he’s already lost it.

“Hello, Mister Silver.” purrs the Black Canary. John opens his eyes and looks back at the stars.

“Pretty Bird.” he purrs right back. He can feel the Green Captain bristling at the nickname, and he smirks to himself. There are no policemen here. If there were, the Green Captain would be too smug for the nickname to phase him.

“Have you been good for us?” asks John’s Pretty Bird, and John nods.

“Don’t be absurd.” says the Captain, and there’s so much command in that tone that John has to fight his instincts down from sitting bolt upright to a full-body shiver. “There’s not a good bone in his body. He’s a disobedient little shit that we’re going to have to discipline until he submits.”

Oh, fucking hell. John’s not going to be able to walk to brunch with Max on Monday, and he’s going to love every second of the next two days and nights.

“I think he’s perfectly capable of being a good boy, given the right - inducements.” says the Canary. “Shall we test that theory?”

The Captain grunts an agreement.

“Stand up, Mister Silver.” says the Canary. “And then turn around so we can see you.”

John does, and then laughs.

District Attorney Thomas Hamilton smiles back at him, an immaculate and benevolent god in his bespoke suit and black silk tie. At Thomas’ left is returned hero Lieutenant James McGraw Flint, Thomas’ lover and Nassau nightlife icon, looking dangerous in his worn-soft and see through white t-shirt and leather motorcycle jacket.

“No wonder you’re not selling me out to the police.” says John. “Do you think they’ll put us in the same cell block at The Fort, if they catch us all? I could look after you in prison. People are scared of me.”

It’s a lie, of course. People are scared of Charles and his burn scars and wild eyes, and therefore John, as the one ‘holding the leash’ (another lie) is also to be feared, but in a lesser fashion.

Flint smiles, bright and dangerous.

“The police won’t be involved in this relationship.” he says. “But there’s a definite possibility this ends with you being ours.”

John shivers a little, despite the lingering warmth of the day.

“I think we ought to have the rest of this conversation somewhere more private.” says Thomas, his eyes dark. “Knowing what you now know, would you still like to come home with us?”

John looks between them - a returned war hero and a dogged lawyer, an archer and a man whose scream can punch a hole in a reinforced concrete wall - and then looks back up at the velvet sky and the diamond stars.

Fuck it.

“Let’s go.” he says to Thomas, and links arms with him, waving impatient fingers at James until he relents and steps closer so they can all walk together.

“How do you feel about using the color system?” Thomas asks, after they’ve walked about half a block in contented silence.

“As long as I get a hard-stop word, that works for me.” John says. “Are you planning anything that means I might need a non-verbal safeword?”

“Why don’t we establish one anyway.” says Thomas. They stop to wait for a crossing light, and John sneaks a look at James, who is practically glowing with how much he’s blushing.

“What brought that on?” John teases.

“Must you do that in public?” asks James, squeezing the arm he has around John’s shoulder a little tighter.

“Does it bother you, darling?” John says, and then yelps as Thomas pinches his side. “What was that for?”

“Don’t tease, darling. Good boys don’t tease.” Thomas scolds, and then he starts walking again, the lights having changed. John takes a half-second to reboot his brain from the mush it turned into at the timbre of Thomas’ voice, and finds himself towed along in Thomas’ wake.

“I’m not exactly a good boy.” John says.

“No shit.” drawls James.

“But I have to ask,” John continues, ignoring the interjection. “Exactly how bad would you like me to be?”

They make a sharp left turn and start to climb the stairs of a beautiful brownstone. James withdraws his arm from John’s shoulders and fumbles in his pocket for his keys.

“Are you asking how bratty we like our subs?” Thomas inquires, and John grins.

“I absolutely am.”

“That rather depends.” says Thomas.

“On what?”

“On how much you like being punished.” says James, and then he opens the door. “Coming, Silver?”

This last is said in a purr so low it sends shivers up John’s spine instead of down it, and John pushes forward and over the threshold. Thomas and James calmly shepherd him into the kitchen, and then they all pause for a moment.

“So, how are we doing this?” John asks, propping his hip against an expensive-looking marble countertop.

“How do you want to do it?” James asks, and John opens his mouth to reply, only to have James shoot him a glare that makes him realize the question wasn’t directed to him at all.

“I think we should start by seeing just how good he actually is. We can go from there, I think.” Thomas says, thoughtful eyes fixed on the crown molding.

James hums.

“Bedroom?” he asks.

“Yes.” says Thomas. “Come along, darling.”

John follows instantly. There’s something warm beginning to pool in the base of his stomach, something that has been growing for a while but has suddenly ignited. There are hands at his waist now, sliding under the fabric of his t-shirt, and James’ breath is warm against his ear.

“Good boy, Silver.” he purrs, and John shudders and pushes back into his hands, and James laughs and bites at the lobe of his ear and pushes him forward and into the bedroom. Thomas is waiting, his jacket and tie already gone, sprawled in an armchair sitting in the corner.

“Strip.” says James, still pressed against John’s back. John does, but it’s slightly awkward, trying to navigate around James’ wandering hands and biting back moans when James hits on a sensitive spot. Thomas watches, eyes dark, hands resting flat on his thighs, until John is entirely naked and James has his hands on his shoulders.

“Down.” says James, and the commanding voice from the bench is back. This time John doesn’t try to suppress his instincts and rather goes straight to his knees, fixing his eyes on the floorboards in front of him.

“Good boy.” purrs James. “Now, crawl.”

John freezes.

“Come here, darling.” says Thomas, letting his knees sprawl lazily open. John swallows against the roaring lust in his brain and slowly, slowly, creeps across the floor on his knees until he’s seated between Thomas’ still-clothed thighs. “How are you doing?”

“Green.” says John, wondering what’s going to happen next.

“I think that answer was missing something.” says Thomas, suddenly sharp. “Try again.”

John swallows. If that was a taste of what punishment could look like, he’s definitely going to misbehave.

“Green, sir.” he says, keeping his eyes fixed on the floor so Thomas can’t see him planning.

“Good. Is there anything you want from us tonight?”

John knows exactly what he wants. It’s been his go-to fantasy for, at this point, literal years.

“Do you remember the first time you caught me?” he asks. “The both of you, together.”

Thomas smiles, slow and filthy.

“Tell me exactly what you’re thinking about.”

“You’d stopped me, and in order to make sure I didn’t escape while you checked on the civilians, you cuffed me to the bars of the vault. And when you’d made sure there were no injuries you came back down the stairs, side by side in those fucking costumes -”

John’s voice trails off into nothing.

“What did you think?” James prompts. “What were you thinking, Silver?”

“I wanted you to - I wanted - I hoped -” John says, but he can’t make his infamous tongue cooperate.

“Did you want us to take you, Silvertongue?” asks James.

“Did you want us to punish you ourselves?” asks Thomas.

“Did you want us to leave you chained and helpless while we used you?” asks James.

“Well, Silvertongue?” says Thomas, rolling John’s codename off his tongue like a taunt. “Is that what you wanted?”

“Yes.” says John, because it’s true.

“Yes, who?” says Thomas.

John looks him in the eye and very deliberately keeps his mouth shut.

James, behind them, laughs.

“I told you he was a disobedient little shit.” he reminds Thomas.

“I think you also told me we’d have to punish him until he submits.” Thomas observes.

“I did.” says James, and John fights back his grin.

“James, dear heart, what punishment did you have in mind?”

“Let me put him over my knee, won’t you?” James says, and John might almost classify that as a plea. “He’s been begging for a spanking since the first time he opened his mouth in my presence.”

Thomas grins, blinding, and he lifts his hands, palms up, in invitation. John bites his lips and pretends that he wouldn’t beg for this, beg to be the subject of their bickering, beg to be the source of the laugh lines on Thomas’ face, beg to be manhandled by James like this, beg for all of it.

Judging by the glimpse he gets of the look on James’ face, he fails miserably. James pushes him down so his ass is facing back towards Thomas, and John lets his hands fall to his sides, dangling.

“Count for me, Silver.” says James, one hand resting against the middle of John’s shoulders and one teasing across his ass. “You’re going to count for me, out loud.”

“Sure thing.” says John, deliberately casual.

James’ hand cracks down, and John gasps and arches.

“And you’re going to call me Captain.” James says, almost conversational. “Thomas will be Sir. Tell me you understand.”

“Yes -” says John, and waits for a breath, for another burst of hot-pain, before he adds “Captain, yes, I understand, Captain.”

“Good boy.” says James, and John’s whole body twitches in response.

“Would you look at that.” says Thomas, thoughtful. “He wants to be good.”

“I suppose we were both right, to a degree.” James admits. “Time to count, Silver.”

The first strike and the second have a long moment between them, and John counts them with a breathless anticipation - that is punched out of him as soon as three and four and five and six rain down one after the other after the other.

“Six, fuck, fuck.” John pants, and he can feel James’ hands smoothing over his ass.

“What a lovely shade of red he turns.” Thomas observes. James just hums.

“Seven!” gasps John, and rocks his hips against James’ thigh.

“He wants to get off.” James says. “What shall I do about it?”

“Silver, darling, you’ve got two choices.” Thomas says, voice even. “You can come now, and we can put a ring on you for the rest of the night, or you can wait, and suck me off while James opens you up, and then you can come while we fuck you.”

John doesn’t even have to think about it.

“The second one, sir.”

“Good boy.” says Thomas, and John is sure this is going to be how he dies. Put that on the certificate - cause of death: the way Thomas Hamilton’s lips look wrapping around the words, the way his voice echoes with fondness and affection and truth.

“Let him up, dearest.” Thomas says.

“After seven? Let me make it a round ten.”

Thomas makes a contemplative noise, like he’s deciding.

“I’ll make him beg for them.” James wheedles. So that last wasn’t a fluke, Thomas is very clearly the one in charge here. That - well, it actually doesn’t change anything for John. It only clarifies something that had only been partially hidden.

“Please.” says John, because the entire reason he had mouthed off by not opening his mouth was that he actually does enjoy getting spanked.

“See?” says James. “He’s already asking.”

“Alright, James. Round it out to fifteen, if he’s that eager.”

“Oh, fuck.” says John, possibly more of a moan than words.

“And don’t even think about coming.” Thomas adds.

“Yes, sir.” John manages, but the honorific gets cut off by his gasp when James spanks him again.

“Eight!” John yelps, into the resulting silence.

“Turn him around, dearest.” says Thomas. “I want to see his face.”

James drops his hands under John’s stomach and just - turns him. The noise John makes is frankly inhuman.

“Fuck, shit, fuck, please, please, please.” John says. “Seven - seven more.”

“Hush now, Silver, you’ll get what you want.” says James.

“Be good and count for us.” says Thomas.

John does, and each time he counts James tells him how well he takes it and Thomas tells him how good he is. John is shaking by the time they get to fifteen.

“Color, darling?” asks Thomas.

“Gr - green.” pants John.

“He’s still trying to get himself off on my thigh.” says James, the traitor.

“In my defense, they’re very nice thighs.” says John, which draws a laugh from Thomas and another, more playful, spank from James. John hasn’t laughed this much in years.

“I think it’s time we put that smart mouth to better use.” says James, urging John off his lap and back down to his knees. “Get, Silver.”

Silver slides back across the floor to the space between Thomas’ thighs, and looks up imploringly with the same expression Max used as a child to distract businessmen from where John was relieving them of their wallets.

“Please, sir, can I suck your cock?” he asks, batting his eyelashes.

“You’re not Oliver fucking Twist.” says James. “You can do better than that.”

Thomas twines his fingers into John’s hair and pulls until John’s head is tilted back.

“Fuck my mouth, please.” says John. “You caught me, now use me.”

“Is that how you want to play it?” asks Thomas. “Did we catch you, Silvertongue? Have we whisked you away from a heist? Are there millions safe in a vault because you’re here and on your knees?”

John suddenly has no air in his lungs, and Thomas sounds like the Black Canary that John flirts with every time he steals something in the hope that precisely this would happen.

“If I’m good,” says John, “then you’ll look the other way while I slip out of your back door.”

“You think you’re a good enough fuck to get you out of jail time?” says James, and that’s the Green Captain’s voice, the same gravelly growl that has every talk show host in Star fanning themselves.

“I know I’m a good enough fuck.” says John, Silvertongue’s cocky boast floating to the fore.

“We’ll see about that.” says Thomas. “Open up, then.”

John does, and is rewarded with his first taste of either of them. He moans around Thomas’ dick, letting his eyes roll back in his head dramatically. Thomas’ hips roll slow but deep and John drops some of his theatricality in favor of focusing on not gagging, although that doesn’t stop him from making noise.

“Fuck me, he’s loud.” says James.

“He’s enjoying himself.” says Thomas, and his voice sounds strained. John is suddenly reminded of the amount of times Thomas’ screams have bodily moved him, and wonders how they handle the logistics of such a circumstance. “He’s going to make the nicest noises when he’s stuffed full of cock, don’t you think?”

Holy Fort Knox, they’re actually trying to kill him.

“I want to tie him up.” says James. “I want to hang him from the ceiling.”

John tries to say yes please, and although it’s muffled it’s still clear enough to make Thomas groan and James chuckle darkly.

“I’ll get it ready, shall I?” says James. “And you can get him ready?”

Thomas hauls John off his cock with the fist in his hair, and John pants for a moment, resting his forehead against Thomas’ thigh.

“Gonna fuck me ‘til I scream?” he taunts, as soon as he has his breath back. “I thought screaming was more your department.”

Thomas tugs sharply on John’s hair again, pulling until John makes eye contact.

“When I scream, I win.” says Thomas. “When you scream, when you scream for more, and harder, it will be because you’ve lost.”

John whimpers and thrusts his hips against nothing.

“Get up here.” Thomas tells him, manhandling him until he’s seated across Thomas’ lap, thighs spread by Thomas’ own sprawled legs, arms wrapped around Thomas’ neck and clutching at the back of the armchair. He honestly has no idea where Thomas gets the lube from, but there’s slick fingers teasing at him and there’s only so much he can take.

“Oh, fuck,” says John.

“That’s the general idea, yes.” Thomas says. His voice slides sideways into taunting. “Where’s that tongue of yours now? Don’t tell me this is all it takes to get you to shut up.”

“Fuck off, Canary.” says John, without much heat. Thomas spanks him, harder than James did.

“You’d better be more polite than that.” Thomas tells him.

“Sorry, sir.” says John, and doesn’t mean it at all. Thomas shoves two fingers in and then tutts at John as his back arches.

“So easy.” Thomas says, almost a scold.

Listen, John knew this was coming. He’s got himself off once already today. He’d been making it easier. None of that changes the fact that right now all he feels is the stretch and Thomas’ half-mocking, half-appreciative judgement.

“He asked for it - literally.” says James.

John attempts to turn to look, to see what James is doing, if the ropes are set, but Thomas grabs his chin with the hand not otherwise occupied and keeps him looking forward.

“Need a hand?” James asks, and his voice is closer than it had been.

“Why not.” says Thomas, and then John’s arching again because James is opening him up further, and then Thomas sinks his teeth into John’s chest, in just the right place to tease his tongue over one of John’s nipples, and John moans, loud and long and uninhibited, and someone’s finger drags over his prostate in a way that makes him want to yell, and all he wants is more.

“Do you?” asks Thomas, and John realizes he must have said that out loud. “Do you want more, Silver?”

“Yes, fuck, yes.” says John, trying to fuck himself down on their fingers.

“Tell us what you want, beg us for it.” says James. A pair of fingers nail John’s prostate again and he writhes.

“Oh, fuck, fuck me, take me, use me.” John gasps. “Please, sir, please, Captain.”

“There we go.” says Thomas.

John’s eyes fly open when they pull their fingers out - he hadn’t even realized he closed them - and then manage to get wider when Thomas wraps his hands around John’s thighs and lifts. He lets them move him - lets Thomas hold him while James ties his hands just high enough over his head that his feet just brush the floor and he won’t have any leverage - and revels in the softness of their hands on him. Thomas presses kisses to his biceps, to his neck, to his wrists.

“Good boy.” says James, smoothing his hands all the way down John’s sides until they rest on John’s hips. “So good for us.”

Thomas comes to stand in front of him, and his hands are busy, toying with John’s nipples, teasing across his straining triceps, brushing just barely over his straining cock.

“Go on, James, fuck him.” says Thomas.

“Fuck me, Captain, please, fuck me.” John begs, rocking his hips back, arching his spine.

James pushes in slow, fucks his way deeper with tiny thrusts that punch gasp after gasp out of John. As soon as he’s pressed flush against John’s back, Thomas catches his face in two hands and kisses him, biting and strong and hard. John can’t quite believe it’s taken this long to get a kiss, but that doesn’t change how enthusiastically he throws himself into returning it. Thomas pulls back and runs a thumb over John’s lip, which must be swollen.

“James, my love?” says Thomas, but his eyes are still focused on the thumb John’s just sucked into his mouth.

“Yes?” says James.

“Make him scream.”

John opens his mouth to say something, and then -

He’s not actually sure what he was going to say anymore. All he can really process is how good it feels to have James McGraw Flint, the Green Captain himself, absolutely taking him apart. James’ hands are leaving bruises on his hips, and Thomas is pulling on his nipples, and John’s never been this close to coming without some kind of friction on his cock. There’s no way John could string together a coherent sentence to beg for anything. James shifts his grip, adjusts his stance, and starts pounding John again, except this time every second or third thrust smacks straight into his prostate.

John screams, wordless and desperate, unable to contain it.

Thomas leans all the way back in, shifting one hand so it’s wrapped around John’s neck, just enough pressure to make sure you couldn’t forget about him.

“Looks like you lose, Silvertongue.” he says, and John keens.

James hasn’t lightened his onslaught and Thomas’ other hand is pulling on John’s cock, so there’s really no option left except to keep screaming.

“Listen to you.” James whispers into his ear.

“All ours.” Thomas says, kissing the side of his neck. “We caught you, and you’ve lost, and you’re all ours, to keep and to hold.”

John bucks and writhes between them, and then Thomas pulls just right while James nails his prostate and John is shaking apart between them, still screaming, eyes rolling back involuntarily, arms twitching.

“Fuck.” gasps James, like it’s punched out of him, the vowel sound dragging on as he shudders and comes, hips twitching against John again and again.

“Darlings.” says Thomas, taking half a step back to look at them both. “Oh, my darlings.”

Thomas has dropped one hand to start pulling at his own cock, and John starts pulling against his bindings.

“Shhh, Silver.” says James.

“No - I -” John says, and then he makes himself swallow and thinks about his articulation. “I want you to fuck my mouth again, sir.”

Thomas’ facial expression suggests that he can’t quite believe Silver is real. James unties him, hands careful, and helps him to his knees, settles on the floor behind John so he’s cradling John against his chest, framing him with those beautiful thighs. They must make quite the picture, and Thomas’ blown pupils only evidence that further.

James keeps his arms wrapped around John’s chest while John presses kisses to Thomas’ shaft, presses close so he can kiss at John’s neck while Thomas rocks his hips and John sucks as best he can.

“Come on him, Thomas.” James urges. “Mark him as ours.”

John moans at the thought, and Thomas gets a slightly desperate look on his face and staggers half a step back so that he can do just as James suggested. He flops back into the armchair afterwards, and John licks the come from his lips as lewdly as he can manage.

“Fuck.” says Thomas.

James helps John with the rest, the both of them licking it from their fingers as they go.

“Fuck.” says Thomas, still watching.

“An accurate summation of how we’re spent the evening.” drawls John, and James snorts inelegantly.

There’s a few minutes that feature a half-hearted cleanup and Thomas bodily carrying John to the bed and tucking him against James before pulling a quilt over the three of them, and John refusing to be ashamed of snuggling in to their hold.

“What do we do now?” John asks the curve of James’ pectoral, finally. “We can’t just go back to the way things were.”

“I don’t suppose-” Thomas starts.

“I can’t leave my Rogues.” says John, cutting him off at the pass. “That’s non-negotiable.”

“They’ve got a code, Thomas, they’re not so bad. The Flash likes them.” says James.

“The Flash’s opinions on criminals and criminality come entirely from you radicalizing her.” Thomas says, voice almost a whine. “Her opinion doesn’t count.”

“She’d be hurt to hear you say that.” says James. “Don’t listen to Thomas, the Flash loves you.”

James kisses the top of his head, and John flushes, a soft smile on his face.

“So we carry on as we were with small changes.” says Thomas.

“Like what?” asks John, suddenly suspicious.

“Well, the next time we catch you red-handed -” says Thomas, sliding a hand down to cup John’s ass.

John pushes into the touch, grinning.

“Now that I can work with.”

“Now you’ve created a monster.” says James. “He’ll never stop stealing after that. It’s an engraved invitation!”

John listens to them bickering with half an ear, already planning his next heist.

When they catch him robbing Alfred Hamilton blind, it will take no convincing at all to get them to fuck him over the man’s desk.

#silverflinthamilton #my fic

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worbiestuff · 4 years

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Wohoo! hi guys its been a long while! hope y’all are safe and protecting yourselves against COVID-19. let’s sanitize more and wash our hands frequently to avoid contracting the disease but above all lets STAY AT HOME. Anyways, since schools have been closed down because of the pandemic, my school moved to we having online classes to prevent us being idle while the whole word takes a major turn. The questions are below. I took my time to research and watch series of videos to help me come at my answers and conclusions. I hope they are useful to you too.

1. Write in your own words a brief history of photography and the major proponents of the practice.

2. Will you regard photography as an art or science?

3. How is photography relevant to human history?

· Photography was born from the camera obscura invented in the 1830’s but in some 200 years ago the camera developed from a box that took blurry pictures until around 11th century when obscura was invented by Iraqi scientists. Photography captured a slice of life, it told something about the person or whatever that was captured. Examples are the picture of Monna Lisa, the night watch and so on. At first, photography was either used an aid in the work of a painter or followed the same principles painted followed. According to Ken Whitmire, photography was inherited from painters a 100 or 200 years ago.

· The camera obscura manuscripts and principles on how it works was invented in 1021 by Ibn al-Haythan, known as Alhazen. The camera obscura is a dark closed box with a hole at one side of it. It is stated that around 1553, that Giovanni Battista Della Porta was the first to use the camera obscura or wrote an essay on how to use it.

· Shortly before 1800 (exact date not known), Thomas Wedgewood, one of the first people who tried to use the concept and make it permanent. He used silver nitrate on paper and white leather but achieved better results with white leather.

Thomas was the son of the famous Josiah Wedgewood, the potter, and he wasn’t all that successful into making the image into light. He would get the image but it would get destroyed because it was not fixed like how it is done in the darkroom.

· The first permanent and oldest surviving photograph, was taken by a French inventor Joseph Nicephore Niepce, it records a view from the “Window at Le Gras”. The exposure lasted for eight hours. Niepce came up with the idea of using petroleum derivative called “Bitumen of Judea” to record his camera’s projection. In the next few years he partnered with Louis Daguerre and they started working together till Niepce died. The first ever picture to have a human in it was Boulevard du Temple by Louis Daguerre, taken in 1838. The first known picture with a 10 minute exposure of a man having his shoes polished.

· Finally, after decades of improvements, cameras began to earnest with Eastman’s Kodak’s cameras. In 1888 he sold his first commercial camera. It took only black and white shots.

· In 1939, Sir John Herschel came up with a way of making the first glass negative. The same year he coined the term photography, derived from the Greek word “fos” meaning light and ‘grafo” meaning write.

· Colour photography was explored throughout the 19th century but wasn’t really viable till the middle of the 20th century. Several methods were patented by Louis Ducos du Hauron and Charles Cros. The first colour photo, an image of a tartan ribbon was taken by James Clerk Maxwell, a famous Scottish physicist.

· In 1939, WWII helped shape photography. The Wehrmacht recruited photographers for its propaganda campaigns. As a propaganda tool, the camera became a weapon in the hands of soldiers.

· In 1948 Polaroid introduced an instant image development invented by Edwin H. Land. It is a type of camera which uses self-developing film to create a chemically developed print shortly after taking the picture.

· In 1991, first professional camera was announced by Kodak professional DCS.

· In 2000 the first camera phone was invented by Sharp Corporation.

The technicality of producing an image is science but the composition and generating a beautiful image is art. Even though the science of photography is the following of series of steps when editing and making adjustments and the organized body of knowledge and principles, I think photography is an art because art is an expression of feelings brought into words, pictures (photography) or acting. Or art is something that is created with imagination and skill and that is beautiful or that expresses important ideas or feelings. This definition shows that photography possesses everything to be an ideal medium for creative expression, thus, art.

Photography is an art because it is a continuation of the art of drawing or painting. Photography is just like painting in the sense that although it does take accurate pictures of reality it allows for some modification. Photography captures a slice or a moment of life in every photograph that is taken and all of this symbolizes art. How certain people did certain things and other iconic photographs. Pictures of people like Monna Lisa, the snake river etc. all show art.

As any visual art form, photography allows for an expression of emotions. It exploits vulnerabilities of the human visual perception and can make us experience emotions that move us and compel us to do things we otherwise would not even think of. It is Jessica Lange’s series of photos showing inhumane conditions on American factories that made the lawmakers enact Child Labor Law, it is Carleton Watkin’s landscapes that were the reason for Abraham Lincoln signing the first federal government act to preserve a part of nature for the common good now known as Yosemite National Park.

Photography requires perfection through practical knowledge, creativity and personal skills. Practical knowledge is knowledge that is acquired by day-to-day-hands-on experiences. Practical knowledge is gained by doing things. If you want to be a good manager for example, one needs several years of experience, same applies to photography. One needs to practice to become a pro at photography. Speaking of creativity, it is the use of imagination or original ideas to create something, thus, what a photographer plans on bringing out with his photo, that is the message he or she wants to convey to whoever his audience is, the theme, the story, the poses etc. The science part of photography or the body of knowledge and principles and series of steps don’t guarantee one creative. Theoretical knowledge, which is gained for example by reading manuals is not sufficient since every art requires practical knowledge.

Photography is an art because of the fact that it does take an artist’s eye to find a great subject for digital photography. The photographer conveys messages (photos) through aesthetics; a set of principles concerned with nature and appreciation of beauty. It deals with questions of beauty and artistic taste. Questions like;

· How long did it take me to plan this photo shoot?

· How does this photograph make me feel?

· What’s the lighting like in this particular photograph? Is it artificial or natural? Controlled or spontaneous? A photographer answers these questions by means of art and not by a series of steps or the acquisition of knowledge by reading a manual or experimentation and observation. Managing the job requires certain skills which are personal possessions.

The above listed and elaborated points are the reasons why I strongly think photography is an art.

Photography is relevant to human history in a sense that it is part of our legacy. Photography freezes moments of our lives which pass unremarkably and which seem to have little importance to us at that time. The significance however, may be for others who search for the person we once were or the places we once knew. They can be small pieces of jigsaw that completes the larger picture of our lives.

Furthermore, photography is relevant to human history because it aids in communication. People all over the world can’t read and write and the few that can comprehend more than 250 words per minute. As a result, photography has taken a leading role in communication and is very inevitable.

Photographs play a vital role in human history by connecting us to our past. They remind us of people we’ve known and still do, the places we’ve been to, the feelings we’ve felt; love, pain, hatred, fear etc. and they tell our stories too.

Photographs can be a vital memory clue. They help us know who we are; the type of fashion or fashion sense during the old days, the kind of vehicles or other technology depicted. They also tell where we’re from, where we’re headed, the people we came from, our ancestors etc.

Another relevance of photography to human history is information. Some photographs contain very vital information about very important things and places or people. Photographs disseminate information about humanity and the society. The vital information was mostly recorded at the back or the reverse side of those old or ancient photographs and they mostly contained symbols, marker’s marks etc. an example is the carte de visite photograph from 1883. The scan of the back reveals information about the image.

Photography is relevant to human history because it keeps history alive. Most of us weren’t alive or born when certain photographs were taken but through these same photographs we’ve been able to learn about the history of particular people that were captured, particular iconic photos, why they were captured and a whole lot. For example, I wasn’t around the first permanent photograph ever (Boulevard du Temple by Louis Daguerre, taken in 1838) was taken but thanks to photography keeping history alive, I’ve been able to learn about it and see the actual picture and the photographer who captured it even though I wasn’t around to witness it. Photographs make us see and believe history.

Photography helps us understand human history and culture and this is also another reason why photography is relevant to human history. It is much more than a simple record or a snapshot. It speaks to the best and most generous part of our human nature.

Everything we do and everywhere we go is recorded because they matter. Some moments and experiences cannot be forgotten and so we keep them through photographs.

Basic Photography

DOREEN WORBIE.

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