ultimately what bothers me so much about the "norrington is an austenian/historical romance hero" take is that it completely ignores half of his character? i don't think it's a coincidence that his two first adult scenes in which he speaks are
his proposal to elizabeth (which is awkward and misguided, but sincere!), yes, but also
his snarky arrest of jack sparrow, in which he acknowledges that jack saved elizabeth, and offers him a handshakeāand uses that handshake as a feint to determine jack's identity
he's a pirate killer in a pirate movie, and he's good at killing pirates! in fact i think the script goes out of its way to show that if it were any pirateĀ but jack sparrow, norrington would've come out the victor. jack actively uses norrington's assumptions of pirate behavior to his advantage and subverts them by being honest, knowing that norrington is savvy enough to mistrust himāor otherwise, jack is exploiting his knowledge of the supernatural, which no one else outside the black pearl thought was real either! THATS the real genre displacement, and it's far from affecting norrington exclusively.Ā
i understand the sentiment: norrington is definitely an atypical royal navy antagonist in a swashbuckler movie, in that he genuinely loves elizabeth. he could be a sneering sniler who wants to marry her for money or power, but he isn't. but neither does that mean he's in the wrong genre. the entire point of his character is that his soft heart is not separate from his violent professionāthey are one and the same. he was born to kill pirates, and claiming he's from another genre that sands off that rough edge is such a discredit to the fascinating contrast of his character.Ā
James Norrington the men you are š«”šš I recently fell in love with this character thanks to the fic of @esta-elavaris "Catch the wind" is amazing I was giggling alone in my room.
I have been in an art block for like a week it was horrible I wanted to pull my hair out but here we are. This drawing turned a bit melancholic, idk men his life is tragic and that makes me sad š„ŗ
Also is this a safe place to say that I prefer him with the uniform than his pirate dirty look ?
āExcuse me,ā she said gently, mindful of the hush that ruled the space.
The man looked up.
Mirth flickered at the edges of eyes that were, tonight, a deeper shadow than usualābrown darkened by fatigue, as though the light refused to catch. The lamplight caught on the faint scar along his cheek, on the careful way he held the heavy volume, as if his fingers had learned to account for the occasional tremor.
āI hope youāre not after a book that answers the meaning of life,ā he said, voice dry as old parchment. āItās quite dull, really.ā
Recognition slipped through her like a curtain in a draught.
āOh,ā she said. āItās you.ā
The memory of firewhisky lingered in her like smokeāwarm, muddled at the edges, and more welcome than sheād allowed herself to admit. The last time sheād seen him outside a classroom, his hand had been steady enough around a glass. Less so on the way up the stairs.
āWell,ā she added, mouth tilting, āit appears youāre not an intruder after all.ā
He folded the corner of the pageācarefully, she noticed; he might be reckless with his own body, perhaps, but never with books.
āHow reassuring to know Iām not some rogue bookshelf bandit,ā he replied. The dryness of his tone didnāt quite hide his amusement.
She drifted a step closer, ostensibly to glance at the title. Words likeĀ curseĀ andĀ reversalĀ leapt out in gilt letters.
Her brows lifted. āLight reading?ā
āSomething along those lines,ā he said.
āWhat are you researching?ā she asked, interest softening the edges of her voice despite herself. āCurse-breaking?ā
He shrugged, leaning back in the chair. Even that small movement seemed measured, as though he were cataloguing which muscles twinged and which ones still obeyed without complaint.
āIt appears so,ā he said. āThough the intricacies are best studied in solitude.ā
There was a precision to his aloofnessāfamiliar and oddly comforting. The same carefully arranged distance she wore like armour. Aloofness as self-preservation.
āWhy arenāt you out celebrating the holidays?ā she asked, glancing toward the tall windows, where the faint glow from the Great Hall bled silver through distant glass. āThe feast seems to be proceeding without us.ā
āIāve only just arrived,ā she replied. āIt would feel rather foolish to turn back so soon.ā
He studied her for a moment, as if measuring what sort of foolishness she was capable of.
āAn admirable dedication toā¦ what, precisely?ā he asked. His tone was sharp, but not unkind. A small test, perhaps.
She offered the ghost of a smile. āLet us say I have a professional interest in the contents of this library.ā
āMm.ā His gaze flicked briefly to the shelves behind her, then back. āRemind me never to ask for a detailed list of your professional interests.ā
āYouād find it rather dull,ā she said. āMostly lesson plans and ways to keep Gryffindors and Slytherins from incinerating one another.ā
āA noble pursuit,ā he replied. āThough I suspect you undersell yourself.ā
She tilted her head. āWell, I suppose I ought to leave you to yourĀ lightĀ reading, then, Professorā¦?ā
He chuckled, low in his throat. āLight reading indeed.ā He hefted the book slightly, a faint grimace crossing his features as strain pulled at something in his shoulder. āAesop Sharp. But I imagine I donāt need to introduce myself again, considering my brief, albeit memorable, role as an intruder.ā
āAesop Sharp,ā she repeated, tasting the cadence of it. āAre you writing fables now? Collecting stories of those unfortunate enough to encounter ill-advised firewhisky?ā
His mouth quirked. āIāll leave storytelling to the likes of you. Iām merely here to unearth truths better left buried.ā
Her pulse stirredāsomewhere between amusement and something more complicated. The firelight carved fine lines into his face, highlighting the hollows that hadnāt been there when heād first appeared at the winter gathering. Or perhaps she simply hadnāt been looking closely then.
āThen I suppose Iāll leave you to your excavations, Professor Sharp,ā she said, letting the title fall like a teasing courtesy. āAnd Iāll keep a watchful eye for any fables involving confused women, firewhisky, and taciturn professors hiding in libraries.ā
A flicker passed through his expressionāsomething softer than his usual reserve. Not quite a smile. Not quite not.
āConfused, am I?ā he said.
She arched a brow. āI believe I referred to the woman as confused. The professor, I merely called taciturn.ā
āAh.ā He leaned back again, the chair creaking softly. āIn that case, I shall endeavour to be enigmatically taciturn, at the very least. It sounds marginally more dignified.ā
āIt suits you,ā she said.
Silence settled for a moment, companionable rather than awkward. The hearth crackled. Somewhere in the distance, a quill scratched across parchment. The castle breathed.
She turned slightly, ready to disappear back into the stacks, before she could do something foolishālike mention that Shah had noticed his shaking hands or that Mirabel worried over his refusal to rest.
āUntil our next encounter, Aesop,ā she said over her shoulder, allowing his name to sit on her tongue a heartbeat longer than necessary.
Not Professor.
Aesop.
A kind of spell, in its own right.
She walked away, the hush of the library swallowing her footsteps before they had fully left the circle of lamplight.
But the weight of his gaze lingered. Not heavy, not invasiveājust there. Like a thread she hadnāt meant to pick up and now couldnāt quite set down.
She reached out as she passed a nearby shelf, letting her fingers trail along the rough edge of an old folio. The texture grounded her in the present, anchoring her to wood and leather and dust rather than bronze torches and old scars and wolves at the edge of the forest.
It didnāt feel like Aric.
There was no reckless flame, no unraveling at the seams.
Aesop Sharp was the oppositeāan edge honed thin with discipline, strained past its own usefulness.
Perhaps that was what unsettled her most.
Because even as she turned away, she recognized the shape of him.
Not every shadow in these halls belonged to Aric.
But she wasnāt ready to name the new ones yet.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Christmas and the time leading up to it are also often referred to as the festival of love. And not without reason, because many of the Sailors had to stay on land during this time because the danger of winter storms was too high. Therefore, many balls and festivals were held during this time so that these gentlemen could also go on a bride hunt. But this only applied to the officers who naturally tried to get hold of a lady from a good family with as much money as possible, as it secured their status and money in case they didnāt earn any or got on their sweetheartās nerves at home on half pay.
The gallant Sailor - a Master and Commander with a lovely Lady, by Frank Dadd 1910 (x)
But the normal Sailors also held their own events and so there was also the so-called sailor stabbing, a kind of jousting tournament, but with Sailors and their specialities, in order to impress the ladies with their skills. It also often happened that the couples had known each other since childhood and then got engaged at that time. But it could take a long time in the 17th and 18th century before they were married, because in the spring they would all leave again, and if the couple was unlucky, they would stay there for a few years, so that the wedding would not take place until 7 or 9 years later. If it did take place, it was quite possible that the female relatives could find a better match during this time and then the engagement was ruined.
The Sailor and his Sweetheart, by R. F. Zogbaum 1898 (x)
And one should avoid making a mistake. It is known from the 1870s in England that a girl made a promise of eternal fidelity to her boyfriend. But because the sailor in question had forgotten her address, he was unable to contact her for over two years. When he returned to his home port, he found that she was already married and had two children. Oops -
But back to the time of balls and parties, if they spotted a lady, they wooed her, and in the wintertime it suited them well, because they were at home. Many people already had their lovetokens ready, which were made at sea as a precaution and then passed on to their sweetheart, leaving out the name for the time being and only adding it later.
A 17th century sailorās posy ring (x)
Whalebone Fork and Spoon, made by a Sailor for his sweetheart: CzarinaāŖļøBlossom āŖļøDearest, c. 1843 (x)
In the 19th century, people largely dispensed with a long engagement period and the couple moved in together straight away, getting married barely two weeks later so that the couple had enough time for the honeymoon.
Sailorās Wedding, by Howard Pyle 1895 (x)
The wedding of a captain or flag officer was held in a grand, ostentatious and ceremonial manner. Often the whole town was decorated with flags and ships were moored and fired shots of joy. All family members and friends were invited to the festivities, but above all the sailorās comrades. The wedding of an ordinary seaman, on the other hand, was celebrated quite modestly and only in a small circle. Of course, it also happened that seamen regretted their decision to marry at the last moment and literally left the bride at the altar, which was a great humiliation for the bride and her family. For this reason, the fugitive groom should not dare to set foot in this place ever again, as the brideās family might want to lynch him.
So you see, the Christmas season was truly a celebration of love - whether it came to pass or not.
