#I’m also noticing that my. Image of Henry in my head is very specific to like…. Seattle/Canada/PNW hippie dads and everyone else’s is like…

[twomystdunstans]

from what I’ve observed with like one million spoiler tags blocked theres a very specific way some people draw Glenn where he just kinda looks like wolfwood from Trigun 1998. It’s kinda killing me cos it’s not far off

[angeygirl]

(Kicks down inbox door)

Can you do Elizabeth and William having a tea party? Or do I need to come back with a better writing prompt??

Gladly :D

[This is a semi-good timeline, William's downfall isn't imminent, but Mrs. Afton has died and he's struggling to keep things together on his own]

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

William Afton found himself slumped on the couch after work. It’s not that today had been a particularly hard day, or that last night had been a particular late night, but one can only take so many hard days and late nights without feeling a blow to one’s sanity. He was tired, sure, but more so because of bad news and not specifically because of effort on his part.

Business hadn’t been very good, animatronics had been breaking down for seemingly no reason. One of the pizza ovens catching on fire didn't help. With employee morale suffering it was up to him to keep his chin up and show everyone that things would turn around soon. There didn’t seem to be anyone to tell him the same.

He watched the afternoon sunlight play on the wall. It was odd to be home so early, but frankly he had run out of reasons to stay late. He could have helped Henry with repairs but after being scolded by customers over errors that had not been his fault, he just didn’t have it in him. So there he was, slumped back and staring at the wall, a feint wave of nervousness thrumming through him and preventing him from a much needed nap. “A cup of tea would do some good.” He muttered. It was too early for whisky.

A set of little footsteps scampered into the living room. He didn’t look to see who it was, but the sudden little girl on top of him made herself quite clear.

“Daddy!” Elizabeth called. “Daddy I finished cleaning my room!”

He straightened, or tried to, at least. “Did you now?” The request had been less about the necessity, and more about keeping Elizabeth from being underfoot for a few minuets while he tried to stop his head from spinning.

The girl stopped trying to strangle him and sat next him, beaming. Her smile faded when she saw his face. “Are you ok? Why are you sad?”

“I’m not sad, sunshine.” He tried to force a smile for her.

“You look sad.”

He dropped his head back against the couch. “It’s nothing. Just… just busy.”

Elizabeth looked like she was thinking hard. “Are you busy now?”

“No. If I was busy I wouldn’t be staring at the wall.”

She brightened. “Does that mean you can play with me?”

“That all depends on how long until-” As if to answer before his sentence was finished, the sound of a small boy calling for help sounded down the hall. William heaved a sigh and went to check on Evan. Nothing was wrong, but the little thing was awake and decided he was done with sitting in his crib alone. Michael was spending the afternoon at a friend’s house, but that friend had no interest in the younger sister, and no one wanted to deal with a toddler. William also did not want to deal with a toddler, but he had no choice. While Evan was set up with a bowl of apple slices to keep him busy, Elizabeth looked up at her father hopefully. He only noticed because she had gone several minuets staring at him without breaking attempted eye contact.

He tried to stifle his sigh. “Is something wrong, love?”

“Daddy can you play with me?”

“Play what?”

That wasn’t a ‘no’. Elizabeth darted to her room and came back with her arms full of pink plastic dishware which she began to arrange on the table.

“What’s all this then?”

“We’re having a tea party!”

“You can’t put tea in plastic cups, sunshine. It’ll damage it.”

“It’s not real tea, daddy. It’s pretend tea. Everyone knows that.”

“Funny you suggest a tea party,” he said, crossing his arms in mock concentration. “I could go for a cup myself.” He leaned down to her. “Do you know how to have a real tea party?”

She thought a moment. “You need guests. And… everyone dresses up fancy, and there’s lots of tiny cookies!”

William nodded. A memory he had not fully blocked out drifted into his mind. It was the image of a rose garden in spring. The rest of the yard had gone wild, or died. He didn’t know because he wasn’t permitted to look. The guests were lots of ladies his mother seemed to hate, yet insisted on hosting anyway. He was never allowed in, of course. But he had watched from his window many times. At the time, he was more interested in the frogs and dirt, but no one would want a ‘sick little nuisance’ wandering around anyway. He shook the picture from his head before it had the chance to turn painful.

Despite his little daydream, Elizabeth had continued rambling on about what would make a tea party perfect, and ended with “but we can’t get all that, not right now.”

“Maybe not, but we can do something with what we have.” He got up to root around in the pantry for a secret stash of sweets his own trio of nuisances were not tall enough to see. If he was going to have a tea party, even just to humour a needy 7 year old, he was going to get real snacks out of it. “You can have pretend tea any time. You can only have real tea with me.”

Elizabeth’s eyes sparkled seeing the little tin of cookies. “Where did those come from?”

“Now, now. These are for special occasions.” They weren't, but he didn’t like the idea of having to share. “Can you get the kettle out and fill it up?”

The little girl nodded and scampered to the cupboard. Evan had been nibbling his apple slices and didn’t seem to be paying any attention.

Why was he doing this? Was it only because he wanted an excuse to break open the cookie jar? Maybe. But seeing Elizabeth happy was probably the best thing to happen to him all week. William watched the kettle while Elizabeth kept peppering him with questions.

“Did you do this in England?” She asked.

“Do what?”

“This! People from England like tea but you don’t. Why?”

“Coffee wakes me up better.” He hoped he would not have to explain further. He did.

“Boys don’t like tea parties, do they? Was it different there?”

“Well, boys weren't allowed in. Besides, the kind of tea party you like is very different then back home.” He had not meant to say ‘back home’ but it came out anyway. Was that house his home? Or had he only called it that because it was so much better then what came after? So much better then the basement...

William's thoughts and Elizabeth's questions were cut off by the whistle of the kettle. He opened the latch and reached for the cupboard. “Sunshine, can you get a blanket to sit on? Proper tea parties are usually held in the garden. Well, we don’t really have a garden, but it’s a nice enough day.”

She nodded and obediently went off in search of a blanket. Evan was not done with his apples, but looked up expecting to be taken out of his high chair. William stroked the downy hair. “I won’t be having you wander around with hot water right here.” He said, and set the tea brewing.

“Found one!” Elizabeth called a few minuets later.

“Excellent timing.” The tea was just about done.

They spread the blanket out on the back porch and carefully set out a pair of mugs. Evan was supplied with a sippy cup and some juice. Elizabeth dressed herself up in a plastic tiara, and William put his sparkly work tie back on.

It was nice, he supposed. The weather was clear and Elizabeth was overjoyed to have time with him. Evan was too busy wandering around the back yard and throwing sticks to be paying any attention. Most 3 year olds are not expected to have very good party going manners, according to Elizabeth. This was most clear in the way the little boy toddled up with leaves in his hand to show off.

Sure, business was probably going to suffer until they sorted out the marketing, or until Henry got those glitches in the animatronics ironed out. But for once, William was able to remember he had a life outside of work. Maybe this was important too. He was glad that if Michael had to miss out, it was a ‘dumb girl thing’.

Finding ways to appeal to all of them was getting harder as interests evolved. And, as much as it tugged at his the back of his mind, it just wasn’t possible to give each one of them as much time as they needed. Even now, he wasn’t able to fully focus on Elizabeth, and he suspected she noticed how often he kept glancing around to make sure Evan wasn’t putting dirt in his mouth. All the same, he hoped she appreciated this. When his thoughts wandered back to his negligence, a happy yap, usually accompanied by a poke or playful touch, brought him back to the present.

Evan very nearly did get away with eating a rock if Elizabeth had not darted over to tell him how impolite it was. When the tea was drunk and the sun began to set, William tucked the remaining sweets back in his secret part of the top shelf. Michael came home not too long after.

For reasons William could not explain, he was glad to have all three of them there at supper with him. Somehow all of them together felt... oddly whole. He had been making little effort to do more then keep them all alive in the two years he had been raising them alone. He couldn't do more then that. Not without feeling like he was going to crack and that all that pent up poison would leak out and cause him to do something drastic. But somehow, this little rest sparked some form of affection he had been close to forgetting.

[babymetaldoll]

The BAU First online Secret Santa (aka: Rossi vs Zoom)  (Spencer Reid/ Reader)

Summary: Rossi might have said too much when he wasn't muted in the BAU online Secret Santa Celebration. And Reid is too embarrassed to face (Y/N) afterward.

Requested: Yes. My boyfriend asked me to write this, and asked for some specific gifts for some team members. (Based on season 7 of Criminal Minds in COVID quarantine).

Pairing: Spencer Reid/ Reader- feat the whole team 

Warnings: None

Word count: 3K

Masterlist 

.

- “Hello?”- Penelope waved at Rossi, but he didn’t reply. She sighed and stared at the camera on her computer, and nearly started jumping and waving. 

- “Rossi!! Hey!”

- “Penelope??”- Rossi screamed, looking at the screen, unable to find the tab with the Zoom video conference on his navigator. He could hear her but couldn’t see her. 

- “Where are you??”

- “Rossi!! I can’t hear you! you are muted!”- Penelope was already frustrated, and it had been only two minutes. 

Rossi had been struggling using Zoom the whole quarantine. Every online meeting for the last couple of months had been filled with “Rossi, you are muted,” “Rossi, we can see you picking your nose,” “Rossi, you aren’t mute, we can hear you fart.” It had been as frustrating as funny for the team. 

- “Hey!”- Prentiss waved at the camera- “Where’s everybody?”

- “We’ve got Rossi trying to find us and unmute his mic”- Emily chuckled and nodded- “And Hotch just logged in… hey!”

- “Hello everybody”- Aaron Hotchner waved, and his son Jack appeared in the back of the room, waving too. 

- “Did you clean your room?”- he asked his son

- “Yes…”- it was clear Jack was lying

- “So if I go upstairs right now, your room is going to be clean, your bed made, and your toys in their place?- Jack stayed still and just smiled. Slowly, he turned around and ran back to his room. 

- “Hey, how did you change your background?”- Emily asked Garcia, who started explaining how to do it. 

- “Henry! what is it?”- JJ logged into the conversation, but her attention was really on her son, who kept crying somewhere near her. 

- “Hello? Hey? can you hear me?”

- “Hey Spence!!”- Prentiss and Garcia said at the same time and chuckled. 

- “Hello! How’s everybody!”- he smiled and stared at his screen. 

For someone who hated technology, he was pretty comfortable meeting the team online. Maybe because his germaphobic self was glad they didn’t have to go to the BAU if there was a pandemic going on.   

Germs were worse than technology, which was good to know when it came to his phobias. 

- “Baby girl, what are you doing?”- Derek’s voice interrupted Garcia’s class of “How to change backgrounds one on one.” Emily enjoyed her time switching pictures on his background, laughing, while JJ tried to convince Henry to eat his banana. Hotch was reading a case file, not paying attention to anything going on around him. Rossi was lost and muted still, trying to find the right tab in his browser, and Spencer was reading a book, sipping a cup of coffee.  

- “Hey!!”- (Y/N) waved at the screen and stared at the scene. Everyone in the BAU was on their little bubble.  

- “Hello, hey! How are you?”- Spencer closed the book and waved. (Y/N) blushed and waved back. She just stared at him, and all the memories of their last video call came to mind. 

They had literally spent the night together. They started a video call around seven, then cooked dinner. Spencer actually cooked ‘cos (Y/N) gave him an easy cooking lesson online. Both of them ate spaghetti with homemade bolognese sauce. 

They started talking and talking, drinking tea, and coffee, and cocoa, and more tea. They snuggled on their couches and kept on talking, laughing. Somehow they started reading each other their favorite parts of their favorite books. And somehow, they ended up in their beds, drinking one last cup of tea. They were hugging a pillow, wishing they could actually hug each other, but never saying those words. And so they kept talking until they fell asleep. 

(Y/N) had fallen asleep first. Spencer felt he had bored her ‘till she passed out, but the truth was, she had made her best effort to stay awake but failed at four in the morning. She loved talking with Spencer. She loved Spencer, all of him, including all the facts and statistics he would ramble on for hours. 

If only she knew he felt the same. He could hear her ramble about books and albums she loved. He didn’t know half the bands she talked about but always googled them after their conversations to understand her a little bit better. And to add facts to their next talk. 

.

- “Rossi! Rossi! unmute your mic”- Aaron repeated for the hundredth time during the call, but Rossi still had no idea what he was doing. 

- “Ok, ok, don’t touch anything, I’m hacking into your computer,”- Garcia simply said, already tired of waiting. It wasn’t the first time she had done it during the latest months. I wouldn’t be the last either. 

- “Hello? can you hear me?”

- “Yes, David”- Aaron nodded and almost smiled- “Hello everybody, I trust you are all having a nice day.”

It was their annual Secret Santa, and for the first time, it was online. They had all made sure to mail their presents earlier enough, and everybody had gotten theirs already. It was December 24th, and though it was still just noon, Rossi enjoyed the first whiskey of the day.  

.

- “I sent you all cookies!!”- Penelope clapped and smiled, staring into the camera- “Did you all get it?”

- “Yes!”- they all answered but (Y/N). 

- “No… I didn’t”

- “What?! But I sent them yesterday! the delivery said you had gotten them,”- Penelope explained, but (Y/N) just shook her head. 

- “Sorry Garcia, I just got my Secret Santa present this week, and that’s it”

- “Someone stole your cookies, pretty girl!”- Derek chuckled and took a bit of one of his- “Your lost, ‘cos they are delicious.” 

- “Great… not only I get to spend Christmas alone, now I have to bake my own cookies.”- she groaned and sighed. 

- “What? Alone?”- JJ was in shock- “What about your family? Family get-togethers are allowed this weekend. It just has to be less than ten people in each house.” 

- “They live in Seattle, and I can’t travel ‘cos I don’t wanna expose my grandparents to any risk, so I decided to spend Christmas alone”- (Y/N) cut the team a short smile. They all wide opened their eyes in shock. Christmas alone was never a good plan. 

- “Me and Jack are going to spend it with his grandfather and aunt. We would be glad to have you over.”- Hotch immediately said, and (Y/N) smiled.

- “Thank you, but that’s ok, it’s just Christmas…”- that really didn’t sound good. 

- “I’m gonna be alone too,”- Spencer texted her ‘cos he didn’t want to say it in front of the team- “Do you wanna spend Christmas with me? I can save you some cookies”. 

(Y/N) chuckled as she read, and Spencer smiled, staring at her. You don’t usually get to see the reaction of the person you text. And he loved it. 

- “Why are you going to be alone?”- she wrote back

- “Same as you, I don’t wanna expose my mom, and she is all the family I’ve got. She’ll spend Christmas with aunt Ethel”. 

- “Hey! (Y/N), are you listening?”- Penelope waved and nearly yelled. 

- “Sorry, what?”- (Y/N) left the phone aside and tried to focus on the team. 

- “JJ was saying you are also welcome to spend it with her mom, Henry, and Will.”

- “Thank you guys, but… I think I’ll be ok.” 

She blushed at those words and made her best not to look at Spencer as she smiled. Which was incredibly useless, ‘cos no one knew where Spencer’s image was on her screen. And at the same time, it was so easy for the team to profile what was going on. That’s why neither of them said another word.

- “Ok, can we start opening presents now?”- Prentiss asked. Her background was now a beach, and she had put on a big hat and sunglasses. Penelope and JJ laughed at her so loud that they didn’t listen when Aaron said they should make a distant toast. 

- “Wait! let me get something to drink!”- (Y/N) stood up quickly and poured herself a cup of tea. 

- “Ok, now I’m ready, sorry”- and when she looked at the screen, Spencer was blushing, and everybody was chuckling. 

- “What did I miss?”

- “Nothing pretty girl”- Derek just smiled- “Let’s do the presents thing… who wants to start?”

- “Henry is pretty restless today, so if you guys don’t mind, I want to start”- JJ waved and showed everybody her present. 

“You have to guess who gave you your present,”- Emily explained and sipped her cup of coffee. 

- “Alright… let’s see… I got this envelope from my Secret Santa and… it’s just what I needed!!”- JJ smiled and nearly jumped on her seat

- “It’s a whole spa day!! Mom needs a day off when this pandemic ends!! thank you, Secret Santa!!” 

- “Who do you think gave you that?”- Penelope asked, and JJ looked at each one of her teammates on the screen.

- I’m gonna go with… Hotch, ‘cos I think he understands exactly what’s like being a parent in quarantine- Aaron chuckled and shook his head. 

- “Sorry, I would have given you that, though, but it wasn’t me.”

- “Then who?”- Rossi raised his hand and smiled

- “I noticed you were a little… stressed last time we talked. I thought maybe when this whole thing ends, you would enjoy a day to treat yourself.”

- “Thank you so much, Rossi. I really appreciate it!!”

 .  

The whole team continued opening their presents and laughed, trying to guess who was their Secret Santa. Hotch got a horrible (and yet adorable) Christmas sweater with a gigantic Rudolph on it and a matching one for Jack. He guessed right away it was from Penelope. 

Hotch bought García a fantastic pair of high heels and confessed he had picked them himself. Aaron Hotchner had a pretty good fashion sense. Who knew? 

Rossi opened his present and laughed, shocked. It was one costly and hard to find Scotch bottle. He thought it was from Emily, but no, it was from (Y/N). 

- “I remembered you said it was your favorite, and I thought maybe you’d like to share it with us next time we have a real get-together in your house.”

- “It’s very nice and naive of you to think I might actually share this present with anyone”- Rossi smiled and waved at the screen- “Thank you, kid.”

Emily got a weekend in Vegas from JJ to make it up for the “Sin to Win” weekend she lost because of a case a few months before. And again, she refused to explain to the team what “Sin to Win” meant. 

Morgan got a life provision of baby oil to rub on his six pack and biceps each time he took his shirt off. It was a joke from Emily, and Rossi nearly had a heart attack laughing at it. Penelope wanted a demonstration, but Derek promised a private show. Prentiss also got him a new kit of tools for home repairs, which always came in handy for him… mostly to fix all the doors he kicked. 

- “And what did you get, Spence?”- JJ asked, now holding Henry in her arms, trying to keep him calm. Reid opened his present and smiled. It wasn’t a happy smile though, it was a “are you fucking kidding me?” smile.   

- “Dating for Dummies”- he said and showed the book- “And I’m pretty sure this is from Morgan.”

- “As soon as this quarantine ends, you and I are going to a club, so you better study that book, ‘cos I’m gonna make you put it on good use.”

Morgan joked, but after all those years, it just wasn’t funny anymore, not for Spencer, at least. 

- “And last but not least, what did you get (Y/N)?”- Penelope’s eyes were shining. She loved Secret Santa. She had forced Hotch to put on his sweater, and he was now feeling like a dork on camera. Garcia, of course, had taken many screen-captures to save that amazing moment. 

- “Well, I’m pretty sure this is from Spencer”- she smiled, ‘cos he was the only one left. He blushed and waved. 

- “I hope you like it”- (Y/N) unwrapped the present carefully and smiled, surprised. 

- “Where did you get this?”- it was an original edition of The Little Prince, in french. It was tough to find. 

- “You said you loved the book ‘cos your mom read it to you when you were a kid, so… I thought you’d like it.”

(Y/N) couldn’t stop going through each page, as a million memories of her childhood came to her mind. Her mother had passed away when she was in high school, and the book meant more to her than anyone could imagine. 

- “Thank you”- she whispered and bit her lip, making her best not to cry. 

- “Jesus Christ! When is he going to tell her he loves her!?”- Rossi nearly yelled. He was in the back of his office, pouring himself a glass of his Secret Santa present. 

The whole team stayed quiet, making their best not to laugh. Spencer wanted to die. He rested his head on the desk and controlled the urge to leave the conversation. 

- “Hey, Rossi… just so you know, you weren’t muted.”- Prentiss managed to say and chuckled. He looked at the screen and stayed quiet. 

- “Ok... I think I’m gonna go now. This Scotch is already getting to my head, so… see you guys!!”- Rossi waved and tried to leave. 

- “Fuck! I hope I didn’t ruin it for the kid. Well, someone had to say it anyway”- he whispered, embarrassed.

- “Rossi, we can still hear you. You didn’t close the conversation, just minimized it”- JJ warned him, and that time, everybody burst out laughing. 

- “Ok, I’m gonna go now…”- Spencer couldn’t even look at (Y/N) anymore. He just waved and closed Zoom. 

- “I’m gonna go too”- (Y/N) whispered- “I hope everybody has a nice holiday!”- she didn’t even wait for anyone to say anything else. She just left the conversation and walked to the kitchen to get herself a glass of water. 

What the hell had just happened? 

.

Spencer had a panic attack. What was he supposed to do now? Confess his feelings? Rossi had already done it for him. Should he call (Y/N) and tell her it was just a joke? Tell her the truth? Invite her over for Christmas, again? 

- “Fuck!!”- he shouted and walked to his kitchen. Some whiskey Morgan left last time he visited was still there, and though Reid wasn’t much of a drinker, he needed one. 

He honestly had no idea what to do. He knew he couldn’t face (Y/N) now. How? he would fluster just to be in the same room with her. Rossi really ruined everything. It seemed it was the end of the world. 

- “I’m gonna have to quit, move from DC, change my name, start my life from scratch…” 

Yes, Spencer was making a drama out of the whole situation. But in his defense, he had never been in that kind of situation before. 

.

It was eight pm when Spencer heard a knock on the door. He had been lying on his couch most of the afternoon, trying to read. Still, his mind kept coming back to (Y/N) and the embarrassment he felt after Rossi’s comment.

- “Hi”- (Y/N) whispered as soon as Reid opened the door, and his heart stopped- “You said I could come for Christmas… so…”- he stood still and just nodded. She was there, wearing a Dr. Who mask, with some snowflakes on her coat.  

- “Can I come in?”

- “Sure! I’m sorry, I just…”- Spencer moved from the door and watched her taking off her shoes, leaving a few paper bags on the table, and smiling at him as soon as she removed her mask. 

- “Can I wash my hands?”

- “Of course, the bathroom is…”- Reid stopped himself. She knew where the bathroom was. That wasn’t the first time she was there.    

While she washed her hand, he made his best to clean a little, folded the blanket on his couch, and piled all the books that were lying around. 

- “So… I hope I’m not interrupting anything…”- (Y/N) started apologizing again, but Spencer just shook his head. 

- “No, not at all, I just wasn’t expecting you to come after… what…”- he couldn’t even mention it.

- “After what Rossi said?”- she turned around and avoided looking at Spencer. She walked to the bags she had brought and started taking things out

 - “Should we worry he was getting drunk so early?”- she simply said, and Reid chuckled

- “I don’t know, maybe… what are you doing?”

- “Well… I’m not into chicken tandoori for Christmas, so I cooked some things.”

- “It smells delicious”- Reid smiled, and so did (Y/N), feeling her cheeks blushing. 

- “It’s mom’s turkey recipe, so it better be good”

- “Let me put that in the fridge”- Reid held the turkey, roasted potatoes, and many other things (Y/N) had cooked and walked to the kitchen. 

- “I also got you this”- (Y/N) giggled and followed Spencer. As soon as he left everything he was carrying, she put a Santa hat with red and white stripes on his head.

- “You look like the cat in the hat”- she joked, and Spencer laughed, feeling like the happiest nerd on earth. 

- “I’m gonna take that as a compliment.”

- “It is…”- (Y/N) stared at him and sighed, both of them smiling in silence for a second. 

- “Did you get one for yourself too?”- he finally asked.

- “Yes! so we can take dorky pictures and send them to Garcia, she is gonna love those”- she made a pause and bit her lips for a second. 

- “So… do you like Christmas traditions?”- she asked and looked down at her shoes 

- “Mmm, sure… like watching Home Alone drinking hot chocolate?- Spencer asked, thinking he hadn’t really lived many Christmas traditions growing up. However, he knew his mother had made her best to make him happy each holiday. 

- “Yeah… that and… maybe this”

(Y/N) took a mistletoe from her pocket and lifted her arm to place it right on top of their heads. 

Spencer didn’t move. He just wide opened his eyes, staring at (Y/N), who was now smiling, completely blushed. 

- “Since we are spending Christmas together, I thought… we… could…”- but she couldn’t finish talking, ‘cos Spencer leaned in slowly, very slowly until he reached her lips and kissed her. His hands cupped her cheeks carefully, and her arms ended up wrapped around his neck.  

- “Merry Christmas, Spencer”- she whispered, rubbing her lips against his when the kiss ended, but neither of them wanted to move apart.

- “Merry Christmas, (Y/N)” 

.

[maverick-werewolf]

Werewolf Fact #60 - Werewolves Have Tails

Unbelievably, I never actually did a werewolf fact on this. But... Well, it disturbs me just how many random people on the internet I see making the utterly baseless assertion, as if they actually know, that “werewolves in folklore didn’t have tails.”

That is categorically untrue.

(Although plenty of things in Hollywood spurned tails on their werewolf designs for various reasons, Underworld remains the primary culprit for popularizing the concept of “my werewolf is too edgy and unwolfish to have a tail”)

Do werewolves in folklore have tails? The answer is so simple it can be shortened to just one word:

Yes.

Now, if you ask me, I think it looks totally ridiculous to have a werewolf with a wolf (or whatever modern designs pretend passes as something remotely wolfish; let’s face it, most werewolf designs, especially movie ones, have basically nothing in common with a wolf) head and/or digitigrade legs that doesn’t have a tail. Those need tails. But don’t get me started on werewolf designs.

I also personally think it’s much scarier for a werewolf to have a tail, and I don’t buy the arguments that they are “scarier without one,” because apparently startlingly bare werewolf butts sticking out like they’re begging to have a tail pinned on them are scary (?), and I’ll tell you why at the end of this post.

Before I get into the folklore meat of this, though, I will say that part of my personal stake in werewolf studies is to push for a less broad definition of the word “werewolf.” Personally, I don’t hold to many scholars’ ideas of calling every single person turning into a wolf a “werewolf,” and this applies doubly to things involving witchcraft.

Personally, I think a “werewolf” needs to fit a certain, meaningful criteria, instead of any old person or thing who has the ability to turn into a wolf.

To start off, I will open with the very simple statement that the overwhelming majority of werewolves in folklore turned into giant wolves. Yes, just wolves. Not wolves walking upright, not wolf-men, just wolves. And what do all wolves have? Tails. Case closed.

If that isn’t enough for you, though, there are many sources that detail exactly the how and why of werewolves having tails in folklore...

Firstly, there’s Henry Boguet in “Of the Metamorphosis of Men into Beasts,” from 1590 (my version was republished in A Lycanthropy Reader: Werewolves in Western Culture, edited and compiled by Charlotte F. Otten). On page 79 of this edition, Boguet marks a difference between werewolves and witches that have turned into wolves, repeating a common belief that, when witches turn into animals, they have “no tails.”

Notice that the witches do not have tails. The werewolves, however, do, and that is even specified as an identifying attribute.

Secondly, there’s the Malleus Maleficarum, specifically question X of part I, “Whether Witches can by some Glamour Change Men into Beasts.” I’m pulling this from Monatgue Summers’ translation.

They say that, “the devil can deceive the human fancy so that a man really seems to be an animal.” This specifically refers to deception. Thus, illusion. Not a true, physical change as we get with a werewolf.

Furthermore, however, they say that “when it says that no creature can be made by the power of the devil, this is manifestly true if Made is understood to mean Created. But if the word Made is taken to refer to natural production, it is certain that devils can make some imperfect creatures.”

“Imperfect,” in this instance, generally thought to refer to “tailless,” along with a few other legends, such as a witch in animal form still bearing human eyes. Again, witches.

Bear in mind that the Malleus Maleficarum was written and compiled during a time period in which werewolves were considered a form of witchcraft, although not equal to it. One could become a werewolf via a curse, without directly practicing that witchcraft. Long story short, werewolves and witches were NOT the same thing.

This also came from a time period when werewolves were considered negative (obviously), unlike in earlier time periods, and much more like today.

Moving on, we also have Albert the Great in his book On Animals, as cited by Montague Summers, who says that devils can indeed make animals: “they can, with God’s permission, make imperfect animals.” Again on the imperfection.

There is one scholar who disputes this very, very briefly in his writing, and that is actually one of my prime sources: Montague Summers. In his book The Werewolf, he remarks, “many–but not all– authorities hold that the werewolf has no tail.” Like, dude, what? We just established that they do.

Something to remember about Summers is that firstly, he truly believed in werewolves as a form of witchcraft. To him, werewolves are more closely connected with those aforementioned witches (that I think werewolves need to be separated from). Secondly, when he makes this sweeping statement, he provides absolutely no sources whatsoever and doesn’t really make any kind of argument to back up or to defend that idea. I’m calling his BS on that one.

Thirdly, we have an overwhelming number of other sources on werewolves being depicted with tails as opposed to without. We have imagery from various time periods (as appeared in my post on werewolf appearances; there are a few more images here), in which they are virtually always depicted with tails or mid-transformation into the form of a wolf, which would have a tail. One of the only depictions we have of a tailless werewolf is the wolf-man woodcut of the one eating the baby, which is in itself a rare sight, as werewolves weren’t generally “wolf-men” very often in folklore. And, frankly, I think somebody misnamed that woodcut, because I’ve never seen any sourcing on it and I don’t even know if it’s supposed to depict a werewolf in the first place.

Descriptions of werewolves in folklore frequently refer to tails, or else refer to the werewolf as simply a “wolf” and thus lead us to assume they must have a tail, or such a radical difference would’ve been noticed by the narrator (Niceros’s tale, Bisclavret, Melion, the curse of Lykaon, Chinese legends, and many more).

There are doubtless many more citations/discussions/arguments on this, but I think you get the picture.

Werewolves have tails. And not some funky little cut-off rat tail or some stub sticking out from their spine - a wolf tail.

And you know one reason why werewolves have tails? Because, ages ago, people didn’t see a terrifying werewolf and immediately go “omg puppy uwu must pet good boi” or “werewolves are so corny lol.”

Because, ages ago, the concept of a human turning into something so inhuman was terrifying. Unfortunately, everyone today has reframed like 90% of everything into “that is bad and corny” if it’s remotely fantasy. Regardless, the idea of a human turning into something with a tail - a tail being a markedly inhuman trait - was extremely scary and startling. A werewolf with a tail will always appear much less human than a werewolf without one, and that is something that brings them closer to being terrifying beasts as opposed to just hairy dudes.

So yes, sure it’s an aesthetic choice of the creator, but werewolves in folklore had tails, whether anyone likes it or not. And if they are anything beyond a wolf-man, they’re simply going to look better with tails, and if you ask me, that’s also something that will be the case whether anyone likes it or not. You hear me, Blizzard? 

(If you like my werewolf blog, be sure to check out my other stuff and consider supporting me on Patreon!

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[bonnini]

Well I promised you a post about my bi Geoffrey Martewall headcanons so here it is guys <3

So…as I previously mentioned in a tag under one of @agapantoblu's posts, I've been half-seriously headcanoning Geoffrey Martewall a.k.a. the best character in the Hypervesum series as a clueless bisexual for... well, for some time. Let's say a year and a half. I've never bothered actually sharing these headcanons online because I didn't really have a clear idea for an actual argument in support of this claim of mine, but now I’m finally ready to put the all the reasons why I get extra-strong bisexual vibes from Geoffrey Martewall into words. Beware…it’s a lot of words :’’)

Exhibit A: Geoffrey and women

1.1. Geoffrey’s taste in women is just too good

Listen. LISTEN. Our man’s taste in women is IMPECCABLE: he could, as Brianna said herself, have chosen to take any young noble maiden as his wife, but he decided to go for a woman that 1) is a couple years older than him 2) is not noble at all and, you know, used to be just a poor paesant before coming to Châtel-Argent 3) already has a son who was fathered by a French knight to whom she was never married and that she had to raise as a teen single mom 4) at the time of their first meeting had a crush on his current worst enemy. LISTEN!!!!!!!! Geoffrey’s taste in women is suspiciously good, way too good, in fact, to be that of a medieval straight guy. I mean…Ian, a man who comes from the 21st century, fell for the textbook angelic maiden, while Geoffrey literally did not even bother looking around for some young blushing bride and just decided that the hot milf who threatened him with a pitchfork in book 2 was his first and best choice. What an Absolute Fucking King. This choice of his is, in my opinion, very telling of the kind of view he has of romance and women in general.

Which brings me to the next point, namely:

1.2. Geoffrey appears to have an attitude towards women and a view of womanhood that are significantly more modern than those of an average knight of his time

Is it just me or is Geoffrey actually the one with the most… modern mindset out of all the knights starring in the saga? There are a couple of specific scenes that kind of make me think of him as an outlier among his peers, and although some of those are definitely there for the purpose of showing us that Martewall is indeed a rather peculiar knight, others contribute to creating the picture of a character that is almost… out of place in the 13th century? 

Allow me to expand a bit further on the “Geoffrey and women” topic: we saw how chivalrous and respectful Geoffrey was towards an unconscious and injured Brianna. First he made sure her son was comfortable with him warming her up using his own body, and reassured him he meant no disrespect by removing her clothes; then, he proceeded to strip her in the most methodical and detached way possible, which let us know Geoffrey respects a woman’s body and modesty the way any proper, courteous medieval man would. But then there’s another, and in my opinion far more interesting, instance in which Geoffrey is seen interacting with a woman: I’m talking about his brief conversation with Blanche of Castile in book 3. Here we see 1) how Geoffrey treats women he is not attracted to (“not attracted to” as in: women he has no interest in romancing), and 2) to what degree he actually respects female authority. 

Our first introduction to Blanche is the scene in which Guillaume, Ian and Henri de Bar are talking about her right before the audience in Paris, during which we learn that the vast majority of noblemen do not take her opinions seriously and do not appreciate seeing her talk during political debates. Even Henri de Bar, although he does not mean to be insolent, raises an eyebrow at the thought of a woman participating in conversations that concern military strategy, while Guillaume seems almost amused at Ian’s heartfelt defence of her speeches. Which is why Geoffrey’s brief interaction with her stands out so much: when she starts talking about the war in England with him, he carefully listens to her as if she were just another male superior officer: he does not appear even slightly surprised by her competence, he does not try to dumb down the topic of discussion, he listens carefully to what she is saying, he offers his opinion only when she asks for it and he answers her questions in the most straightforward way possible. At no point during the conversation does he ever attempt to pull the condescending “with all due respect, madame…” to correct or contradict her statements. He is not in courteous knight mode, he is in soldier mode, and is unfazed by the fact that the one he is discussing logistics and war strategy with is a delicate looking princess.  Once again, the author is fleshing out Geoffrey’s character by having the protagonist and point of view character draw a direct comparison between him and other men. Martewall does not simply respect women as in “oh I’m a proper knight and I use my blade to protect defenceless maidens”, he actually, genuinely respects women. 

Which in my opinion is such an interesting facet of his values and personality: in the second half of book 2, Ian notices how thoroughly Harald Martewall managed to drill the code of chivalry into his son’s head, and remarks on the fact that the Martewalls are all perfect examples of the True Old School Knights. Both Harald and Geoffrey are the embodiment of the honourable, unyielding, upright warrior trope, and they perfectly fit the image we modern people conjure in our minds when we think of a knight of the Middle Ages. This specific aspect of Geoffrey’s set of values gives his character a strong, let’s say “old-fashioned” connotation, and yet said set of values seems to come from an internal source rather than rely on tradition and external rules. He, for example, got rid of his helm and shield when he saw his adversary in combat was not fully equipped, but he also willingly assisted the Dauphin in taking over England despite having previously sworn an oath of loyalty to John Plantagenet, since his sense of honour compelled him to aid the man who provided him with the help he needed to get his home back. Geoffrey is way more likely to base his choices on what his own moral compass compels him to do rather than resort to convention and tradition to tell right from wrong. This makes Geoffrey a perfect blend of both old and modern qualities, and in the context of his relationship with women he tends to lean quite heavily on his more modern side.  

Let’s go back to discussing his first introduction to Brianna for a second: he witnesses Brianna express her unrequited attraction to Ian, flirt with him and even mock-kiss him straight on the lips, and yet not only does that not make Geoffrey respect her any less, it also does not concern him at all later in book 3 when the story hints at the fact that he might have an interest in taking her as his wife. This is a rather unusual attitude! I mean, even the exuberant Etienne de Sancerre, who has shown an overt preference for feisty and confident women, grumbles and protests in jealousy when his wife Donna and Daniel greet each other with a hug while out in public, deeming the gesture to be inappropriate. What I’m trying to say here is that this is a man who is waaaaay ahead of his peers in regards to his view of women and womanhood, and who also appears to be very confident in his masculinity (so confident, in fact, that the thought of having to “put women in their place” never once crosses his mind), hence why I keep sensing the most excellent kind of bisexual vibes coming from him.

Exhibit B: Geoffrey and men

2.1 Jerome and Geoffrey’s friendship makes NO sense

And I mean it. Yes, we do read about Ian wondering how two people with such different sets of core values (ok maybe Jerome lacked core values all together lol) could have ever been friends, which means that yes, readers are in fact meant to notice how misguided Geoffrey is in his commitment to honour this bond of friendship and avenge Jerome’s death, but the more I think about this, the more I convince myself that this whole situation is, in fact…really weird.

Let’s start from the beginning: so, Geoffrey’s anger over Jerome’s death is the main source of conflict between him and Ian, and it puts the plot of book 2 in motion. Now, we never actually saw Geoffrey and Jerome talk to each other in book 1 (because at the time of its drafting the author had not yet planned on writing a sequel for it) so all the available details about their relationship (mind you, there aren’t that many) have to be gleaned from Geoffrey’s recollections present in book 2 and pieced back together in order to get a clearer picture. Another fact that should be noted is that we also never saw Jerome talk about Geoffrey (again, because Geoffrey wasn’t really that relevant to the plot of book 1): Geoffrey’s words are the only source available when it comes to trying to reconstruct what their interactions might have been like, which means that our perspective on their friendship is going to be inevitably, extremely one-sided. 

So here we go, book 2, chapter 5: Geoffrey has decided to abduct Ian and Daniel and drag them to his home in England to get some answers and avenge Jerome’s death and he currently has Ian at his mercy, so he immediately starts asking questions. He asks why he currently is not home, he asks why his brother has no knowledge of his whereabouts, he asks if his name really is Jean Marc de Ponthieu, and these are all very dangerous questions: they pose a real threat to Ian’s credibility. But then, when Geoffrey asks why Jerome was so certain he was an imposter, Ian breathes in relief, because that means Geoffrey knows nothing about the ambush in Couronne.

But. Wait a second.

How could Geoffrey possibly not know about Couronne? That’s how Derangale KNEW without a shadow of a doubt that Ian and Jean de Ponthieu were never the same person! Dude was busy forging incriminating letters left and right with Ponthieu’s help??? He was the one who helped Ponthieu and Renaud De Dammartin set Isabeau up to be assaulted by Claude de Dammartin??? Geoffrey explicitly says Jerome was obsessed with Ian, so Derangale must have talked his ear OFF with all his incessant rambling about him being an imposter…and Geoffrey did not bother asking him about the details of this weird doppelganger theory of his ONCE? We know how sharp and observant Geoffrey is. We know he is perceptive, and straightforward in voicing his opinions, and not easy to fool. We know he is the type of guy who likes to ask direct questions and get believable, clear answers in return, so he MUST have asked Jerome why he was so sure about the illegitimacy of Ian’s identity. How did Jerome answer? Did he make up a lie on the spot? Geoffrey is equipped with a very functional built-in anti-nonsense super-sensor (the one that allowed him to immediately spot all the places in which Ian’s deception and intentional gaslighting were coming off at their seams even after Ian had managed to convince Geoffrey’s own father that he was Jean de Ponthieu’s second-born son), so if that was the case – if Jerome had indeed tried to make up some story about why he knew who the real Jean de Ponthieu was – Geoffrey (in theory) would have easily been able to tell that he was being lied to. 

Do we then have to assume Jerome simply replied with “I just know”? Well…the text implies that this is the most plausible option: as Ian and Geoffrey’s heated conversation goes on, we realize that the only reason Geoffrey believes Ian to be an imposter is…because Jerome said so. And this, in my opinion, says a lot about both Geoffrey’s relationship with Derangale and his current emotional state. Let’s really think about what this little kidnapping stunt of his must look like from an outside perspective: Geoffrey just decided to abduct a man whose identity has been publicly confirmed by Guillaume de Ponthieu, one of the most powerful men on French soil, who also happens to be a relative of king Philippe Auguste (which means Ian has ties to the royal family as well lol???), who ALSO confirmed that Ian is the youngest Ponthieu brother and PERSONALLY BESTOWED the title of Faucon du Roi upon him. Geoffrey does not (currently) have a shred of proof against Ian: he just chose to believe that Ian is some random foreigner who has been allowed to pretend to be a nobleman and marry Isabeau de Montmayeur by the count of Ponthieu and the king of France because that’s what Jerome believed. Jerome stood alone in front of the entire French court, subjecting himself to ridicule, to denounce Ian as an imposter and Guillaume as a liar (and readers know he is 100% right, but look at this from the perspective of one of the characters who are not involved in this intrigue), which are such far-fetched, absurd, ludicrous accusations, even the closest of Jerome’s friends would have demanded at least some evidence in order to give his version of the story some credit. And yet Geoffrey, who has not been given even one crumb of information on the real Jean de Ponthieu’s actual political alignment, simply decided to stand with him against the rest of the world. 

And then, Ian starts answering Geoffrey’s questions by telling him all the vile things Jerome did to him, his family and his friends (while still carefully avoiding the Couronne topic): he tells him of his sadism, villany and criminal actions, and Geoffrey does not believe a single word of what he’s saying. He straight up calls all these accusations lies, and he urges Ian to stop insulting a knight of England his peer and a man of honour deserving of respect. Geoffrey refuses to listen to any negative remark Ian has to make and threatens him with violence when he insists on calling Jerome an unworthy man. “Jerome wasn’t a liar”, he says; “he was my friend, and you killed him”. This is exactly what I meant when I said their friendship strikes me as extremely weird: I mean come on, really? Derangale was a textbook piece of shit. He was violent, vengeful, and arrogant, and yet Geoffrey describes him as a “man of honour”??? It almost seems as if he and Ian are not even talking about the same person??? The sadistic felon Ian met in Cairs is nothing like the friend Geoffrey has such a high opinion of. Which can only mean one thing, namely that when he was with Geoffrey, Jerome was on his best behaviour. And in order to have adapted his behaviour to fit Geoffrey’s expectations of a good and honourable friend, Derangale must have had a very clear picture of the kind of person his “friend” was. Jerome knew Geoffrey would never have allowed all that malicious shit to happen under his watch, so he decided to keep all his plotting a secret from him. Geoffrey never was Jerome’s accomplice in aiding Renaud de Dammartin, Ferrand de Flandre and Jean de Ponthieu steal the Montmayeur fief for king John, and therefore has no reason to believe Ian’s words. 

There are two things about this situation that strike me as particularly weird. First of all: Derangale wasn’t just witholding information from Geoffrey, he was also hiding his true nature from him. And Geoffrey…never noticed? Geoffrey, who can usually smell bullshit and deception from a mile away, who has no difficulty in telling a man of honour from a felon, who normally would not bother wasting his time being friends with such an insufferable prick, never managed to guess the true nature of Jerome’s character? Huh??? And secondly: why exactly did Derangale ask for help from a guy he was so sure he would never have been able to turn into one of his accomplices he had to actively keep parts of himself and his plans hidden for months up to the battle in Bouvines? What we know, thanks to Harald Martewall, is that Jerome was the first to reach out to Geoffrey back in book 1: apparently, the two of them used to be friends as young boys, then stopped seeing each other for a couple of years until Derangale decided to pick up the phone and give him a call. Geoffrey was in England, minding his own business, when Jerome contacted him to ask if he was willing to join him in Béarne. He, as sir Harald recalls, “was busy raising a cavalry troop for Ferrand De Flandre, and wanted my last-born as champion in a tournament”. It is not difficult to guess why Derangale asked specifically for Geoffrey to join his faction. Martewall is, simply put, the baddest bitch in the area: he is easily the scariest and most skilled warrior out of all the knights we get to meet in the saga, and an experienced tournament champion is precisely what Jerome needs for the little show he has in plan for Béarne. What I really want to know here is: couldn’t Derangale have called for literally any other English knight to help him win? Why did he risk enrolling a guy he knew would never have approved of his schemes and totally could have kicked his ass if he ever found out about his misconduct? Couldn’t he have called for a couple more champions who would have been overjoyed at the opportunity of beating the shit out of all those French knights? Why did it have to be just him and Geoffrey against the ENTIRETY of Philippe Auguste’s lineup? Why was he so confident in his ability to manipulate Geoffrey? Oh AND. This is an information that is nowhere to be found in the actual books but it is something I asked the author to confirm because I was just too curious: Geoffrey…did not have fun in Béarne, like at all. He did not care for the show Jerome wanted to put on, he did not enjoy participating in that display of strength and superiority, and he was grumpier than usual during the whole ordeal. So our man Jerome basically decided to rely exclusively on Geoffrey’s excellence and made him travel all the way to Béarne instead of putting together a slightly larger faction of fellows who could have maybe shared his immoral cause (like hello?????? it’s literally JUST the two of them against ALL the French nobles competing at the tournament lmfao??? I mean ok girl!!! give us drama! give us spectacle!) despite knowing that 1) he would have had to completely alter his behaviour around him 2) he could never have explained to him why he knew with absolute certainty Ian was an imposter and 3) Geoffrey would have intensely disliked being at the centre of theatrics. Like…I get that Geoffrey is your most skilled friend when it comes to the art of jousting, but… his presence is also a bit too inconvenient in this context? I mean really? You didn’t know any other knights in the area who could have been available as champions? You had to call for Geoffrey? Specifically for him? Haha girl ok! (oh and you also saved some of the custom higher quality blades you had made for your squadron to arm Geoffrey? Ok! Oh and you decided to pick Geoffrey as the other leader of your special squadron? Girl Ok!!! The guy would leave your ass in less than a second if he ever found out about your awful crimes so keeping him at your side is quite the risky move, but you do you I guess).

And another thing is, not only did Geoffrey hate every second of that charade, he (and this is also information that I got directly from the author) was downright shocked at Derangale’s unprompted act of violence against the young count of Grandpré… that was something that caught him completely off guard and that left a bitter taste in his mouth. It makes total sense for Geoffrey to feel this way, that’s very in character for him. What actually, really surprises me is Geoffrey’s reaction at hearing Ian mention this particular incident. You were there, says Ian, you saw Derangale attempt to kill a friend of mine with your own two eyes, and yet you insist on threatening me for calling him a criminal and an assassin. And that’s what finally prompts Geoffrey to lay hands on him. He silences him with a slap so violent it almost makes him fall on the ground. Geoffrey reacted with anger and disbelief when Ian was describing him heinous crimes that he never witnessed and did not believe to be true, but only resorted to physical violence when Ian forced him to acknowledge and condemn an action he actually saw Jerome commit. This brief scene alone is enough for me to confidently conclude that Geoffrey is, there are no other words fit to describe his current emotional state, deep in DENIAL. He hears an uncomfortable truth he has no way of denying, he lets that send him into a violent rage, he acts that violence out and then he ends the whole conversation there. He just. Leaves. And he repeats the same exact pattern of behaviour a second time! Book 2, chapter 12: Martewall starts to interrogate Daniel, who tells him about Derangale’s first attempt at kidnapping Isabeau AND manages to have one of his own men confirm his story. Then Geoffrey becomes visibly agitated, to the point he inadvertently breaks the rod he brought to beat information out of his prisoner in fucking two, CHANGES THE TOPIC OF DISCUSSION ON PURPOSE, and then when Daniel insists on bringing the conversation back to Derangale’s crimes he draws his sword, points it at him in another fit of anger and then! He LEAVES!! AGAIN!!! Bro???????????? You keep saying you “want the truth” and yet when you finally get it you cut the conversation off because you don’t like what you’re hearing? Hello???

“You insist on defending him only because you do not want to admit you have been lied to and manipulated by him”, this is what Daniel says to Martewall’s face, and the most articulate rebuttal he is able to come up with on the spot is “that is not true”. He absolutely did not expect to be confronted with such merciless answers, and he has no idea how to cope with Ian and Daniel ripping into the image of the good and honourable Jerome that only exists in his mind, so he just rejects anything negative they have to say and breaks things like a moody teenager.

His behaviour is extremely erratic. For the entirety of the first half of book 2, Geoffrey is clearly not his usual self. His own father tells him he does not recognize him anymore. And when Sir Harald confronts him and makes an attempt at urging him to release Daniel, Geoffrey reacts with something I would almost describe as a…temper tantrum? Sir Harald’s request for an explanation from his son is more than legit: after all, he just learned from Daniel that Geoffrey decided to kidnap a renowned nobleman on a whim, without any evidence of his supposed crimes, WITHIN THE BORDERS OF HIS FIEF IN FRENCH LANDS. That could get them in SERIOUS trouble with both his brother Guillaume de Ponthieu and Philippe Auguste himself, as Salisbury will later remark on. I mean, this action is not only dishonourable, as Sir Harald will be very quick to point out, but also extremely stupid. And Geoffrey is not stupid. Like, at all. He knows when to shut up, his rage is usually under check, he is not prone to acting out in anger or taking rash decisions. But here, Geoffrey is letting his emotions run rampant. His father is being perfectly reasonable, and he replies quite disrespectfully by stating that he is not a young boy anymore and that he will not allow for any reproach o interference on his part.

It should be noted that Geoffrey’s troubled state of mind is not solely the result of Jerome’s death. In fact, in chapter 12, Geoffrey makes it clear why he is so angry and frustrated. He lays out all of his reasons to his father:

“I’ve always done my duty and I lost my honour because of those to whom I owed my loyalty. I fought loyally until the very end, I paid my defeat with imprisonment, only to discover at my release that my name is associated to those of a friend deemed a felon and a king judged a coward; I return to my homeland and I end up on a list of traitors because of you! I am forced to be subject to the last two accusations, but the first…that one I intend to acquit myself from with any means necessary. At this point, I have already lost my dignity as a knight and you are the last person who can reproach me for it, since you are the one who dealt me the final blow”.

Geoffrey’s words reveal that he is also doing all of this for himself. He is now more desperate than ever to prove Jerome was always in the right, since this seems to be the only means of coping with the loss of his precious honour. The thought of having been friends with a felon of this magnitude is something Geoffrey could never, ever tolerate, because what would this say about him as a person? This explains the state of denial he currently is in: he has done something he would normally see as despicable by kidnapping Ian in his own lands, but he could excuse acting like a vulgar bandit if only he managed to force a confession out of Ian and avenge Jerome’s death (have I already mentioned Geoffrey has NO business being mad about Jerome meeting his demise at Ian’s hands? Dude was killed in fair combat. On a battlefield. Ian did not assassinate him or anything of that sort, there simply are NO good reasons as for why Geoffrey could ever want to “avenge” his friend’s death?? like there’s literally nothing to avenge here??? Lol???). And although Geoffrey is indeed defending Jerome’s honour because he feels that his crimes, if proven true, could reflect badly on himself, Geoffrey’s words still betray real attachment and a genuine feeling of affection for Jerome. Ian himself will later recognize their bond as valid by directly comparing it to the sentiment of friendship he shares with Daniel. At the time of Ian’s abduction, Geoffrey did not yet know that he would eventually be forced to fight yet another war once he’d finally reach his home: at that point in the story, Geoffrey’s motives for taking Ian and Daniel as prisoners had little to do with him wanting to gain back the honour he now feels his father tore from him by ordering him to side with him against their king. The primary motivation for his disreputable conduct in chapters 4 to 10 was, in my opinion, grief.

Another thing that I find extremely interesting and that in a way contradicts what I mentioned above about Geoffrey not being able to tolerate the thought of having been friends with a criminal, is that once he starts to come to terms with the proof of Jerome’s misconduct…he never disavows their friendship. What he says once he finally accepts Ian as his friend and lets go of Jerome’s obsession is: “I did everything in my power to honour our friendship, going even beyond common sense”. He never tries to claim they were never really friends or proclaim he wants to cut all ties with such a man. And towards the end of book 3, when Geoffrey and Ian are discussing what Ian’s exile really implicates and Ian is finally forced to admit he never was Jean de Ponthieu, Geoffrey all of a sudden brings Derangale into their conversation to reflect on how Jerome was right all along and how happy he is to learn that he at least did not lie to him about this one specific thing. Well, maybe I’m reading too much into this, but I was expecting him to focus on the sheer amount of lies he had been fed by…you know, Ian, the friend who happens to be alive and whom he is currently confronting. He does not even seem interested in asking Ian to explain himself, it is Ian who apologises to him, completely unprompted. They were having a conversation about Philippe Auguste and Guillaume de Ponthieu wielding the power to destroy his life, and after several beats of silence and intense consideration, what Geoffrey decided to say out loud was “I’m happy Jerome didn’t lie to me about you”? Ummmmmmm ok??????????? Lying to him certainly was not the worst thing Jerome has ever done? What about the many crimes he committed against Ian, his friends and his family? What I’m trying to say here is that Daniel’s argument about Geoffrey having been manipulated by Jerome must have cut deep, since here he is, bringing this up again. Derangale died more than two years ago, and Geoffrey already gave up on trying to redeem his honour and reputation, but he appears to be still in the middle of the process of learning to truly let him go. Dealing with the idea of having been deceived in such a cold way by a close friend to whom he though he owed unwavering loyalty is proving to be challenging. I might be delusional but I can only make sense of the fact Geoffrey brought Jerome into their conversation about Ian only to briefly touch on a strictly personal matter that concerned his own feelings and his private relationship with Ian’s old archenemy if I assume Geoffrey was, at this point in time, still dealing with some very intense and complicated feelings (….furthermore…………it doesn’t…really…make sense…for Geoffrey to be happy about Jerome telling him that Ian’s identity was a hoax…since the whole point of telling him that…was getting his help in destroying Ian and not really “being honest” with him…like…Geoffrey, love, why are you so desperately hanging on to these miniscule scraps of “““honest and genuine interactions”””, why do you still treasure this literal MICROSCOPIC CRUMB of “““sincerity””” on Jerome’s part…hello…………………???). Sorry but this whole Jerome/Geoffrey mess just exudes one-sided, unfulfilled and unacknowledged tenderness in copious amounts once you really start to read into it. My personal interpretation of the situation is that Geoffrey is having such a hard time trying to make sense of the extent of Derangale’s manipulation and condemning him as someone who was always undeserving of his friendship and devotion because he completely lacks the tools to properly analyse and interpret his own feelings on the matter.

2.2 Geoffrey and Ian vs Geoffrey and Jerome

I’m touching briefly on Ian and Geoffrey’s friendship dynamics in book 3 mainly because I think that their relationship will provide me with some good clues and parallels that could be of help in determining what Geoffrey was like when he was in Jerome’s company, since the third instalment in the series gives us such a wonderful and complete picture of the kind of friend Geoffrey is. Remember how Geoffrey immediately sided with Ian against Gant without asking for evidence against him and came to Ian’s rescue twice despite having very important businesses to attend to? Geoffrey has repeatedly shown that he has a tendency to be aggressively protective of his closest friends, to the point he has no problem resorting to extreme violence to ensure their safety (Ian, bleeding on the floor, gripping Geoffrey’s arm: “please tell me you took at least one of my assailants alive I’m going to need a witness???????” Geoffrey: “…” Ian: “…” The pile of corpses right behind them: “…” Geoffrey: “…sorry lol I kinda dealt with them in a bit of a heavy handed way” Ian: whimpers and collapses in his arms). Geoffrey’s attitude in regards to Ian’s enemies perfectly explains why he never had any qualms siding with Jerome against Ian despite the fact Derangale wasn’t telling him shit about the supposed evidence behind his outlandish claims. This is actually part of his regular pattern of behaviour: Geoffrey has consistently shown a thorough commitment towards undying trust and unconditional support through direct action. He might seem cold and aloof since he is never seen behave in an overtly friendly or approachable way when he is out in public (he also does not smile ONCE throughout the whole trilogy), but this right here is, in my opinion, a very affectionate man who is capable of forming true and intimate bonds with a handful of hand-picked men whose company he deeply treasures. Let’s talk about how Geoffrey U-turned at the speed of light to go back and help Ian corner Gant even though he was in the middle of carrying out an extremely important mission for Blanche of Castile. Let’s talk about how Derangale did not even have the time to fall to the ground after Ian delivered him the finishing blow, because Geoffrey literally teleported behind him to catch him, hoist him on his horse and take him to safety (let’s also talk about how Ian later found Derangale’s corpse among those of all the abandoned fallen soldiers the imperial army was not able to retrieve, and saw that his dead body had been laid on a shield with care, which means Geoffrey probably was the one responsible for preserving his dignity in death since we know for a fact he was there to hear Derangale’s last words and witness him die – I am literally about to start screaming please send help :)))))))). Do not let his grumpiness and harsh words fool you, Geoffrey is the most dedicated best friend another knight could ever ask for.

HOWEVER, the main difference between the two relationships I am comparing is that Geoffrey’s support of Ian is always unconditional, but never irrational in the same way his pursuit of revenge on Jerome’s behalf was, and at no point in the story does Geoffrey fail in evaluating Ian’s character or intentions. Furthermore, Ian’s gaslighting game was ON POINT in book 2, he was warping reality around Geoffrey like a damn magician, but Geoffrey never fully bought into his carefully crafted lies. And yet I am expected to believe that Derangale was such a skilled master manipulator he was able to conceal his true nature and agenda from Geoffrey for months? Hello??? PLEASE! Make it make sense!!! The ease with which Derangale was able to withold crucial information from him is extremely suspicious. Really? You mean to tell me Jerome Derangale had one of the least gullible people in the saga wrapped around his finger for years and never once slipped and misbehaved in front of him? Sorry I know at this point I must sound extremely redundant but Geoffrey’s selective blindness towards anything that concerns Derangale really is the weirdest thing ever, like, uh oh! Are you sure you didn’t catch any overly soft feelings for your bestie? So…I’m gonna say it: my theory on why Geoffrey’s behaviour was all over the place in the first chapters of book 2 is that he has always been completely unaware of the true nature and extent of his emotional attachment to Derangale, and this cluelessness of his contributed to worsening his already frustrated state. Furthermore, I also think Derangale must have noticed something was going on with Geoffrey and decided to use it to his advantage. Dude was a bit too confident, suspiciously confident in his ability to keep Geoffrey at his side without having to disclose any kind of compromising information.

In conclusion:

What I’m trying to say here is that I’m pretty convinced Geoffrey Martewall is not one of the straights. To sum all of this up, he:

-drinks astronomical amounts of his own extra strong brew of respect women juice on a daily basis

-has a tendency to get very attached to a few selected male friends who he then proceeds to protect with everything he has

-never noticed his old friend (👀) was lying to him, acted in a very out of character and erratic way for a while after his old friend’s (👀👀) death and was ready to commit actual crimes in an attempt to honour his old friend’s (👀👀👀) memory.

So. Yeah. The bi vibes are there. I would rather die than give up my Clueless Bisexual King Geoffrey Martewall headcanons! Sorry but a straight Geoffrey would make zero sense to me. Your honour can’t you see!!! this guy is WAY too cool not to be bi!!!

I rest my case.

P.S. I cannot BELIEVE I’m actually posting this monster on the day of the anniversary of the battle of Bouvines??? I swear I didn’t do it on purpose, at first I was really annoyed at the fact that putting this together was taking me weeks but then yesterday while I was editing I realized I would eventually be able to publish this on the very day Derangale died and Geoffrey was taken prisoner :’’) Perfect timing am I right?

[gleekto]

Summary: College AU/Famous!Blaine and Fanboy!Kurt - Kurt POV

Kurt really doesn’t have time to figure out the dating world between being a freshman at prestigious theatre school, LAADA,  and his active but secret blogging life in the Sing!Fandom. So what if Sing! ended last year? There are still fics to read and actors to follow. Especially the uber talented heartthrob lead, Blaine Anderson. He can act. He can sing. He can even dance. He’s gay. He’s out. And he’s only 24. Kurt is willing to twiddle his thumbs and click refresh until Blaine Anderson’s next project.

He just didn’t expect the next project to be on his roommate Rachel’s new TV show.

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9

Even Better than the Real Thing (10/13)

Kurt drops the phone as his heart starts to race and panic takes over. He feels like he’s going to throw up. No. He doesn’t have time to throw up. He immediately signs on to tumblr and deletes his blog. Gone. But it’s too late anyways. He calls Mercedes on autopilot. 

“It’s over, Mercedes,” Kurt shakes as he says it. “He knows.”

“What? Who knows what?” But he can practically see the information dawn on her as she says it. “He knows you were a fan? Shit.”

“Yes, specifically, he knows that I was LimaBlaineFan - and I say was because I just deleted.”

“Oh my god, Kurt. How did this happen? Are you okay?”

“No, I’m not okay. And I don’t know. Or I can guess. He surprise visited me and I forgot to close my laptop screen and I must have left him in my room while I was dealing with Rachel and her oat milk,” Kurt puts the pieces together. “Fucking oat milk.”

“So he ended it on the spot?”

“No. God. He didn’t even say anything. He must have  seen something but not much, gone home and read the blog, and then texted me 24 hours later with a terse goodbye.”

“So what did he say?” Kurt sends her the text. “It’s not great,” She agrees. “But that’s not exactly closure.”

“I don’t think I get closure after what I did. Just memories of our night together and of what an idiot I am.” Kurt goes over the whole story with Mercedes - how he obviously wanted to be chill when he met Blaine, didn’t want to seem like a desperate fanboy but just a friend of Rachel’s - which he is! That wasn’t a lie. And he always made sure to give Blaine an out, not to talk too much, but Blaine kept wanting to talk and flirt and - well, as soon as he really started to believe that they were more than friendly acquaintances with a mutual friend, he stopped blogging. But it was too late by that point to say ‘Oh by the way, I was such a big fan of Sing! that I have a blog about it and your name may feature.’ But he knows it’s all an excuse. Blaine told him the first time they met that a fan is not a friend. And he didn’t heed the warning. Or tell the truth.

Mercedes listens to the story she already knows, and affirms and agrees, but unfortunately, can’t really fix a situation that can’t be fixed. Kurt spends the night staring at his ceiling and the next day moping around the house, tired and cranky. He binges Gossip Girl and eats popcorn and texts Mercedes sad face emojis.

Even Rachel notices that something’s wrong when she comes in that evening.  “You’re still in pajamas?” She looks at him quizzically. “And you look like hell.”

“Thanks?”

“And I only point that out because it’s very unlike you.”

“I guess that is actually a compliment.”

“What’s wrong?” Before he thinks of what he’s going to say, Rachel interrupts again. “Wait. Blaine was a wreck today - bags under his eyes, forgot all his lines. Just said he had a rough night. Okay, Kurt. What is going on with you two?”

“Nothing now.”

“Now?”

“It’s not working out, okay?” Rachel starts to say something again but thinks better of it.

“Okay,” She seems to clue in to the fact that he does not want to talk about it. “I’ll go out later to get you a piece of cheesecake from Henry’s.” His favourite cheesecake place. 

“Thank you,” He says sincerely. “Best therapy.”

...

After his cheesecake, which did take his mind off the mess of his life for at least 15 minutes, he moves back to his bedroom for night two of ceiling gazing, when his phone buzzes.

Blaine: So you didn’t respond.

He stares at the message, willing the right response to come to him.

Kurt: I honestly just don’t know what to say. Other than I’m sorry. I guess that’s what I should have said.

Blaine: So you are LimaBlaineFan, right?

Kurt: Guilty. Very guilty.

Blaine: Shit.

Kurt: I know we’re done - it’s my fault. You don’t need to say anything.

Kurt can’t actually bear the idea of Blaine lecturing him on honesty amidst crushing his heart.

Blaine: It is your fault. But we should talk.

Kurt: We should?

Blaine: Meet me at the Coffee Bean tomorrow at 3, okay?

Kurt: Let me check my calendar.

Blaine: Cheeky.

Kurt knows he made him smile despite himself.

Kurt: I’ll be there.

...

Kurt gets to the Coffee Bean half an hour early so he can be sure to be there first. He buys Blaine his favourite medium drip and adds a vanilla almond biscotti. 

“These for me?” Blaine says as he sits down across from Kurt.

“The least I could do.” Blaine rolls his eyes and shakes his head, but he accepts the coffee and cookie. “I’m really sorry. I should have told you.”

“Yeah, you should’ve,” Blaine says and pauses, sipping his coffee. 

“Can I ask you a question?” Kurt starts.

Blaine shrugs. “Go for it.”

“Why did you ask me to meet you for coffee? I mean, after finding out the guy you just -” Kurt gets red despite himself.

“Got naked with,” Blaine fills in.

“Yes - was actually a fan following your career-”

“And my body parts,” Blaine adds and Kurt gets much redder.

“I mean, I think that gives you license to fully ghost me without another word.”

“True,” Blaine nods his head. “But for one, you are my co-star’s roommate-”

“At least that’s true,” Kurt sighs at himself.

“Also, I’m not an asshole.”

“But I probably gave you reason to think that I am one.”

“No - which is the real reason I wanted to talk. The timeline.” Kurt looks at him confused. “Your blog on tumblr. It seems like once we met, you only blogged a few times. And by the time I was interested in you, you stopped posting.”

Kurt nods, giving himself an internal high five for at least one decent choice. “I did. Right after we-”

“Made out all night?” Blaine has got to stop putting these images back into his head in the midst of a break up conversation.

“No. It was before that. After you  - you know we talked in my room-”

Blaine remembers, smiling.  “When I got you to tell me you had never been kissed so I could tell you that you should be.”

“You’re so calculating,” Kurt shakes his head.

Blaine raises his hands in defense. “My intentions were pure, I promise. Besides, I could say the same about you.”

“I wasn’t calculating! I wasn’t even trying to be your friend, let alone your, you know. I am definitely not sophisticated enough to try to deceive you to get you into bed, god. I was just trying to seem reasonably normal and cool around my roommate’s new co-star who by complete coincidence was my celebrity crush of the last four years. It was way too uncool to reveal my alter ego to you.”

Blaine smiles, probably despite himself. “Can I tell you some of my favourites?”

“Oh god.”

It seems Blaine spent the better part of his evening delving deeply into the fandom mind of LimaBlaineFan, because he had screencapped some of Kurt’s oldest, and cringiest posts.

-Why isn’t he shirtless in that scene? The other guys are shirtless. Roy is hot. And no, I don’t think he’s embarrassed. 

“Well, you are right about that. I’m not camera shy.” 

-Thank God Blaine Anderson has a better fashion sense than Roy. Roy and his loose jeans and sweatpants - how would I even catch a glimpse? But did you see Blaine on that red carpet? Maroon suit, pants so tight. His ass is perfection.

-Blaine’s interview for Pride was perfection. He says we might even catch him out on the dance floors, dancing with some hotties. Maybe then he’ll be shirtless.

And of course, Blaine appreciated Kurt’s hard work on one of his most recent posts - The privileges and pitfalls of playing straight for an out gay actor: Quotes from Blaine Anderson’s interviews.

Kurt lets Blaine read each one, sitting silent in embarrassment and biting his lip through it all. It’s the least he deserves. Just as Blaine finishes his list and Kurt is about to go into profuse apology once again,  they’re interrupted.

A young woman who looks about seventeen scurries quickly up to their table. “Hi. I’m sorry. I know you’re busy. I’m just such a huge fan of Sing! And now That’s So Rachel-” - If that was a fan test, she passed. She knows both shows. That’s a minimum. “Can I get a pic with you?”

“Of course. Thank you so much for watching.” Blaine takes her phone like a pro and angles it so he and the girl are both in it, Kurt trying to avoid being the photobomb in the background. Blaine turns back to him as the girl leaves. 

“I guess that would’ve been me a few months ago.”

“For you, I might have even given a hug. Or the coveted kiss on the cheek. I always try to connect with the gay guy fans.”

“You succeeded?” Kurt tries and Blaine laughs. At least the energy between them is better. Much better. Like he won’t have to hide in a corner if he’s ever at an event with Blaine again or anything like that.

“I guess I did.”

“The first time I met you, you told me that a fan is not a friend.”

“I did.”

“Would you have asked me out if you had known from the beginning?”

“Probably not. Against the rules.”

“That’s what I thought.” There’s an awkward pause - Kurt’s not sure there’s anything else to say and apparently Blaine agrees because he switches the topic to the latest script and his excitement about working with Patti Lupone - who apparently, even gets to slap him. By the time they leave the café, Kurt feels relieved. He’s survived his first break up. Not that they were really together. He doesn’t have the energy to grieve the loss of kissing, and touching, and ironically still not having seen Blaine shirtless (pantless, yes). He’s sure it will hit him like a ton of bricks after he finally gets a real night of sleep, and then he will have Rachel prepare the cheesecake. Again. 

He crawls into bed early that night, grateful the shock and awful adrenaline of the last two days has finally left his body. His phone buzzes as he closes his light and he plans to text Mercedes back to tell her he’ll update her tomorrow. But it’s not Mercedes.

Blaine: Some rules are made to be broken.

[nihilnovisubsole]

Hey man, do you have any advice for describing body movement? I remember your Crowley and Agent 47 (using them as examples that stand out) both had very expressive and true-to-character body language, and I've honestly been killing myself for the past 2 weeks trying to figure out your style, but I either focus on the wrong body parts or choose wrong words - what do you consider to be focal points in mannerisms.. or maybe words/phrases to think about when describing a character's body language?

sorry to hijack your question, anon, but a quick order of business: i’ve noticed something about how i’ve been receiving asks lately. i only tend to get them directly after i post/reblog stuff, like people aren’t sure whether i’m around or don’t want to bother me [which some of them have said outright]. don’t worry about it! trust me, i lurk on tumblr all day. i’ll see it. i’m grateful for the distraction. just because i don’t hate writing doesn’t mean i don’t love to procrastinate.

anyway, body language. i think, without having seen your writing, you’re probably being too hard on yourself. if you’re for-real-for-real using my writing as a style reference, i’m very flattered. if you message me off anon, i’d be happy to chat about it. let’s also not rule out that my style might just be nonsense and you’re struggling to figure it out because it’s, well, nonsense. let’s not forget we’re human here.

but in general, it’s an inexact science - like many things with writing, you kind of just have to feel it out. i don’t follow any body language rules that i don’t make myself follow with the rest of my narration, too. “stay in active voice,” “stay in third-person objective as much as you can,” and “use a verb only once per scene unless you’re really struggling.”

if finding focal points on a character’s body helps you, let’s look at it that way. which body part is changing? what were they holding still, but are now moving? which part of their face is communicating their expression the most? i notice that people emote a lot in their eyebrows, which may be where eyes get their reputation for being “windows to the soul.” some people talk with their hands or interact a lot with the furniture around them. some people are more self-contained.

more importantly, what do you notice? what do you like to think about? your sense of human observation is what will make your writing yours. do you find yourself paying attention to people’s hands a lot? or maybe their posture? you’re not doing it wrong if you’re not doing it exactly like me.

if you want some more detailed thoughts, i’ve included one of my usual tl;drs below the cut. these are less a direct answer to your question and more ideas i have about writing body language in general.

1. acting helps

if you’re writing a character that somebody has portrayed onscreen, you’ll have a big advantage when you try to write how they move. skilled actors are able to give their characters a distinct physical presence, and it’s all just sitting there for you to study and work from.

this is the big reason i like modeling my characters on famous people. i mean, well, mainly i just love movies and daydreaming about what filmed versions of my stories would be like. but when you have that base, you can look up videos of them and analyze everything from their physical habits to the cadence of their voice. how do they sit? what kind of roles have they performed well in? certain people just fit into a time period or aesthetic like a glove. i was completely lost with marcus until i made the connection between him and henry rollins, and then it all fell into place. that stiff, over-disciplined posture and tamped-down nervous energy were perfect for a career military man with a lot of inner turmoil.

in crowley’s case, david tennant is a very physical actor. anyone who writes good omens fic has a treasure trove of lanky, rubbery body language to work with. [aziraphale, my favorite, is kind of the underdog here. i love michael sheen’s performance, but aziraphale’s whole thing is restraint, so i guess crowley ends up being the one who jumps off the page.] on the opposite end, agent 47 is extraordinarily still, with bursts of extraordinary brutality done with extraordinary precision. where crowley is swooshy, 47 is about no wasted movements. his body is wired to be a predator even when he’s off the job. i know it’s weird to compare a video game character to a live actor, but i assume 47 was mocapped, so just… bear with me.

once i have that frame of reference - or i don’t, and i have to come up with my own - i start to act out the character myself. i’ve talked about this before: i feel more comfortable writing a character when i can “embody” them, imitating their body language as i read their dialogue. i must look pretty eccentric when i do it, but it works.

P.S: of course you don’t have to limit yourself to trained actors. you can just as easily reach into your personal life. a lot of authors get incredible results from going back to their mother, or a friend, or some tragic first love.

2. simple, but specific verbs

i’ve heard that a lot of creative writing teachers find their students are timid about the strength of verbs. they’ll bend over backwards to “soften the blow” with gerunds or other unnecessary clutter because they’re not confident that they’ve chosen the right one. “he was sitting on the stump and starting to carefully carve a bar of soap when she came over and he pressed a kiss to her hand.” that kind of thing. my preference is, own it. choose a good verb and leave it naked. let it speak for itself. be declarative. be more forceful in your personality. fight. WIN!

for the record, i’m not averse to using a thesaurus. i think they get a bad rap because of writers who shoehorn in SAT words to make themselves sound more intelligent. did your character walk across the room, or did they pace? did they stroll? did they stride? did they lope? did they run, or dash, or scamper, or bolt? they all feel different, don’t they?

counterpoint: some people add flourishes to their body language so that you’ll really linger on the feature in question. the first thing that comes to mind is romance, where they want you to think long and hard about, i don’t know, the hidden strength in the love interest’s folded hands. this is… i feel… a matter of artistic discretion. it’s not my thing - i prefer to describe more neutrally - but many people love it. it’s something my producers at voltage lovingly bap me on the head about, because lovestruck games are all about zesty High Romance™ and i always wish i could play it down with my plain, unromantic prose. i used to rail away about it in other people’s work. now? whatever. i’m not here to judge you. writing is hard.

3. on the other hand, don’t be afraid to get colorful

if, in the process of writing, you discover some quirky figurative twist that nails dead-on what you’re envisioning, i say go for it. especially if you’re not trying to be wholly detached as a narrator. if i tell you a character “scooted across the bed like a seal,” it gives you a pretty clear mental image, doesn’t it?

if you have a distinctive voice - and i’m sure you do - i think these are the times where you, the writer, as a character are really going to come out. the reason we keep coming back to, say, mark twain is because nobody “prose talks” quite like he did. whether you like it or dislike it, it’s unique.

full disclosure: this is a potent spice, so you may want to use it in moderation. the most fanciful comparisons may work better in comedy, when you have a little more room to be out-there. my mother defines humor as “associating two unlike things in a way that highlights the absurdity of how similar they actually are.” it may not be a coincidence that a curious case of miracles and death and orchids are less serious stories, so i felt comfortable being sillier with my figurative language, and that may have made crowley and 47 seem more expressive. YMMV!

[glass-es-say]

The Fitzjames Sweater: a Terror conspiracy theory

Do you like your meta long and stupid? And full of not-really-mystery about a single item of clothing? Then boy do I have a meta for you; the center of which is James Fitzjames’ sweater—and the identity of its final owner.

(Half meta-analysis, half conspiracy theory, half absolute blithering nonsense under the cut, lads.)

Now, this is a pretty distinctive sweater, especially in an expedition full of grey and navy arans. There are a couple of specific design elements (best outlined in knit-the-terror’s posts) that make it easy to identify The Sweater once it ends up on Le Vesconte: the side cables, the gansey-esque top and bottom, the ribbing patterns on the sleeves. The short neckband also visually distinguishes The Sweater from the cowl-necked white sweater Mr. Collins is wearing (also I think that one gets pretty soundly torn apart when Tuunbaq eviscerates him).

All of this is great and wonderful. However. What I’m most interested in is the cuffs.

These are double-length cuffs in a 1x1 rib with (perhaps anachronistically) a thumbhole knit in. Fitzjames wears the cuffs folded up most of the time, though if you turn up your brightness and squint you can spot that they’re all the way down at the time of poor Morfin’s death.

The garment construction appears to be such that sleeve was worked flat and them seamed into a tube—the thumbhole then just being part of the seam that wasn’t sewn up. (Why you would make a sleeve like this is beyond me—seaming sucks and it would literally be just as easy to add the thumbhole in when knitting in the round, but I suspect it has something to do with how they produced the no-doubt 10+ versions of this sweater they needed for filming.)

So, we’ve established some key characteristics of The Sweater that help us identify it. We’ve determined that it ends up on Le Vesconte after Fitzjames’ death. (Actually, Le Vesconte’s wearing The Sweater + waistcoat when Fitzjames collapses, so presumably James gives it away before then.)  But can we show that anyone else has worn it? (Spoilers: sort of, but also yes.)

The morning after Silna leaves the Inuit village, when Francis is running around trying to figure out which way she went, he’s wearing the above outfit. His left hand is gone at this point, so his sleeve is tied up at the wrist, but there, covering his right hand… is an extra-long white sweater cuff with a thumbhole.

The image quality isn’t great here (the cameraperson decided to focus on the acting instead of a sleeve cuff for some reason) but when you look at all the angles next to each other, the resemblance is pretty obvious. Either there was always another long-cuffed white sweater on the Franklin Expedition that we are never shown, or Francis has at some point picked up The Sweater and is wearing it under his slops.

You can see a sliver of neckband underneath all his other layers in the picture above, just like with James.

Now, my main hurdle in 100% proof that this is The Sweater is, actually, also my most definitive proof: the thumbhole. (My gift and my curse…my blessing and my burden...)

Assuming James hasn’t folded his cuffs to intentionally obfuscate, it’s pretty clear that each sleeve has one—and only one—thumbhole along the inside seam of the sleeve. It’s a logical assumption—I have no clue why you’d put a thumbhole on the outside of the sleeve because, like… that’s not where thumbs are.

By the time Francis is wearing the sweater it’s pretty beat up, so there are a number of noticeable holes in the cuff rather than just the one. (As we see from Le Vesconte’s shot at the beginning of this post, the rest of The Sweater is faring a pretty similar fate. My poor knitter’s heart is weeping.) While some of the holes have a fuzziness around the edges that indicates fraying, there’s still one hole with a cleaner, more finished edge that would indicate its identity as the real, intended thumbhole.

The problem is, it’s on the outside of the sleeve. Crozier appears to be sticking his thumb through another, accidental hole on the opposite side of the cuff. Even if The Sweater was worn inside-out and/or backwards, he shouldn’t be able to wear the thumbhole on the outside—at least, that’s what I thought. Then I tried putting on a sweater with only one hand. (It’s called field research, please don’t judge me.)

Basically, it’s really easy to get a sleeve twisted when you pull on a sweater, especially if it’s made to fit someone with a different physique. Without the opposite hand (or using your teeth, I guess), it’s basically impossible to untwist it, a difficulty that I imagine is compounded if you’ve already hooked your thumb through the cuff in the wrong place. I personally hate the feeling of a twisted sleeve, but Francis has just woken up in an unfamiliar place and honestly at this point in his life he might’ve just shoved the sweater on and called it a day.

Plus, we see the left cuff on Le Vesconte earlier and the thumbhole appears to be on the outside. The sleeves on this sweater are consistently Way Too Long, so it’s possible things just got twisted around whenever an actor would put it on and they left it that way for realism’s sake.

We don’t see Francis in it after the scene in the Inuit village, but like, even if The Sweater was still wearable after another two years, Francis is pretty well covered by his fur parka. (Also… just saying… the emotional implications of a moment where the last remnants of James Fitzjames unravel under his fingertips are uh… pretty juicy.

James has holes in him and so does his sweater.)

So! I think it’s fair to say that, at the very least, the sweater Francis is wearing is supposed to be the Fitzjames Sweater, as shown to the best of my ability (and screencap resolution). I won’t call it “beyond a doubt” but I think it’s a pretty strong foundation—which is good, because here is where my knit-wear based fever dream starts to, uh, unravel.

My initial assumption after realizing Crozier had the white sweater at the Inuit village was that he pulled it off Le Vesconte after Little’s death. (And idea which cannot help but conjure the morbid image of Crozier undressing a body beset by rigor mortis with one hand…. Or asking Silna for help.)

The tangle in this theory is that I went back and looked at the first few “travelling with Silna” scenes, initially for proof that Francis doesn’t pick up The Sweater until the Little Camp—and found the opposite. 

There’s no sign of The Sweater on Francis before the Tuunbaq showdown, but he has somehow acquired The Sweater before finding the body of Le Vesconte. The same identifying features I’m using for the end scene are all there, so. Can’t really deny that. (The best view we get is from the sad dead Jopson hair stroke, which  also dates the timeframe a lot better then an ambiguous “Crozier walking around” screenshot.)

(For what it’s worth, the thumbhole arrangement appears to be done properly this time. Or at least, the hole on the outside of the arm is the frayed “accidental” thumbhole.)

To clarify the timeline:

Fitzjames has The Sweater.

At some point before James collapses, Le Vesconte acquires The Sweater.

Francis is kidnapped by Hickey’s camp. He does not have The Sweater, or at least not visibly.

Le Vesconte (and sweater) leave the sick (including Jopson) behind and head off toward the eventual Little camp.

Tuunbaq showdown. Francis spends some time in recovery.

We can assume that at some point during this bullet point or the next Le Vesconte and buddies die.

Francis and Silna leave the Hickey camp, find the abandoned men and sad dead Jopson. Somehow Francis has acquired The Sweater.

After this, Francis and Silna find the Little camp, presumably including a dead Le Vesconte and The Sweater.

(You could argue that Le Vesconte actually ended up staying with the sick but Francis’ is wearing the sweater when he first sees Jopson so he would have had to have it before finding them.)

(Also, I have suspicions that this figure leaving the sick camp is Le Vesconte.)

So! There is an indication that, at the same point in time, both Crozier and Le Vesconte(‘s body) were wearing a version of The Sweater. If from this point forward we consider the sweater Fitzjames is seen wearing to be the “true sweater” and the extra to be the “double sweater”, then I see four possibilities:

Option One: Francis already had the sweater double.

Points in favor:

This gives the fun image of Crozier and Fitzjames showing up to the expedition on day one and staring horrorstruck at each other like “we wore the same dress!??!!”

You change. No you change! No you change!!!

Points against:

We see Francis in all kinds of informal dress and never see him wearing it. I’m not actually sure we ever see him wearing a sweater, period. Man hates being cozy, I guess.

There is literally no way costume design would have done this. Like, it beggars belief.

Option Two: Someone else (at the Hickey camp) had an eerily similar sweater that Crozier felt justified in taking.

Points in favor:

It doesn’t show up until he and Silna go back to the Hickey camp, so it’s unlikely that he would have gotten it earlier and just been carrying it around without wearing it.

They did seem to just leave all their stuff lying around, so Francis wouldn’t have to pull it off a dead body, which is a lot more palatable.

If the sweater was a standard “baby’s first officer sweater” present, Hodgson could be a candidate for the true owner.

Points against:

“Baby’s first officer sweater” is just like… not a thing the Victorian Royal Navy did. Also, we never see any of them wearing it, so.

Why wouldn’t the owner have worn it to the Tuunbaq showdown? I get that they’re all wandering around in their shirtsleeves but if someone had a sweater that was remotely still wearable, I feel pretty confident in thinking they aren’t just going to leave it lying around.

Option Three: Actually, Le Vesconte’s sweater is the double.

Points in favor:

Obviously Henry and James got them as best friends forever tokens and whenever they notice they’re wearing them at the same time they spend like, two minutes just hugging each other and saying “bro. bro. bro!”

It absolutely infuriates Francis.

This implies that Francis (or possibly a Hickey camp member but uh… unlikely) got ahold of the Fitzjames version after his death. James isn’t wearing it when he collapses (god… think of the blood stains…), so it would have been as easy as packing it up once he’s dead.

Francis is either in slops or in shirtsleeves after this point so if he keeps the cuffs folded up and his slops collar buttoned (which he does) then we might just not have seen it?

Even if we assume Le Vesconte’s sweater is a different one, there’s still pretty strong evidence James wasn’t buried in his sweater—see the above point, and also the fact that it doesn’t later show up on Hickey’s person. That’s a nice sweater, man, even if it’s fraying, and if I were already stealing a dead man’s boots I would’ve taken the sweater too.

Points against:

Le Vesconte is wearing The Sweater when James collapses—Fitzjames, notably, isn’t. (James mentions the heat as a reason why he can’t keep walking, so he might just not have been wearing it?)

God, guys, I don’t know that much about the Victorian knitting industry but the idea of two bros going out and getting matching sweaters seems… implausible at best.

Option Four: Making a TV show is hard and keeping track of all the details is harder and someone just accidentally put Jared in the sweater five minutes of screen time too early and we were past the time for reshoots and just assumed that no one would be neurotic enough to notice this.

Points in favor:

Script supervisor is like, a really hard job and if this is your biggest slip up then honestly? Who even cares.

Points against:

I care. I care very much.

But which option could be the truth? What conclusions have we formed from this tedious trek across the frozen wasteland of HD screencaps? What horrors have we (me, literally just me) wrought in the name of split-second costume design based character choices? Could Crozier have somehow gotten The Sweater from Le Vesconte after Tuunbaq dies but before reaching Little’s camp? Is there another, actually viable explanation for the mystery of the twin sweaters? How many good fics/headcanons could come from any of these options? I don’t know! Please discuss!

(For however much it matters: my personal favorite is Option Four. None of the others seem a terribly plausible story justification, and also I like the emotional weight of Francis picking up the sweater as a memento of JFJ—or the intention of it, even if continuity gets a little screwy.

Also, if no one writes fic about this then I will be forced to and who really wants that?? Write this fic for me and save us all the turmoil.)

(A thousand props to @knit-the-terror for sussing out enough details that I could even make an argument focused around the cuff of a sweater. Please forgive my corrupting your research for a frantic fever dream rant about something that mostly doesn’t matter.)

[qualquercoisa945]

When You’re On Your Own

Title Inspiration: When The Sun Goes Down from In The Heights

lmfao literally n o n e of you are ready like this is just pure angst have fun y’all

trigger warnings- alcohol mention, illness mention, death mention, none are discussed in heavy detail but they’re mentioned so yeah

In between rehearsals, then touring, then shows, and then moving in together, the six queens didn’t have a lot of time where they were completely alone. Not that they minded, really. Still, there were those rare moments where one of them would be able to be on their own.

Catherine actively seeked out alone time in the beginning, but often times those plans were foiled. And when they did succeed, the consequences rarely made it worth it, which was why she had begun to try to become closer to the other queens.

Still, even then there were moments where silence filled the house, and Catherine’s mind began to run wild with thoughts that her logical side desperately tried to fight off. And of course, it just had to happen when no one else was around- not that Catherine would reach out, mind you, but knowing that she could go be with them afterwards to get her mind out of it always seemed to make it just that tiny bit easier, even if she’d never admit to it.

Images of Henry, flirting with her in the earlier stages of their relationship; of her in the castle, capable of hearing Mary’s cries and whimpers of pain when she was sick but unable to do anything to comfort her; of Henry’s servants, coming to her chambers to inform her of the divorce and of Henry’s plans for her; of herself on her knees before Henry, begging him to let her stay; of her servants, following her to her new residence once the annulment was finalized.

And, of herself, laying on her deathbed shivering, feeling like, if for whatever reason she went to Hell, it wouldn’t affect her, since she was experiencing it in that very moment.

She hated herself for not being able to control her mind, for letting herself wander back to those memories whenever she wasn’t focusing on anything else. She was supposed to be the one that kept her head cool, not the barely contained mess behind a well practiced facade that she forced herself to keep up.

Still, after all those images flashed through her mind, and (although she’d never admit to it) after wiping away tears, upon hearing a voice call out “I’m home!” (was that Jane? She wasn’t sure, but not that it mattered much) she’d take a deep breath, wash her face, make sure there was no way of telling that she’d just been crying, and then go down to meet her fellow queen

After all, one of them had to keep their cool, right?

Alone time was something that Anne had despised since she was a child. She couldn’t help it, she was an extrovert, being around people was as natural to her as it was to breathe. Alone time felt rather suffocating, if she was being honest, and it only got worse after she’d been reincarnated. And God, she sometimes wished she hadn’t. The memories were too strong- of her siblings, of her daughter.

Elizabeth… Anne was oh so proud of her, there was no denying it. And yet, the pang she felt in her chest every time she thought about someone sitting her down, at only two years old, and explaining to her that Mum wasn’t coming back… Well, it wasn’t uncommon for Anne to have to excuse herself from the room when it happened, to have to take a few minutes to collect herself before walking back like nothing had ever happened.

And this was one of those days, where she’d excused herself from their designated table at the bar when the six of them went out for drinks after their last show of the week and fled to the bathroom, locking herself in a stall like some teenager in a dramatic coming of age movie.

And often she’d reach up to her neck and scratch at it, but she knew she had to make sure she could come out without anyone noticing she’d been crying, so instead she just pressed her fingers against the back of her neck, keeping them there until the pain became too much and she had to lessen the pressure, hissing quietly while rubbing the spot lightly.

And then she’d unlock the stall and leave, looking at the mirror in the bathroom to find her makeup pretty presentable. Thank god for waterproof makeup. She examined her reflection, making sure you couldn’t tell she had been crying. And then, as she always did, she walked back to the queens with her usual cocky smirk.

Had to keep the mood up, right?

Company was something that Jane had always enjoyed. Although she didn’t come from as large of a family as some of the others, time spent together was always treated as a good time in her house, and thus she had those values engraved into her.

Still, it’s not that she disliked alone time. Love them as she might, the queens could be a bit much sometimes, and she needed a break from them every once in a while. However, every now and then (which was more often than she’d like), her mind would wander off to unpleasant memories and thoughts. And today seemed to be one of those days.

Specifically, Edward. She regretted not being able to raise him- to see him grow into the bright young man she knew he became. Not to say that she didn’t love her daughter- she’d sacrifice the world for Kat, but that didn’t erase the agonizing pain that came with everything related to her son.

And then there was the subject of Henry. After Kat’s outburst, she’d been mulling over her claim that Henry had never loved any of them. Even after Kat had apologized, it just stuck with her, because the more she thought about it, the more she realized that she was right.

Or better yet, accepted. Yeah, Henry didn't love her. He loved her son, but not her. And that hurt. But, while it hurt, she didn’t let herself cry. It wasn’t that big of a deal. The others had it far worse, she had no right to complain.

So, when she heard Kat call her name from downstairs, she swallowed, to stop the knot in her throat from getting any tighter, called out a soft “Coming!”, and then stood up and left her room, heading downstairs like that whirlwind of emotions hadn’t just hit her. She couldn’t let the others see her like this, had to remind them that they could always count on her.

That they would always have her support.

Like always, Anna was the last one in the dressing rooms, still getting ready for the show. She stood in front of the mirror, staring judgingly at her reflection as she made sure her hair was perfect, as well as her makeup, outfit, and just about every aspect of her appearance.

As much as, during the show, she acted like what had happened between her and Henry didn’t affect her, that was a complete lie. Every single comment that she’d heard about her appearance stung, and although she knew her band mates wanted to help with their kind words, they fell on deaf ears.

That was the problem with trying to seek out comfort, wasn’t it? Any words that loved ones tried to use to comfort you felt fake- forced, even. Logically, she knew that wasn’t the case, but that didn’t change the way her heart felt. It was tiring, honestly, to drown in self hatred everyday, but what else could she do?

She heard the intercom turn on, hearing their stage manager call for places. She sighed softly to herself, then turned around as she heard the door open. “C’mon Anna, we gotta go!” Kat called, smiling kindly at her. Anna chuckled, glancing at her reflection one last time before following the girl, chin up and lips quirked up in her usual cocky smirk as if her entire self deprecating inner monologue was non existent.

Staying confident was key to keeping up appearances, after all.

Kath actively avoided staying alone. Being alone meant being vulnerable, and although logically she knew the girls would never do what they did to her, the paranoia was harder to get rid of than simply using logic.

So whenever she actually was alone, she’d grab her phone and put something on, be it a silly cat video, or a conspiracy theory, or whatever. She just needed something that made noise, to give her mind the illusion of not being alone.

However, sometimes not even that was enough, and today seemed to be one of those days. Thoughts swarmed around her mind, of hands roaming all over her body, groping and rubbing all over.

She shivered, trying to shake the thoughts away before she begun actually feeling their touch- it wouldn’t be the first time, and it wouldn’t be nice, at all.

She heard the front door open, and took a shaky breath, trying to keep herself collected. A few tears fell, but she quickly wiped them away. And when she actually went down and sat near Jane and Cath, she kept a healthy amount of distance between them.

After all, getting too near just meant getting hurt.

And although I pretend to not be affected, every night your voice and memory come back to haunt me, never letting me rest until the witching hours, by which I grow too tired due to weeping to stay up. And yet you taught me that silence is survival, thus building up walls that I had no choice but to help construct, trapping me inside my mind. And walls are so much harder to tear down when you’ve helped build them up.

Catherine hadn’t even noticed she’d begun crying until a tear fell onto the paper. She blinked, then pushed the chair backwards, wiping tears away while she looked up, waiting a few minutes to collect herself before pulling the chair forward with her, staring back at the sheet of paper she’d been working on.

And so you trap me again, centuries after your reign over both this country and my life. It frustrates me, to not be able to be rid of your tight grip on me even after all this time. I must assume the others also feel it. I just hope it isn’t as strongly as I do. I wouldn’t wish it upon anyone.

She set the pen down on the paper, before folding her arms on the table and burying her face in them, letting out a quiet sob. She just cried, feeling utterly exhausted of keeping it all in, and yet seeing no way out.

Once tears stopped streaming, Catherine looked up, wiping away at tear tracks before looking back down at the paper, picking up the pen again as inspiration struck.

And when I see even the smallest of cracks, my first instinct is to cover it up. I’ve been living under the assumption that silence is survival, and as one says, old habits die hard. So to be rid of that is to be rid of a big part of me. And if I am truly being honest, I do not want to be rid of it. It keeps me grounded, keeps me safe.

And at the same time, I just want it gone and I want it gone now. Because it traps me, and holds me back from pursuing new friendships, and from deepening my bonds with those I care about. I love the others, but at the same time I cannot help but to hide from them. Because those walls are still there. And you’ve left me with one rule.

Silence is survival.

[nevergiveupneverrun]

Bodyguard - Chapter Thirty-five “The smile that lights up...”

Hello, I hope you’re all doing great. Here is chapter thirty-five of my story Bodyguard. I’m so sorry for the long absence, I had a lot of things to do, but now, it’s summer break so I will have more free time to translate. I’m sorry by advance for the mistakes… English isn’t my first language and I do my best. Here is the link of the previous chapter because it’s been a long time since the last update: Click Here.

I hope you will enjoy this chapter :) 💛

                                      –––––––––––––––––––––––

- Ok, we find ourselves at the entrance to the market… - Do you think you’ll arrive soon? Asks Rosie in the handset. - I’m waiting for Amelia, and we’re leaving immediately after, so in about twenty minutes. I have to leave you, sorry, see you later. I quickly hand up the handset of the house, after my last words. I preferred to avoid conversations from the direct line of the chalet: even though I knew that the probability that the crazy man is locating us in almost non-existent, I preferred to take no risks… and calling from a phone booth was a much safer option. But I could not really explain it to Rosie, it would expose her to one of the reasons for our presence and endanger her indirectly.

.

I put on my leather jacket while scanning the house quickly. Our arrival a bit hasty had almost put aside the place so special that I found. Memories, images were inseparable from this small nook of Canada, anchored in the mountains. My eyes are then on the single photo frame of the room, present in a shelf installed in the living room. A photograph that crystalizes my past and the man I am… I take advantage of the absence of Amelia and I quickly get rid of this photo frame. I hesitate a few seconds then I join the kitchen and put it in the drawer that was not used, left empty until then on the buffet. I immediately return to the living room while I perceive steps resound on the stairs. And it’s a white apparition that runs down the steps. I need to blink several times to convince myself that this is not a mirage or a hallucination caused by the fatigue of the last days. But at the end of the third blink of successive eyes, the image becomes more precise and confirmed under my eyes… a special white lace dress that I had not seen for many years. Who dresses perfectly… Amelia, detached and slightly curly hair, falling along her shoulders. A silhouette, a dress that troubled me at first: Rosie’s words instantly return to my mind, the resemblance even more striking and disturbing when I see her dressed in one of my mother’s favorite dresses… I look at her and discover that she ha also put on white wedge sandals: an impeccably matched look that makes me realize that fashion is only an eternal restart… the 70s can mingle without false notes in the 21st century. - Excuse me… I took a little longer than expected… I always observe her without a word, captivated by her image: she was simply beautiful. She perceives my insistent gaze and scans herself, placing her attention on this dress. - Uh... I… I might not have had to… but I don’t have much to wear… almost nothing at all and I took a look in the wardrobe in the room and discovered a series of clothes… I spotted very pretty summer dresses, I tried this one… and as she is at my size… but I can change, it’s probably a bad idea, I don’t even know who it belongs to… She turns around as I recognize her lack of self-confidence strengthen over her words. I hold her by sliding my hand against her arm. - Don’t change yourself… it suits you very well… and if these clothes can be useful… - But the owner might not agree? - She would approve, I reassure you… I feel her indecisive, not really satisfied with my answer but I don’t develop more. I seize her leather jacket and my scarf on a nearby chair and hand her. - Can we go? She nods while putting the jacket and scarf, still a little troubled by my mysterious answer but doesn’t ask any other questions. - Your hand is better? I asked while recovering my wallet as I slip it into a pocket of my jacket. - Yes, I changed band-aid, but it’s already almost healed, by tomorrow there will be nothing left. I smiled weakly and grabbed the keys of the motorbike while heading to the crash-helmets placed on the living room table. - Are crash-helmets really necessary? Asks me suddenly Amelia. - It’s more careful… and it’s mandatory… - But if you don’t go fast… you drive carefully… it’s just that it’s so beautiful outside… I wish I could feel the breath of the wind freely on my and the heat of the sun on my face… I hesitate in front of her request. We did not have to hide here, we were several hundred miles from Seattle, in a secluded part of the mountain. And concerning the Driver’s Manual, we could get rid of it, the feeling of freedom is more important than the respect of the rule. Especially considering our context. - Ok, we can do without, but promise me that you will be careful on the motorbike, no clumsiness because, without a crash-helmet, a shock or a fall can be serious… She nods, smiling weakly at me. - Ok, so let’s go! I wave her to the entrance and locked behind her. The sun is sparkling and reinforces the beauty of the landscape: the edge of the forest a few steps from the chalet, the golden wood of this house that stands out by capturing the rays of the sun and a look back reveals me the reflections of this little emerald lake that springs against the chalet.

.

Amelia is waiting for me next to the motorbike while watching intensely the landscape that surrounds us. Unlike our arrival the day before, I am reassured by noticing some lights dancing in her pupils, but she doesn’t make any comments. I get on the motorbike and slip the keys in the ignition. I feel a hand rest on my left shoulder while a slight breath makes me perceive the movement of Amelia in my back to settle behind me. Reflexively, I put my hand on her thigh behind me, but I forgot she was in dress… the position imposed by the motorbike has noticeably raised it and it is her skin that I feel under my fingers. - Hold you well… I detached my fingers quickly, this contact was unforeseen and I didn’t want to embarrass her… or increase my trouble. I feel her arms encircle me and her hands rest firmly on me. - I don’t clutch you too hard? - No, it’s okay… are you ready? - Yes, let’s go… I feel a hint of enthusiasm in her voice that makes me happy: a small foray into this joie de vivre that seems to be slowly returning. It only remained for me to relight gradually. I start the motorbike and we start at a moderate pace. We travel for several meters the path that crisscrosses the forest and that leads up to quickly lose several meters of altitude. We thus find the clearing and the tranquility of a mountain road. I remain attentive to Amelia’s contact with me: the pressure of her hands, the sensation of her body just behind me, focused on my handling of the motorbike to avoid any risk of accident or fall. I fork after a few minutes following the direction of a sign to the village we were going to join. We thus finish by distinguishing contours of residences then quickly a panel of entry of the village. I reduce a little more pace while in a few seconds, we reach the center of the village where I park the motorbike on small parking.

.

I let Amelia go down first while she leans on my shoulder. I leave my motorbike and then take a look at the place a few steps from us, where I spot traders’ stalls, so specific to market day. I scrutinize the scene a bit more and recognize Rosie, settling a greengrocer. - Rosie is here, we join her? Amelia nods and I slide my hand behind her to guide her. We are getting closer to the market activity and I meet Rosie who is smiling at me instantly and comes to meet us. - Hello Owen, she said, making me two kisses. She then turns to Amelia and I notice she stops a few seconds discovering her. - This dress fits you wonderfully Amelia, she whispers kissing her in turn. Owen, you were right to offer her your mother’s dresses, they have the same silhouette… Amelia finds my eyes and I detect the surprise in her eyes, Rosie has revealed the identity of the owner of these clothes. - Good, kids, I started doing some food shopping. Amelia, there is very nice clothes stand with little dresses that should please you, we should go! Owen, there are also shirts for you, but I think you have what you need in the chalet. - Yes, it should be fine… - Ok, so let’s go there! Amelia peers me a few more moments, intrigued by the information that Rosie just gave her, then she follows my long-time accomplice. I walk alongside Amelia and we walk along with several stalls until she stops in front of a florist. Rosie turns around, perceiving our stop and observes Amelia leaning towards a bouquet of flowers. - Henry has the most beautiful flowers in the area, says Rosie smiling at the stallholder on the side, cutting stems of roses. - These peonies are beautiful, I’ve never seen with such a bright pink… she says in front of a bouquet of pink and white peonies. - He has his secrets, our Henry. - A bouquet would make you happy, miss? The stallholder suddenly asks Amelia. I scrutinize her while she observes the flowers with a spark in her eyes and in particular a bouquet on which her eyes come to linger: a bouquet of white and purple peonies with roses, roses associated with an original touch that give some flowers of sunflowers. She remains silent for a few seconds while looking at this bouquet then raises the head towards the florist.

- No, thanks sir, she finally answers. But you have very beautiful flowers.

- Thank you, Miss, have a good day.

Amelia smiles at him before moving forward to continue our progression in the small market.

Rosie passes us again and we stop only two stalls farther, at the outer shop of a merchant of clothes.

- Jenny, here is the young woman I told you about.

A woman in her forties appears on the side and comes to meet us.

-Good morning Miss. I thought I heard that you needed clothes.

- Uh… yes, indeed, answers shyly Amelia.

- Rosie put me in the secret, resumes Jenny smiling. And I put aside several outfits to try, if you want, I can show you.

Amelia turns to me furtively and I encourage her with a smile.

- I really like your dress, by the way, style 70s that are all the rage right now. I think I just aimed in my choices. So, first of all, you have these two summer dresses.

Jenny presents to Amelia a long dress that looks like the one she had in Campeche and a shorter dress, light blue with straps.

- I also have jeans if you want, pants or capri pants and a whole series of T-shirts and light sweaters for this time of year. What do you say about it?

- It’s… very pretty…says Amelia staring at the outfits successively held by Jenny.

- Maybe it’s best to try them, right? You have a small space behind the curtain to change.

Amelia looks at me again, hesitant.

- Go, try it. Take your time.

I smiled at her and she finally walked away with Jenny to take a close look at the outfits and visibly choose the ones she would try.

Rosie is repositioning herself beside me by watching her.

- She is really beautiful…

- What? - Stop Owen, I see that you stare at her blankly. You are as transparent as your father was with your mother. I’m happy for you by the way…

- Rosie, it’s just a friend, do not start to imagine things that don’t exist.

I then notice Amelia’s gaze heading in my direction a few moments before she goes back to Jenny and disappears behind the fitting room.

- Things I imagine, huh?

Rosie asks with a crooked smile on her lips.

I don’t reply to her innuendo, it could last hours with Rosie if I fed her doubts.

- Thank you for preparing the house before we arrived… it was perfect.

- It’s okay. I see in any case that Amelia seems to be better than yesterday, less closed, more relaxed. - Yes, it takes time, but she takes over little by little. - All the better. There is nothing harder to bear than to see such a beautiful young woman sad and withdrawn.

The sound of a curtain we discover is heard and Amelia appears to us again dressed in the long dress that Jenny had shown her previously.

A long pink dress that brings out the blue of her eyes.

- So, what’s your opinion?

She asks us shyly looking at us.

- My opinion doesn’t count, I think. The opinion of a man is always the most important, replies Rosie.

I cross her eyes and I discover a touch of mischief that does not surprise me in the least.

I redirect my attention to Amelia while swallowing and preparing my answer.

- It suits you…

- Just that? You’re not going to convince her with that, Owen! Rosie launches by my side smiling.

She wanted to lead me hard and she took pleasure in the situation.

I keep my eyes fixed on Amelia who looks down, a little disconcerted visibly by my answer. I had to express my opinion clearly… not really the fields that I master best, or that I do it most easily, but I would have to force myself for the days to come.

- No, I mean… she fits you perfectly… you are… you are gorgeous…

Her eyes suddenly appear to me as her head is raised.

And one more detail captivates my attention: a smile emerges on her lips, spontaneous and candid smile, the first in a long time and I react in the same way in return.

- Well, I think this outfit is approved… more than approved, by the way, Rosie concludes.

I quickly drop my eyes while feeling the warmth on my cheeks when I see the insistent look of Rosie on me.

I hear the curtain close and Jenny slips a new outfit to Amelia.

- You must be sincere with her as you just did… did you see her smile? At this moment, she forgot the drama she has just lived and all thanks to you, do not forget that…

I nod as she picks her basket of hands.

-Well, I’m not very useful here anymore. I’m going to finish shopping and I’ll bring them home. With the clothes, you will not really have a place to bring back everything.

- Thank you, Rosie, actually, it’s going to be complicated with the motorbike. - No problem. Are they any particular things that I have to buy maybe?

I dig in my jean pocket and give her some shopping that I took care to scribble on a paper.

- If you can buy me what is on this list…

Rosie browses the words of the eyes while smiling lightly after finishing.

- Ok, I should be able to find all that. See you later. - Thanks, again.

She disappears after one last smile and I find myself alone waiting patiently for the end of the fitting session. Amelia will try five additional outfits, some for which I will not see her out and others for which she will ask me again my opinion.

An opinion that was summed up systematically to approval on my part, because everything suited her… everything suits well to her.

.

After about an hour, she reappears in the white lace dress she had donned for the day. Jenny then hands her two packets of hands and I go forward immediately to seize it. I notice, however, that Amelia is concentrated on a pile of clothes that I don’t distinguish precisely on the side. - Is it you who pay, sir? - Yes, it’s me. - Owen… Amelia whispers protesting. - No discussion… Jenny smiles slightly in front of our exchange as I present my credit card. Amelia is repositioning herself by my side and waiting patiently for me to finish before giving something to Jenny… a dark blue shirt. - Do you want to add that? Because we just paid for your purchases Miss? - No, that’s apart… it’s XL, it'll have to suit you, or you want to try it? She asks me looking at me. - Amelia… it makes me happy, don’t feel obliged to… - You lost a lot of things too… and I’m sure you don’t have your famous shirt of that color anymore. You told me you only had one. - Yes, but… - So I offer it to you, it was the one I preferred and it is almost identical… so XL it will be fine? - Yes, it should be fine… She gives her credit card in turn to Jenny then slips the shirt into one of the packages. - Thank you very much, have a good day! Jenny launches us as we walk out of her outdoor shop. I’m watching Amelia as we walk down the aisles of the small market, still surprised by her attention. - You want to see something else? I finish by asking after a few steps. - No, I think we went around. I notice a telephone booth, installed in a corner of the place. - I will make a phone call. The motorbike is a few steps away, I let you join it, okay? And most importantly, stay next I don’t lose your eyes. - Fine. Give me a package, you will be less loaded. I’m actually handing her a package and staring at her as she walks away a few meters to stand near the motorbike while I enter in the telephone booth. I compose a number that I know by heart, before hearing a familiar voice while keeping my attention on Amelia. - Jackson? - Hi Owen… it feels good to hear from you. - Yes, you too, your line is always safe? - Don’t worry, I have the same devices as our old headquarters on my line so nobody can listen to us or filter the calls. Good, tell me, everything is fine? - Yes. We arrived safely yesterday… and Amelia takes over little by little… - She is going to need some time, April is very worried, you know. - Reassure her, I watch over her… - I will tell her, she is not at best either. I go to see her regularly… This detail surprises me, but I didn’t question him more. - I’m going to have to leave you, I don’t want to talk too long and Amelia is alone waiting for me. Tells April and Nathan that everything is fine. I will give news if I can quickly. - Fine, see you soon! - See you, Jackson. I hang up and notice that Amelia is turned away from me, head down to the package she put on the motorbike, visibly reconsidering her purchases. I leave the booth and walk again in front of Henry’s stall with this bouquet that automatically captures my attention. I can not help but think of the smile that I was able to trigger a few minutes earlier… and I had before me an opportunity to spark another. I concretize my idea in a few seconds while taking care to hide it behind my back. When I get closer to Amelia, my steps inform her of my presence and she immediately turns around. - Everything is fine? Can we go? - I don’t know… are you sure you have not forgotten anything? She touches her jacket to feel her wallet in her pocket and looks up at me, with a touch of misunderstanding on her face. - No, I have everything… - Yet, I think you forgot… this… I finally announced, revealing the bouquet that I hid behind me. The bouquet she had scrutinized on our arrival at the market. I look at her with attention and her reaction makes me happy: her eyes light up and a beautiful smile emerges on her lips. A smile that revives all the features of her face and gives her an almost dazzling aura. - How… well when… she stammers while finding my gaze. - It seemed to please you… I saw how you look at it just now. She stays silent for a few seconds, alternating her eyes between the flowers and my face. - Yet, I made comments on another bouquet. - Did you prefer the other? - No… no… I prefer that one. I’m just surprised you noticed. - I am attentive when you are concerned. You should know now. She seizes the bouquet and breathes the perfume of flowers for a long time. She then looks up and stares at me with that same smile. - Thank you so much… - You’re welcome… it makes me happy to see you smile… I answer her by briefly sliding two fingers against her cheek. And hope wins me at this moment. As a wish, I wanted to make and see it fulfilled very quickly. Because I was hoping that this smile was the beginning of a long series… and that soon it would be nothing more than shouts of laughter that would resonate… annihilating the crying and anxiety that still haunted her.

                                      –––––––––––––––––––––––

Thank you for reading. 💛

Tell me which days you want me to post a chapter, please!💛

[turniptitaness]

Okay, folks, buckle up ‘cause here comes Thea’s Memoir.

First off, I’d like to dedicate this book to my amazing boyfriend, Caleb, who not only loves and supports me, but also accepts and even encourages my obsession with the intelligent doofus we all know and love. Thanks for keeping me on my feet today, dude. I love you.

Second, I’d just like to say that if this is at all incoherent or fangirly, or tearstained... Well, what exactly were you expecting? I met freakin’ Tom Hiddleston today. I could have waited until tomorrow, or next week, or twenty years from now, however long it might take to recover my equilibrium, but I’m too excited about sharing it all with you.

Okay, on with the saga...

I’ll skip right over the bit where we were waiting to get into the staging area, because that was chaos and panic and ohmygodwhatiftheyalreadycalledourcategorybutwejustdidn’thearthem and me wanting to trample people and get up where I could actually see what was going on but then thinking “for shame, Thea, what would Thomas do in this situation?” And then thinking holy shit I think I just started my period help what do I do I’m not prepared oh no thank god false alarm it’s just my stomach being unable to cope with stress and excitement moving on now.

But once we got through the security stuff (with only a minor hiccup leading to me being scanned with one of those epic-looking taser-wand thingamajigs which was pretty cool, not gonna lie) and into the staging area, everything was fine and I could settle down to panicking about saying something dumb. This is where having Caleb along really came in handy. Not only was he holding my stuff because I was in no state to be trusted with anything, having already lost my favorite lipstick somewhere in the madness, but he was also providing moral support by saying, “I wouldn’t worry about it. You’ll probably just shriek ‘O for a muse of fire’ and swoon in his arms,” and things of that nature.

This made me giggle, responding that I was more likely to say “I’ve FOUND my muse of fire” before the inevitable swoon. But then of course I realized that I shouldn’t even be joking because what if that got stuck in my head and actually came out of my mouth? Devastation and chaos in the mental sphere.

All of this was swept from my mind when TOM HIDDLESTON POKED HIS HEAD OUT OF HIS CURTAINED-OFF PARTITION AND WAVED AT THE CROWD AND HOLY MOSES HE’S NOT AN IMAGE ON A SCREEN HE’S A REAL PERSON AND HE’S RIGHT THERE AND HE’S LOOKING LIKE HENRY THE FIFTH WITH THAT LONG HAIR AND THAT BEARD AND OH MY GOD HELP I CAN’T BREATHE CALEB YOU’RE A MEDICAL STUDENT DOOOOOO SOOOOOOMETHIIIIIIIIIIIIIINNNNNNNGGGGG

So anyways. Then there was more standing in line, while the Hiddles lines are moving at a snail’s pace compared to the other celeb lines and staff people are looking confused and other staff people are shrugging and saying “He’s taking his time with people,” and I’m mentally (and possibly physically I’m not entirely sure) fist-pumping because heck yeah that’s my enthusiastically chatty doofus. But eventually we got to a point where I could ACTUALLY SEE LITTLE BITS OF FLOOF THROUGH CRACKS IN THE CURTAIN and then I was close enough to ACTUALLY SEE HIM THROUGH THE ENTRYWAY and then I was ACTUALLY IN THE ROOM WITH HIM HOLY MOTHER LOOK AT HIM RIGHT THERE.

Okay. Time for a break in the narrative for notes. As many people before me have noticed, he’s much skinnier in real life than he looks onscreen. The first impression is almost one of slightness, in spite of his leggy height. The second thing you notice is that HOLY MOTHER HE IS WAY MORE HANDSOME THAN I WAS PREPARED FOR. Screens can’t do it justice, folks. They just can’t. He. Is. Beautiful. The third thing you notice is that he’s nice. He’s really nice. Like it comes off of him in waves even when you can’t hear what he’s saying to anybody. I’m sure it can be technically explained by how he orients his body language toward people and focuses on them and stuff like that, but it’s easier to just say the vibes are strong with this one. Oh god, I’m making star wars references, I’m such a mess. Then you notice that he’s wearing your favorite shirt, the soft, blue, rumply-looking one that’s rolled up at the sleeves and unbuttoned at the collar so a couple of the twelve chest-buddies can peek coyly out. Then you notice things like how he’s being so patient with people who want a particular pose, like asking them specifically how he needs to stand, what the mood is, all this kind of trained-actor nonsense that somehow doesn’t seem like nonsense when you’re watching him and it just seems like he’s being genuinely sweet and trying to make sure that everybody has the best experience possible because my goodness look at all these people who are here to see little old shatteringly ordinary him.

Then I notice that Nanny Luke is in the room, looking as bland as ever, and am massively gratified for the split second I can spare it a thought because somehow it wouldn’t be the same if he wasn’t there as well.

And then somehow I end up in the little square of tape that means I’m next. And then he shifts his eyes from the last person to mine, and I’m stepping forward and he’s holding out his hand and I’m holding out mine and then he’s taking my hand and I’m somehow able to take note of the fact that his hands are really strong, but his grip is still gentle and holy cow as I type this I can still feel his hand on mine and it’s making even the simplest tasks difficult, because how are you supposed to type, or make tea, or do ANYTHING AT ALL WHEN TOM HIDDLESTON IS STILL HOLDING YOUR HAND FOUR HOURS AFTER YOU LEFT HIM???

And then somehow, even though he’s holding my hand and looking into my eyes with his eyes which are indescribably sweet and very, very blue, I find myself saying “Well, I was expecting Tom Hiddleston, but Henry V is fine, too.” And he’s looking slightly confused during the first clause, but then you see two quick brain-clicks, and then his eyes are crinkling up, and his head goes back and he does that deep “HHHHAhaha” laugh that’s completely delightful and I’m drowning and holy everything he’s STILL HOLDING MY HAND.

And then he’s letting go of my hand so he can slide it around my waist and I’m sliding my hand around his waist and ooooooh the shirt IS super soft, but what’s underneath it sure isn’t good golly miss molly I’m barely touching him and I can feel the muscle definition blessings on Marvel for creating this being. And then I stop thinking about that, because he’s twisting his shoulders around toward me and leaning his face in close LIKE REALLY CLOSE LIKE WITHIN SIX INCHES OH MY LORD and saying “I’m still Tom,” in that ridiculously smooth voice and perfect accent and his face is all still crinkled up with smiles and he’s giving me a warm, conspiratorial glance like “Only you and I are in on this, but we both get what we’re saying, don’t we, and isn’t this fun?” And let me tell you, this moment is pasted so strongly into my memory that I could probably count his eyelashes for you right now if I concentrated hard enough.

And then I’m saying thank you and I’m all snuggled into his side because our arms are around each others’ waists and how else could we possibly be standing??? And apparently I’m looking at the photographer but I can’t even remember what she looked like so I’m not sure how that happened. And then we’re letting each other go, and I’m saying thank you again and nothing is really clear from that point on but somehow I see Caleb grinning like a loon and sort of make my way toward him and then it’s a blur for a bit but we’re following arrows on the floor and then I’m holding the photo in my hands and OH my GOD he’s SO CUTE!!!!!!!!!! And then it’s all “he’s so hot, he’s so nice, he’s so cute, he’s so sweet” on a loop until I find myself at home, and I’m hugging Caleb as he delivers me to my mom and then I’m hugging her and saying “he’s so hot, he’s so nice, he’s so cute, he’s so sweet” on a loop again to her while we’re all squishing onto the couch together and I’m trying to come up with better ways of describing it but I can’t because it’s all true, and Caleb is making dry remarks and helping me to form a timeline for my mom in something like the way I’m trying to do it for you all right now, except that he’s doing most of the work and I’m just saying “he’s so hot, he’s so nice, he’s so cute, he’s so sweet” over and over again, even though I can hear how stupid I sound and I’m trying my best but I just can’t. So Caleb is giving his impressions of the guy, and asking me for confirmation, and I’m thinking... “I knew there was a reason I’m dating you. You see the same things in Tom that I do.” Minus the hot part, because Caleb is about as straight as they come and doesn’t understand all that sort of thing.

And eventually I stop shaking and metaphorically peeing on everything and become more coherent and Caleb has to leave for work and I go to redeem my digital download and here I am.

And here this is.

I don’t like posting images of myself online, for personal reasons, so I hope you understand that. I’m the little black bit on the edge under his pec. Look how cute he is.

And that’s the end of the first edition of this memoir. I’m sure that like any self-respecting memoir, there will be tons of new editions with added material that I forgot to squish into previous ones.

Maybe y’all can help me think of details I haven’t included, @i-wanna-be-toms-body-pillow, @lokiwholockfactory, @vicariousvictoria, and anyone else who might be interested?

[photo-art-w21]

Interpreting Images: Visual “Meaning” or “Symbolism”.

Hi Class,

How can an image have meaning? Let’s consider some ways. To begin the weekend and most likely continuing to think about your photos for Monday, here are some words of motivation to hopefully inspire your explorations.    

Creating meaning and symbolism is something that we seem to learn to do in various ways over time, and this gives us a good reason to practice the forming of symbolism, or at least considering the possibilities of symbolism in what we see, if we choose to do so. (Or not. We don’t have to.)

(2018)

In class we talked about the potential meaning of photos and how to possibly interpret images. I say “possible” because I recognize that there are multiple ways to interpret images as opposed to just one way. I asked you for this next week to start thinking about the idea of objects and meaning. For your assignment, try to make 10 photos that have a symbolism or meaning to you. These photos can be of objects or scenes, or even people. Mainly just think about this as a concept and see how it affects your photos, but overall I’m more interested in you having fun or being inspired while shooting your photos. So, do what you need to do to keep your head in that spirit of things. Don’t get too bogged down with this concept if you have no interest in it.  We’ll take a look on Monday.

Now let me speak some more about this concept and hopefully it will serve to motivate you to experiment with the idea. I’m about to get a little heady so bear with me...    

Maybe you remember the image below that I showed in class that I had made in 2007. The title in this photo does a lot to reveal some kind of potential meaning behind these things rather than just being empty objects, even though they could be. It really depends on how we choose to see them. The title implies a context that helps our imagination to think about the history of these objects more. We might start to relate to the image not by relating to the object but by relating to what they mean to someone else, the person who might have owned the objects. Simply understanding that they are significant objects to someone else might be enough.

(Dad's Work Boots on Swedish Horses and Joni. St. Paul, MN 2007)

While out photographing once in 2007, working on a photo project about some apartment buildings in Minneapolis, I met a woman named Linda who said that I could photograph her apartment. Without knowing anything specific, I noticed this stack of objects that just seemed like it had some kind of significance. I asked Linda if I could photograph the objects. She answered, you must be an artist. I think I smiled and didn’t know how to answer. She said, “I respect that.” She then told me about the objects but just to the point of describing them by name only, not going very much into the back story of each object. Her description was brief, mainly just as the title ended up:, “Those are my Dad's work boots, I grew up on a farm in Wisconsin and that’s barn paint on his boots. I’m Swedish and involved in the Swedish heritage center. These are Swedish horses I used for something, and oh,.. Joni. with a sigh.” (a Joni Mitchell record cover). Even though she didn’t go into great detail, the way that she said what the objects were communicated that they were significant objects to her. Without knowing the back story, this is an example of an image where the meaning is mostly unknown to the viewer in terms of specific stories known only to Linda. However it’s still somewhat universal to understand that these object could be meaningful in general to someone. Thinking about the image and knowing that they are hers, I notice that my mind starts to imagine Linda in earlier points of her life, living within the significant moments of these objects. 

Sometimes we may not need a full story about a photo to form a sense of meaning. A few words or a title can often serve to lead us in a direction of thinking though.

(I wish that summer would last a little longer) September 2019

It seems that imagination is a key component involved in what we’re discussing. As we start to think more about the meaning of images and creating meaning ourselves, it seems like an interesting approach to explore would be to think about it in a less intimidating way by thinking in terms of “symbolism” rather than “meaning”. The two concepts are related but I believe “symbolism” is a little less lofty of a word or concept, at least to serve as a starting point. It seems to me that “symbolism” and “metaphor” are things that exist because of our willingness to allow for our imagination to be active, because “symbolism” or “meaning” usually involves the evocation of something that is not directly present in what we are seeing with our eyes. 

Symbolism is more related to what we see in our mind, that has been triggered or associated by initially seeing a referential object with our eyes. 

(October 2017)

In the photo above, you see the imprint of the leaf on the concrete but does it make you think about the actual leaf, a tree, or even just the changing of a season, the movement of time, the cycle of life?

Because our mind can follow tangents down infinite roads of thought, what we see with our eyes and what that reminds us of or represents doesn’t have to be obviously known by others, but the more we practice the skill of interpreting images with others the more common our understandings become and start to align or become more universal. We can come to a more common visual literacy together over time with practice and exposure to this idea together in conversation. 

(Andreas Gursky, Bahrain I, 2005)

It can be pretty confusing to try and dissect how meaning or symbolism through images actually works, and less fun to over-analyze it, but it’s interesting to at least consider the mechanics of what is possibly at work for at least a moment. Imagination is something that is probably working all of the time, allowing us to envision what we might do next in the day without having to actually be doing it, which basically lets us set tasks, plan, and make schedules for ourselves. So in this way it seems that imagination could be tied to our logic systems in general and we have the ability to use imagination for different purposes. We can use imagination in very practical and functional ways and it seems that we might also use our imagination to activate or acknowledge our emotions or have empathy for others.  

(Henri Cartier-Bresson, Rue Mouffetard, Paris, 1954)

If we are thinking of imagination in terms of being something active and also passive, meaning that we can both choose to be open to it, running along with it, letting it guide our thinking, and yet also have imagination constantly working involuntarily like when we unconsciously breath air, it seems to leave a lot of room for interpreting how symbolism or meaning is actually operating in our lives. 

(Image by Lucas Zimmerman)

It seems that either way, “meaning” and “symbolism” are based on the building of knowledge and personal reference, built up through the experience of living our lives. We agree by a certain age that a green traffic light symbolizes that it is safe to go, and a red light symbolizes that we are supposed to stop. We learned that symbolism. Who first created this symbolism? This is one way that we create meaning even though it is not a particularly deeply sentimental form of meaning. What do you think about these theories?

I’ve just described symbolism in a very technical way in terms of how it might work as a process. To talk about it more simply, “symbolism” or “meaning” is something that you think of personally, naturally, and surely already do by your own nature. You just might not directly think about it or acknowledge it in those terms. 

An example of sentimental or personal meaning in an image that I can share is with this photo I have of my Mom that is probably the most meaningful photo I own. It has always been this way and I never had to decide that it was going to be meaningful. It just immediately was this way. But even so, I kind of did make a decision that it would be meaningful to me at some point when I saw it and I think it has become more meaningful to me over time.

In the photo she is probably 10 or 11 years of age. It’s a black and white photo. She’s is being photographed in a very soft light against a dark background and is staring right into the camera, as if she was asked to do so. I imagine that my grandfather, her father, took the photo. Who else would she look at with such trust and openness at that age? I believe my grandmother is slightly in the photo just out of frame to the left. The photo has a finger print that appears on the top left corner of the photo and I imagine this to be either of my grandparent’s accidental fingerprint, now permanently part of the image. The back of the photo says May 3rd, 1959, written in a handwriting that is probably my Grandmother’s.

This is a very special photo to me for a number of reasons that relate to being sentimental but I think there’s also a universal meaning or understanding of why it might be meaningful to me. I think you all could relate to it being meaningful to me even if you don’t know specifically why. It’s in this way that I think empathy is related to meaning. The viewer doesn’t need to know the entire specific story or all of the facts of an image to allow the image to be meaningful. In this way, it could be that an image is an open door to meaning waiting to be walked through if it draws the viewer in to do so. 

Think about your approaches to meaning in as open of a way as you want to. What is meaning when related to an image? 

(Minor White, Beginnings: Frosted Window, Rochester NY, 1962)

Less sentimental interpretations of meaning exist and its totally acceptable to approach it more visually open and undefined. For example, in class I used Elizabeth’s photo of the wet street and puddle as an example to explore my imagination through what I thought might be a common reading of the image. I thought that even though it was a wet road, it reminded me of a outer space and stars, and it seemed like others had a similar reaction. It then made me think of pushing that idea forward by finding a photo of the moon to be paired with it, making the symbolism of space more obvious even though it was probably not intended when Elizabeth made the photo. (photo below by: Elizabeth Blue, your classmate.)

This approach is an example of applying symbolism to images that are possibly less sentimental than the previous example of my Mom’s photo, or the photo of Linda’s items shown earlier. You could almost say that it is more of a visual association rather than meaning but it certainly could be meaningful to someone under the right view.

Finally, after all of this, just think about how the images that you make might be meaningful or symbolic to you, even if only after you’ve taken them, and be as open with the interpretation as you want to be. There are no real rules or expectations other than to think about it. Be as loose with the terms as you wish. Again, try not to get too bogged down by thinking you have to be very serious or dramatic with this. Alternatively, you can be simple and humorous if that’s how you see it. Remember the cat food cans on the watermelon photo that I showed in class? That is humorous I would say. It would seem that humor alone is just as meaningful as heavier topics might be meaningful. If you think about it, anything has the potential to be significant or hold meaning if you choose to acknowledge it in that way, either before or after the present moment. (Gabriel Orozco, Cats and Watermelons, 1992)

Finally, it is perfectly fine to take a photo without knowing if it means anything or not. Don’t let this conversation about meaning intimidate you out of the natural impulse to just shoot a photo when it feels right. It's ok if you don’t have a meaning for it. You might discover it later, or never at all. It's totally fine either way. Meaning is fluid.

(Alec Soth, Falls 26, 2005)

I just wanted to get your brains thinking. Overall, just make 10 photos of any kind and try to make them interesting. That is the main goal.

Have fun,

Phillip

[liviaarts]

Nicole Awai

A very multimedia artist: painting, sculpture, photography, found objects, etc. 

Lots of work with Caribbean and American Landscapes and appearances. 

In Trinidad there's the contrast from the ‘norm’ of people of color as the majority/in control… not a tourist economy… multiple perspectives on something. 

Use of Ooze: 

Ooze starts to appear around 2000/2001 she feels it came into solid being right after leaving the studio/museum. She felt that the black color of the ooze has particular significance. Something about black ornaments? People becoming aware of things… Antebellum flip doll, plantation mistress vs (slave?). Embodiment of local ephemera, tropes take on a physical form. Double sided figure as an abstraction. Local ephemera… the world of in-between. Social concepts manifest in the world as amalgamations (amalgams). Projections of ideas, multiplicity, different perspectives. Black ooze symbolized/encapsulated many ideas… natural world oozing materiality… we are part of the earth beneath our feet (molecular) oil, natural gas compression of years, everything interconnected. Reminiscent of pollution. 2017: things came together… ooze came to represent the vistas… second meaning.. view of a historical or anticipated sight specifically… implication of time… time as elastic not linear. Connotations of space and materiality… idea of time within space. 

Oozing red white and blue… was placed in such a manner that is nicely contrasted with some classical Europe looking piece, nice tension of colonialism. Each color owns different colors in different ways… red white and blue are the colors of a ton of flags… “tension springs”. I have always associated the phrase “red white and blue” with the US, but I know realize that that’s kind if strange. I have known for a long time that many other countries also use these colors, but continue to associate them with the US. I guess it’s because I’ve grown up here, and especially during the forth of july theres a push of using those colors? 

Made ceramic figures in both black and white… made with the same ceramics as sinks/toilet bowls. 

Use of Nail-polish: 

At first nail polish as a map legend in drawings… naming of colors… shift in life 90’s ish color names started reflecting cultural stuff… colors like drama queen, I’m not a tourist, I vant to be a lone star(?), My empire my rules, one piece a straight up homage to prince with the nail polish colors sultry and risk taker. Briefly mentioned racial connotations of dark polishes. Nail polish names revolving around negative/sexual connotations for dark polishes. Finally found a dark polish with the positive name invincible. 

I’m not really into nail polish myself, so I never knew that colors had such crazy names! I decided to look up how they are named and found this mildly interesting article. https://www.elitedaily.com/p/suzi-weiss-fischmann-names-opi-nail-polishes-for-a-living-youll-wish-you-had-her-job-8629005 

She’s multimedia, but everything comes from paintings. Wanted the idea of a painting coming from the corner. Circular symbols and double headed bird-like looking things… image of alchemist… sailors and soldiers monument. Medieval science of alchemy… thought they could turn metals into precious metals, cyphers and codes, there are her codes. Also thinking about creation myths, at every stage of history gain creation myths, explain what people know at that point in time. Similarities among creation myths globally. I found myself drawn to this piece, especially some of the close up photos she had in her presentation. Unfortunately the only photo I could find when I went to look for it was taken further out. 

NYT got in contact, wanted to commission for an op art (not op ed) first anniversary of the unite the right rally in Virginia, protestor killed. Envision a monument “new monuments for a new era” New monument where monuments taken down… Dred Scott involved… and one of her grad students… Kenny Robinson… 6 ppl. I liked how the final piece for this one looked a lot! 

Monument… Henry ward Beecher monument… noticed and really took a look, look at the African American woman figure compared to two little white children on the other side. Kids have very generic looks, but the black woman had such a specific look that she must have been from a model. She symbolizes abolitionism, constantly in the gesture of admiration. Wanted to make a work about her, put her back into her own history. “Now you see me, fearless”. “Absecere” “Drawn away” She’s drawn out of history then back in, multiplying her. I personally was particularly drawn to the several works Awai made using the woman from the statue. She has a really interesting expression, and really holds her own even when taken away from her original context of the statue. 

Sorry telling of slavery, thinking of people who felt that death was an escape/flight. 

Damned if you do, damned if you don’t, to haiti with love. ← I really like this title, it’s clever and flows off the tongue in an interesting way. 

Language: fascinated and directed by what we think we know, language of blueprint. Once we think we know what something looks like we think we know what it is. Trying to use misdirection with keys, then she decided to maybe use them as a direction. Glue down code… names of nail polishes. 

Never thought of herself as a political artist, since 2018 realized that her works don’t need to look a certain way to get across a certain meaning. So many ways and contexts to see even if they weren’t necessarily the original intention.

Overall I thoroughly enjoyed her talk and artwork. I had many valuable chances to think about new concepts or more in depth about concepts I had only briefly interacted with. 

[superman86to99]

Superman: The Man of Steel #23 (July 1993)

REIGN OF THE SUPERMEN! In this issue: Steel vs. Superboy! I mean, "Superman” vs. “Superman”. The Man of Steel is battling some hoodlums armed with hi-tech killer weapons when the Metropolis Kid decides to butt in and "save him" in front of the cameras that follow him 24/7. (Side note: Was Superboy the first '90s reality TV star?) The Kid draws all the firepower to himself... accidentally causing the bad guys to shoot down a Daily Planet helicopter containing Lois Lane. The chopper blows up, signaling the death of a classic and beloved DC Comics character: Frank the helicopter pilot. RIP.

Lois, meanwhile, manages to jump out of the exploding chopper in time (probably out of pure muscle memory) and is rescued by Steel in a rather familiar-looking scene.

Lois tries to turn the tragic situation into an exclusive interview with Steel, but Steel has something more important to do: chewing Superboy's butt for scaring off those criminals he was trying to interrogate (and, you know, causing a man's death). The Kid is like "I'm da real Superman, yo!" and bails... but as he flies away, he actually starts questioning his half-assed approach to superheroics. I'm sure Frank's wife and 12 children would find great comfort in that.

Meanwhile, Steel is approached by Lex Luthor Jr., who wants to offer him a job as one of his armored security guards (because having one S-shielded superhero in his pocket isn't enough for him). To butter Steel up, Lex offers him the location of the White Rabbit -- aka, the lady distributing all those highly advanced weapons to street gangs. Steel thanks Lex for the tip and immediately ditches him, making it clear that his services aren’t for sale.

Steel drops by the White Rabbit’s penthouse, and she turns out to be an old flame from his time as a weapons designer for the military. Things almost get steamy for a second in there, until Steel remembers that this lady has made him indirectly responsible for countless deaths (all those weapons are his design). Once she takes the hint that Steel won’t work for her (either), White Rabbit just shoots him point blank with one of those big-ass guns, launching him off the building and into a convenient tanker parked outside.

Superboy (who was following Steel to apologize for being a dick) flies in just in time to pull Steel’s body from the resulting tanker explosion:

By the time Superboy and Steel return to White Rabbit’s penthouse, the place is already empty. The two Supermen then bond over that whole “we’ve both caused innocent people to die today” thing and part amicably. Awww!

Plotline-Watch:

Ponytailed scumbag Jeb Friedman, having given Lois Lane WEEKS to recover from her fiance’s supposed death, urges her to “forget Clark” and go to Cairo with him. Don Sparrow says: “I hesitate to even mention that the hated Jeb Friedman appears here, and even Jimmy doesn’t want Lois rebounding with him. Serious question, though: are we supposed to hate Jeb? Or is it just happenstance?” If we weren’t supposed to hate Jeb, would they have given him a ponytail, Don?

After meeting Steel, Lois reflects on the fact that the other Supermen may look like Clark, but Steel is the only one who acts like him. Obviously she doesn’t think Clark’s already been reincarnated as an adult black man, but she does seriously wonder if ghostly possession is a real thing.

I love how efficiently Steel’s backstory is presented in this issue. As he and White Rabbit are about to lock lips, we see a handful of black-and-white panels showing the two working together for the military, hooking up, finding out his weapons were being used against innocents in Qurac, and then a flashback-within-the-flashback of Steel’s grandparents having just become victims of gang violence. It’s only half a page but it tells you everything you need to know about this dude and his motivation.

Superboy burns his hands while rescuing Steel, even though a clone of Superman should be equally invulnerable. Hmm. Hmmmm. Hmmmmmm.

The issue ends with Supergirl telling Lex she’s going off to look for Superboy, which leads to the next issue of Adventures.

And this leads to the end of my section! For more commentary, Easter eggs, and gratuitous images of White Rabbit, check out Don Sparrow’s section after the jump:

Art-Watch (by @donsparrow​):

Maybe it’s just me, but I feel like none of the other four Superman titles seems as swayed by the importance of the storyline as SMOS.  What do I mean? I mean that when it’s a big storyline, like Panic in the Sky, or Doomsday, the art on the title really seems to rise to the occasion, and there’s some standout stuff being produced.  But in the meantime, when a story doesn’t feel as important, the quality seems to dip a little. To me, this is one of those issues.  We begin with the cover, and it’s not one of Bogdanove’s best.  Sure, his artwork could be called cartoony at the best of times, but this one really took on a loose, loony tunes sketchiness, particularly in Superboy’s “ain’t I a stinker?” expression and giant wall of teeth. He looks less like a 16 year old than he resembles Rex Leech, a character we’ll come to know better in time.

Inside, the story gets off to a slow start, as we’re abruptly thrown into a video of wannabe gangsters, moving in on where they think they’ll find John Henry Irons.  The double page splash revealing his location is an exciting one, and Dennis Janke does some interesting things with his hatching to indicate the shine of the metal, leaving certain areas unhatched to show a glimmer. 

Bog’s depictions of The White Rabbit continue to push the envelope for how much skin a comic code approved book can show, both on page 7, and then later in the book. [Max: This next sequence of panels burned itself into my young mind. Because of the cool panel layout, I mean.]

[December 2018 edit: White Rabbit’s body has been covered with Mike Carlin’s face so that Tumblr doesn’t delete this post. Sorry.]

Page 8 brings us a long sought after in-comics cameo.  If you’ll recall, back on one of my first reviews on this site, I interviewed the great Tom Grummett and asked him if there were any Easter Eggs that we should look out for while we were reading.  He answered that "My personal favorite moment was when Jon Bogdanove drew me in a scene with Jimmy Olsen in one issue of Man of Steel. I’m the one with the moose on his shirt. Happy hunting.”  Well, we need hunt no more, as a certain fellow pops up, arguing with Jimmy Olsen, and what’s that on his shirt?  A moose?! Found you! [Max: Are we the first on the internet to point out this cameo? I don’t have time to look it up, so let’s go with “Yes”.]

I also love the little gag in the lettering, where the first part of “Saskatchewan” (Tom’s home province) is shown as “Saskatch” and then below that Bog has written “W-1”, phonetically completing the phrase.   It’s also a very Neal Adams-y couple of panels when Jimmy and Tom start to get heated debating who the real Superman is.  [Max: I wonder if the Neal Adams-esque panels above are homaging a specific Adams comic, or just his “intense argument” poses in general...]  Then a page later, there’s an unmistakable rendering of another Super-Teamster, none other than group editor Mike Carlin, scanning the police radio for scoops.

As the story progresses, there’s a great shot of the Metropolis Kid (who they refer to as Superboy on this page, without a rebuttal from the Kid) showboating and holding one hand behind his back.  But, on the page that follows, a pretty heavy end for Daily Planet chopper pilot “Frank”, made all the more sickening by the lack of concern from the Kid leading up to this point. 

Some great visual callback on page 12, as the mob scene when the Man of Steel rescues Lois Lane recalls the meet-cute at the shuttle disaster wayyyy back in MOS #1.

The scene were John Henry confronts the Kid about his carelessness is well-done, even if it gives way to another mention of the preposterous ‘spirit-walk-in’ idea, which even these characters seem to find tenuous.  

The flashback with White Rabbit does a good job of filling in the gaps of John Henry’s history (interesting how similar Irons’ motivation is to that of Tony Stark’s, at least in the movies) but it’s an odd scene—not just because of the aforementioned vamping from White Rabbit, but also Irons’ inaction in the scene—he went there to capture her, but mostly just stands around and then lets her stroll back over to the bed, where a weapon is clearly visible from where he’s standing. [Max: Can’t imagine what else he could be looking at.]

As The Metropolis Kid rescues The Man of Steel, we get more looney tunes-style comedy, when the Kid comedically blows on his burning hands, trying to cool them. They seem to be working hard to establish how different his powers are from Kal-El’s, though they eventually go back on almost all of this stuff.

Moving on, we get a really nice look at Lois at a rainy window, once again musing on how the Man of Steel, while physically the most removed from Kal-El, seems to embody his “soul” more than the rest.

STRAY OBSERVATIONS:

Is the cameraman gangster supposed to be a riff on Spike Lee? The glasses seem pretty similar to ones Spike wore at the time.

How is it that we never noticed such a giant, futuristic tower on the Metropolis skyline before?

Jimmy Olsen wearing a Spin Doctors t-shirt is a little too meta for my head, since one of their biggest hits was “Jimmy Olsen’s Blues”.  What does the DC Universe Jimmy think when he hears a song about himself, lusting after Lois Lane?  They were also one of my favourite bands when this issue came out, so my mind was doubly blown.

What is it with Lex hanging onto VHS tapes?  Thank God he never got his hands on that one of Big Barda! [Max: Dammit, I’d JUST managed to erase that from my mind, Don.]

[maverick-werewolf]

Okay, I just found that I misremembered one of your posts; you say that werewolves ALWAYS have tails but transformed witches don't. Can you source that? I thought I've read that, at the very least, werewolves who were made by witchcraft were supposed to be tailless.

No problem!

Before I get into it, though, I will say that part of my personal stake in werewolf studies is to push for a less broad definition of the word “werewolf.” Personally, I don’t hold to many scholars’ ideas of calling every single person turning into a wolf a “werewolf,” and this applies doubly to things involving witchcraft. For example, I don’t approve at all of the now popular idea of calling Peter Stubbe a werewolf.

Personally, I think a “werewolf” needs to fit a certain, meaningful criteria, instead of any old person or thing who has the ability to turn into a wolf.

In particular if their wolf shapeshifting is based in illusionary magic, accompanied by shapeshifting into other animal forms, or their wolf form was not undertaken with any particular meaning (i.e., could’ve just as easily been any other animal with no actual wolf motifs), they aren’t really “werewolves,” in my opinion.

All that being said, as you can probably guess, I butt heads a lot with what scholars sometimes refer to as werewolves.

My sources on the “werewolves always have tails” come from a few different places…

Firstly, there’s Henry Boguet in “Of the Metamorphosis of Men intoBeasts,” from 1590 (my version was republished in A Lycanthropy Reader:Werewolves in Western Culture, edited and compiled by Charlotte F. Otten). On page 79 of this edition, Boguet marks a difference between werewolves and witches that have turned into wolves, repeating a common belief that, when witches turn into animals, they have “no tails.”

Secondly, there’s the Malleus Maleficarum, specifically question X of part I, “Whether Witches can by some Glamour Change Men into Beasts.” I’m pulling this from Monatgue Summers’ translation.

They say that, “the devil can deceive the human fancy so that a man really seems to be an animal.” This specifically refers to deception. Thus, illusion. Not a true, physical change as we get with a werewolf.

Furthermore, however, they say that “when it says that no creature can be made by the power of the devil, this is manifestly true if Made is understood to mean Created. But if the word Made is taken to refer to natural production, it is certain that devils can make some imperfect creatures.”

“Imperfect,” in this instance, generally thought to refer to “tailless,” along with a few other legends, such as a witch in animal form still bearing human eyes.

Bear in mind that the Malleus Maleficarum was written and compiled during a time period in which werewolves were considered a form of witchcraft, although not equal to it. One could become a werewolf via a curse, without directly practicing that witchcraft.

This also came from a time period when werewolves were considered negative (obviously), unlike in earlier time periods, and much more like today.

Moving on, we also have Albert the Great in his book On Animals, as cited by Montague Summers, who says that devils can indeed make animals: “they can, with God’s permission, make imperfect animals.” Again on the imperfection.

There is one scholar who disputes this very, very briefly in his writing, and that is actually one of my prime sources: Montague Summers. In his book The Werewolf, he remarks, “many–but not all– authorities hold that the werewolf has no tail.”

Something to remember about Summers, however, is that firstly, he truly believed in werewolves as a form of witchcraft. To him, werewolves are more closely connected with those aforementioned witches (that I think werewolves need to be separated from). Secondly, when he makes this sweeping statement, he provides absolutely no sources whatsoever and doesn’t really make any kind of argument to back up or to defend that idea. I’m calling his BS on that one.

Thirdly, we have an overwhelming number of other sources on werewolves being depicted with tails as opposed to without. We have imagery from various time periods (as appeared in my post on werewolf appearances that you referred to; there are a few more images here), in which they are virtually always depicted with tails or mid-transformation, thus leaving us unsure if they are going to grow a tail or not. One of the only depictions we have of a tailless werewolf is the wolf-man woodcut of the one eating the baby, which is in itself a rare sight, as werewolves weren’t generally “wolf-men” very often in folklore.

Descriptions of werewolves in folklore frequently refer to tails, or else refer to the werewolf as simply a “wolf” and thus lead us to assume they must have a tail, or such a radical difference would’ve been noticed by the narrator (Niceros’s tale, Bisclavret, Melion, the curse of Lykaon, Chinese legends, and many more).

If I dug through my mountains of books, I’m sure I could find more citations/discussions/arguments on this, but hopefully this helps for now! :) In my opinion, I think it makes sense to say that werewolves have tails, whereas witches don’t if or when they choose to turn into a wolf via illusion or otherwise.

(If you like my werewolf blog, be sure to check out my other stuff!

Patreon --- YouTube --- Wulfgard --- Werewolf Fact Masterlist --- Twitter)

[freechoicedreamer]

Body and Soul (Ch. 5)

AO3

Opening Theme

“The black-winged Oneiroi, Morpheus, Phobetor, and Phantasos are the sons of Hypnos, god of sleep, and Nyx, goddess of night. The three brothers live in the Underworld caves from where they emerge each night like bats. They pass through two gates of horn and ivory, symbolizing dreams sent from the gods and dreams that are meaningless. Each brother has a distinct ability that set them apart from one another.

Morpheus, the strongest of the three, is considered the leader of the group. He appears in the dreams of kings and is able to take on the image of humans to give messages from the gods. His name means ‘shape’.

Phobetor, the god of nightmares, also has the ability to appear in dreams; however, he shows up in the form of an animal or even a monster. He often plays on people’s greatest fears. His real name amongst the gods is Icelus, meaning ‘semblance’ or appearance. The word ‘phobia’ comes from his name and means extreme fear.

The last of the brothers, Phantasos, is the god of unreal dreams. He represents objects seen in dreams as a message from the gods, appearing as symbols such as rocks, wood, earth or even water. These symbols have deeply spirituous meanings. Phantasos also rules over good dreams, the exact opposite of his brother, Phobetor; despite this, his dreams are usually meant to confuse people. The word “fantasy” comes from his name.” [Ref]

*

Storybrooke suburb, Wish Henry's new home

Henry and Violet fantasized so much about their first night in the new house...

In another - more romantic and relaxed - context, it might have happened as Violet and he had imagined, but it happened as it had to, with the intensity that precedes the outcomes of high uncertainty - which imprinted to their first night the quality of unforgettable. All in all, he is grateful to Sir Morgan for allowing his daughter to spend the night before going to the Shelters in the new house he had just assembled and equipped. He recalls that about 3 days ago he was visited by his mother, accompanied by Luna and Missy – the three former residents of the house before it was disassembled, shrunk, shipped from Heart Island, and reassembled near the Enchanted Forest. It is now in the suburbs of Storybrooke, relatively close to Wish Snow’s Castle, where he and his mother were planning to open, hopefully soon, the United Realms Conservatory & Humanities College.

“What a change of plans…” he shrugs.

…

"You see, the layout of walls is a bit different in relation to how it used to be according to your sketches, and I have changed the fireplace, but structurally it's the same house you lived on the Island, Mom..."

“It’s perfect, Henry, you imposed your personality and style on it and the house has become a functional and extremely charming cottage. I'm really glad you're having - you're giving yourself - the opportunity of living a more 'normal' life, typical for a young adult your age. I am grateful to Regina for creating the United Realms in a format that allows the integration of kingdoms in many aspects. That has released you from rigid formalities of royalty responsibilities and duties. They have their perks but they would hamper your youth with protocols, ceremonials and conventions. As a young adult you must own your independence, taking on every opportunity and doing everything you want to do without being submitted to obligations and commitments. That doesn't mean you aren't cut out for a relationship or are undatable, on the contrary — it means that you are capable of standing on your own two feet, for loving yourself, loving what you do and with whom…. And that, quite frankly, is one of the most attractive traits anyone can possess.”

“Thanks, Mom, for encouraging me to persuade my dreams and for being you, for being alive after everything... for having come back thus restoring my true beliver essence... I- I love you so much, Mom…” he confesses almost crying.

“Oh, come here, let me hold you... I love you too, Henry, with all my heart. I have a lot of regrets in my life, but all in all, being your mother is one of the best things that could ever happen to me, together with the opportunity of being here with you again, witnessing you walking your own path with freedom, discovering love in your own pace... I mean, compared to my experience, when I was your age - three years younger, more precisely. Your father was in his mid-thirties when we got married but I was too young and too naïve... As a piece of advise, son, just be happy with Violet without pushing your boundaries too much. Do yourself a favor and let go of any specific romantic timelines you have set for yourself. Don’t stress yourself – or her - with deadlines. You are both only in the first quarter of life; wherever you are at right now, embrace the hell out of it. You will end up in the right place at the right time, some way or another. Don’t force the process — just enjoy the beauty of pairing off at a relatively young age. If your relationship lasts, you don’t just get to grow old together, you get to grow up together too, and that is beautiful. If don’t, that will be beautiful too, and you will part ways as best friends.”

“I’ll give it a lot of thought and consideration Mom. I confess that I was starting to think that I could have some kind of obligation towards Violet as the heir of one of the Realms, as a kind of King in standby, you know?”

“Forget about that. You will be studying what you love, hopefully at the soon to be UR University. I’m so glad you will be able to go after your dream of dedicating your life to Education. That will prepare you to serve your people more as an Educator – which I believe is the best way to govern. Most importantly, and as your mother I couldn’t wish you better than that, you will grow as a free man, enjoying the modernity of the Land without Magic but at the same time inserted into the fantastic reality of the world with magic... Now, changing the subject… look over there, Luna and Missy have already found their corner, or rather their new corners. Oh, they are so cute, look at them, all nested on their new pillows...”

"They can come live here after the babies are born, just say, Mom."

“It may be… thanks for the offer, Henry, but let's see how everything will evolve. Despite the uncertainties ahead, Killian and I are thinking of moving to a bigger house, so it can be up to Luna and Missy to decide, maybe alternate the seasons, a little with you, a little with me. The fact is, anyway, we'll be close, we'll be practically neighbors...”

…

"Morning, Henry," a sleepy Violet arrives in the living room coming from the bedroom. “Hmm, what a great night you and I had and ah...  what a strange dream I have just had…”

“Good dream, I hope,” Henry says hugging and kissing his girlfriend. “Want to talk about it now or should we go have breakfast first? It is still early and the gatherings will start a few hours from now, we have plenty of time.”

“We can talk during breakfast… First, I prefer to enjoy with you this quiet moment, just the two of us without worrying about what will happen this afternoon, or tomorrow, or after ...”

“Great idea, ah… everything is so new here, you and I will have to figure out the utensils and stuff in the kitchen!” he chuckles walking towards the kitchen island.

…

Violet and Henry love each other as a young man and a young woman in their early twenties love each other. In a traditional sense their relationship couldn’t be described by words referring to ‘the world shifting for two blessed soul mates’. Their love story is, in many ways, ordinary and maybe even a little boring in terms of the same old receipt: they have met, dated, fallen in love, and eventually decided ‘this is the person who I want to share a life with’ . As 20-somethings, they are just fresh new members of adult society and haven't had it all figured out — they are in a state of turbulence, change and growth, which means that even deciding what to have for breakfast can sometimes seem like a life-altering decision and that is okay, that’s the way it should be.

“Violet now is the time in your life to make decisions — right or wrong — that suit your preference: tea of coffee?” Henry can finally ask, after laughing a lot.

“I want pancakes with coffee after making love with you again, let’s go Henry” she takes his hand, laughing, and runs off pulling him toward the bedroom.

…

“I’m in love with this bed, and with this room…” Two condoms later, tossed around the corner of the floor, Violet says absently, hugging Henry, two healthy and young bodies wrapped under warm covers.

“I’m in love with you, my lilac flower…” Henry replies with a tender kiss.

“Always a romantic…” She closes her eyes but, all of a sudden, she becomes somber, remembering the vivid dream she had.

Sensing Violet’s change of mood, Henry asks gently, “want to talk about your dream now?”

“Yeah…. I’m not sure if I got it right, I saw three flying bats coming from a cave towards the Forest, and it was the Enchanted Forest of the United Realms because they flew over this cabin and continued into the woods. They turned to me and saw me too. I noticed that they had human heads. One of them smiled at me, the others just nodded and kept flying.”

“Weird… Dreams are always very mysterious.” Henry ponders. “We all dream... Even a person like me, who is not a ‘sleepy-head’, will spend about a third of his/her life asleep. It’s crazy, isn’t it?”

“What do we do in this third? Apart from these fragments, we know nothing of what we do in the spiritual world. Much of what we are there is perceived in dreams, but only in the form of these weak surface-ripples. I think that it is so fascinating, the more I think the more I’m convinced that I choose the right career: Psychology. I want to understand, Henry, I want to learn how to interpret these messages from the deep sleep. They might represent an important experience lived unconsciously. In our present situation, they can be relevant to defeat the rebel souls...”

Enchanted Countryside, Zelena's farmhouse

Puff!!

Zelena and Chad appear in the kitchen where Alice and Robyn are having breakfast.

"Mother!!" Robyn screams in alarm. "What a fright!"

"Sorry, my dear," Zelena tries to comfort her daughter. "We still need to perfect the transport between the kitchen of my house in Portland and the kitchen of this house, perhaps installing some sort of alarm announcing that we are coming... Persephone didn't think of everything ...."

“Sorry Robyn. We could have called; you know… despite the fact that the United Realms do not “exist” for the United States and is hidden by magic, telephony between the two worlds, weirdly and mysteriously, works!” Chad turns to Zelena, jokingly.

"It’s alright, I've calmed down ..." Robyn composes herself and invites her stepfather and mother to sit down to have breakfast with them. “How are things in that normal world of yours? Here they are changing pretty fast…” she asks them.

“Nothing is normal anymore, Robyn, or the unusual is the normality nowadays no matter in what world we are. Perhaps, all considered, you have your threatens more under control than we have ours, at least you can talk to gods and travel between different plans of matter keeping an awareness of what you do, what you say, what happens.”

“Not always,” Alice corrects him sipping her tea, “we sleep and dream and… forget… I was just mentioning to Robyn my last dream, of which I just remember parts.”

“Was it a significant dream?” Zelena asks with interest. “We’ve got to pay more attention these days to any kind of dream we may remember, after what Lavender told us about Morpheus and his brothers…”

“It may be,” Alice answers reticent, “because I saw two wolves and one girl running in a field and three bats flying over them, following them from the sky, but that is all. I do remember when Papa told us about werewolves being good receivers of the gods’ messages sent through dreams. I wish I could know more about the wolves and the girl but at least I do remember a lot of the other part of my dream, we could try to figure out more hidden messages based on these images...”

“Let’s do that, I’ve learned to interpret dreams with Glinda, a long time ago…” Zelena suggests.

Sighing, Alice concentrates deeply and starts.

“Right… I was comfortably sitting in the crown of a leafy tree and felt emotionally supported by it. I was contemplating a crystal before me and stayed there, staring at this crystal for a long time until I felt like the crystal led me to the point of turning away my attention from it, of abstracting my attention from it in the same way we abstract our attention from a thought, although it was still there. I didn’t see the crystal with my eyes anymore but I knew it was still there. At that moment, I felt a strong pull coming from the tree, as if it was trying to call my attention by treating me like a family member whispering: Sister, sister, remember that your roots are my roots…  And… that was my dream - its plot is relatively short but it caused such a strong impact on me that I just can’t stop thinking about it. ”

“I see…” Zelena says after a long pause when everybody thought about Alice’s dream. “Let’s divide your dream in two parts. The first one is related to the tree. We know that your mother was a Tree Nymph and that is manifested in you by your ability to control and manipulate plants. Did you know that, Chad?”

“No, you never mentioned that part to me… What is a Tree Nymph, by the way?”

“Well, in short, what I know is what Emm told us from the time she lived on Hearty Island and used to watch our life unfolding here – and you correct me, Alice, if I’m wrong. The tree-nymphs treated each other as sisters while one took the role of mother – which could eventually be passed down to other Nymphs. For instance, Alice’s mother, Gothel, was the daughter of Flora, who passed her role to Gothel when she died. They used to be largely solitary creatures, sticking to their own kind rather than interact with humans. Despite this, Gothel decided that she wanted to be a part of the human world - which didn’t went so well as she imagined, actually it was a complete disaster and resulted in the rest of the Tree Nymphs being killed, except Gothel, who started to plot her revenge against mankind and you know the rest of the story. After Gothel’s death, Alice became her natural heirs, I guess, although she chose to embrace her human side, passed by her father. Actually, Key’s genes have proved to be extremely strong since Alice didn't inherit the Tree Nymphs turquoise skin tone and green-ish hair, which Gothel used to hide with her magic ability to glamour herself.  That said, this part of your dream, Alice, seems to me very clear and simple. Technically, in general if we dream about trees we might be currently working on our self development. However, a tree in your dream, my sweet Alice, might also represent your family ties and your connection to your family members and relatives. The Tree in your dream was probably trying to awaken your dormant nature linked to the plant world, probably because you will need it soon.”

“I’ll do that, if I have to,” Alice states solemnly.

“Alice,” Robyn says good humored, trying to ease her wife’s mood, “then your name would be Mother Alice, what do you think?”

“I think I’d rather be the mother of a cute little baby, but as I said, I’ll embrace the legacy of my origin if I have to.”

“Now, let’s move to the most enigmatic part of your dream, Alice.” Zelena calls back. “You had before you a crystal, but this crystal taught you to look through it physically and also not physically. In a way after having used your eyes, you stopped using them for contemplation, although your eyes were wide open. This psychical knowledge came through the fact that you had eliminated the crystal from your vision. The same effect would be achieved eliminating anything, say… a color, which you had seen before you, so that you no longer would see it, although it would be still there before you.”

“Mom…” Robyn enters the conversation. “I think I get it! The message was implying that we may eliminate thoughts which we have had in some past moment of our life but would rise up later in the form of memories.”

“That could be, aye…” Alice nods. “We eliminate such thoughts, we throw them out of our consciousness, like a dream that does not stays in a waking consciousness.”

“Alice, my dear, I got it!” Zelena explains. “Your dream was teaching you how to discover within you the capacity to transcend the boundaries of your spatial body, so that you no longer live within these boundaries.”

“Wow!” Chad exclaims, “I’m impressed with how long you went with your line of thought, Zelena, but do you really believe this is the right way to interpret Alice’s dream?”

“I agree with Chad, I’m not sure if I followed your last conclusion, Zelena…” Alice mumbles, a bit frustrated.

“May I give you my two cents?” Chad reluctantly and tentatively asks.

“Sure, your point of view is welcome and important,” Alice encourages him, “go ahead…”

“My idea kind of goes in the same direction of Zelena’s, but in a  more simplified way. It seems that you’ve been taught how you could participate in the life of the whole world with another perspective. That is, we ordinarily perceive the world as our environment from the limited aspect of its physical phenomena. It’s something that happens quite frequently with me since I got to know Zelena and a range of new worlds that came with her. Only that in your case, it’s like the difference between being asleep and being awake, as in our ordinary perceptions we are limited to the experiences which we always have during our waking state of consciousness.”

“You’re doing great, my love!” Zelena compliments her husband proudly, “I think you’ve got the central point. Alice’s dream pointed to something which can be compared with a recollection of that state of existence in which we live when we are asleep, from the moment of falling asleep to the moment of waking up, but it is a recollection which rises up in a completely clear state of consciousness.”

“Wait a minute!! Wait a minute!!” Robyn shouts. “Perhaps this part of Alice’s dream had the only purpose of triggering me! My mind and my dreams!! You are missing one point: the crystal, what would the crystal represent? It could be Regina’s heart! Do you want to know why? I’ll tell you. Now that we are talking about dreams, I’ve just remembered my dream this last night. I dreamed of my father, I met him, I’ve been meeting him too, I do remember now. Oh my, I just can’t believe it! I need to call Roland; he was in my dream too!!” Robyn stands up to pick up her phone and goes to the living room, to talk with her brother.

…

A few minutes later, Robyn comes back ecstatic, with a smiling face.

“Roland didn’t remember, initially, but I asked him to reproduce Alice’s experience, starting with acknowledging that there was something he had seen - but wasn't seeing anymore, although it was left in his consciousness. Then he had to bring it to his waking state. He did as I told him…”

“And then…?” Alice asks, since Robin remained silent.

“He remembered! He remembered being with me and our father, Robin Locksley Hood!” She finally exclaims with misty eyes.

“And what happened in this meeting, my dear?” Zelena tries to push Robyn’ memory.

“We just stayed there, hugging and crying, the three of us. My father cried a lot, said we both grew up so much, said he's really proud of us, and now I want to cry too…” she says, sniffing.

“Oh, come here, my love,” Alice stands up and hugs her wife, kissing all over her face with affection, saying between kisses, “we're going to sort this out, look, we just need a new perspective, a new angle to approach this problem.” She takes off Robyn’s glasses, to wipe away the tears that have clouded its lenses and at the same time to kiss her wife more properly. “Your father’s souls is preserved in Regina’s heart, we're going to find a way to sort this out, together, okay?”

Robyn nodded and her sobs slowly waned, but she remained for a while cuddled with Alice while Chad and Zelena were delighted by the two young women’s display of affection. All of a sudden, they are brought back from their thoughts by Chad, who clears his throat before starting to speak.

“I know I’m not versed in magic, I know this might be a crazy idea, but I’ve seen enough crazy things happening to venture and verbalize out loud another one. Then, just think about it…. What if someone figured out a way to allow Robin Hood’s soul, somehow, to inhabit the clone of Wish Robin? Would that be possible? If all Wizards and Magic practitioners and maybe also the gods figured out a way to preserve Wish Robin’s life in the process?”

…

Many minutes later, after an absolute silence of Zelena, Robyn and Alice, again lost in thoughts, this time to process Chad’s idea, Zelena finally opens her eyes with a large smile: “Chad, my precious hubby Chad, love of my life, Chad, you came up with the most brilliant idea of the day…!!”

“Ah…, thanks, I guess?” he smiles timidly.

“I totally agree,” Alice completes excited. “We are living souls experiencing life in physical bodies. Robin Hood is still a living soul preserved in Regina’s heart. He is not a rebel soul condemned to hell, he is a Light being. He was saved by the magic of Love when he was hit by Zeus’ Crystal. That crystal had the power to disintegrate his soul but it didn’t. Then… All of us can live consciously outside our bodies – that is what happens in our dreams, and that means that Robin’s soul is not only in Regina’s heart -  Robyn and Roland’s dreams are proof of that. That means that, when Regina sleeps, and she says she meets him in her dreams, he also projects his soul to the dream world the same way she does!”

“Exactly…” Zelena keeps Alice’s line of thought, “We will have a long way to go with this information, we can, to begin with, find out what our soul passes through when our body is in a state of repose, when it has no perceptions and no manifestations of the will, as if the soul were no longer contained within it. If we learn the experiences of the soul outside the body, from the moment of falling asleep to the moment of waking up, we may learn how to put in practice part of Chad’s suggestion. The other part, related to the cloning issue, will be another challenge.”

“Mom, that would be a dream come true,” Robyn says, still crying. “I know we need to prepare for the gatherings this afternoon, I know we have to face thousands of evil enemies, I know the perils of even thinking about touching the cloned bodies, but I swear I will study this possibility from any possible angle. In the Shelter Alice and I are going to be, there will be hundreds of books about magic and stuff, I’ll dive on them…”

“Where are you going to stay?” Chad asks.

“Gideon’s castle,” Alice answers. “It used to be Rumple’s castle and it has the most important archive of ancient books about Magic. I’ll be there with you, Robyn; we will study this subject in depth.”

“What about you, Chad? Are you going back to Portland?”

“No Robyn, no way. I brought my computer case and the internet works perfectly fine here, the signal is great. By the way, all electromagnetic waves generated there are captured perfectly right here, I've tested a lot of media and they all worked. So I'll stay where my wife is, helping out as much as possible. I can work from home; I don't need to be physically in the office in Portland. Eventually, if need be, I’ll come here to the farm house using your car since you will be on your Shelter, and then will go to Portland through the portal, remember Persephone gave me a transport amulet too. But I intend to stay here. Imagine the constant panic state I would be in by the other side, not knowing what might be happening here with all of you? I already feel a part of this world, you know? Considering how many times Zelena and I stay here, it won’t be a surprise if my body has also been cloned."

“You should stay here with me, always,” Zelena tells him seriously and protectively.

"You are welcome and very dear," Robyn hugs him, thrilled. "I love you, Chad, very, very much, and I thank you for making my mother so happy and for coming up with such wonderful ideas like the one you had today..."

Enchanted Countryside, Oz, Red and Dorothy's farmhouse

In the Kingdom of Oz, all Munchkins will be clustered in the Emerald Palace; the children of Group A and their parents will be hosted by the Witches of North and East; and the 30 largest residences will host, each, circa of 15-20 people from groups B and C. In this context, ever since they woke up, before dawn, Red and Dorothy have been involved with the latest preparations to turn their 3-bedroom home into a mini-shelter for group C people.

“So let's make the final check, Ruby,” Dorothy calls her wife: “External walls completely magically protected…”

“Check!”

“5 communication devices; 2 weeks stock fireplace wood; 2 weeks of toilet paper, soap and shampoo; bed and table linen; home stereo system; 4 tv screens; 2 week stocked freezer; daily movie popcorn stock; eclectic playlists…”

“Check! Check! Check! Check! Check! And Check! Slow down, please…” Red asks smiling.

“Right… On the first floor, which has 1 bathroom and 1 toilet, 3 people will be in the living and dining rooms, using 1 sleeping bag and 2 sofas; 2 more will stay in the office in 2 sleeping bags.”

“Check!” Red exclaims.

“On the second floor: 6 people distributed in the 2 guest bedrooms, sharing 1 bathroom, and 3 in our suite, where we put an extra sofa bed, sharing our bathroom. In total, 15 people, wow...!”

“Check! Woman, it will be fun…” Red sighs and rolls her eyes, with a bit of sarcasm.  “Talking about fun and not fun, I have an urgent priority right now, which is to call Snow and David…”

“About?”

“About the dream, the werewolf dream, remember I told you this morning?” Red says from the kitchen, where she went to pick up the phone.

“Yeah, you mentioned…”

“It’s important, really, really, important… we didn’t have time to talk about it because we had to finish the arrangements for the gathering, but now I can’t postpone it anymore…”

“Snow? Oh, hi! Yeah, we are all on a frenzy, really crazy, yeah, I know… hard to tell you but we are doing the best we can, things are practically sorted out here at home. Yeah… we are ready to receive 13 guests, can you imagine that? Well, we’ll see... But, you know, I’m not calling to report our daily activities, I wish I could talk to you with free time but we are actually running against time. I’m calling because of that. I need to ask you a favor because I received a message from the gods. Yeah… exactly… Morpheus met me this night; he came to me as a werewolf. Actually, when we met, he appeared at first as a bat, he and his two brothers. I was with Wish Red, we were both in our werewolves personas running in a field, and there was also a girl with us, she looked familiar, but I didn’t recognize her, or at least not yet, now that I’m remembering her face.  Anyway, the 3 bats split, as did the 3 of us, that is Wish Red, me and the girl. Each of us followed one of the bats, and my bat happened to be Morpheus, who shape shifted to a magnificent werewolf, really beautiful. But I digress, let’s go to his message – it was kind of encrypted, you know? I’ll tell you what he told me, but we will need a team of experts to interpret it more properly... ... ... Ah, okay, I’ll wait.”

“What happened?” asks Dorothy, who sat next to Red, paying full attention to what she is telling Snow.

“She is calling David to listen too, and they will record my message… Oh, hi David, okay, I’ll put on speaker so that Dorothy will listen to you too.”

After Dorothy greets them and they greet her back, they all shut up for Red to prepare herself to narrate her dream. Ruby breathes deeply, concentrates, and breathes in and out again, slowly, as if to re enter her dreamy state and, almost in a trance, starts to describe her dream as if she was witnessing it happening all over again:

“As a werewolf, I will start by saying that my dreams are always vivid so I can remember them quite accurately. That said let’s move to the dream. At first, after presenting himself as Morpheus, he started to pursue me, as if coming to me.  He told me, always running and inducing me to run too, that it would do me good if I understood that the best stance for me would be for him to come and devour me, metaphorically, because that might pointed to transformation of the self - of myself.  He kept explaining that the symbolism of the wolf relates, equally, to negative - evil, and to positive - spiritual aspects.”

“The wolf is usually understood as the reflection of humans, with their aggression, impulses and weakness in sexual restraint.  According to Morpheus, the wild, the forest to where we ran, symbolized the unconscious and indicated wrong impulses such as greed, urges and dissatisfaction. He then explained that for us, in the United Realms, in what we are about to embark as soon as Phase 2 starts, we must pay attention to 3 wolves symbolisms.”

“The first is related to the predatory nature of our antagonists, the rebel souls. They don’t want our bodies, actually, the bloodthirsty beasts want our souls – a soul for a soul. The second wolf symbolism states that a wolf can have a positive and a negative connotation. On the good side, the wolf suggests leadership, deep connection with instincts of guidance, the ability to endure struggle and intelligence – we will need the leadership of those that know more closely how to deal with Pan and Wish Pan and then he strictly mentioned Killian and Wish Killian. More than anyone in the United Realms, they know the flip side of the coin, which alludes to both Pans’ greed and malicious aspects that may not yet have been recognized. So this part of the message is specially for the two Killians: they must look to Pans’ trickery, remembering that their ultimate goal is to sneak up into innocent little children. Morpheus is concerned because of the turbulent vibrations sensed by him, last night, in the dream world. They were generated by the souls of Pan and Cruella, as well as Wish Pan and Wish Cruella, in the wildest sexual activities he has ever sensed. He said that the two pairings potentiated their evil strength when they synchronized a ritual of perverted sexual activities in the Underworld and in the Upperworld.”

“Finally, the third symbolism: taking me by surprise, while I was processing what he had just told me, he literally attacked me. He then explained that his bite suggested some type of betrayal. He said that we should pay attention, as the time progresses in the shelters, if someone appears with a mark of bite in the hand: that may imply that the rebel souls are stopping our progress. If that happens, we must engage on psychological dynamics to kind of integrate the wolf within ourselves. This part of the message, he said, is particularly to Archie but Wish Jiminy, the Cricket, may help him: he must supervise therapeutic activities in the shelters for people to work on their own darkness, to become more friendly with their inner wolf, suggesting a close bond with their instincts, a deep connection with the wild and their shadows. We must not fear our own shadows, because the rebel souls want us to fear them and will try to push us. Even if the diabolic souls can't initially incarnate in the cloned bodies, if they find any unlocked telluric crossing points they may cross the barriers that separate the Underworld from the United Realms and stand between us like ghosts trying to psychologically destabilize us. Their goal is for us to die, they want us wild and crazy. They want our clones and they need us dead. Therefore, it is good for us if we notice, in time to react, a mark of bite in someone’s arm or hand - it will disappear when the person, or those directly related to the marked person, harmonize their inner self.”

…

“That, my dear friends, was my dream…” Awakened from her self-induced trance, Red sighs and takes Dorothy's hands, kissing them sweetly before closing her teary eyes.

Enchanted Countryside, Wish Red and Wish Mulan's farmhouse

"Definitely, this Elderly Shelter became very charming and cozy; the 10 seniors in this part of the Enchanted Countryside will be very well accommodated here," an exhausted Wish Mulan throws herself on the living room sofa, talking to her wife, Wish Red, still silent and glum. In an attempt to get her out of her trance, Mulan asks, “Red, have you seen my Grandma lately?”

“Hah? Ah… yeah, I saw  Jiminy and Grandmother Fa on the porch swing. He was taking a nap in her apron pocket while she hummed some Chinese song… Why?”

“Because I want to make sure that they fixed the mess in their room. It is not because their room is relatively small - so they will not share it with anyone else - that they have to keep their things on the floor, totally cluttered. But since they're kind of resting, we better let it go; at least I hope Jiminy is having sweet dreams..."

“I know you want me to share my dream, and I will. I was trying to process it, to digest it first. But it is time for me to share it not only with you, but with the heads of Operation B&S.”

…

Wish Mulan and Wish Red called Wish Emma and asked her to assemble as many leaders as she could for a virtual meeting, despite the absolutely busy time for everyone. This way, as Red's first dream claimed the direct intervention of the two Killians, Emm managed to put them in line, as well as Emma, Wish Regina, Liam Senior, Nemo and Ursula. They are all currently talking to Wish Red, using their recently delivered 3D communication devices. After a few introductions, Red has already started her narrative.

“The bat that addressed me worked on my fears taking me into a nightmare. He asked me to resist the urge to get out of the dream, he begged me to not wake up and then he became a monstrous animal - not because of its shape itself, but because of the vibration of his voice that aroused in me an extreme fear. I don't know how Phobetor, this is how he introduced himself, detected the vibration that would cause so much dread to my fine, sensitive, ears, but he used it quite skillfully, I must say.”

“This is so Phobetor like,” Ursula mumbles, “he could have spared you and got to the point without so much drama..."

“Yeah, he was pyrotechnic… but, anyway,” Red continues, “Phobetor did nothing to me directly, but induced the sensations as if he were doing. What I can say is that, somehow, I’m not sure if in a sexual context or not, he got under my skin. It was something that you know it when you feel it, if you know what I mean. It was not an attraction, or affinity, or a blissful roller coaster which can quickly break down all your coping strategies, it was more like the feeling of a madness knocking, of panicked horror. I resisted, in my mind I didn’t want to open myself to him, and then I found myself at a crossroads where the choice of way was hardly in my control… I ask you to pay attention to the crossroads because this was the central point of my dream.”

“You see, I love my independence, my freedom, I’m always in control of my actions, and that paralyzing feeling that overwhelmed me in the crossroads was horrible, it was really hard for me to cope…” she starts to relieve the feeling. Wish Mulan takes her wife’s hand, to placate her and calmly transmit self-confidence for her to go on. Taking a sip of her glass of water, Red proceeds to dig into the reminiscences of her dream which are the parts she has been given the mission to transmit.

“My defenses tried to kick in and make me regain what I could feel like the ground under my feet. It got to the worst point when he started to whisper ‘feel it, don’t resist it, don’t be dragged along, Red…’   I kicked and screamed and howled and raged at the world  because it was given to me such a nightmare until I started to accept whatever he wanted me to feel or to know.  From that moment, I felt like learning to breathing again, and just after that, he transmuted back to his original form, to his bat self and his voice started to vibrate in a soothing frequency. He then gave me two keys for all of us, especially to think about, to discuss in the shelters during meetings and meditation, but also valid to those who will be in the open fields, in more combative work. The first key was related to one of the ways on the crossroads. He said:  

"Be prepared to face your fears and to not try to find solace in the other, and that is particularly true in terms of the gender aspect of your fears. It would be good to you all to work on that aspect, during the time in the shelters. Specifically, to work on inner exercises, so that you will be able to stay together tolerating so many people confined in small places without conflict. Work on the following.” And she pauses before continuing.

“For the men I say: seek and recognize the feminine in yourselves, not in the women you are close to, but in yourselves... and for the women I say: do not seek the masculine in men but assume the masculine in yourselves. That is important because, for defending yourselves from the fear and from the rebel souls you must learn about the other gender within you. You unconsciously put (project) your unknown self onto another person, usually of the other gender. What you experience when these dynamics that I am suggesting are enacted is a strong emotional reaction to another person. You might be irritated, repulsed, ticked off, but mostly, for better or worse, you might learn to accept and to fall in love. You cannot help it because you are a slave of what you need in your soul – and what your soul needs, what all souls need, is LOVE.”

Red pauses to think, to remember the detailed description of the next key.

“The second key is related to the other direction at the crossroads. According to him, the less comfortable one, because it is the spirit’s way.  He said about that:

“Welcome to your brave soul’s battle in its adventure of connecting to spirit. It goes beyond ego and in this path the trans-personal, the spiritual dimension opens up to you. There is a riddle that I want you to discuss during your group dynamics sessions: The part that you take over from the devil – joy – leads you into adventure. I propose you to think on this statement in the context of relationships based on the following challenge: do not resist the pull of your emotions, make room for your love and hate and all the shades in between them, without allowing the emotional storms to take over. Be careful, though, when practicing these exercises. Make sure you have monitors and support. Most important, however, is that you are always exploring and learning about yourselves. You are always reaching for and touching on an aspect of yourselves in the other. These may be an awkward and raw experience of your souls’ journey towards your feminine and masculine sides.”

“At this point”, Red opens her eyes in search of the two Killians and the two Emmas, “Phobetor was quite specific about the need to address this message to the four of you, Killian and Key, Emma and Emm, because, according to him, the combination of your vibrational frequencies, two Survivors, one Savior and one Aligner corresponds, with an opposite polarity, to the exact vibrational energy of the two evil couples, Wish Pan-Wish Cruella, and Pan-Cruella, combined. So, it’s important that you keep what I’m going to say in mind.”

Speaking softly in Wish Regina's ear, unbeknownst to others, Liam Senior comments: “poor brothers of mine, what a heavy load has been reserved for them…”  In reflection, Regina takes his hand to her lips to kiss it while whispers, "I'm glad you were spared of this mission, my dear."

“For you, Killian and Key,” Red continues, “Phobetor asked me to say, as a key to help you defeat your opponents: “It is bitter for the most masculine man to accept his femininity, since it appears ridiculous to him, powerless and tawdry”. And for you, Emmas, he said: “A woman’s experience will be different, but in most cases she will also struggle with her acceptance of the masculine within herself. This is when love can turn into hate because this ‘he’ may be so dominant, so controlling, so violent, so insensitive  and yet these qualities may lie dormant in the woman’s psyche, unbeknownst to her, but usually experienced by others .”

Nemo, who was recording while listening carefully to Phobetor messages, looks at Ursula and smiles significantly at the demigoddess that has already stolen his heart: “What he is basically saying, though in other words, is that the feminine in man is bound up with evil…..the masculine in the woman is bound up with evil. Not an easy statement to swallow…”

Also smiling, Ursula replies: “Therefore people hate to accept their own other.”

…

After the meeting, the two Killians and two Emmas, who were together in the loft, remain silent for a while, dealing with the messages, processing their meaning, absorbing their intensity. Hope, Missy and Luna are taking a nap in the mezzanine and after this meeting Emma and Hope will puff to Snow White’s Castle and Emm, Missy and Luna will move to Wish Snow White’s Castle in another puff. The brothers will remain together in Storybrooke, working on front combat arrangements.

Breaking the silence, Emm stands up rubbing her belly while heading to the kitchen to drink water:

“I’m feeling that my struggle in recognizing the masculine in me will be softened by two little boys, they will help me... Key, don't ask me how I know, as I could not explain, but deep in my soul I'm feeling that we are bringing two boys to the world..."

Enchanted Forest border, Split Regina and Wish Robin's home

“Coralline! Where are you, my dear, we are late to take you to your Shelter and then we have to be back to receive our 40 guests of group C before heading straight to our base, in our castle!” Split Regina shouts throughout the east corridor of her mansion.

“Regina! I found her!” Robin shouts from the west corridor.

…

“There you are… oh, my sweet child, what is happening? You have been crying, oh Cora…” her mother asks, concerned.

“Mom, Dad, I’m scared…” Cora shrugs and hugs her mother.

“Hush! It’s okay, my love, it’s okay…” Regina hugs her back. “It may become a little scary sometimes, but fear not, it will be fun. You remember the Summer School with all your friends, don’t you? Then, it will be as fun as then, just this time with more people.”

“What if I need to talk to you? What if I learn something in my dreams and need to talk to you and Dad?

“We have the communicators, Cora,” Robin says, “you can ask the monitors and call us anytime you need, and we promise we will visit you. Your mom has magic and can puff us anytime. Besides, there will be minivans circulating between shelters, we are organizing a lot of tours to take people to and from one shelter to another, and Chynna will be working on puffing people too, especially to take the parents of preteens – which is your case, to visit their kids. It’ll be alright, honey, I promise.”

“Dad, you promise the Enchanted Forest’ animals are protected by Mom’s spell? Pretty please, Dad? It’s so important…” Cora asks almost begging.

“Sure, little love, pretty promise,” Robin assures her. “But why are you saying it is so important, I mean, of course it is but… why saying that now?”

“Because… of my dream last night,” she hugs tighter her father and mother.

With the abstracted look of those who make mathematical calculations and deductions, Regina finally understands. "It was you the girl Red ran into her dream ... it was you Coralline! Robin, have you read the emails, or have you heard the voice mails?"

“No Regina, I saw them but haven’t had the time to stop by them… What you mean by Red’s dream?”

“There are three gods of dreams,” Regina starts to explain as the three head to the living room, to sit down and relax while they talk. “Their names are Morpheus, Phobetor, and Phantasos…”

“That I knew, that I’ve read,” Robin cuts her, “the part that the Fairies said that Morpheus and his two brothers would send messages through dreams… Oh! I see…”

“Exactly,” Regina continues. They have already sent their messages. We knew the first two, transmitted to Red and Wish Red in their werewolves’ persona – those messages are about those dreams.”

“I saw them!” Cora exclaims. “The werewolves were in my dream, and bats! At first, three bats, then just one!”

“Those bats are the gods of the dreams, my sweet child. The one that talked to you was probably Phantasos…”

“Yes, I know, he said his name. Want to hear my dream?”

“Of course we do, do you mind if I take note?” Regina asks, already puffing a notebook and a pencil.

“We can record,” Cora smiles, “better than writing,” she winks and puffs a microphone and a tablet herself.

“Right,” Regina smiles proudly.

“Okay, Mom, Dad, Hi everyone…” Cora tests the microphone and starts:

“So… here goes my dream: Phantasos was very gentle with me. He introduced himself and asked me to pay attention to the story he would tell. And then, when I was awake I should repeat the story to you…”

Cora pauses the microphone to add: “I was going to tell you this morning, Mom, but you were in a hurry working with the preparations here, in our house, and Dad was running with the staff for the Ministry of Forest and Wildlife… then I didn’t want to interrupt you. The thing is, while I was waiting, I thought on the dream and I started to get a little sad with the story and a bit scared.”

“Oh, come here, my sweet love,” her father gets close and hugs her, “now we are listening; you may proceed with your tale.”

“Okay,” she presses the record button.

“We went into the woods; I walked and he followed me, always flying close to me - he is a bat with a man’s face. We did a small journey through the forest until we stopped in a clearing, and there he told me the story. He said:

Beware of the woods, of the wolves in the forest and don’t fear the witches, neither the wolves neither the forest. Once upon a time there was a little girl that was born in the woods. Her mother and father died when she was born, trying to protect her against the Black Fairy. Her mother was a witch, a good woman, as well as her father; he was a great hunter and also a werewolf.  They almost managed to protect their precious little baby, but the very vicious Black Fairy defeated them and took the baby with her to a very distant realm where time runs really fast. Do you know why she wanted to take the baby with her?

He asked. And I said, ‘no’.

Then, he continued, I will tell you, it was because that little girl was born with a special gift, a very rare and special magic and the Black Fairy wanted to use her magic to do the same evil things Cruella and Wish Cruella are doing now, she wanted to control the animals.

At that, I asked him: ‘I’m the little girl, isn’t it ?’ And he answered:

Yes, you are, and I’m here to reveal to you how special your magic is: you have a magic that enables you to connect with the forest animals, especially the wolves; they can share with you their joy and pain, their knowledge and their visions. You just need to develop your potential and you will be able to communicate with them. In this journey, you can be helped by a young woman, Alice Jones, who also has a strong connection with elements of the forest – in her case, she is learning to connect with the trees, because of her mother’s origin. The two of you will have a special mission one of these days:  you should work together - you, Alice and your inner wolfA - to locate, in the woods, the hidden places to where the bad souls took some cloned bodies that weren’t isolated by the Fairies potion.

Your magic may help to protect many animals from Wish Cruella’s dark magic, because she will try to control them.

That was my dream.”

At that, Cora switches off her microphone and looks with expectant eyes to her parents.

“You won't be alone in this mission of yours,” Regina states positively. “I’ll be right there, by your side.”

“Me too; we’ll take the Merry Men with us if necessary. No way will my sweet little girl be out there working her magic unassisted.” Robin promises Regina and Cora.

“It’ll be alright, Mom, Dad, I just need you both by my side. So… what you think of my story?”

“I think, Cora, that yours is a beautiful story. It is profoundly important for you to know your origin, it is important for me and, I’m sure, for your father. We love you even more now, if that is possible, knowing how much loved you were by your biological parents, who sacrificed their lives trying to protect you. I will just say that I understand their sacrifice, and I promise to honor their memory protecting you with my life.” Regina says.

“There is no need to die, Mom”, Cora, the one that should be comforted, comforts her mother. “I promise, everything will be just fine.”

“I hope you are right…” Robin whispers, apprehensive.

Storybrooke, Wish Apprentice's home

“Jack,” Wish Granny asks the Apprentice, “Why the hell is this door, connecting nowhere to no place, in the middle of the main living room of our Home? We are planning a masquerade for tonight, to attract good vibes to the B&S operation, to wish full success to all the Light and Love missions that begin today, and to enhance our focus on the supporting work that is our responsibility. And then, look at what we find as soon as we wake up: this door placed in a way to hinder our ballet steps!” She laughs out loud just imagining their coreography.

“You should know, Janet,” Jack answers good-tempered. “Haven’t you seen this portal in operation?”

“No, she hasn’t,” Granny approaches them. “I have seen it working a couple of times while my wish sister here was lost in her wish realm... I remember once, when it took the Arendelle people to their home. Ah, later, it was used to transport the Camelot people and… oh, yes, and also the Merry Men with Roland, back to the Enchanted Forest, that is, the old Enchanted Forest, not the Wish Realm Enchanted Forest, neither the second Enchanted Forest. For god’s sake, just one of the multi Enchanted Forests that there were out there and… you know what? Whatever, all of that is a completely useless nonsense seen from nowadays perspective with all realms reunited in just one dimension. Which means: Janet’s question is absolutely pertinent. So… Why the hell is this portal needed now, Jack?”

“I brought it back to our ballroom this morning,” Jack explains, “because of my dream last night…”

“Another dream, really? In future books of History today will be known as the Day of the Dreams…” Moe, who was fiddling with the office computer to read the news in the UR Today webpage, run by Sidney, enters the conversation. Actually, he was playing Solitaire in one tab, reading the news in another, and listening to the Lucas sisters gossiping in the background. They talked about all gatherings happening along the day with more precision than the news on the internet – the new communication devices are already proving to be really useful.

“You want to know about my dream or prefer to complain?” Jack walks to the armchair close to the frontal window. For a blind man he deals with the darkness of vision as if guided by other eyes, eyes that see beyond the material plane without losing mastery over space, depth, and physical obstacles along the way.

“Of course we do want to hear you,” Brennan and Gepetto, who were in the adjoining parlor playing chess, appear and sit next to him.

“So, let’s call Johanna,” Wish Granny walks towards the kitchen, “she was so inspired by the beautiful bouquet of flowers that Moe presented her this morning that decided to work her magic confectionery to our delight. I think she is baking cakes for the masquerade but I’m sure she will want to hear Jack’s dream. Johanna!! Here, my dear, come here to listen to a fantastic story!”

…

“Is everybody here?” Jack asks already knowing the answer.

They all nod while the old Apprentice concentrates in his preparation to share the most important news of his life.

“It was actually quite a simple dream, you know.” He starts modestly. “I met the real owner of this house, my old Master and forever Sorcerer, Merlin, and my non-wish Apprentice brother, Jack,” he chuckles. “Well, they asked me to bring the portal from the basement to the living room - I confess that my magic was a bit rusty to carry a portal of such importance, but I managed to without any damage or accident…”

“You could have asked for help, do that next time you need to carry such a masterpiece carved in wood,” Gepetto offered.

“Ah, thank you my friend, I will. But so, they asked to bring the portal back to the living room because where they live now, in the Elysium Fields, they are organizing a small group, a petit comité of souls, to come here for a short visit. They plan to remain among us during a couple of days, one week, hopefully, helping us to deal with the evil souls and their evil alive friends. The door will serve as their gateway. Before they come, they still need to sort out a few things, such as who is coming, since they will have a limited number of passports…”

No one moves or says a word, all paralyzed by the enormity of what Jack has just revealed. Some of the elders sketch a start of question, but give up, jaws dropped, mouths open, dumbfounded. Finally, one of them creates the courage to ask.

“Passports? What does it mean?” Brennan asks.

“The gods will grant them a number of temporarily densified bodies but they can perform the densifying magic for a limited number of souls, so a densified body is what I’m calling a passport.”

“When are the souls coming, Jack?” Moe wonders, thinking on his unforgettable daughter.

“That I don’t know yet, I guess it could be anytime from now…”

"And is there anything we will have to do? I mean, keep the portal open if they come without sending a prior signal...?" Johanna risks another question.

"They didn’t mention anything, Johanna, but I believe it won't be necessary. We just have to wait. Maybe it will do us good and, indirectly, do them good, too, that we keep our agenda as previously planned. Tonight, for example, we will have our masquerade, I want to taste your famous cakes, by the way. And if we feel willing to, we should dance around the portal. Everything should remain as you had planned before, only that you had not yet included the portal in the middle of the dance floor. The best we can do, I believe, is to keep our vibes as positive as possible. The rest is up to the Light souls and to the gods...

*