#The same standards that would be considered long hair on a woman. Not medium.

[tarrarre]

Unfortunately men with long hair (especially if it's wavy) still make me go weak at the knees. Thinking of that one Hungarian guy who had blonde hair down to his ass.

[dwellordream]

“Contemporary readers might find themselves almost suspicious of how little there is in Victorian lifewriting to shock or surprise; can their lives really have been this dull? Deficient in arresting details and blandly uniform, Victorian lifewriting does not foster any illusions that it accurately records the historical past. But lifewriting was not pure fiction, and its very adherence to rules and commitment to typical daily life makes it a far more valuable source than conduct literature, medical writings, or police records for understanding how conventions shaped lived behavior. Consider the example of transvestism. Cross-dressing could lead to scandal and arrests, but lifewriting attests that many youths who adopted the clothes of the other sex were treated as amusing pranksters. 

In her 1857 autobiography Elizabeth Davis recalled “enjoying” herself “extremely” when she dressed as a man to accompany a fellow housemaid to a party and noted that her employers simply “laughed” when they caught her. In the 1840s a young woman living in London wrote to a cousin in the country about putting on a play with other girls for their fathers and mothers: “I have two parts, the good Fairy and the Lord Chamberlain because he sings a song, and he wears a turban and baggy trousers and I wear a beard and moustache.” Other accounts described boys dressing as girls and sallying forth in public to the amusement of all in the know. 

Victorian lifewriting exposes other gaps between myth and reality. Conduct books confined women to the private sphere, but in fact, many informally participated in politics. Amanda Vickery has pointed out the dearth of research on women’s consumption of newspapers, an increasingly political medium after 1750; lifewriting shows that many ordinary middle-class women who complied with gender norms actively read newspapers and discussed political events with their fathers and husbands. Katharine Harris’s journal documents how a middle-class teenage girl tracked the revolutions and cholera epidemics of 1848 as carefully as she followed changes in fashion and the dramas of her social circle.

Women’s diaries and correspondence also modify our image of Victorian feminism as a powerful but marginal movement; though suffrage was a divisive issue, an otherwise silent majority supported female higher education, with many writers asserting that “women have brains, and given equal opportunities, can do as good work as men.” Mary, Lady Monkswell (1849–1930) never formally participated in politics except as the wife of a man who held several government positions, but in 1890 she recorded her pride that a woman had attained the highest score on the Cambridge Mathematical Tripos: “Every woman feels 2 inches taller for this success of Miss Fawcett.”

Female friendship emerges in Victorian lifewriting as a fundamental component of middle-class femininity and women’s life stories. Because the letters women exchanged with male suitors were often deemed too private or compromising for publication, and because wives had few occasions to write to husbands whom they lived with, letters between female friends and kin were the most common and copious source for documenting women’s lives. Anna Bower’s correspondence with three women who had been her friends since school days made up the bulk of a 1903 edition of her diaries and letters.

The Memoir of Mrs. Mary Lundie Duncan (1842) drew heavily on the communication between Mary Duncan and a lifelong friend. The many letters included in the published version of Mary Gladstone Drew’s diaries and correspondence were addressed to her cousin and friend Lavinia. The editor of Lady Louise Knightley’s journals identified the central figure of the early volumes as Louise’s cousin and “inseparable companion” Edith, with whom Louise exchanged daily letters when they were separated between 1856 and 1864 (12). The emphasis on female friendship in Victorian women’s lifewriting mirrored the ways in which didactic literature defined it as an expression of women’s essential femininity. 

In The Women of England and The Daughters of England, Sarah Ellis articulated the tenets of a domestic ideology based on strict divisions between men and women. She counseled women to accept their inferiority to men and to cultivate moral virtues such as selflessness and empathy as counterweights to the male virtues of competitiveness and self-determination. Ellis praised female friendship for several reasons. It trained women not to compete with men by requiring them not to compete with one another; it fostered feminine vulnerability by developing bonds based on a shared “capability of receiving pain”; and it reinforced married love by cultivating the sexual differences that fostered men’s desire for women (Women, 75, 224). 

In The Daughters of England, Ellis explicitly argued that friendship trained women to be good wives by teaching them particularly feminine ways of loving: “In the circle of her private friends . . . [woman] learns to comprehend the deep mystery of that electric chain of feeling which ever vibrates through the heart of woman, and which man, with all his philosophy, can never understand” (337). Ellis argued that female friendship produced marriageable women by intensifying the opposition between the sexes, but she then undid gender differences by positing similarities between friendship and marriage. The emotions fostered by friendship were also those required for marriage, leading Ellis to call marriage a species of friendship, and friendship “the basis of all true love” (Daughters, 388). 

Far from compromising friendship, family and marriage provided models for sustaining it; female friends exchanged the same tokens as spouses and emulated female elders who also prized their friendships with women. Marriage rarely ended friendships and many women organized part of their lives around their friends. Louise Creighton (1850–1936), married to an Anglican vicar and eventually the mother of six children, wrote letters to her mother in the 1870s that often mentioned extended visits from her childhood friend Bunnie and other married and unmarried female friends. 

Just before she acceded to the throne, Princess Victoria wrote of her governess Lehzen as “my ‘best and truest friend’ I have had for nearly 17 years and I trust I shall have for 30 or 40 and many more.” On the day Victoria married Albert, Lehzen gave the queen a ring, and their pledges of an enduring bond held true, with Lehzen ensconced at court long after the queen’s wedding. Like any monarch, Queen Victoria practiced a politics of display, but what she performed most vigorously was her adherence to domestic middle-class ideals.

It is therefore not surprising to find her commitment to lifelong friendship echoed in the aspirations of Annie Hill, a middle-class girl who in 1877 wrote to her friend Anna Richmond, “I do not see why we should not keep up writing to one another all our lives like Aunt Maria and her great friend have done.” The friendships that created bonds between individual women also forged a sense of connection between generations. Friendship and marriage could be overlapping and mutually reinforcing. While engaged to her husband-to-be, Mary Duncan sent him poems and the gift of a hair brooch, and at the same time wrote a poem for her best friend, whom she addressed as “loved one” and “dear one” (163, 179–80, 147). 

Just as Duncan experienced no conflict in loving her fiancé and her friend, other women expressed affection for friends by hoping they would happily marry. Writing in 1865 of the friend who came “to bless my life,” twenty-three-year-old Louisa Knightley fantasized about her eventual wedding with a sense of pleasure rather than incipient loss: “I have grown to love Edie very dearly—the Sleeping Beauty, whom life and the world are slowly awakening. May the enchanted Prince soon come and touch the chord that will rouse her from the dreams of childhood and make of her the perfect woman!” (105–6). 

….Lifewriting confirms the links conduct literature made between female friendship and conventional femininity, for only women invested in portraying themselves as atypical failed to write of their friendships. Women who succeeded in masculine arenas and advertised their exceptional achievements in published autobiographies often accentuated their distance from standard femininity by downplaying the role that female friends played in their lives. Battle painter Elizabeth Butler (1846–1933), pedagogue and professional author Elizabeth Sewell (1815–1906), and radical activist Annie Besant (1847–1933) all omitted the rhapsodic descriptions of friendship that characterized lifewriting by women eager to demonstrate how well they had fulfilled the dictates of their gender.

Outright disdain for female friendship was rare. One of the few extant examples of a woman mocking female friendship is an exception that proves the rule. A sophisticated transplant raised in Paris by parents from the Anglo-Irish gentry who returned to England in 1868, Alice Miles was eager to distinguish herself from her earnest English relatives. In a diary that remained unpublished until the late twentieth century, she wrote that women were obligated to marry for money, not love. Her contempt for British domestic sentiment led her to dismiss the earnest devotion between female friends she encountered in England as hypocrisy or stupidity. She believed instead in “the natural aversion women always seem to entertain towards each other and the still more decided preference they habitually evince towards mankind!”

 Nevertheless, Miles enjoyed forming a friendships with a young woman “perfectly acquainted” with every “naughty story . . . making the tour of London,” whom she praised as “a regular little rose bud . . . looking perfectly bewitching.” Even the cynical Miles, who believed that affection between woman was merely a “sign . . . that a man is at the bottom of the emotion,” could not resist the pleasure she took in a woman pretty and wicked enough to be a potential rival. Successful women who represented themselves as proper ladies defined their lives in terms of their friendships with women as well as their devotion to family and church.”

- Sharon Marcus, “Friendship and Play of the System.” in Between Women:  Friendship, Desire, and Marriage in Victorian England

[soyouareandrewdobson]

Andy on Asian Animation or SYAC: The Master Review 2

Let’s talk a bit about anime and Dobson’s work relation with it.

I think we can all agree, that starting from the late 90s and early 2000s on, anime and manga became extremely popular in the western world. Sure, Japanese animation was nothing completely new to us (Speed Racer, Nadia-Secret of Blue Water, Samurai Pizza Cats, Sailor Moon, Kimba and Akira e.g. come to my mind as properties already known in the west before 1995) but it really was around this time that thanks to “mainstream” stuff like Dragon Ball and Pokemon people became aware of how different Japanese animation was from western. Eventually resulting in the really good shit (like Cowboy Bebop, Black Lagoon, Kenshin and Heat Guy J) coming over and enriching nerd culture for more than just a few people who knew of it as an obscurity at that point. Now, if you know anything about Dobson, you likely know that his relationship with anime is rather… complicated to say the least. Or, to let him explain it with his own words…

Dobson essentially likes silly and wacky 90s anime. But later on he hated anime in general, because it got too popular and a bad experience with an anime club in college soured his enjoyment of it. Furthermore, he put the blame on his lackluster art style and storytelling capabilities as seen in the likes of Formera, Patty and Alex ze Pirate, on anime in general, while also claiming that Disney pulling the plug on 2D animation is the result of the “anime inspired” Treasure Planet, meaning anime in a sense deprived him of his chance at working at his dream job and “ruining” western animation.

Which to me has always been ignorant as fuck. For starters, I can understand not liking certain stories or genres, either for objective or subjective reasons. But to hate on an entire nation’s form of entertainment (not just individual shows or genres), depriving yourself of the chance of potentially watching a lot of good stuff while also being rather insulting to these other works and people enjoying them? Especially when the stuff you can supposedly “stomach” has been rather simplistic compared to other things?

 Second, blaming Japan for “poisoning” your art style? What, did the ghost of Osamu Tezuka possess you and FORCE you to put sweatdrops on your characters forehead while also going for the rather simplistic character style of Rumiko Takahashi, as well as emulating the slapstick of the likes as Slayers and Ranma ½?

 Next, if he had emulated them successfully, I say he would have actually managed to tell decent enough stories worth to read online. Not create Uncle Peggy aka “Discount Happosai” or the bland proto-Isekai known as Formera.

I mean, let’s give some context here: There have been people who successfully managed to emulate certain anime and manga aesthetics into western animation and make it work. Otherwise we wouldn’t have gotten the likes of Avatar-The last Airbender, Samurai Jack, the Animatrix, Thundercats 2011, Super Robot Monkey Hyperforce Go, Kim Possible, W.I.T.C.H, Megas XLR and Wakfu. You know, shows that are actually awesome as hell.

Heck, Dobson’s favorite animated show of the last decade, Steven Universe, is heavily inspired by anime aesthetics to the point of being embarrassing.

 But Dobson… well, he emulated anime aesthetics in his work the same way as these crimes against animation did.

Combined with his general shortcomings as a storyteller it is no wonder his initial comics did not do well.

 Lastly, and sorry for digressing here a bit, but if the Wikipedia entry on Treasure Planet is something to go by, there was no real inspiration by anime involved in making this movie.

Supposedly the idea of making an animated Treasure Planet in outer space movie was already pitched by Ron Clements WAY BACK in 1985 but only came to be after Michael Eisner greenlighted stuff in the late 90s. Design wise the movie was supposed to look 70% traditional and 30% sci-fi inspired and people took inspiration for the art style by illustrators associated with the Brandywine School of Illustration. A western style of illustration established in the 19th century, that had a big impact on the illustration styles for many 19th and early 20th century adventure novels and short stories.

What, is anime supposed to be the only form of animation allowed to have sci fi elements or steampunk in it? Fucks sake, The Lion King and Atlantis, which came out one year earlier to Treasure Planet, were likely more inspired by anime. Don’t believe me? Watch Atlantis and then a certain anime by Studio Gainax called “Nadia-Secret of Blue Water”. Or read up on the controversy surrounding the two.

The truth is, it is not entirely clear what caused Disney to shut down 2D feature film animation in the early 2000s. In fact, if anything, most people put the blame on Michael Eisner and a certain change in the publics taste in movies in general, combined with Disney trying to turn almost every movie they had into a franchise via cheap follow up movies on video and DVD.

And even if Disney did not shut down, are we really supposed to believe that a certain guy with fedora would have made it big at Disney to the point Alex ze Pirate would have been made into a feature film?

But Dobson could never quite understand this and instead of “reinventing” himself properly, he would rant about anime and its fans in one form or another…

 And on the peak of his hissy fit create this little art piece he baptized Anime Sux. Alternatively “West vs East”. Or as I like to call it, slap a jap.

Now, the pic was done in 2008 and Dobson claimed sometimes in the last decade, that he no longer holds his old opinions. Unfortunately, by that point he would also more or less use the chance to vent in his webcomic about anime (or rather its fans), which brings us finally back to SYAC.

 While Dobson never outright thematized in more detail WHY he hates anime and manga in SYAC (likely cause if his comic reasoning was even slightly like his reasoning in his blogs, people would have torn him apart like a bag of paper) he did use the format to punch down on anime fans and their preferences.

 For example, for someone who has a 4chan story going around of having been rather arrogant towards others in college for not liking Ranma ½, Dobson has THIS little college related comic to show off, where he portrays an aspiring manga artist as a delusional jackass.

Then in this strip titled manga, his manga fan is essentially portrayed as a young woman dressing up like a very stereotypical high school anime girl, who is in the wrong for even just DARING to draw her comics in the direction manga are read.

On one hand, I get Dobson’s point. She could be at risk of alienating a market of readers as she is obviously drawing for a western audience. Then again, if she doesn’t draw a traditional western comic but a manga, why shouldn’t she? I mean, as long as she enjoys it, which I assume she does as she seems genuinely just happy when stating that she likes manga, why not let her? Plus, this comic was drawn in the late 2000s. I think by then most people kinda knew how to read from right to left, so Dobson’s claim she would alienate or confuse people is kinda redundant. If anything I find a) Dobson getting angry at her just very petty (just let her have fun) and b) portraying a western manga fan as someone who would be confused by the sheer idea of reading stuff from right to left is also in itself just really dumb and insulting. What is Dobson trying to imply? That anime fans are so stuck in the way they consume certain media, they can’t act according to “western standards” again?

Then there is this strip where yet another female anime fan is essentially portrayed as the embodiment of how “ignorant” manga fans are of the idea of different art styles...

Which becomes rather laughable once Dobson describes his style as a mixture of European, American and  Japanese. Why? Because he is the one oversimplifying things, rather than the anime fan.

You see while anime and manga of all sorts do share certain aesthetics (like the black and white art style, emphasize on the eyes of characters, the way hair is drawn, recurring tropes within certain genres and so on) style wise (both in art and storytelling) there can be severe differences, depending on the artist alone. Akira Toriyama’s style differentiates significantly from the likes of Eichiro Oda, Rumiko Takahashi, Kentaro Miura, Tezuka, Kaori Yuki and so forth.

The same also goes for many western artists. Herge had a significantly different style from Uderzo and Goscinny. Don Rosa has a different style in which he drew Scrooge McDuck than Carl Barks did. Rob Liefeld and Jim Lee draw mainstream superheroes differently compared to how Jack Kirby, George Perez and others did. Heck, Ethan Van Sciver and Jim Lee were closely associated with Green Lantern in the 2000s and look how they differentiate.

 Which btw is the kind of skill level Dobson would have needed to have, to make it in the mainstream industry

So when Dobson says “I draw in a combination of American, Western and Japanese” all I can think is the following: THAT DOESN’T NARROW IT DOWN! WHAT THE HECK HAVE YOU LEARNT IN COLLEGE ABOUT COMICS? WHICH ARTISTS, WORKS AND STORYTELLERS DO YOU TRY TO EITHER EMULATE OR HAVE BEEN INSPIRED BY?

Then there is this little thing…

Where do I even begin? How about the fact that Dobson’s hand in the last panel looks like he has lost a thumb? The fact that the little boy, anime fan or not, is aware of Sae Sawanoguchi, a character from a short lived OVA and anime series from the 90s, which considering his age, I kinda doubt he would be aware off. Unlike Dobson, who got into anime in the 90s and admits in fact within the posts I loaded up earlier, that he had watched the anime in particular, known in the west as Magic User Club.

Then there is the implication by Dobson, that anime is so “corruptive” as a medium, little kids don’t even know the most basic characters in western animation because of it. I expect in a next panel, that all of sudden some 50s PSA guy comes along and lectures me that if I want this kind of thing not to happen at MY convention, I need to teach little kids more about the GOOD western animation, instead of the BAD eastern one. Then there is this rather unflattering portrayal of a shonen ai/shojou ai fangirl…

 Which makes me laugh cause honestly, even some of the worst shonen ai and shojou ai can do better in portraying a “realistic” gay relationship than Patty if you ask me.

Also, as much as I think fangirls can be extremely thirsty (I have read my fair share of extremely stupid yaoi and yuri fanfics) I think that in hindsight Dobson is really not anyone to complain about shipping obsession and sex when he himself has KorraSami, the Ladybug fandom and a certain rat pirate under his floppy belt.

As you can imagine, Dobson would get heat for those comics, considering how he himself has been greatly inspired by anime and manga for his major comics. And while I don’t have any explicit deviantart posts of him reacting to criticism in that regard, I do have this comic which addresses it directly.

 And yeah, if I were schoolgirl number 4, I would just sigh and walk away after telling Dobson that his mistakes and shortcomings are not related to having consumed anime, but rather by what sort of anime (and other stories) he had consumed and the amount of effort he had put in creating his stories instead of emulating just something more popular. Plus, if you really want people to draw more from life, how about drawing more from life yourself down the line? And no, tracing Star Wars movie frames does not count.

Finally, Dobson, considering how very little most people think of your work, I say mission accomplished: People have learnt from your mistakes and know not to be a Dobson.

And at last, there is this comic, which kinda wraps up Dobson’s “vendetta” with anime and manga fans within the pages of SYAC.

By trying to mock anime fans and make them look just as shallow as he is. I at least suppose. Honestly, the message of this comic is rather muddled. On one hand, I would say the strawman accusing Dobson hates anime just because it is popular is very simplified. After all, Dobson has made his reasons for not liking anime clear in a few more details. It’s just that the details in and on themselves in real life are still rather shallow and boil down to a lot of personal bias rather than an objective criticism of actual flaws. Which I think is worth pointing out.

But frankly, what is Dobson trying to say or point out here? That the strawman is not so different or even dumber than him, because he hates Justin Bieber for “shallow” and superficial reasons too?

Okay, this doesn’t quite work as well as Dobson wants. First, the argument Dobson’s strawman makes is in huge parts based on some verified statements Dobson made for not liking anime. Second, he just says a name and that triggers the guy to express his hatred for Bieber. We don’t know why the guy hates Bieber and you could make in fact the case, that he hates him not because he is popular, but because he has a genuine issue with the artist, his work or his behavior as a human being. Third, if you want to make yourself look like the better person Dobson, try to argue with the guy and make solid arguments why you don’t like anime. Instead you just deflect the criticism by changing the subject and then try to make yourself look like the “smarter” person in the room by mocking your critic in the most condescending manner.

Which as I think about it, sounds like your modus operandi on twitter and tumblr.

Weirdly enough, that more or less marks the “end” of Dobson tackling anime fans and the beef he has with them within the pages of SYAC. Despite how much Dobson’s negative reputation especially in early years was build around him hating on anime and belittling its fans, he didn’t really do more afterwards in the Dobson focused pages of SYAC. And mind you, those strips were also separated by other strips in-between, focused on Dobson just being at conventions.

Unfortunately for him, the strips didn’t really help in any way to diminish that negative reputation and instead just confirmed for many, that Dobson can’t handle criticism about his flawed opinion on anime. If anything, it just made people think even less of Dobson, as the strips just painted him as someone who would rather portray his critics as strawman he can be “rightfully” annoyed at, instead of fellow humans with slightly different tastes in entertainment, who are still worth listening to.

So, now that we have the anime fan related “annoyances” out of the way, what other sort of silly problems in making webcomics would Dobson cover in his strips and are “relatable” to everyone?

Lets see some of these examples in the next part.

[allthefilmsiveseenforfree]

Connie and Carla

I know nothing about this film requested by Chad other than the following facts: It was Nia Vardalos’s follow-up to the indie smash hit My Big Fat Greek Wedding, and it was universally reviled by audiences and critics alike. So I’m in for a fun afternoon! The plot is your basic Some Like It Hot ripoff - Connie (Vardalos) and Carla (Toni Collette) are childhood best friends who have spent their whole lives performing together, believing they are destined for musical theater greatness. After witnessing a murder, they go on the run and hide out in the last place anyone would think to look for them - as women pretending to be men pretending to be women, aka performers in a drag queen bar in L.A. Everything’s going great until a BOY shows up (David Duchovny), and Connie falls for him. Gender gags, musical theater numbers, mistaken identify, Russian mobsters, hijinks - yeah, we’ve all drunk this cocktail before. So was this top shelf, or something found in a plastic jug at the gas station? Well...

How about a mid-level ridiculous flavored vodka? Like Pinnacle Whipped Cream or something. The film’s conceptions of gender (and of straight women’s feelings of entitlement to what should be LGBTQ spaces) are not my favorite. But its heart is in the right place and overall this leads to something pretty fun and charming, especially if you happen to love musical theater.

Some thoughts:

If there were an airport lounge where I could watch two sad 30-somethings singing a medley of musical theater’s greatest hits, I would go there every day. I wouldn’t even book a flight, that would just be my favorite bar. I think I would go broke driving to the airport every day and buying drinks in this lounge. I’d have my birthday party there. 

Oh I love Greg Gruenberg in a bit part as the cheesy celebrity bus tour guide in L.A. 

Hello David Duchovny as Jeff! He was my first celebrity crush, and his aw shucks nice guy thing in this movie is really working for me. 

This is wildly offensive to drag queens not because of stereotypes, but because no drag act would ever come so ill-prepared with a Rocky Horror number. I recognize that in 2004 we didn’t have over a decade of RuPaul’s Drag Race under our belts, but c’mon, even the most sheltered Midwestern queer would come with something better than this. 

Is this supposed to be some kind of feminist statement about beauty standards in L.A.? This anti-botox rant Connie and Carla go on, and the makeover of the woman in the salon - no no no, straight hair and beige lipstick is Bad but curly hair and lip liner is Good. It feels confusing that we’re supposed to see this as empowering when we’re just trading one commodified flavor of femininity for another. 

There’s something that just feels deeply wrong about these women taking one of the only paying drag gigs in town, particularly when actual drag performers come to them and beg them to open up their act to include other drag queens. Note that they all offer up tangible skills - I can sew a dress in 3 hours, I can do incredible makeup, I’ve got great choreography. Yes Connie and Carla can sing, but drag is meant to be performative - the artifice is part of what makes it an art form. Smarter queer people than me have written about this, but even for the uneducated, there’s something about this concept that feels off, wrong and exploitative, and deeply rooted in straight privilege. It’s the same icky feeling I get at the gay bar when all the seats for the drag show are taken up by straight women’s bachelorette parties, while actual queer women and men who came to see the show are pushed to standing room. 

Ok, I do kind of love these interludes with Tibor (Boris McGiver) looking for the girls in every dinner theater and Broadway show in the country and the only show playing is Mame every time. Fun fact - McGiver’s father actually starred in the 1974 version of Mame!

Feels a little weird that Connie is the one who is explaining to Jeff why drag queens “like to dress up.” Is this being an ally or just erasing and talking over queer folks’ experiences? This is what I mean when I say it feels off - I don’t think it’s malicious, but the way the film handles queer stories feels like a dismissal, an invalidation. Like these straight women can do queer camp better than these gay men. 

Did Carla literally just say “I need to get out of this closet”????

Connie is literally the worst at maintaining a cover. The trappings of fame are proving too alluring! 

As far as performances go, Collette and Vardalos have great chemistry, and Duchovny is being pretty dreamy as the romantic lead who’s around because he’s trying to reconnect with his estranged brother, Robert (Stephen Spinella). Nobody is winning an acting award for this, but Collette especially is a lot of bubbly fun.

Jeff is a difficult character to grapple with. On the one hand, he doesn’t always handle Robert’s sexuality with grace or compassion, and that can be difficult to watch as a queer person because we all have experienced that same kind of look, that tone of “why can’t you just be normal?” However, he’s putting in an honest effort to grow, and I think that should count for something. Also he straight up gets sexually assaulted by Connie, so I don’t blame him for having a hard time feeling comfortable around the drag queen scene. And that’s another fucked up thing, just adding to the “gay men are predatory and will put the moves on straight guys at the first chance” stereotype. 

Even though it sounds cringey as hell when he says it, I’m sure it is probably cathartic for any gay kid who stumbles across this movie and hears Jeff make his big speech about “I should have just loved you and accepted you and not cared about the fact that you wear dresses.” That’s what I mean when I say the script seems to have its heart in the right place even though the way it’s expressing a lot of these ideas just reinforces the status quo rather than interrogating it, or propping up the stories of people who live outside that status quo.

My god, do I love Debbie Reynolds in this head-to-toe red glitter number.

Yeah I don’t think all these queens would take this kindly to being lied to and having their act infiltrated by a couple of straight women. Like this feels laughably “all’s well that ends well.” 

Did I Cry? Ok, a tear slipped out when Jeff and Robert hugged for the first time. 

This was a very interesting watch. I know I seem to be dragging this shit out of this movie, but I actually largely enjoyed the experience of watching it. It’s got a very 2004-esque view of some complex gender and sexuality issues (and wouldn’t it have been so much more interesting if a queer person had written this and was able to use it to interrogate issues of femininity and its performance as it relates to queerness?). BUT, honestly, the whole thing is Shakespearean in its plot and its broad strokes characters. You’ve got crossdressing, mistaken identity, some light gay panic, long lost brothers reuniting - all that’s missing is a Duke and a forest setting, and you’ve got half of Shakespeare’s comedies right there. And much like Shakespeare, there’s nothing here that hasn’t been done before - it’s the medium parts of Some Like It Hot, the general plot of Sister Act (swap nuns for drag queens), the gender panic of every cross-dressing movie. All very surface-level stuff but there’s a reason these same kind of stories have been putting butts in seats for 400 years. 

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[emhowling]

e m m a   l o u i s e   v a n i t y

basics:

name: emma louise vanity. pronunciation: eh·muh loo·ease va·nuh·tee. meaning: emma- whole & universal. louise- famous warrior. birthday: august 13th. age: twenty-two. pronouns: she & her & they. sexuality: bisexual. siblings: heather, trey, & sage vanity. the pack. parents: darrell & darlene vanity. rosalyn & fenrir greyback. other family: the greyback pack. languages: english. romani. grunts. current residence: trailer in the greyback caravan. hometown: warwickshire.

wizard fun:

hogwarts house: slytherin. year of graduation: 1977. occupation: tattoo artist & piercer at markus scarr’s. pet: beta fish named nicole. blood status: muggleborn. species: werewolf. patronus: leopardess. leopards are graceful hunters. they symbolize elegance in spite of adversity and looming danger. they are great representations of warriors and hunters. it also symbolizes stealth and strength. both traits are good to have if you’re hunting or seeking something. sensuality and passion are usually attributed to them. additionally, they are considered symbols of privacy and secrets.  boggart: emma is very, very claustrophobic. she is always terrified of being locked into a small confined space or being chain up. amortentia:   blackberries. emma doesn’t necessarily love blackberries, but she does love anything that is blackberry flavored. blackberry pies, blackberry cobblers, blackberry jams, jellies, lollipops, and even blackberry wine is her favorite thing to have. they used to grow at the treeline of the playground behind the trailer where she was born. wildflowers. no matter where or what time if emma sees wildflowers growing, she’ll stop to enjoy them. they’ve always been a secret love of hers and frankly, she finds them far more beautiful than any curated flowers. they’re never the same thing twice, but they make everywhere smell infinitely better. whiskey. it isn’t even her drink of choice. if asked, emma would much rather be let loose with tequila. there is just something about the smell of high brow whiskey that reminds her of something happy. wand type: 9 1/3″, black walnut wood wand with a dragon heartstring core, stubborn and bouncy. less common than the standard walnut wand, that of black walnut seeks a master of good instincts and powerful insight. black walnut is a very handsome wood, but not the easiest to master. it has one pronounced quirk, which is that it is abnormally attuned to inner conflict, and loses power dramatically if its possessor practices any form of self-deception. if the witch or wizard is unable or unwilling to be honest with themselves or others, the wand often fails to perform adequately and must be matched with a new owner if it is to regain its former prowess. paired with a sincere, self-aware owner, however, it becomes one of the most loyal and impressive wands of all, with a particular flair in all kinds of charmwork. as a rule, dragon heartstrings produce wands with the most power, and which are capable of the most flamboyant spells. dragon wands tend to learn more quickly than other types. while they can change allegiance if won from their original master, they always bond strongly with the current owner. the dragon wand tends to be easiest to turn to the dark arts, though it will not incline that way of its own accord. It is also the most prone of the three cores to accidents, being somewhat temperamental. affiliation: de affiliated, loyalty only to the greybacks.

appearance:

height: 5′. hair color: brown. eye color: brown. typical hair style: tied up into a bun on top of her hand with a scarf wrapped around it or braided in intricate patterns. fashion style: emma wears a little bit of this and a little bit of that. a lot of her clothes are acquired by just being near her and wearable. she goes through a lot of clothes given how tough she is on the fabric. there is a lot of layering, but there’s nothing emma hates more than being too hot so she had the tendency to shed them until she’d comfortable. [ fashion ] distinguishing features: emma has a lot of scars over her body, some full moon related and other not. she has a few small tattoos. her weight fluctuates somewhat wildly based on the lunar cycle, and sometimes she does look markedly pallid. notably when she smiles, she has deep set dimples.

personality:

positive traits: innovative. nimble. artistic. negative traits: combative. disorganized. tactless. theme song: hungry like the wolf by duran duran.

headcanons:

emma has been drawing for as long as she can remember. if there’s a pencil or pen or quill in sight, emma will pick it up and set to drawing something. her favorite medium is definitely charcoal since it’s the easiest to come by and use quickly.

fuck shoes. if given a choice, emma would literally go barefoot all of the time. she kicks off her shoes at any given opportunity, and especially likes to go running when she is barefooted.

emma is a small girl and perhaps an even smaller wolf. it’s easy to spot her on a full moon as she is particularly small and irritatingly fast on her feet. she’s been lovingly referred to as the runt of the litter more often than not.

biography:

Darrell and Darlene Vanity never intended to be absent parents. Truly they didn’t, but they were young, and they were poor. Four children weren’t cheap. It took a lot of extra shifts, saving, and scraping by to just afford the power and water in their little trailer at the very edge of the park where the fence didn’t quite meet ends. More often than not, they were all four left to fend for themselves. More often than not, there just wasn’t enough room in the confined little trailer. The parents slept in the large bed crammed in the small side room with the eldest two kids, but the youngest two had a kitchen table that converted down so a mattress could slide on top. Needless to say, Emma Vanity always felt a bit trapped in such mundane circumstances.

There was a big hole in the fence around the back that the kids could crawl through while no one was looking. Emma couldn’t remember the first time she snuck through that old rusted metal to the playground on the other side. If asked, she would tell you that it was the first day she learned how to toddle out the front door of the trailer. She would spend hours on the swings, the seesaw, the merry go round, and the slides. Most of the fixtures barely worked, but it was a good escape for the Vanity kids. It was where Emma made her first drawing. It was where she broke her arm for the first time. It was where she first met the Greybacks. 

Only eight years old at the time, and already far too keen to escape her surroundings. Emma skipped school more often than not, it felt like the trailer in too many ways. Small-minded and confined by the walls of a big prison where the adults yelled at you for needing to piss or drawing on your tests or running at full speed down the hall. It just wasn’t a place for someone like her, and she didn’t need to be any older to see it. There was more to her than the other snotty little kids around her. Even if no one else could see it from the trailer trash. She had been busy that day trying to repair the rusted chain of the old swing set with the little bit of that unexplained extra she possessed, which later Emma learned was the beginning of her magic slipping through, when she got caught.

From the treeline, a woman stepped forward. She was perhaps the most beautiful person that Emma had ever seen. The first thing she did was tell Emma that she was special. Well they could definitely agree on that. The woman offered her more. More than a trailer and more than a rusted playground and distant school. More than parents who forgot her and siblings who didn’t notice her. Emma took her hand and never looked back. Frankly, she never even knew if her parents put up missing posters or not. It was probably a relief to have one less mouth to feed. 

Fenrir wasted no time biting her. That first transition was the hardest thing that she had ever had to go through. The pain of shedding her skin will be seared into the very core of her memory for the rest of her life. Yet, there was never any hesitation because she was a child or even any thought that she could not keep up with the rest of the pack. It was just expected that she would, and Emma lived for that independence. The Greybacks held to every promise made to her. They were far more parents to her than the Vanity’s had ever been. They raised her.

It was harder than she wanted to admit to leave them for Hogwarts, but ‘kids go to school’. So Emma went. It was confining at first. There was too much she wasn’t allowed to do again. It wasn’t easy to keep things under wraps, Emma had never been a very good secret keeper. Her first year, she certainly spent more time in detention than she ever did in class. She would spend hours drawing the intricate architecture of the castle and her classmates in various states of distress or joy. That is when she discovered Quidditch. She was hooked. The only reason she started to do her coursework was so that her marks would be good enough to play. A proper chaser in all regards. She even managed captain in her later years. It was likely the only reason she didn’t drop out in her fifth year like her parents had. That and a handful of good friends she wasn’t quite ready to lose. Besides, apparently the accommodations for werewolves had really improved in recent years. It wasn’t unbearable to tolerate the time. 

After graduation, Emma returned to her pack. Fenrir had made a deal with the devil, and that was just fine by her. It wasn’t as if she was particularly keen on a war, but it was always fun to have something to do. It kept her close enough to her school friends too. She trusted him with her life. That included what said life entailed. If he thought it was the right call, Emma would believe him. However, there’s been a building tension about just how right that call might be. In her spare time, she picked up a relatively flexible job at the local tattoo parlor as an artist and piercer, but there is a part of her that is screaming- what’s next?

[punkinroses]

Alright gang I got two rounds of next gen kids done, let's move onto the ones who names I struggled the most with. The previous two posts can be found here and here, showing Zuko and Kataras family, and Sokka and Sukis families, respectively. So, here's the next family on the list:

Taang Kids

Jai Bei Fong is the eldest child of Avatar Aang and Toph Bei Fong. An Earthbender trained in the art of Metalbending by his mother, he has been requested numerous times to take over her school by others. He has simply refuted numrrous times that those running it now are more than capable and prefers to keep to a more minor teaching role in coaching. He has become a Pro Bender instead and has become a part of a very famous team -- and boy does he love to showboat, even if just a little. He does coach minor league and junior teams. He uses a lot of his jovial cockiness for the purpose of getting people to underestimate him and his skills, and to aggravate his opponents to cause them to mess up so he can strike at the perfect time. He has, however, been dealing with a lot of frustration in his own personal life with relationships that never seem to lead anywhere, the struggles of a single father and feeling a responsibility to try and help his family more with his own father gone and them all being...not really about it. Jai is considered the most handsome between him and his brother, with styled black (greying) hair, green eyes and fair skin with his fair share of scarring from fighting. He chooses to wear a lot of darker greens and silvers to match his metal, always wearing a metal cuff with him presented to him from his wife.

Jai lost his wife Reilah a mere few years sgo but it has felt like an eternity without her. She was his biggest supporter in his matches...and a bit of a rival for him, as they had been Pro Benders on separate teams. They always made playful bets on what would happen if one lost -- and one of those times he used to propose to her. He still lost that fight, but she told him that she wouls have said yes regardless. She was mischievous and free spirited, and a little hotheaded. But she was a very formidable Firebender who picked up some tips to better her bending from her in laws. Her career, however, would be cut after she fell ill. Her illness spread slowly and try as they might, there was no permanent solution to heal her and she eventually succumbed to it, breaking his and their daughters hearts. She had short dark brown hair, piercing golden eyes and tanned skin and had an intricate tattoo sleeve that included Jais name and their daughters name.

He has tried to find love again after her, as that was something she was very poignant on. "Don't you dare try and shut your heart off. Don't swear off finding someone who can make you happy. Or I'm coming back and lighting a fire under your ass." But, so far, all of those attempts have failed, either because of a lack of chemistry between the two and from rifts between his daughter and some of his potential girlfriends.

Their only child is named Anzu. She is a rough and tumble, bright eyed Earthbender who has her Dad wrapped around her finger, especially after the loss of her mother. She struggles connecting her extended family, however, as it feels like they all grew apart way back when, but she idolizes her Grandma and Toph is rather close to her as well. She's been struggling to learn Metalbending, but she's stubborn and does not want to give it up. She's also very adventurous, loving every "life changing field trip" she and her Dad go on, and has a collection of various souvenirs on a shelf in her room. She's on her own Pro Bender team that she's currently struggling to whip into shape and has been dealing with that stress on top of trying to be happy for her dad finding love again...but with the ones he brings home constantly trying to replace her Mom. Anzu has shoulder length black hair that she keeps in a messy ponytail, gold-green hazel eyes, and tan skin.

Nyima Bei Fong is the second born child of Aang and Toph. A skilled Earthbender who found herself drawn to the art of Sandbending as well as Metalbending, she has pushed herself to make her own lot in life. She has opened her own resorts across the Earth Kingdom, and one that'll be opening on Ember Island soon. She has wanted to open one close to one of the Air Temples as a way to find a reconnection with her Dad, but her sisters are absolutely against it. She's a very business savy woman who also wants to expand into other new horizons. She's also a complete smartass and doesn't take anyone's nonsense. In her youth, she, like her sisters, was very vocal in reformation to make better changes across all four nations and Republic City, and she was always the most ready to go full out for a cause, even if it stressed both of her parents out. She's claimed she's held herself to a higher standard in recent years and wants to find success while creating a relaxing environment for everyone. Though, if you press the right buttons, her old streak may come out. She's got short, curled black hair, grey eyes and fair skin, and wears muted colors that's topped off with a colorful, stylish scarf.

She has been in an on/off relationship with her childhood romance, Bo. The two have been almost married on four separate occasions, but things have always put a stop to it -- usually things started by Nyima and what people have suggested could be a fear of commitment. Bo is a good humored, free spirited boy raised in the Air Acolytes by his father Teo and has always had a passion for romance and making a positive change in the world. And he's always been able to pull her old spirit out of her when she needs it. He has medium length brown hair with some pulled back in a ponytail, grey-brown eyes and fair skin.

Their eldest child is their daughter Jesa. She is a happy go lucky girl who is very close to her Dad and trying to develop a closer relationship with her Mom, but sometimes feels like she can be too busy and lost a sense of herself, especially when finding old pictures of how her Mom used to be. The two have gotten a bit of a closer bond upon the discovery that she is an Airbender, like her Grandfather before her, though it's lead to even more tension between her parents and aunts who have polar oppositr ideas as to what Jesas' furure should be. She wants to define her own future, like her Mother did for herself and how her Grandmother did. Her best friend in the world is Lian, who she's always felt a big connection to. And after she finds out she's the Avatar...it leads to a whole new world of adventure. She has long dark brown hair, grey-green eyes and fair skin and she wears bright colors, namely golds and greens to honor both her heritages and and she wears a headband similar to her Grandmothers.

Their youngest child is their toddler son Bisang. He's a rambunctious little boy who loves wandering around the resorts and getting to be strapped up in a baby sling while his Dad air glides through the air. He knows no fear and loves to be unabashedly himself. He also is a bit of Mamas boy and clings to her and has been showing promising signs of being an Earthbender.

Tophs final pregnancy shockingly resulted in the birth of triplets. The eldest of three being Hien Bei Fong. A gifted Airbender, she was the first to get her Airbending tattoos after mastering the 37 levels of the practice and it's something she holds in great reverence. She has since gone on to become a leader amongst the reborn nation of Air Nomads and sits among the council, residing on Air Temple Island in Republic City. She works with the newest wave of Airbenders to teach them the old ways and do what she can to revitalize the culture her father almost lost. She was once far more free spirited as a teenager and even though she was a very loud advocate for change, she could find when she could relax and enjoy life. Now her top priority is the politics to keep the balance and to preserve history in the name of her Father -- something that has put a strain between her and Toph, who reminds her that Aang wanted her to be her own person and to have fun. She keeps her bangs shaved off to show her arrows, and the rest of her black hair pulled into a side braid, and has piercing grey eyes, and many remark her glare reminds them of an owl.

Hien has no spouse and prefers not to find someone to be married to. She actually used to date a lot in her youth, but as the years have gone by, she does not want to settle down with someone, feeling they'd never be able to selflessly love all of her and her responsibilities, nor could she do the same.

She does, however, have two children of her own from very brief, unknown relationships.

Her eldest child is probably the eldest out of all of the next generation, her daughter Dema. Dema has struck out on her own, away from her mother's strict thumb and rigid traditionalist nature. She ran with a circus for a time after first running away, before finding herself starring in the new and upcoming phenomenon of Movers. Her actress life has landed her a cushy life in Republic City, which has lead to awkward encounters with her mother, but she stands her ground on the decisions she has made for herself. And Toph always tells her "I think you looked amazing in your new film!" And she always laughs along. Currently, Dema is engaged to one of her more frequent costars, a nonbender named Raiden. She has long black hair, with long bangs, dark blue-grey eyes and and olive skin.

Her youngest is her teenaged son Tenki. Tenki is an Airbender wise beyond his years and is an avid bookworm. He's also the most relaxed member of the family and is very go with the flow, and wants to simply travel around, experience the world with his nothing but his books, and maybe rediscover Wan Shi Tongs library. He has a shaved head, having just gotten his arrows and dresses in typical Air Nomad clothes, with a prayer bead necklace on him at all times.

The second born of the triplets is Hayato Bei Fong. Nobody really knows why Hayato always had a chip on his shoulder. Born with the same airbending abilities as his sisters, he found himself struggling with it and his spiritual side, having more of a stubborn, hardheaded side to him. He rejected getting his tattoos and took to heart the idea of going out on your own and making a name for yourself, though it broke Aangs heart when he left after a fight and never fully reconciled with him. A fact that hit harder following Aangs untimely death. Hayato has since gone off to work in his mothers home town of Gaoling to help bring in industry and has been working on his own company to produce automobiles and motorcycles, rathering to focus on making waves towards the future than tapping into the past and to the spiritual side. Now if he could just get his mother to stop trying to drive one of his automobiles... Hayato has shoulder length black hair, usually pulled back into a bun, dark grey eyes and a small scar going through his left brow. He's discarded any bright Air Nomad colorings for blacks, greys, silvers, and dark greens.

Hayato has a husband named Kazu. He's a nonbender, and an author out to publish his own books and also writes news reports as a gig to bring home money. He has a taste for the darker fashion style of his husband and writing about the struggles and triumphs of mankind in a post war world. He has layered black hair, hazel eyes and pale skin.

The two are looking to adopt in the near future!

For now though, they are quite happy with their Crococat, Boots.

Born the last amongst the triplets and the subsequent youngest child, Huuro Bei Fong is her own terror twister of an Airbender. She was the wild child of her siblings, always getting into her own antics and probably the protestor that almost got her and her sisters arrested numerous times in their youth. She gained her tattoos after the creation of her own move. She has since moved to the restored Southern Air Temple and is always causing trouble for the new elders to show the newest generation how to have fun. She's also been known to be quite skilled on the Sungi Horn, much to somes delight...and others dismay. Huuro wants to help the Air Nomads to find fun, lively and searching for new purpose, to establish new traditions and celebrations while acclimating to the modern world. She keeps her black hair long, flowing and down, and her grey eyes always are full of life.

Huuro is here and looking for love around every corner! She wants to find someone who loves life as much as her and wants a life full of new experiences.

[bostonhq]

Opal Lake (Madelaine Petsch) was born on March 16th, 1998, and runs the local independent Art Gallery. They use They/Them pronouns and live in the Fenway-Kenmore Apartment Complex, but they originate from Cardiff, Wales.

Biography

Tw: Abuse, Sexual Assualt, Mental Illness

Opal Lake, gallery owner, art therapy volunteer, dog parent. Opal worked their way up to own their own gallery through hard work and passion for what they do; saving the world person at a time. Opal has experienced darkness within this world, they have looked death and evil in the eyes and spat back at them. And wishes for no one else to do the same. So, through the medium of art, they teach others how to use the parts of them they don’t like, or the parts of them that people abused or mistreated, and turn it into colour and expression. How to get it out and scream at the world “Fuck you! You can’t get me!” Many people have found solace and hope in Opals methods, and it is things like that which shine light in the darkness that can be their psyche.

In regards of looks, Opal is 5’4 and chubby. Some people would describe them as curvy, but Opal hates their stomach and stretch marks and thighs. But, they know if they were born in the Renaissance period, they’d be the epitome of beauty. So, screw society. Opal has red curly hair, about a billion freckles, and forest green eyes. Their skin is pale, with red undertones. They also burn very easily, so is often red anyway. They have 17 tattoos so far, which are:

A mushroom, jellyfish, a small duck with a knife, a smiley face, the sun and a few planets, a bird skull, and a sunflower is on their left arm. The anarchy symbol and the peace symbol, a 3d grim reaper, a fox, a pyramid is on their right arm. They also have two large portraits of fantasy elven woman, one on each thigh, in black and white. Their back is covered in a forest scene in the mountains, with a small cabin and lake near their tailbone. On their ankle is a tally chart signifying years they’ve been self harm free, which is currently at four. On their calves, they have a portrait of a cat and a dog, both of whom passed away after many long years spent with Opal as a child.

Personality wise, Opal is a fierce lover and fighter. They will stand up for their definition of good, with a stubborn tendency to never back down until their definition of justice is served. This unfortunately gets them into a lot of fights, but, they consider it worth it. Deep down, Opal is a hopeless romantic, but hasn’t ever quite found the right partner, they’ve just had a string of broken hearts in their wake from friends with benefits. They have standards for themselves, and after-all, not just any fuck will do. They connect with their mind and soul during intercourse, of course, but to connect with someone on an emotionally deep and intense level, now that would be the dream for Opal. To change the world while holding their partners hand high in the air. Opal considers themselves non-binary, and queer.

In regards to mental trauma,  Opal has been through a lot. They grew up in an incredibly abusive household, witnessing their father abuse their mother and vice versa, being abused by their father emotionally, and their brother. Opal has been raped in an abusive relationship, and their brains way of dealing with it is through a personality disorder called Emotional Intensity Disorder, as well as psychosis in terms of hallucinations and multiple personalities.

One of Opals personalities is called Jade, who is a scared, vulnerable, terrified person who just wants to hide from the world. The other is Onyx, everything dark and cruel about Opal and their response to being hurt so badly by those who were meant to care for them.

Opal Lake is Penned by Leigh

[bm-americas]

Mantle ("The Paracas Textile"), 100-300 C.E., Brooklyn Museum: Arts of the Americas

Mantle with ninety individual, colorful figures decorating the border. The interior cloth is simple, fragmented, and possibly of an earlier date. Cross-loop stitch flowers join the border to the central cloth. Although the mantle was found at the Paracas Necropolis and has been known as "The Paracas Textile" since it was acquired by the Brooklyn Museum in 1938, the cross-knit looping of the border figures is a typical Nasca 2 technique. The mantle is therefore now considered to be the work of Nasca artists, who were contemporaneous with the Paracas people. Some scholars also believe that the central cloth dates from an earlier period and may have come from the Ica Valley where objects with similar "Oculate Being" imagery have been found. The textile is about two thousand years old. That it survived over time is due to the dry desert climate of the South Coast of Peru where it was discovered. In spite of its fragile condition, it is one of the most important textiles in the world because of its complexity and mysterious imagery. Its fragile nature demands low levels of light, an environment free from vibrations, and a case to protect it from dust and moisture. Excerpted information from a brochure published by the Brooklyn Museum in 1991: Ninety separate figures stand around the border as if in a formal procession. About thirty figures are unique; others fall into groups that share similar costumes, coloring, body postures, and positions. No single figure stands out clearly from the rest, and no overall sequence has yet been deciphered. The back of the border is a mirror image of the front, except for three figures that have a front and a back. All of the figures are represented from multiple viewpoints and each individual body part is treated separately in a standardized way: faces are always seen full-face, feet in profile, and so on. The designs in both the center and border of the textile are organized around the lines of an imaginary cross passing through the center. It divides the faces in the central cloth into two groups, and the border figures into four, each of which point their feet in a different direction. Some figures seem to be mythological and have unnatural characteristics such as appendages sometimes called "streamers" or "signifiers," which usually extend from mouths or clothing. Streamers do not correspond to a known object and may represent some abstract force of energy. Some human figures wear very elaborate costumes. As in many societies, costumed priests may have acted as interpreters and mediators between the natural and supernatural worlds. The costumed figures may also represent an intermediate stage in the transformation from real living person to spirit. Since Paracas and Nasca textiles were used as funeral wrappings, it would be appropriate for their designs to reflect such a transformation. Three of the figures are thought to be women because of the longer dress-type clothing; the head is bent backwards and the arms are raised. In keeping with the agricultural theme of the border, two types of plants sprout from these three female figures. Other border figures hold or display disembodied heads and small doll-like objects that scholars call "trophy heads" and "effigy figures." These seem to be related to ritual sacrifices connected with a religious cult that spread through the South Coast at this time. Bodiless heads and sacrificial victims are found in burials, and images of sacrifice occur throughout Paracas and Nasca art. Trophy heads on the border often appear to germinate like seeds, sprouting plants and animals, suggesting interconnected cycles of birth and death. About one-third of the border figures have some type of feline motif. The larger "Pampas cat" portrayed is a small wild cat called Felis colocolo, which is still found in the South Coast area. The regalia portrayed correspond to rich, beautifully crafted items known from Paracas mummy bundles. Forehead ornaments, hair bangles, and mouth masks such as those shown were made from thin sheets of gold. Llamas were the only beasts of burden used in the Andes in pre-Columbian times. They carried products between the vastly different ecological zones at different altitudes. The llamas portrayed (although one is much deteriorated) each carry a leafy branch with fruit; their backs are decorated with beans, flowers, a chili pepper, and other vegetables. Llamas continue to have both practical and symbolic importance in the Andes. Three border figures wear what appears to be a fox skin. These skins have been found in many mummy bundles. In Inca times (1470-1532) fox skins were a special badge worn by men who had specific community duties related to agriculture. Since these figures all wear a headdress decorated with a leafy branch, they may have held a similar office. There are distinctions between figures that might indicate the presence of more than one artist. Two of the fox-skin wearers are almost identical: but a third is slightly larger and different in its detailing. One of the only three figures on the border with a front and a back appears in a costume with a bird wing worn over one shoulder. One of the Paracas mummy bundles included just such a costume -- a feathered, wing-like cape. The central figure in a trio found at one end of the textile has a long streamer extending from his mouth and ending in a cat; another mouth streamer has been lost. The borders on his ankle-length garment and all of his streamers have intricate repeating motifs that are similar to the embroidered designs found on numerous Paracas Necropolis textiles. Many of the tongue streamers on the border are decorated with the same colors, patterns, or edgings as those that appear on garments. This may suggest some correspondence between textiles and language. Textiles still reflect a medium of communication in the Andes. Family and village designs on textiles are representative of social identity and help maintain inherited information, connecting past, present, and future generations. Agriculture was well established on the South Coast by Paracas and Nasca times and a wide variety of plants are represented in the border design, including root vegetables, fruits, beans, and yucca and flowering species. Some scholars feel this textile is a type of calendar, especially because so many different types of flora and fauna are represented, but none have definitively been able to decode the imagery. Comments by Isabel Iriarte, Curator of Collections, Archaeological Textiles, Museo Ethografico "Juan B. Ambrosetti," University of Buenos Aires, March, 2004: The figure of a "woman" appears three times, figure number 88 on the short end, number 73, and also as number 67. Each character by her side is different. She is carrying what seems to be, according to the limpness of the body, a dead person, however, the figure holds a tumi. This is thought to be a woman because of the longer dress-type of clothing she is wearing; her head is bent backwards and her arms are raised. From "Textiles of ancient Peru and their techniques" by Raoul d'Harcourt, Seattle: U. of Washington Press, 1962 [1934]: In keeping with the agricultural theme of the border, two types of plants sprout from the figure. On figure 88 one can see the tuber, and on each of the three figures it is possible to discern the plant extending down the side of the figure, possibly a camote or sweet potato plant. Size: 24 5/8 × 58 11/16 in. (62.5 × 149 cm) support: 67 1/4 x 33 1/4 in. (170.8 x 84.5 cm) Medium: Cotton, camelid fiber

https://www.brooklynmuseum.org/opencollection/objects/48296

[homeforchristmas-au]

Character bios pt 2!!

Decided to continue the bios for the rest of the fam squad, the full extended family!! Might change things around a bit, we’ll see!!! Here’s part one in case you missed it :3

Emile Sanders (formerly Picani):

Age: 46

Pronouns: he/him/they/them

Height: 6’1”

Curly medium golden mahogany brown hair and sky blue eyes, subtly tanned skin covered in freckles, red framed rounded glasses, likes dressing like a cartoon character or just wearing cartoon merch (his prized possession is his Mabel pines jumper) but wears a brown cardigan over a white button down shirt with a pink necktie when he goes to work

A big goofball that has a lot of love to give, but he still knows when to be more subdued and calm and when to activate “serious picani”. He’s always loved helping people work through their issues which is why he’s a therapist

Like patton, he’s excellent at reading emotions, though he’s a bit better at it since he’s a professional

Has ADHD, but has developed the necessary coping skills to help keep his symptoms under control

Has two siblings; Catarina (Patton’s mother) and Leonard (Patton’s other uncle). Emile is the baby of the family while Leonard is the oldest

Emile met Thomas when they were both in college. They shared an ASL class and quickly began getting along, and frequently practiced sign language together and feelings developed from there

It was quite some time before they got married, but it was well worth the wait

Thomas Sanders:

Age: 43

Pronouns: he/him

Height: 5’10”

The standard character Thomas look; floppy medium brown hair, chestnut eyes, fair skinned, wears the same three shirts periodically for five years until he buys three new shirts, the usual stuff

He’s a sweet, down to earth guy. Loves cartoons almost as much as Emile does, has a passion for pizza, theatre, and the cats of the world he’ll never be able to pet without dying. He can be impulsive at times, but his heightened anxiety oftentimes outweighs that

Has three brothers named Christian, Patrick, and Shea, but I won’t describe them in depth cos I don’t wanna get any facts wrong since this is based on Thomas himself oop-

I’m literally just describing the canon character Thomas except slightly older im-

There’s like nothing else to add to make this fun and unique it’s just character Thomas welp

Thomas and Emile’s kids:

Anton Sanders:

Age: 16

Pronouns: any/all

Height: idk uh ??? 5’7” ???

Medium length wavy black hair, electric blue eyes, fair skinned with a beauty mark on his right cheek beneath his eye, usually wears fashionable clothes and declares himself an eleven, often wears scarves and turtlenecks (almost exclusively black) as well as his round mirrored sunglasses

Can and will kill you with a single look. Especially if you mess with his family. He’ll never admit it but he loves them with everything he’s got, even if he never acts like it for even a moment

Especially adores Remy and respects that they’re discovering themself and exploring new possibilities. He knows from experience how tough that is and how much of a challenge it can be

Was adopted at age three after his parents were busted for child abuse and heavy drug addiction. It took quite some time for him to come out of his shell but Emile and Thomas were nothing but patient and loving and kind. He still has a lot of trust issues but he knows he can trust his family

Will never admit it now but became insanely jealous when remy was adopted into the family. He did not want a brother because he knew that meant he was being replaced and he wasn’t loved anymore

Eventually Thomas and Emile sat him down and they all talked through it and assured Anton that he was still loved and he was not being replaced

It still took a very long time for Anton to trust Remy, even if he was only a baby

His heart was won over when Remy said his first word to him

All he said was “no” but Anton admired his defiant spirit

also yes this is the Critic how did u know

Remy Sanders:

Age: 12 (birthday January 16)

Pronouns: he/him/they/them/it/its

Height: damnit how tall are 12 year olds

Shoulder length hair dyed dark purple at the roots that fades into magenta at the ends (hair colour changes periodically depending on what it feels like having), chocolate brown eyes, fairly dark skinned but not heavily so, gender expression changes at the drop of a hat but it often wears leather, skirts, beanies, and a heck ton of earrings (when it turns eighteen it starts getting a lot of different piercings like angel bites, nostril, and industrial piercings, etc) (that’s worth noting)

Almost always sarcastic but that’s its way of showing love really. It’s a helluva punk that can and will fight anyone to the death if they deserve it (or if they hurt someone Remy likes). It’s actually a huge nerd but doesnt usually show that side of itself. It loves reading, watching shows like doctor who, and doing puzzles with Logan

Was diagnosed with adhd after Emile noticed it experienced similar symptoms for quite a while

Was adopted by Thomas and Emile when it was a baby (and Anton was four), having been found by Emile when it was left in a box in an alleyway, which was a long and complicated process but one hundred percent worth it

It has a trio of male rats named Holmes, Watson, and Splinter. Thomas was a bit reluctant to let it adopt rats but they all went to a rat breeder and when Thomas saw them all and even held one he realised it wasn’t so bad and they were actually kinda cute

When it was nine years old, it nearly died in a nasty hit and run. A truck had swerved into it when it was by the side of the road. It was fine after a lengthy recovery except it had to use a wheelchair after some spinal cord damage left it immobilised from the waist down. The driver was never identified

It probably wasn’t a coincidence that this event occurred not long after remy started talking about how much it loved boys just as much as it loved girls, but that teas a bit too hot for this post

Logan’s sisters:

Ellen Adams-Waterson:

Age: 26

Pronouns: she/her

Height: 5’6”

Light auburn hair going just barely past the shoulders, honey eyes, fair skinned though mildly tanned, covered from head to toe with freckles, red framed rectangular glasses, usually wears clothes for comfort and especially likes turtlenecks

She’s a determined, steadfast kinda gal who fights for whats right and gives everything she has for her loved ones, especially her immediate family. Although she can be pretty blunt with her words she’s also kindhearted and wants whats best for everyone

She’s an avid writer, and has actually published a novel. She also dabbles in fanfiction and is unashamed about it

She’s married to a wonderful wife named Elizabeth and they have a daughter named Kaylee (15)

She’s also been trying to quit smoking but so far that has yielded no results

Ashley Fletcher (formerly Adams):

Age: 24

Pronouns: she/her

Height: 5’10”

Long light ash brown hair that reaches her tailbone that she keeps parted to the right, electric blue eyes, fair skinned and a face full of freckles, black rectangular glasses, tries to be fashion forward but mostly just wears T-shirts and denim jackets

She’s a trans woman and has been transitioning for a few years now with lots of support from her family. She’s a nice person but let’s people walk all over her a bit. She doesn’t like confrontation much because of her anxiety disorder, but she’s trying to get better with that

Loves acting and wants to pursue it as a career, but her anxiety makes it difficult to put herself out there

Married to a trans man named warren and they have a son named jack (11) and a daughter named Emma (6)

She met warren at a pride event with Logan and Patton, and it was actually Patton who met him first (although at the time he went by a different name and didnt know he was trans yet) and then introduced him to the others

They actually talked about adopting a child long before even considering marriage. Although they realised it would look better to adoption agencies if they were married, and that was the main reason they even went through all of that

Renae Adams:

Age: 21

Pronouns: she/her/he/him

Height: 6’8”

Short wavy hair dyed bright pink, amber eyes, fair skinned, a black *dabs* styling pair of Warby Parker’s, often wears high neck shirts and suit jackets, basically always business casual because she can, and loves wearing hoop earrings

There are two sides to Renae; either stone cold businessperson or happy go lucky memelord with a heart of gold. She’s a lot like Logan in that regard, although it’s harder to predict what side of her you’ll see at any given moment. She can either be a super soft bean or the scariest person on the planet

Has been dealing with OCD her whole life, and sometimes it gets particularly bad (especially the intrusive thoughts) but she has a therapist and psychiatrist she sees somewhat regularly

She runs her own coffee shop called Real Bean Café and it does fairly well. She’s always thinking about how she can improve her business

She’s aroace so she isn’t in a romantic relationship but she is in a queerplatonic relationship with a beautiful enby named Pigeon

They actually met in her coffeeshop. Renae saw Pigeon’s Attack on Titan T-shirt and was immediately compelled to talk to them

And that is it for part two of the character bios!!! Might make another post talking about Logan’s sisters’ kids and partners but idk we’ll see 👀

I just really like character designs man lmao

Lemme know if I need to tag anything else my brain box isn’t generating the required tags rn lmao

[missmarquin]

The Perfect Brew (For the Perfect Future)

I’m a goob, and totally forgot to post this here when I posted it for Day 2 of Sylvix Week. @sylvix-week

...

A brew is only as good as the company it's shared with. Oneshot, AU. Day 2 of Sylvix Week. Read on Ao3 for better quality!

....

Sylvain isn’t a coffee person, but the tiny cafe is the perfect spot to hide.

He has to hand it to the woman-- Margrita Alpazar of House Rowe was a force of nature. If he’s going to be shackled to a woman and forced to bear children with her… well, he can appreciate someone with a decent backbone.

The problem with Lady Alpazar though, is that she has too much of a backbone, and that she’s just too damn assertive. It’s why his mother adores the woman, and why Sylvain still cringes at the mere mention of her.

He ducks past the wide wooden door, flattening himself against the limestone wall of the interior. He doesn’t risk looking to see if she’s passed him up, but he still waits a long moment, holding his breath.

Really, he’d wait for hours if it will throw her off his trail. And surely she isn’t about to follow him all the way to Low Street. She has standards.

Sylvain can’t stop the grimace that slides across his face. Who’s he kidding. She’s actually followed him to far worse places before, and he wasn’t even thinking about that one time at the brothel.

That was when he learned Lady Rowe packed a punch. Literally.

The cafe smells nice at least-- if you like coffee. Porcelain cups and plates clatter as customers enjoy their daily brew. He’s more of a tea person, really, but he can appreciate the bitter taste and biting aroma, and--

He turns into the business proper, only to find a shorter, quite aggressive looking man staring right back at him. His linen shirt is old and off-white, and his apron is stained with coffee grounds. He balances a tray on one hand easily, holding a steaming coffee kettle in the other. Inky, dark hair hangs in his face, the longer bits tied haphazardly in the back.

He looks Sylvain up and down, taking in his appearance. Sylvain’s dressed in his finery, due to his meeting with his betrothed, and he sticks out like a sore thumb. And while it isn’t the slums… well, he wasn’t on High Street either.

Sylvain already has an excuse on the edge of his silver tongue, when the other man speaks.

“Not black,” he says curtly. Sylvain blinks. Well of course he wasn’t, was the man blind-- “You’re the type to mask the taste, so sugar and cream. More so the former than the latter. And then you’d likely ruin a good brew with a bit of chocolate.” A pause, as he adjusts the tray against his shoulder. “There’s a table in the back. At least take a seat and fucking order something, if you’re keen on camping here.”

Oh.

Well, Sylvain isn’t dumb, but he’s slow on the intake sometimes. “Do you have any tea?” is his response, and he can tell by the man’s immediate scowl that it was absolutely the wrong thing to ask.

“You’ll find your pansy water on High Street.” He must see Sylvain’s wince, because then the man scowls with a tsk. “Just find a seat. I’ll bring you something.”

Sylvain dumbly does what he asks, and the man is gone before he can think much else of it. He tucks away to the back corner, tucking himself into a too-small chair, and clasping his hands awkwardly. He risks a glance towards the entrance door, but they don’t fling open.

He’s apparently lost his tail, thank the fucking Goddess.

Eventually, the sour-faced barista finds his way over to the table. He drops a tray loudly onto the surface, followed by an old coffee mug and plate, and then a very small glass pitcher. “This isn’t my most popular brew, but you might not hate it.” He lifts the cup, pouring the contents of the pitcher into it.  “Something about fruity notes, and hints of cocoa. Honestly, the merchant bored me with the details. Dark Roasts are for the weak-blooded.”

It’s pretty much all gibberish to him, but Sylvain reaches for the cup when the dour man holds it out.

“Dark Roast, right,” he repeats.

The other man sneers, but waits. Sylvain realizes he’s waiting on him. He lifts the mug to his mouth and takes a sip.

He’s never really liked coffee, but holy shit, this brew is something else. He takes another sip. And then another, and it must show on his face, because the next time he looks at the barista, his scowl has been replaced by a smug smirk.

“This is uh--”

“Yeah, I was right it seems.”

Sylvain swallows another sip.

“Who are you hiding from?” the man asks, and Sylvain is caught off guard.

He places the cup down, thumbing over the handle and replies, “My future wife.”

The barista winces in what looks like solidarity. Then he motions to the coffee. “It’s on the house.”

Before Sylvain can refuse though, the man is gone and assisting another table. He looks down at the dark drink. He never drinks this stuff black but-- He lifts the cup carefully, sipping at it.

It’s the best fucking coffee he’s ever had.

…

Sylvain wants to go back the next day, but holds himself back. He blames it on paperwork and a generalized I’m working. Margrita manages to corner him again, but only to pout about their missed date the day before. She doesn’t seem angry that he slipped from her presence though-- only mildly amused-- and she smirks as she tries to reschedule. Sylvain hedges around the idea, but eventually agrees to sharing a cup of tea when he finds the time.

Which, if he can help it, will be never.

Still, there’s something about the cafe that tugs at him. Or rather, someone.

It takes three days for him to finally cave and pick his way back to Low Street. He tells his mother that he just needs a walk. He tells Margrita that he’s out playing cards with the boys. He narrowly escapes his Father’s assigned guards (babysitters), but manages to sneak away.

The cafe smells sharp with the scent of coffee beans, and he takes a deep breath. Yeah, he’s still not used to it, but it’s growing on him, this coffee thing. He slides towards the same table as before. He looks around, trying to--

Ah, there he is.

The barista is… wearing the same shirt as yesterday-- he can see the coffee stains from where he sat. He looks tired, bags cut deep under his eyes, but his hair is sleek and brushed out. Today it was braided and thrown over his shoulder.

Sylvain watches as the man pours a cup out for a guest. The woman in question says something with a flirty smile, and the man scowls, biting back a clipped remark. Sylvain hums at that. Interesting.

And then the man is at his table, that scowl directed right at him. “Got lost on your way to High Street again?” he asks, but it’s not really a question.

Sylvain leans back in his chair. “I’d have to be going to High Street for that to happen. Instead, I spent nearly two hours trying to find this place again.” There’s a pause, and then, “I mean the coffee is good and the place is decent enough. But then again… the help?” He motions to the dark-haired man himself and his coffee dusted apron. “Leaves a little to be desired.”

The barista scoffs, his lips twitching in annoyance. He leaves, but then comes back, this time with a cup and pot. “Medium Roast this time,” he says shortly. “Imported beans from Brigid, roasted with orange peels. My least popular brew that I offer. I don’t know why, but maybe that smart mouth of yours might be the only that will enjoy it.”

He practically slams the cup down on the table, and whisks away to grab the ticket. He slaps that on the table as well, before flitting off across the room. He doesn’t come back.

Sylvain’s so distracted that he doesn’t notice that he’s been charged double at first.

And when he does, he happily pays it.

…

Sylvain’s hates that particular brew, but he goes back every single day that week.

The barista scowls everytime, his lips twitching exasperation as he takes in his high-class finery. Yeah, Sylvain doesn’t really belong there, but he doesn’t really care. Every single day, that same terrible brew is dropped before him, chipped cup and mismatched plate accompanying it.

Sylvain always finishes it, despite the bitter and acrid taste.

Four days later, he asks another barista who the owner is, and she nudges her head to the side. Towards the man with the awful disposition.

Oh. No wonder he’s pissed.

Still, Sylvain learns his name that day. It’s Felix.

…

“What’s your favorite brew,” Sylvain asks one day. He prefers the counter to the table, he’s realized, because it allows him to bother Felix. And honestly, it’s a miracle the man hasn’t kicked him out yet.

The cafe isn’t as full as usual, but perhaps it’s because it’s later in the day. He’s been at it for a month by this point, spending every afternoon with his favorite prickly friend.

Felix doesn’t scowl at him anymore, not much at least. The look’s been replaced with a constant mask of disdain and eye-rolling. Sylvain considers it a victory, even if he doesn’t quite know what he wants from the man.

Felix pauses, mid pour, the stream of coffee cutting off abruptly. Dark Roast again, this time grown in Almyra. Something, something, lemons and thyme. Pairs well with fruit scones, whatever that means. “That’s not for you to know,” he says, resuming his task.

Once the cup is full, he slides it over the countertop.

“You wound me, Felix,” he whines.

“Hugo,” the other man snaps. Sylvain smirks at him, before sipping at his cup.

This one isn’t bad. This one is decent, and it’s one that he would drink again. He adds it to his mental list.

“Say Felix,” he drawls, ignoring the requested what-he-assumes-to-be last name, “Teach me how to brew a good cup? Margrita complained about what I made the other day, and I can’t bear to see her frown like that again.”

Felix pauses again, his face unreadable, but then he tsks. “Idiot.”

It isn’t a no though, nor does he correct him when he calls him by name.

…

“So this is where you spend your afternoons.” Margrita hums lightly, as she looks around. Her arm is slung through his own and she clings to his side, like butter on bread. Sylvain doesn’t like it, but frankly, he’s too exhausted to fight her off. So he leaves her be. For the moment, she’s behaving. “It’s cute.”

Sylvain nearly warns her about that particular word, but Felix is already there before he can.

“Cute,” he practically spits. His glances follows the entire length of both of them, no doubt scowling at their velvets and jewels. “It’s bad enough he gets lost everyday, now you too?”

Margrita’s eyebrows raise at such speech, but her lips quirk in amusement.

“Don’t mind my friend,” Sylvain sighs, patting her arm gently. “Felix thinks that cute ruins the image he’s actually going for.”

“Then what is he going for?” she asks.

“Robust,” is Felix’s answer, and the woman cackles in response. Robust, like a good brew, he’d once told Sylvain. Felix lips twitch downwards as he points at her. “I don’t like her,” he says to Sylvain, before turning on his heel and wheeling around the edge of the counter.

Who does? Sylvain thinks, but when he looks at Margrita, she’s watching him carefully, not Felix.

“Some friend.” She doesn’t look angry though, her eyes narrowed with an amused brightness. Really, she isn’t as bad as she could be, he supposes. And with her tanned skin and bright green eyes, she’s cute to boot.

To bad she isn’t Fe--

It’s like water has been dumped over him, and he shoves that thought away as soon as it comes. “He’s still getting used to the idea,” Sylvain finally says, but his tone is a little more subdued than his normally cheerful self.

But Margrita laughs, and he smiles back thinly, leading her over to his favorite table in the back.

The brew that is brought to them is a medium roast. Felix says something about the coastal region of the Adrestian Empire, cherries and something called cascara.

Sylvain imagines that it probably tastes good, considering the pleased hum from Margrita across him. But as Felix pours out a second cup, Sylvain watches how his eyelashes flutter when he blinks, and the delicate ripple of his forearms, visible where he’s rolled up his sleeves.

He swallows thickly around the lump forming in his throat.

Felix slides the cup towards him, across the table. And when they meet gazes, his scowl relaxes into a smile.

When Sylvain sips the coffee, all he tastes is ash.

…

It’s been a year since Sylvain came to the realization that he loves Felix.

At first it was a quiet little thing. Sylvain would pick up on the small details that he wouldn’t notice before-- the stray strands that escape his various up-dos and how silky they look. The way that he scowls in mock anger, but let’s out a little tsk of amusement.

But as time passes, that feeling grows.

They aren’t at the cafe this time. Felix has surpassed friendship into something else. Companion? Confidant? Whatever it was, Sylvain’s household doesn’t ask questions when they see the dour-faced man slinking through the hallways.

Sylvain loves it. He also hates it.

They sit on a bench in the garden. Even though they’re alone, Felix is still on high alert. Sylvain’s since learned that he’s a veteran who fought in the Holy War, always on edge. He’s swapped his sword for coffee beans, and has tricked himself into living a simpler life. Sylvain wishes he could do that same, just disappear himself and be free.

“I’m going back home,” is the first thing Sylvain says.

Felix, who’s already pulling out a water kettle, pauses. It’s barely there, the grief on his face, but Sylvain sees it. He wants to see it, he realizes, he--

Actually, he doesn’t, because that’s going to make this a hell of a lot harder.

“My father is sick, and it’s about time that I take over my lands,” he  finishes. The words sound lame in his mouth.

“Duty,” Felix says quietly. He’s never really confirmed it, but Sylvain has figured that he’s high born. Felix just reads well bred, when you look hard enough. Again, there’s that green-eyed jealousy, bursting in his chest. Felix was lucky enough to escape wherever it was, that he came from.

“Yeah, crests you know. Can’t be a Gautier, and not give a shit, right?” His tone is as bitter as that one medium roast that Sylvain really fucking hates. His friend reserves that brew for when he’s angry at him.

Felix hums, but doesn’t respond. He sets out two cups, followed by glass press and plunger. There’s a quick snap of his fingers and then a small flame, before lighting the kindling under the pot. He’s not good with fire, but he manages well enough with this.

And then he pulls out a tin that Sylvain doesn’t recognize. Old and dented, the green paint flicking off. It’s not from the cafe stock. “I’m sorry about the Lady Alpazar.”

Ah, right.

There was an argument, and then some words, and Sylvain might have said something that he severely regrets. Something, something, I love him. She hadn’t gotten angry, instead he had just sighed in resignation. And then a smile. And then a pat on the cheek, followed by a kiss to the forehead.

Really, he regrets it because there isn’t a woman in the world as understanding as the Lady Alpazar, and if he’s going to have to marry someone that isn’t Felix, she was definitely his top choice.

Except that she isn’t a choice anymore.

“Yeah, me too.”

Felix watches him for a moment, before opening the tin and spooning out a liberal amount of ground coffee. He must have done that bit before arriving. They sit in silence as the coffee brews, and it doesn’t smell like anything he’s ever tasted.

“I don’t want to, you know,” he says finally. “I don’t want to go back--” He paused, knuckles tightening. “There’s nothing for me there,” he finishes weakly. He’s entering dangerous territory.

Felix pours the coffee. Sylvain reaches for it, and Felix’s hand lingers for too long, before pulling away. “A good friend once said that a brew is only as good as the company it’s shared in.”

Sylvain chuckles darkly. “No wonder everything I drink tastes like shit.”

“That’s bullshit, and you know it,” Felix immediately responds. His voice is quiet, but it’s sincere.

Sylvain sips his cup, and it is bullshit. He laughs again. “Figures this would be the best fucking cup you’ve evermade me.”

Felix hums at that. “You once asked about my favorite brew,” he says.

“That’s not for you to know.” They’re repeated words, but ones that he remembers well.

“Pecans, Maple and Vanilla, with enough caffeine to fuel an army. I don’t think I’ve ever given you a blonde roast, but here you are.”

“Figures.”

“I…” But Felix hesitates, worrying his own cup between his hands. “I’ll miss you,” he finally admits. “When you leave.” Oh, the fucking dramatic irony. Sylvain can’t help but laugh, and Felix huffs at that. “Is that funny to you--”

“No it’s not,” Sylvain says quietly. “It’s tragic.”

Felix turns to him, his brow furrowing into a cute little wrinkles and-- Sylvain sighs.

But Felix knows how to read him. “What happened between the two of you?” he asks gently.

“We had a fight.”

“Did she not want to go back with you? Gautier lands are quite unforgiving.”

“I told her that I didn’t love her.”

Felix blinks at that. “Was that a secret? It’s not as if she loves you, and she doesn’t strike me as stupid--”

“I told her that I love someone else.”

Felix’s mouth snaps shut. “Well, not what a lady wants to hear.”

“Not usually, no.”

Felix sips at his mug. “She must have been angry.”

“She told me to go for it.”

“What?”

Suddenly, the coffee seems cold in his hands. “Yeah, hence the fight.”

Felix tips his head to the side, his eyes narrowing. “The woman gives you a pass, and you argue over it? How stupid are you?”

“It’s pretty complicated.”

Felix hmphs at that. “There’s very little complicated about you, Sylvain.” But then his expression falls tender. “Will you?” he asks hesitantly.

“Will I what?”

“Go for it?”

Sylvain is quiet for a long minute, rubbing his fingertip along the edge of his cup. Watching the garden and how the sunlight filtered through the trees around them. He’s about to make a mistake. He’s about to throw caution into the wind, and quite possibly fuck up his entire life. He turns to Felix, who looks back in curiosity.

He reaches out suddenly, pressing his fingers against the high arch of Felix’s cheekbones. He’s prepared for the man to pull away, but he doesn’t. “There aren’t any coffee shops in Gautier,” he finally says.

“Sylvain--”

“I’ve come to enjoy it a lot. Coffee, I mean, but it’s not really the drink that I like. What was it you said earlier? The brew is only as good as the company its shared with?”

“Sylvain.” Felix’s voice pitches high and breathy.

Sylvain moves to grasp his chin gently. “Would you come with me? Up North?”

“Idiot.” Felix reaches out, gripping onto Sylvain’s shirt like it’s a lifeline. “Stupid, stupid, stupid.”

But he doesn’t say no. He’s red, and embarrassed, and he drops the cup of coffee in his lap. It clatters to the ground, cracking. And he still hasn’t said no.

Sylvain smiles, before leaning in.

Felix meets him halfway.

[ladyofpurple]

answer all of the questions!!

holy SHIT ok bless you omg

(sorry it's a full day late i took this shit SERIOUSLY. don't ask me how many hours this took, i was in A Mood™️ last night. removed the ones already answered xoxo)

angel; have you ever been in love?

yeah. didn't end too well, but i loved him.

petal; favorite novel and author?

this is like asking me to pick a favorite child. i guess favorite author would be stephen king, if only based entirely on the sheer quantity of his books i own alone. favorite book would probably be special topics in calamity physics by marisha pessl, and i'm only saying that because it's been my go-to response for years. i have lots of favorite books. ask me again in five minutes and i'll give you another one.

honey perfume; favorite perfume/scent?

freshly made coffee. lilacs. jasmine. cut grass. the ground after it rains. chocolate chip cookies in the oven. cigarette smoke on skin. my mom's shampoo. my grandma. my dog when he's just had a bath. thanksgiving dinner. acrylic paint on canvas. sawdust. that one cologne i can't name but can smell on a guy from a mile away. mulled cranberry and apple juice. vanilla. coconut. fresh laundry. peppermint.

sweet pea; what’s your zodiac?

virgo sun, pisces moon, scorpio rising ✨

softie; talk about your sexuality.

i'm biromantic asexual, primarily attracted to men more than women (but have had too many crushes on girls to consider myself het), generally sex repulsed when it comes to the thought of having it myself. i prefer to call myself queer in passing conversation, it's easier than explaining asexuality and the differences between sexual and romantic attraction. if someone asks more specifically, i'll usually just call myself bi for simplicity's sake, even though the ace part is a much more important (to me) part of my identity. monogamous as fuck.

i'm still struggling with internalized homophobia and a lot of "am i even queer enough" thoughts, which is super fun. took me a long time to even consider the fact that i might like girls at all. i'll probably never come out to my parents. not that they'd, like, disown me or whatever, but they're juuuuust homophobic/transphobic enough that my few attempts to educate them when they say something A Little Yikes have shown me that i should probably just stay in the closet unless i absolutely have to come out. like i'm getting married to a woman or something.

sugarplum; what’s the color of your eyes and hair?

i usually say my eyes are green because it's easier, and they mostly are, but i have rings of greyish blue around the irises and sometimes they're more hazel in the middle. they always have a green tint to them though, even if the intensity of the green varies.

my natural hair is brown, a little on the darker and slightly ashy side of completely generic. currently a former blonde, although i'm hoping to bleach my fucking YEAR of growout soon, and then go some crazy color as a last hurrah before i have to go dark again. being broke fucking sucks.

wings; coffee or tea?

tea!! black tea. chai, to be specific, with an irresponsible amount of milk and sugar. chai lattes are a fucking drug okay? coffee makes me sick (not a judgement, a literal fact. last time i tried some i threw up).

fairytale; are you a cat or dog person?

cat!! but my family has a chihuahua named sonny and you can pry that little monster from my cold dead hands ok i will fight you.

snowflake; favorite time period?

okay, i wrote and rewrote my answer to this about 10 times. then i tried to divide it up into categories (aesthetics, history, fashion, vibes, geographical location, etc), but that didn't help. so basically: i don't have one, because i have too many.

i like the american 20s-60s for the aesthetic, music/movies, and the fashion. i also like the european 1600s-1800s for the interesting history and also vibe. i love the french and russian revolutions — the fashion! the art! the wars and political upheaval! I FUCKING LOVE HISTORY. then, of course, we can't forget the rennaisance. or the witch trials (pick your continent). and ancient greece? the roman empire? hello?? did i mention empires? how bout we mosy on over to south america — can i interest you in the mayans? incans? aztecs? what about china and japan? korea? vietnam? and don't even get me fucking STARTED on the black plague.

ancient egypt? sign me the FUCK UP. vikings? yes please. the celts? oh boy. the MYTHOLOGY. the ARCHITECTURE. the LANGUAGES and POLITICS and LITERATURE and REVOLUTIONS and GOD HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO CHOOSE BETWEEN ANY OF THESE

i uh. might have gotten a little excited. basically i like history a lot. and mythology. and linguistics. and cultural practices. and the politics and prejudices behind wars and stuff. and learning in general. moving on.

vanilla; do you believe in ghosts?

let's put it this way: i don't not believe in ghosts??

listen. we don't know jack shit. we don't know what happens after we die, there are constant scientific revelations that turn our understanding of the universe completely upside-down, and there is literally no way to know which religions or myths or urban legends could have some grain of truth to them. like, dude, i've literally thought i was haunted before. psychology is bananas and the universe is infinite.

demons could be real. ghosts could be real. what if we just haven't invented the necessary technology to prove it yet? what if we never do, and they just fuck around alongside us, moving furniture and making shadow puppets on the walls just for kicks until the earth explodes? what if that one tumblr post was right and ghosts are actually real people from alternate universes or timelines that we see accidentally bc some cosmic wires got crossed? who fucking knows.

i love horror movies and scary stories and ghost hunter shows just as much as the next gal. but listen. psychics? mediums? people who accept every single creepypasta retold third-hand from their neighbor's kid's classmate's second cousin who "totally knows a guy"? doubt.jpeg

i don't understand the sheer amount of assumptions made willy-nilly about the nature of ghosts and demons and things that go bump in the night. the assumption that "oh this machine that totally doesn't look like a coathanger taped to a walkman will work because ghosts have this temperature and can always communicate like this and are electromagnetic" or whatever just baffles me. to a certain degree, following a general consensus is one thing — some basic things everyone can agree on? that's cool. ghosts can walk through walls and are probably dead people or whatever. but oh my god, taking every single story as absolute, undeniable proof?? taking these stories and expanding on them to infer intentions and scientific facts to something that by it's very nature is unknowable and assuming, like, every spirit is created equal?? and yeah, ghost hunting shows are fun and campy and kinda creepy but like. you really, genuinely don't think any of them have ever faked anything at all??? even if ghosts are real, it's fucking reality tv, my dude. it's the entertainment industry. at least maintain the slightest ounce of critical thought before taking zak bagans' word as the goddamn gospel.

and sidenote, maybe it's just my limited exposure as a white woman in the western world, but of all the shows and podcasts and movies and documentaries and whatnot i've been able to find and consume, there's the constant use of christian ideology applied to every situation that just really burns my bacon. what, there's never been an atheist ghost? if you see a shadow person and you don't know the lord's prayer by heart, are you automatically fucked? why are there never stories about, i don't know, viking ghosts? does your religion in life preclude you from becoming a ghost in the first place? is that why people never mention buddhist ghosts? i don't get it, and that's why even though i'm self-admittedly the most superstitious person i've ever met, true believers make me roll my eyes so hard they almost fall out. makes me come across as more skeptical than i theoretically am. I HAVE VERY STRONG FEELINGS ABOUT THIS OK

but like, you couldn't pay me to fuck with a ouija board. i'm not stupid.

delicate; diamonds or pearls?

both have their appeal and their place, but diamonds, i guess. i like the sparkle. but fake ones!! or synthetic. diamonds are overpriced and artificial scarcity is a scam and i don't need a dumb rock that some poor person in a mine somewhere was exploited and possibly died for. no blood diamonds in this house, thank you very much.

if i ever get engaged, i don't want a diamond ring. i'd want something cool, a little unusual, like a ruby or a sapphire or some other sparkly gem that isn't literally shoved in your face every waking moment as the expected standard symbol of True Love. they're cheaper, they're cool-looking, as a ring they still hold the cultural symbolism of an engagement/wedding ring. and honestly, as long as it's well-made and durable, whatever hypothetical gem it is doesn't have to be real either. i'm a woman of simple needs and demonstrably low standards. no point in going into debt for a fucking piece of jewelry, regardless of ~tradition~.

lavender dream; favorite album?

oh lord. welcome to the black parade, i guess. or anything by panic! at the disco. there are dozens of possible options — my interests are mercurial and my memory is garbage. but i'll always be an emo little shit. black parade and vices and virtues were also the first two albums i ever listened to where i loved every single song on them, and i happened to listen to them for the first time at around the same point in my life (i got into mcr super late. like, 2012 late. rip).

silky; what’s your biggest dream?

it's cheesy but i guess i just want stability and, by extension, happiness. emotional stability, mental stability, financial stability, stable living situation, stable routines, stable relationships... you get the idea. i have ambitions and passions, of course, but my ultimate goal is happiness at this point in my life, and i'm pretty sure stabilizing all those things would go a pretty long way in achieving that goal.

a little apartment with walls i can paint because white walls make me angry. bookshelves and posters and fandom merch on every wall. a computer i can actually play games on again, and somewhere i can paint and draw and record my podcasts. someone who loves me, maybe. a cat, if i'm stable enough. space for people to come visit me, and a place for them to sleep if they need. a tiny balcony, if i really want to shoot for the stars. a job i don't hate. the spoons to hang out with my friends, and the money to not worry about buying little presents for the people i care about sometimes. i don't need much.

strawberry kiss; do you have a crush right now?

nope.

glitter; favorite fictional character?

another loaded question. like books, if you ask me again in five minutes i'll probably give you a different answer. but in this particular moment, caleb and jester from critical role (please don't make me choose between them). i won't go full shipping mode rn, but jester is so funny and silly and sweet, so much more complex than she seems, and she tries so hard to make everyone happy even when she's so sad inside. the healer who treats healing as an inconvenience in battle (she's so fucking valid and also mood), the glue that keeps the party together. and caleb learning to trust again, facing his trauma and coming out of his shell. he loves his friends so much he plays wizard as a support class and i love him so much.

i love the mighty nein in general, of course, and all the guests/honorary members they've had. pumat!! pls don't be evil reani!! keg!! shakäste and grand duchess anastasia!! cali!! kiri!!!! the brotps! empire siblings! chaos crew! nott the best detective agency! i still love molly and all his assholery to bits (fight me), and mourn his lost potential. i adore yasha, even when she's gone; fjord has grown so much; beau and nott and caduceus — i love all their flaws and disagreements and their character arcs and the excitement of watching them grow and learn. but if i had to choose, caleb, jester and molly have always been my top 3 since day 1 and, well, molly isn't really an option anymore.

but like i said, ask me again in a minute. i have a fucking list.

swan; share a quote or passage that means something to you.

a collection of things off the top of my head:

Elinor agreed to it all, for she did not think he deserved the compliment of rational opposition. — Sense and Sensibility, Jane Austen

a tired feminist Mood™️

"What I say is, a town isn't a town without a bookstore. It may call itself a town, but unless it's got a bookstore, it knows it's not foolin' a soul." — American Gods, Neil Gaiman

i got my love of books from my grandma — some of my favorites i got from her. sometimes, as a treat, she used to take my sister and i to bookstores and we'd stay there for ages, getting to pick one out, roaming the shelves, the mental torture of having to choose. the peace of being surrounded by thousands of potential worlds, so much information, so many stories just waiting to be told; being surrounded by strangers who share that same wonder. the anxious drive home so we could read them, being unable to wait that long so i inevitably start reading in the car and make myself sick. telling her in excited detail all my favorite parts. if we were lucky, maybe we got to split a bear claw, or she'd drive past starbucks and get us something there too (tall vanilla soy steamer with one pump of vanilla syrup, whipped cream on top that always melted too quickly and squirted out the hole in the lid, so hot it burned my tongue but so good i didn't care). i have never felt more at home than i do when i'm surrounded by books.

"There are a lot of different types of freedom. We talk about freedom the same way we talk about art, like it was a statement of quality rather than a description. “Art” doesn’t mean good or bad. Art just means art. It can be terrible and still be art. Freedom can be good or bad, too. There can be terrible freedom. You freed me, and I didn’t ask you to." — Alice Isn't Dead, season 1, chapter 2: Alice

as cringey as it is to admit it, this line made me cry a lot after my breakup.

"So you aren't American?" asked Shadow.

"Nobody's American," said Wednesday. "Not originally. That's my point." — American Gods, Neil Gaiman

[side-eyes white america real hard]

there's more, of course. there's always more. don't even get me started on song lyrics, we'll be here all day.

lace; what’s your favorite plant/flower?

lilacs and roses.

mermaid; do you prefer the forest or the ocean? why?

both, i guess. but in different ways, and in different circumstances.

the sea is wild. it is endless and deep and unknowable. it is beautiful and dangerous. i am terrified of the ocean, and yet my favorite place in the world is an empty beach on the oregon coast. i have picked sand from between my toes for days with hair crusted in salt, danced around bonfires and watched the stars while marshmallows burn, gotten pulled under the waves as a child and nearly swept out to sea. picked starfish and crabs from small pools in the rocks, and swum (accidentally) with wild sea lions. in a long skirt, too early in the year to be swimming, i once took off my shoes and waded fully clothed into the water to my waist and just... danced. splashed and kicked and laughed with a boy i barely knew until our throats were sore and our toes were numb, walking home hours later with our soaked clothes clinging to our legs, shoes squelching, dripping algae as we went. the ocean is freeing and overwhelming all at once. i love it and am petrified by it in equal measure.

the forest is beautiful in a different way. it is silent and dense and serene. you are surrounded by life and yet, somehow, completely alone. there is magic in the forest, and history, and even when all else dies, that will remain. the trees grow from the corpses of their ancestors, and some have lived dozens of our lifetimes — with luck, a few dozen more. it is quiet there, peaceful, even the tiniest wood in the middle of a city muffling the outside world through the trees. you can feel the ancient ways deep in your soul as you follow winding paths strewn with fallen leaves, the mystery and wonder and superstitions of your forefathers. you wonder what it would be like, to run your fingers over the moss, to take off your shoes and socks and just run, leaping and dancing over rocks and roots, hair wild and air filling your lungs in deep, pure gulps as you shed the responsibilities and struggles of modern life, for just a moment remembering what freedom tastes like. it is primal, this connection to nature, one we have nearly forgotten over time. and as the sky grows dark and the silence of night presses against you, shadows looming, every footfall deafening, perhaps you begin to understand why some believed in monsters.

honeymoon; do you keep a journal?

i used to. honestly, that's a good idea, i should start doing that again. lord knows i have enough empty journal-type books.

starlight; do you believe in love at first sight and soulmates? why/why not?

i want to. i want to believe there's someone out there for me, the love of my life, someone to whom i'll be the love of their life, and that when i meet them i'll just... know.

but when i met my ex, i didn't really look twice at him for a while — no love at first sight. and when we were together, when i loved him and he swore he loved me back, i thought he hung the stars in the sky and knew i would marry him someday. couldn't even consider the idea that that wouldn't happen. and then when he broke up with me, he ghosted me so suddenly and thoroughly that he even preemptively cut contact with every single one of our mutual friends he thought might side with me in the breakup, before anybody even knew we'd had a fight. so, not soulmates either.

i really want to believe that someday the perfect romance will just fall into place and i can have the happily ever after i've always dreamed of. but the reality is i might never even have another s.o. for the rest of my life. maybe i'll get hit by a car tomorrow, or my hypothetical soulmate moves to argentina to become an alpaca farmer on a mountain somewhere and we never even meet. maybe i'm so traumatized by the betrayal and lies that i'll never have the courage to even try again.

and even so, happily ever after doesn't have to include a fairytale romance, regardless of whether i want it or not. i still like to cling to that hope though, deep down.

princess; what do you value most in people?

i'm going to assume you mean "real people" as in people i have positive relationships with, and not random strangers on the street.

loyalty. kindness. support. humor. similar values. patience. being able to grow together and teach each other things, so we can make each other better. honesty. trust. compassion. confidence. emotional vulnerability. communication. intelligence, or at least a willingness to learn. strength.

[poorreputation]

SPN 1X01 Pilot Retrospective Meta

Tag list for old episodes meta! (let me know if you wanna be tagged):

@emblue-sparks @metafest @verobatto-angelxhunter @evvvissticante @dea-stiel @sudo-apt-get-destiel @wildligia (tumbler’s not letting me tag you, sorry)

Pre re-watch notes/things to touch on:

Comparing the Woman in White to John, Sam and Mary/hindsight notes.

S1 motivations vs. S14/15 endgame.

Episode Notes:

Written by: Eric Kripke

Directed by: David Nutter

A long post, so I will put it behind the cut.

Lawrence, Kansas

22 years ago

We begin our tale with Mary bringing Dean into Sam's nursery to say goodnight. John enters the room, and in a nice bit of short-hand, he's wearing a USMC (United States Marine Corps) shirt, showing John was a soldier.

There's a shot of Mary and John in a picture. We already know they're married, so why is it here?

Mary thinks it's John in the nursery, only to find him asleep in the living room in front of the TV. (again, a connection to John's past, he's fallen asleep watching a war movie)

Something that'll become a continuity issue, later in the show: Mary's many years of experience being a Hunter, only to not recognize the flickering of lights as a sign of trouble.

Of course, Mary's wearing a white gown, (white is usually seen as a pure color/ of purity, but in this instance a connection to the Woman in White/see Jess later)

Mary's dead, and everyone involved is scarred for life.

The look on John's face, as we finish the Lawrence sequence, is that of a broken man, who's seen something that will eat away at his mind.

Stanford University Present Day (2005)

Okay, the first image we see of Jess is her in a nurse's costume, white with red trimming. Jess also has medium length curly blond hair. Guys, she looks like Mary, especially in Mary's death scene (white gown, covered in blood). 

We focus in on the picture of Mary and John for visual shorthand, confirming this is a grown-up Sam.

We establish Sam is "scary" smart, has aspirations of becoming a lawyer, and has a job interview on Monday.

Jess: "Knock 'em dead on Monday." laying it on thick, Kripke.

Sam: "What would I do without you?"

Jess: "Crash and burn."

*smooch*

Damn you, Kripke.

Night scene, and holy shit, why do Sam and Jess have so many plants? Why doesn't future Sam have plants in the bunker, you know, something low maintenance?

Dean, why the fuck can't you use the door? Or a phone?

From the get-go, Dean's cocky, suffers from eldest sibling syndrome, and is a shameless horn-dog.

Sam: "He's on a Miller time shift." See, when I first watched the pilot, years ago, I didn't realize this was Sam implying John was a drunk. These things would just fly over my head.

Sam wants to make a point of including Jess in the conversation, of being honest. And yet, the moment Dean says John is on a hunt and hasn't returned, that honesty goes right out the window. More on that later.

Sam and Dean's exposition dump in the hallway, a part of me feels it's an odd way to catch the audience up to speed, while the other part of me knows this is how families argue when they spend most of their time biting their tongues. Sam especially seems the type to mull over his thoughts, storing away comebacks for the perfect moment when they'll be most effective (like later in the episode). Also, it's been years since the brothers have seen each other (we're told later it's been at least 2 years since Dean bothered Sam), they're so icy towards one another.

Sam: "You think Mom would've wanted this for us?" we'd find this out later in S4, but, no. Funny enough, maybe if Mary shared her knowledge of Hunting, something more could've been done (foreshadowing).

Dean: "What're you gonna do? Just live some normal, apple pie life?" Dean, if you'd only taken your own advice, we could've avoided S6.

Sam, paraphrasing John: "If you're gonna go, stay gone." Well, that's only very emotionally manipulative.It does, however, remind me of the U.S. military’s views on those dishonorably discharged, and since John raised them as "warriors", it's not a stretch to think, in a time of crisis, John treated his sons as soldiers.

Dean: "I can't do this alone."

Sam: "Yes, you can."

Dean: "Yeah, well, I don't want to."

This exchange, this vulnerability from Dean, after his initial introduction of being a cocky asshole who hits on his brother's girlfriend, shows just how much of a facade Dean's attitude is. In the end, he's a kid scared of losing his Dad.

It's this vulnerability that convinces Sam to listen.

Come the fuck on, "I can never go home." after we establish Sam left John and Dean, left Hunting behind, and was told to never come back (home). KRIPKE. YOU'RE *not* SUBTLE.

2 years, Dean says, since they last talked. Either Sam entered college late, (20 rather than 18) or Sam and Dean kept in touch even after Sam and John's blow-out fight.

Again, Jess pries for more info, and Sam changes the subject. Nope, that’s not gonna bite him in the ass, at all.

Jericho, California

(insert biblical/wrestling reference here)

We meet monster fodder, I mean, some random dude, who tells his girlfriend Amy over the phone he can't see her that night. He slows down to a stop and picks up the Woman in White.

Anyway, another example of a young woman with curly, medium length hair in a white gown/dress. I mean, her house even looks a bit like John and Mary's old place.

We get a brief, blurry shot of the Woman in White and her kids. Sorry, but if you're familiar with the legend of her/La Llorona, it's easy to see where this is going.

Oh, and whatshisface is dead.

Chips and soda. Breakfast of champions.

Sam's being a real sassy bitch about how Dean and John get their funds. I get it, world-building for the audience, bit it shows just how passive aggressive Sam is in these early seasons; Dean's clearly playing moderator between Sam and an absent John.

Sam: "Black Sabbath, Motorhead, Metalica? It's the greatest hits of mullet rock." Sam, it's not Dean's fault you have poor taste. Shut your cakehole.

Sam: "Sammy's a chubby 12 year old." or, it's what a big brother says to his infant sibling to calm him down, oh wait.

Monster bait's name is Troy. Yeah, I don't care.

Dean sassing the officer and Sam stomping Dean's foot. Yep, they're brothers. This interaction is where their chemistry really starts to shine through.

Amy and her friend are peak mid-2000's goths/emos, good lord.

Dean's "I told you so" smart-ass look as the friend shares the rumors in town, he's such an older sibling.

They... they never tell Amy what happened to her asshole boyfriend, huh? Well. Sucks for Amy.

Researching on a public library computer, fucking hell. (nothing wrong with that, I’ve worked in a public library, but they’re doing super-secret Hunter’s stuff in such a public place)

Have it paused on a photo of Constance Welch, the Woman in White, and the article mentions her husband's exact line of work; associate manager who works the graveyard shift at Frontier auto salvage. Gives me shades of Bobby, who also lost his wife under tragic circumstances.

A mother leaves her child unattended, comes back to check on them, tragedy strikes. Or, so the story goes.

Dean confronts Sam about living a life of willful ignorance, and even asks if Jess knows the truth. Sam makes it clear she doesn't and he intends it to stay that way, as Dean sarcastically quips, "That's healthy".

Really, the more I think about it, the more S6 feels like the inverse of S1; Dean tries to live a normal life, Sam comes stomping in to rain on his parade. Lisa is kept largely in the dark about Dean's past, and gets hurt because of it.

Dean: "You can pretend all you want, Sammy, but sooner or later, you're gonna have to face up to who you are."

Sam: "And who's that?"

Dean: "One of us."

Sam: "No. I'm not like you. This is not going to be my life."

Sam thinks Dean's just talking about Hunting, but Dean means more than that, he means family. One of us, Dad and me, a Hunter and a Winchester.

Sam: "Mom's not coming back." and so on about how he doesn’t even remember Mary, doesn’t share John’s obsession. 

Dean: "No chick flick moments." Dean, dude, bro, you're the one who started this by breaking into Sam's place like a dramatic bitch, and then proceeded to give life/relationship advice. It's already a chick flick.

John's room being covered head-to-toe in case notes, only to come to the obvious conclusion it's the Woman in White. But, Sam said, because of the salt line, John was worried. Now, as far as I can remember, John was never a target of this spirit, so, I think he was paranoid about Yellow Eyes. After all, John had notes on devils/demons up, too, so maybe. I could be wrong.

There's something amusing about Sam and Dean's first duo Hunt, one without John, includes one of them getting arrested. Just, how rare that happens in the rest of the show, compared to how many laws they break daily.

Sam talks to Joseph Welch, who seems to wear the same clothes as Bobby. Also, Sam looks like a giant standing next to him.

Joseph lies to Sam's face about his and Constance's marriage, and it takes Sam a moment to work up the nerve to call him out on it. Or, it's Sam losing his temper. They're dealing with a murderous ghost, after all, and this guy wants to hide the truth.

Sam's done with lying witnesses, and now he's making fake calls to the cops. Gloves are OFF.

So, it's revealed John's purposefully leaving Sam and Dean clues, the journal, and the coordinates, but won't outright tell the truth.

Sam: "I'm not unfaithful. I've never been." See, Sam, that's only in the cheating department. You are, however, keeping Jess in the dark about dangerous stuff. Can any relationship with such big lies every be a faithful one?

Again, the imagery of the flickering lights. A standard in the show later for when a ghost's around, but considering all the visual parallels between the Woman in White and Mary, I think it's intentional.

That CGI of the ghosts vanishing was kinda shit, though. So is the sound of water swirling down a drain, I'm now just thinking of a toilet.

Dean: "I'll take you home." and there, in an episode where the ghost is afraid to go home and face the consequences of their actions, Sam too must go back to Jess.

Sam discovering Jess' body on the ceiling, as the room's engulfed in flames, never fails to give me chills. Hot damn.

Post Episode Notes:

While the pilot is a treasure trove of world building, plotting of character arcs, and chemistry between Jared and Jensen, it still doesn't make up for the fact it's bookended with 2 women getting fridged. Mary and Jess don't get to be characters, only fuel for man-pain, and argue with me all you want, but Mary's send-off in S14 is far superior to what she got in the pilot.

I remember seeing Kripke discuss how many drafts they went through while writing the pilot, and it feels like that at quite a few points. Like maybe the sheriff was to get more time, or Troy's father, who I believe is a cop, would've been more vital to the plot. And Amy, who'll spend who knows how many weeks and months putting up missing person posters for Troy.

I believe Kripke also said they'd considered killing John at the end, rather than Jess. I think, and this is pure speculation, the more they went into the lore for the Woman in White, the more they knew Jess had to die. I don't like it, wish they could've done it different, but it fits the story they wanted to tell.

The Woman in White, John, Mary and Sam, in hindsight

It's a retcon from S4, but if Mary was honest with John about her past as a Hunter, maybe they'd have a better chance with fighting Azazel. It's tragically paralleled to Sam not telling Jess about his own past, which may have prevented her death. And while you could say Heaven and Hell would still have their way, and shape Sam and Dean the way they want to, I'd like to think, given the chance, free will could prevail, And, look at how often keeping secrets is framed as one of the worst things the characters could do to each other?

Additionally, if John had been honest with Sam and Dean about what he wanted them to do, and what kind of danger they were really in, maybe Sam wouldn't have left Jess alone.

Thank you for reading this monstrosity of a meta, I hope you enjoyed/found it interesting!

[helloapersonblr]

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It also seems that highly geared firms do not on average have better quality of risk disclosures, with the exception of British Airways whose quality of risk disclosures has been classified as being very good. If you can already guess, there are a lot of benefits to dating a more woman.. This brings the number of child deaths this flu season to at least 53.. Colouring books crayons. The first suspect in the assault is described as 25 35 years old, standing six feet one inches tall, with a medium build, dark brown hair in corn rows and a light detailed beard. But there could be large regional variations. Reach out for help. Part of the rationale for allowing salmonella is that people don't eat chicken medium rare, said Timothy Lytton, a Georgia State University law professor.

[thecryptidofbravo]

Visiting Friends, Lessons Learned, Part 1

“Roving Amongst the Redwater”

Notes by Dr. Marta Carpools

At first glance the entrance to the Redwater Complex, or the Hold as the inhabitants call it, is particularly unassuming. A small outcrop of reddish brown stone that, if you happen to come close for some reason, opens into half again the width of a medium sized caravan with two people walking on either side, a bus could fit with some room to spare, though if driven very carefully. The descent is almost immediate, and it is only after you have entered the otherwise spacious tunnel that you notice it is not a natural occurrence, but one very cleverly built, with smaller tunnels splitting off like blood vessels up towards, you realize, the nearby farmland that is, apparently, not as abandoned as it seemed while passing. Of course, if you’ve made it this far, you know the land is very much inhabited.

Two kinds of people enter this territory nowadays: Ones who know the Redwater are here, and those who do not. Of the former, it is either friends of one of the Clan members, like ourselves (we being myself and my mentor, Dr. Metro), or those who heard the call of safety under the surface of the world. Of the more numerous latter it is, at best, on accident, at worst a band of ner-do-wells

Regardless of which you are, you will not be alone in this area for long, I have discovered. It was not half an hour after crossing the south-eastern border on the map (provided by friends within the Black Diamond Trading Company) that two figures trotted up to us from the west, in the direction of the lake north of what was once Bravo.

They moved with a predator’s grace, and I was reminded strongly of the gorehounds I’d seen at the Iron Harbor. I will blame their covered forms for my immediate instinct to depersonify them. I had once thought Wandering Eye’s layers of scarves and leather were impressive, but I realize now that is the look of a lascarian who has spent much time above the surface, and has, however little, adapted to the light. These figures instead wore the full regalia of people accustomed to darkness below ground and moonless nights, layers upon layers of cloth and metal covered leather, hung with hardened leather leaves and small metal trinkets I knew enough to recognize as Memories and Clan marks. It made them seem less living being and more a moving statue. It was impossible to tell build or shape looking at them, and if it weren’t for one being a head and shoulders shorter than the other I’d be inclined to believe they were twins, or some cloning experiment of the Darwins.

I have been interested in these people since learning about them from the aforementioned part-time resident of Bravo, Wandering Eye, or as I have learned since visiting him in the Sunless Garden, ‘Gangarani’eygr’. I will continue calling him Wandering Eye so as to avoid any accidental insult. As such, I hope to make as accurate a description as possible of what I witness within their territory.

With that in mind the two figures cut an impressive portrait, the afternoon sun throwing their shadows long over the sparse grass and rocky sand. They each carried a shield and spear, though the taller had a sword strung on his back, the shorter several knives strapped to her (I would learn later it was a woman) clothing.

The shields were small, by Bravo standards where one could easily be used as a door. Still, the ovals of wood and scrap metal was tall enough to cover shoulder to knee, nearly as tall as myself, though I am by my own admission, not the most gifted in height. Each was carved and painted in whorls and glyphs, their true meaning a mystery to me even now, though I might assume they were ownership marks, or religious in origin, if I knew less of their culture. I am told that while the Runner sect, as I have learned they belonged to, does not have as extensive a glyph system as the Keepers to which I have become marginally better acquainted, they still guard it closely and have many symbols they consider important.

The spears were 3-4feet of a dark hardwood, though I could not tell you the species (perhaps cedar? Oak? I am less well versed in flora than anatomy, unfortunately.). They seemed burnt black, yet glistened like volcanic glass. I am unsure what process is used to create this effect, but it is striking nonetheless. The tips were worked metal, a long blade with a flat front edge, and a concave back, still sharp. I have done my best to recreate the design below:

We stopped as they approached, and Metro made sure his weapons were secure on his belt before holding his own shield to the side and raising his other hand to show he meant no harm. I did the same, for all I lacked any weapons to secure. They showed no response while they closed. I felt the distinct impression they wouldn’t have reacted had we leveled any manner of defense against them. We were strangers here, they were the ones to be afraid of, though there were only two of them. It was then I remembered some old wisdom from back home:

‘For every lascarian above ground, you can be certain a half dozen lurk somewhere nearby, hidden, waiting for the signal to join their friend.’

I will admit I felt a shiver of trepidation at that thought, the kind I was learning well out here in the world beyond the Killscout compound. However hospitable Wandering Eye had seemed in town, I remembered well first meeting him, and the eyes of a hunter he hid behind his glasses. I felt the same look from these two, though perhaps it was my imagination at the time.

Within Bravo, where they were outnumbered by almost every other strain of post-humanity and generally well behaved, where stories of a pack overrunning a caravan and leaving only chewed bones behind were more joke than serious worry, I think it was easy to forget lascarians are some of the most dangerous creatures living in our shared world.

That fact was very clear to me as the two split and circled us, one to the back, and the other to the front. The shorter spoke in heavily accented speech and after a terse moment we were being escorted towards the north.

Our journey through the entrance described above was largely un-notable, beyond those things already noted. We crossed paths with a few other Redwater at the entrance, and I was surprised to see a slow and small, but steady stream of other strains moving about the side tunnels with lascarian guides to destinations unknown.

Following their lead, the taller of our escorts split down one of the tunnels while the shorter continued with us, stopping briefly at a small chamber to remove their outer layers and head-gear. It was here I discovered our escort was a lascarian woman named Whispering Storm, who was by happy coincidence an old friend of Wandering Eye, and had heard our names from him. Her partner, the silent Blood-of-Oaks, had returned to their patrol group while she sorted out getting us access to the Hold.

While I am not an expert on lascarian physiology to know whether the Redwater are typical of their strain, I admit surprise at the variance I was seeing among them.

Wandering Eye, for example, is a towering man with broad shoulders and midsection, bearing the long arms I have generally associated with such individuals of his strain. His bearded features are rounded, though they bear some of the raptor like qualities of the greater lascarian community, especially in the eyes and brow. His teeth of course are quite standard for the species. On the rare occasion I have seen his head uncovered I’ve noted his close cropped hair, and the slight downturned point of his ears, a trait I hadn’t associated with other lascarians and thought previously to be perhaps an individual mutation of some sort.

By contrast, Whispering Storm, though she too bore the eyes and ears of our mutual friend, was a more slender and well-muscled figure, of decidedly average height. Her hair was dark, a blue tinged black I’m not positive was natural, and long, though the sides of her head were shaved and its length was kept in thin, beaded braids gathered behind her head. I noticed a few Memory trinkets were woven in among them.

Both were of course paler than the fairest strain born above ground, almost corpselike, in fact. Whispering Storm, however, though she also bore the nearly familiar facial marks of a Redwater Clan member (three wavy lines over the right eye, a half circle and line over the left), was a study in culture all on her own; her skin, as she changed into what was apparently more common garb for meandering through the Hold, was seemingly covered in scarring, some of which appeared to be done intentionally, even artistically, and the ink of many tattoos, giving her the appearance of a sketchbook sewn into a living creature.

I’m unsure exactly how much of her skin was modified in such a way, but most of what I saw, and I saw much of it, seemed to be. The clothing she changed into was, I admit, more comfortable looking than my own (though I’ve never felt particularly burdened by them), however I felt some small desire to wrap a blanket around her lest she catch a cold. I suppose I should acknowledge she seemed wholly unaffected by the chill I’d begun feeling in the air as we moved further under the earth.

Metro and I exchanged glances, I noticed a slight blush on his cheeks and he averted his eyes from mine while she placed her knives around the form fitting, dark brown leather harness that made up a significant percentage of her new shirt, the rest consisting of a very soft looking linen that left her shoulders, back, and midriff bare. Her legwear had also been exchanged from the unbleached, durable fabric she’d worn above ground to a deep green pair of pants that looked to be of similar material as her upper garment, tucked down into the boots that seemed the one piece of clothing she had not replaced.

During this time I should not fail to mention she had attempted small talk with us, and I discovered she was quite friendly, especially compared to her partner. She kept up a dialogue with us, somewhat less effective than intended due to her unfamiliarity with the language, and continued asking questions and answering a few of our own even as we departed and continued on our way.

I cannot verify the distance from our changing room to the great Gate, but I can say it was many steps, and at least two surprisingly sharp turns. The side tunnels gradually became smaller, and fewer in number, and the main had ceased to appear like a natural opening of rock, instead squaring off at the corners, creating a smooth floor and ceiling. The torches that had lit the early stages of the journey became fewer and far between, casting our path in shadows. It was almost surprise when I realized the sounds of echoed footsteps had grown beyond our own, and I saw my first glimpse of the Gate.

It was a massive thing, a wall of stone and metal, reach across the fill width of the tunnel, and almost to the ceiling, several times my height at this point. I saw figures moving at the top, and in the center was a thick metal door, currently open, and seemingly built to slide sideways rather than inwards or outwards. Through it, and beyond, opened a cavern that stretched to the left into darkness, though I could make out the shapes of a few caravans, mostly pick-me-up trucks and iron horses, though at least one larger ride was present.

Passing through the Gate was a simple process, there being only a small crowd in the area, and most were waved through without issue. Whispering Storm called out to one of the guards in their native tongue, and he nodded, replying with an air of routine, and a few minutes later we found ourselves moving through the entry cavern, and on a stone road, moving deeper into the cavern, where small buildings seemed to grow out of the rock walls. Almost immediately two things became apparent:

One, this place was far larger than the current population could fill. There was no shortage of individuals, most lascarian, though I saw plenty other faces blended into the populous. Hundreds currently wander the underground center of Redwater culture by my estimate, and yet there seemed to be room for hundreds, several hundreds, more. For every building I saw signs of life (a candle in the window, polished tools on a workbench, or just the lack of feeling empty) there were three or more that I was surprised didn’t have boarded windows and an inch of dust on the steps.

Secondly, the city exuded a sense of age that made no sense for a home built within the last year, as I’d been told it had been. It wasn’t just the scope of the Hold, though it was in part the feeling a year could not have been long enough to build such a place. The subtle differences in certain blocks, how buildings grew together, and the shape of them, all felt as though I was walking through an oldcestor history book.

I stamped down on the unease I felt, as we roamed the streets behind Whispering Storm. I told myself I had no idea what determined lascarians in large numbers could accomplish. Wandering Eye had said once that the Holdlings outnumbered the other sects combined twice over, and their very purpose was to build and maintain their home. I still could not shake the feeling of age the place held, though it lessened somewhat as I began to see signs of scaffolding and incomplete buildings the more turns we took.

Perhaps it is only that they build their home out of the bones of the earth that causes the sensation.

My introspection was cut short as we rounded another street, and came to a junction of buildings that moved into a new part of the Hold. The ceiling was lower here, coming almost to the roofs of the buildings, where it did not replace them entirely. The streets began twisting on themselves, creating alleys and alcoves of dwellings. In the distance I was able to make out the shadows of three larger structures, the size of warehouses, just a bit taller than the rest of the buildings. They seemed identical from the vague look I could get, and faced different directions. The effect walking through this new area of the Hold left me feeling somewhat claustrophobic, I confess.

At asking what this place was, Whispering Storm answered we had entered “Ward-way-air-stad”, and at the looks on our faces I suppose, added “Keeper District” a second later.

I commented about the feel of the place, and she nodded, with a slight smile, replying that the Keepers like tunnels. I suppose that makes sense.

Lascarians like tunnels, everyone knows that.

Three turns and a small hill (there are hills underground, I have learned) passed us, and we entered a small lane. On our left was a slightly larger building that created the last turn, on our journey. It seemed empty but had the feel of a temporary state, as though it was normally inhabited. To our right small homes broke up the wall of the cavern.

Small lamps were hung from the places the buildings met in this part of town, and unlike the torches and candles of the earlier parts of the Hold, the light pulsed a pale blue color. I paused to examine one and discovered they weren’t lamps at all, but small, glass covered, stone planters full of mushrooms and moss from which the light came from. Small insects darted about the light-gardens, themselves bursting in tiny sparks of gold and green intermittently, sometimes taking flight towards one of the other holders.

At the end of the alley we found a surprisingly idyllic scene: a dwelling facing the street, built into the back wall of the cavern as it bent left. Between the building and the one closest to its right was a small elevated slab, from which a simple fountain emerged from the cavern rock. Over it was a wooden framework, hanging with more moss and mushrooms as grew in the lamps. Underneath it all, at a small table sat Wandering Eye, writing in a leather bound book.

He stood as we approached, and smiled. I almost didn’t recognize him uncovered by scarves or hat, I’m embarrassed to confess. He, too, was dressed simply and comfortably. In light brown trousers, and only a draping green vest, which fell to his knees but left his arms bare. It was the first time I’d seen him uncovered so, and I was surprised at the number of scars that mottled his skin, though unlike Whispering Storm, none of these seemed to be done intentionally. Most prominent was the burn on the inside of his left forearm, a wound I recognized from two weeks past, when we were in Bravo for the last time together.

Before Metro or myself could reach him, Whispering storm moved forward, and pulled his head down to hers, touching their foreheads together and whispering something that sounded like “essayo”, before promptly hitting his shoulder hard with the back of her hand and unleashing a stream of words in their language while gesturing at the aforementioned arm.

Wandering Eye took it in stride, and waved her off with a few quiet words and a gestured at the two of us. She mad a noise somewhere between a sigh and a growl, a sound I realized in that moment I’d heard often from our mutual friend, and marched into his home while he stepped up and pulled us both into a hug, motioning to the seats around the table he’d been sitting at, to join him.

We’d only just sat and begun to exchange pleasantries when Whispering Storm reappeared, throwing a bandage roll at her Clan-mate, and glaring at him as she took a seat at his side. He picked it up from where it had bounced off of him and made a quick hand gesture that she gave a satisfied nod at.

Marta Marta

-

“Marta?” Wandering Eye asked for the third time, with no little amount of amusement in his voice.

The small rover woman jerked her head up from where she’d been scribbling in her notebook, then looked back long enough to scratch out a line before closing it with a smile and turning her attention to the rest of the handful of individuals in the room.

“Yes! Sorry! I wanted to get everything written down before I forgot,” She blurted out.

He waved the apology aside, with a freshly wrapped arm. “Do you want tea?”

[upontheshelfreviews]

If there’s a reason why we’re able to recall the story of Snow White from memory, and why said princess is usually depicted with short hair, a cute bow and surrounded by woodland fauna, look no further than Disney. Their take on the Grimms’ fairy tale is the prime example of pop cultural osmosis. Even if you’ve never watched Disney’s Snow White, it’s easy to recognize when a piece of work is borrowing from it or spoofing it. And I can definitely see why – not only is it going eighty-plus years strong, but its influence on nearly every Disney feature to come after it is a profound one.

The real story of Disney’s Snow White begins in the early 1910’s when a young Walt Disney saw a silent film version of the Grimms’ fairytale starring Marguerite Clark. The movie stuck with him well into adulthood. One night, well after he had established himself as an animation giant the world over, Walt gathered his entire staff of animators and storymen and re-enacted the tale for them in a mesmerizing one-man show. They were enraptured, but what he told them next struck them dumb – they were going to take what he performed and turn it into a full-length film.

In Tony Goldmark’s epic(ally hilarious) retrospective of Epcot, he performs a quick sketch he summed up as “Walt Disney’s entire career in 55 seconds” where Walt presents his career-defining ideas to a myopic businessman capable of only saying “You fool, that’ll never work!”. Considering how animation is everywhere today, it’s easy to forget that an animated film was once seen as an impossible dream. The press hawked Snow White as “Disney’s Folly”, and Hollywood speculated that it would bankrupt the Mouse House. It very nearly did. Miraculously, a private showing of the half-finished feature to a banking firm impressed the investors enough to ensure its completion.

Snow White is touted as the very first animated movie – admittedly something of a lie on Disney’s behalf. Europe and Russia were experimenting with feature-length animation decades before Walt gave it a try. But consider this: most animated films predating Snow White’s conception are either sadly lost to us or barely count as such by just crossing the hour mark. With all the hard work poured into it showing in every scene, with each moment displaying a new breakthrough in the medium, Snow White might as well be the first completely animated movie after all. Hell, it’s the very first movie in the entire history of cinema that was created using STORYBOARDS. A tool used by virtually every single movie put out today. If that’s not groundbreaking enough, I don’t know what is.

But is Snow White really…but why does it…can it…

“You know what? No. I’m not doing this teasing question thing before the review starts proper. OF COURSE Snow White is a masterpiece. OF COURSE most of it holds up. Let’s skip the middleman so I can explain why.”

After the opening credits we get the first of what will be many Disney leather bound books opening themselves to invite us into the world of the story. We’re informed that once upon a time there was a particularly Wicked Queen (nicknamed Grimhilde in promo features and the comics) who had a serious narcissistic personality disorder. Every day she consults her Magic Mirror™ to see who’s the fairest one of all and takes pride in being repeatedly told she holds said title. In the meantime she bullies her younger, prettier stepdaughter, the princess Snow White, and gives her the standard Cinderella treatment in the hopes that endless drudgery will wipe out the competition.

One fateful morning, however, the Mirror informs the Queen that she’s been bumped down to runner-up. She susses out that it’s Snow White who’s taken her place after the Mirror describes the newcomer as having “lips red as the rose, hair black as ebony, [and] skin white as snow”, but maybe the Queen is projecting here due to her extreme jealousy. Going by those three traits the Mirror could be describing almost anyone on the planet.

Care to narrow it down a bit, buddy?

Now if you consider yourself a feminist or at the very least have progressive views regarding women, I know what you’re thinking – just another example of the patriarchy pitting shallow female stereotypes against each other, right? Well in a manner of speaking, yes. There’s plenty of evidence that the Brothers Grimm held some odious misogynistic beliefs that stemmed from a bad combination of the era they lived in, outdated religious teachings, and their own experiences with the opposite sex. It shows in their second fairy tale revisions –  the heroines are naïve bimbos in need of a man’s rescue, and the villains are evil stepmothers and witches who happen to be hideous 99% of the time – and those views have been reinforced in our society thanks to those particular iterations being passed down to today.

Here’s my way of viewing the central conflict: The Mirror’s news is a wake-up call that Snow White is coming into her own as a woman and princess. That means marriage to a prince and the end of the Wicked Queen’s rule. Snow White will have all the power and adulation while the Queen is forced to step down and become another footnote in ancient royal history. Up until now the Queen has gone out of her way put down her pretty young opponent with petty cruelty because there’s nothing stopping her; but when faced with the inevitable, she unflinchingly opts to take more drastic measures so she can keep the throne.

If it weren’t for the fact the Queen’s unofficial moniker is Grimhilde and her transformation scene reveals a head of black hair, I’d suspect her real name was Cersei Lannister.

You also have to remember that the Queen takes the term “fairest” at face value. The Queen is beautiful, sure, but it’s a glacial beauty – cold, unfeeling, and nothing beneath the surface. All she cares about is looks and power. You’d have to be a pure loving soul or Woody Allen find something worthwhile in her. Snow White is beautiful too, though it’s her kindness and fair treatment of everyone that garners her the title of “fairest one of all”, not her appearance.

Speaking of, we follow that scene with Snow White (Adriana Casselotti) dressed in rags cleaning the castle courtyard. She shows her bird friends her wishing well and sings “I’m Wishing”, where she reveals her wish for her one true love to show up.

Confession time: In childhood the title of my favorite Disney princess was neck and neck between Belle from Beauty and the Beast and Snow White. I’ve already discussed at length why I adore Belle, so I suppose I should do the same for Snow.

…turns out it’s more difficult than I thought.

For as long as I could remember, I was surrounded by Snow White paraphernalia – tapes, toys, dolls, music, games, artwork, bed sheets, I can even recall the ice show. Snow White is ingrained into my early years. It more than likely has to do with the timing of its brief return to theaters and first VHS release between 1993 and 1994, right at the peak of the Disney Renaissance, so I experienced Snow White-mania right alongside Lion King-mania, Beauty and the Beast-mania and various other Disneymanias that were rampant at that time.

Even this one, embarrassingly.

As a result, I idolized Snow White as much the other princesses of the time, right down to making her the character I dressed up as the most for Halloween. I suppose what drew me to her was inherent kindness, ability to make friends with everyone, and her voice. Yes, I admit it. I don’t find Snow White’s warbling to be as irritating as everyone says it is. Maybe I’ve listened to it so much that I’ve grown immune. Then again I am that one Disney fan who doesn’t loathe It’s A Small World with every fiber of their being so maybe I should question my own tastes more.

Now as an adult with a critical eye who can put nostalgia behind me when necessary, is there something more to the character of Snow White that’s worth appreciating as much as the more-fleshed out princesses of the Renaissance and current Revival period?

I accept that I’m in the minority on this one, but I firmly say yes.

I know what you’re thinking – all Snow White does is smile and sing while she slaves under the Queen and the dwarfs and dreams of a handsome man to come carry her away, so I should turn in my feminist card for daring to suggest she’s a good character and role model for girls, right? Consider this: like Cinderella after her, Snow White’s happy nature and songs are her ways of coping with her unpleasant situation. It keeps her spirits up and in turn she tries to spread that positivity to others who need it as well. She refuses to let the Queen’s negativity turn her as sour as she is. All the little things Snow White reveals in what she does – her patience, pride in her work, healthy emotional balance, drive to help others, and warmth towards those smaller than her (in both a figurative and literal sense) – are all signs that she is capable of being a far better and beloved ruler and all around person than the Queen is. Plus, her reason for wanting to find love is two-fold: not only is she looking for someone with whom she can share a unique emotional understanding bond – which is something most every human craves – but it’s the also best possible means for her to escape from her stepmother’s abuse. Like I said earlier, once Snow White gets the ring, she gets to rule.

And what’s wrong with having a princess who can run a practical household? One could argue that it’s an example of traditional female roles desired by an oppressive patriarchal society on full display, but you want to know why millennials are called out for being lazy? Because baby boomers have cut out classes that teach things young adults actually need outside of school like how to properly cook and do laundry and pay your taxes since those weren’t seen as “essential enough to education”. So I have to admire a princess who, while not the most “progressive” of the bunch by today’s standards, is willing and able take care of herself and others when it comes to basic everyday needs. I think TheBrutallyHonestMom summed it up best in her post defending Snow White:

When we denigrate what Snow White accomplishes at the dwarfs’ cottage, when we rename her accomplishments to make them sound more impressive, more official, more valuable—management, administration, domestic CEO, sous chef, hospitality specialist—what we are really doing is saying that we don’t value the truly valuable work that she and so many other stay-at-home individuals do. Those words are a microaggression against what have traditionally been feminine roles, an attempt to align them with a patriarchal worldview where only those with the biggest titles and fattest paychecks matter. Snow White is domestic. She is a maid. She is a mother figure. She does take on the womanliest of the womanly roles. To claim that adopting these roles (and being good at them) somehow makes her a poor role model for my daughters is not a failure of Snow White’s imagination. It is a failure of ours.

Then there’s the matter of her actress too, which I can’t stay silent about. A few years ago it was revealed that in order to preserve the illusion of Snow White as a real character (a good many years before the company applied that same logic to their character performers at the theme parks I might add), Disney forced Adriana Casselotti to forego her screen credit and never take on another acting role again, essentially robbing her of a career. She only managed to appear in It’s A Wonderful Life and The Wizard of Oz because hers were uncredited minute parts. Casselotti had no regrets about choosing Snow White over a promising show business vocation, but I still call bull on the matter. If this kind of thing happened today, people would not stand for it, character illusions or not. There’s also crazy double standards since all the actors who played the dwarfs got to keep on acting; Sneezy’s voice actor was in Fun and Fancy Free for crying out loud! I love ya Walt, but that is one dick move. So if you’re a detractor cheering that you never have to hear Casselotti’s voice beyond this movie, keep in mind that’s all because of one man silencing her for the sake of his business.

So, Snow White. She cooks, cleans, delegates, teaches, loves, domestically kicks ass, and her behind the scenes story makes a strong case for the Time’s Up movement. Any questions?

“Yes. You’re over 2000 words in and we haven’t even gotten to the dwarfs yet. Plan on getting off that soapbox sometime this decade?”

Snow’s singing attracts the attention of a handsome Prince (Harry Stockwell) passing by on his horse. But his forwardness startles the shy girl and sends her sprinting up to her room. He charms her out to her balcony by singing his one song in the feature…”One Song”. You gotta love it when the title matches the tune perfectly.

“Wherefore art thou Prince? Deny thy father and refuse thy name!”

“Sure I’ll gladly refuse my name – if I had one, that is.”

All joking aside, I have a soft spot for this scene. Stockwell’s voice has this old-time Broadway/operetta quality I’ve always liked, the lyrics are unironic purple prose that still feel genuine, Snow’s little excited gestures are adorable, and it’s framed beautifully. This is what got it into my heard early on that the most romantic gesture anyone can make is serenading someone from beneath their balcony.

“Too bad you’re technically in a long distance relationship.”

“I know. Propping up a phone beneath your window just doesn’t have the same effect.”

Snow returns his affections with a kiss delivered via a dove and departs the scene with one hell of a pair of bedroom eyes, especially for a Disney character.

Daaaaaamn, girl! You already got him hooked, no need to gild the lily!

Unbeknownst to either of them, the Queen is watching overhead; Snow catching the eye of Prince Charming is what finally pushes her to take further action. She summons her Huntsman –

– to bring Snow White out into the forest and do away with her. Brief as this scene may be, there are two things I really like about it. First, the gravity. The Huntsman reacts with horror on being told what he must do, foreshadowing his eventual turnaround, yet with an icy hiss of “Silence!” and a short reminder of the price of failure, the Queen goads him back into line. We don’t know what the penalty for insubordination is, but it’s implied to be pretty nasty if she’s able to convince him otherwise with just a few words. Second, the Queen’s other demand. In the original fairytale, the Queen requested Snow White’s liver, lungs and heart so she could eat them and inherit her stepdaughter’s comely attributes.

But here in the film, she only wants the heart, and not for lunch. The Queen wants to keep it as a trophy. She even has a disturbingly appropriate box for it at the ready.

Proof that she really puts the ‘grim’ in ‘Grimhilde’.

Snow White, now dressed in her iconic yellow and blue dress, goes out flower picking with the Huntsman waiting not far behind. She spies a lost baby bird, and the moment she turns her back to help it, the Huntsman moves in for the kill. It’s framed like the murderer creeping up to their next victim in a scary movie, slowly building up to the moment he confronts her, with tension you could cut with a – well, you know.

Ultimately the Huntsman is moved by the princess’ humanity and can’t go through with the deed. Instead he reveals the Queen’s plot and pleads her to run, run away, Snow, and never return. Terrified, Snow White flees into the forest where her fears magnify her surroundings. Brambles become gnarled outstretched hands, logs are hungry snapping crocodiles, and there are eyes everywhere, always watching, boring into her every place she turns.

I should note that while developing Snow White, the Disney studio became something of an art college with fine arts and film study classes offered to the staff in order to hone their craft. Some of the movies they studied were horror flicks from the pre-Hays Code era, classics directed by the likes of James Whale and F.W. Murnau. The results speak for themselves. Scenes like this and the Queen’s transformation are why I consider Snow White my very first horror movie. The frightening imagery and darker themes all hide beneath a veneer of Disney childhood innocence. Like a proto-Pan’s Labyrinth, the terror as much psychological as it is fantastical.

A young Sam Raimi watched this and vowed one day he’d make those trees even more terrifying and bad-touchy.

This scene is also the source of one of the most famous stories to come out of the film’s creation. During the planning of the part where Snow falls backwards through an open-mouthed cavern into a lake, one of the animators cried out in terror “Won’t that kill her??” And the whole room fell silent. They reached the point where they no longer thought of Snow White as a cartoon but as an actual person, something that had never happened before. That was the moment where they were officially, as Ben Vereen once put it, on the right track.

Overwhelmed, Snow White collapses in tears. She’s brought back to her senses by the usual cuddly forest inhabitants inexplicably drawn to female royalty in need of assistance. Of course, being the ever-thoughtful soul that she is, Snow apologizes for startling them and making a fuss over how afraid she was, once more putting others before herself. She bonds with the animals through the uplifting “With a Smile and a Song”. Then she spends several minutes talking to them and making plans for the future all in rhyme. I confess it’s one of the weaker moments of the movie, showing that the studio’s transition from the Silly Symphonies to full-fledged filmmaking hasn’t completely been made yet.

The critters lead Snow to a quaint cottage in need of a good cleaning service. Assuming the miniature-sized furniture means the inhabitants are orphaned children, she decides to surprise them by sprucing up the joint, hoping her act of kindness will make them forget her breaking and entering and they’ll let her stay. Said cleanup time is underscored by one of the more upbeat tunes in Disney’s songbook, “Whistle While You Work”. Like Mary Poppin’s “A Spoonful of Sugar” it’s all about finding joy in the little things that make the work go by quicker.

“Here’s the last of the underwear, Bambi. And try not leave any ticks in the laundry this time!”

But as we all know, the cottage belongs not to seven children, but seven little people who work as jewel miners, all the while singing that famous mining song –

“No, the one sung by dwarves.”

“Seriously?!”

All joking aside, Heigh-Ho is the best song in the movie, no contest. Easily the catchiest tune here if not the entire Disney canon. If it can keep a theater full of gremlins occupied, it’s doing something right.

Sure, they whistle while they work for now. But once they find the Arkenstone it’s all downhill from here.

And let’s not kid ourselves, the dwarfs are the real reason why we keep returning to Snow White. Their quirk-matching names and designs make each one memorable, they’re endlessly entertaining, and they’re the characters that come the closest to having some form of arc. The group is a prime example of the illusion of life that is animation, exaggerated to a degree that they’re still believable in their movements and mannerisms. Dopey especially works well in this regard, a wonder considering much of his character was developed by happy accident. When an actor suitable enough couldn’t be found, they made the decision to simply mute him. Like much of Disney’s favorite animal sidekicks, they based his personality around that of a lovable dog, though I’d be lying if I didn’t see some Harpo Marx in there as well. As a result, his childlike playfulness and comic timing is up there with Chaplin’s Little Tramp. His hitch step was also an unexpected boon; after animator Frank Thomas put it in one of his scenes, Walt liked it so much that he insisted all previously animated footage of Dopey be redone to include that step. Incidentally, Frank’s popularity among the animation staff reached all-time lows after that announcement.

Snow White flops down for a quick nap on the beds upstairs just as the dwarfs return home. What follows is them sneaking about their now suspiciously squeaky-clean cottage and further establishing their personas through a series of finely-tuned gags (Walt paid five dollars for every good joke his guys could come up with, and this was when five dollars could take you out to dinner and a show). Dopey is elected to check the bedroom and he comes to the conclusion that Snow’s sleeping form is a monster. The dwarfs work up their courage to go kill the beast themselves only to realize in the nick of time that it’s just a harmless girl. But Grumpy, the clear-cut misogynist in the group, isn’t keen on having a “wicked-wiled” female refugee in their abode and shamelessly yells “Let ‘er wake up, she don’t belong here no-how!”

Snow wakes up and instantly charms over everyone except Grumpy as they introduce each other. The dwarfs are shocked and terrified to learn the Queen has put a hit out on her. Grumpy in particular declares the Queen is a powerful witch skilled in the black arts, which is true, and it raises a potent question. Is her magic common knowledge throughout the kingdom, or is it mere speculation? If it’s the former, how did that come to be? What happened to Snow White’s father the king anyhow? All this could make for a very interesting –

“You know what, never mind, forget I said it -“

“Too late! Jenkins, write that down! Bob’s gonna love it!”

“Very good, sir. Shall I pre-heat your crack pipe in preparation for the first draft writing session?”

“Does the Academy loathe streaming services? Hop to it, my man!”

“Hey, I thought you left that jerk to go work for Don Bluth.”

“Shh! I jumped ship after A Troll in Central Park and came back under a new identity. I couldn’t pass up the bankroll Disney’s been on since 2009.”

“Mum’s the word.”

Grumpy’s certain that they’ll be in the Queen’s crosshairs once she learns they’ve been harboring Snow White and demands they kick her out at once. But Snow White stands up for herself and says she can take care of the house for them if they let her stay. Just like Belle offering herself in her father’s place, no one corners Snow into the position of housekeeper. She’s the one who puts herself out there, listing all her best qualities like she’s on an interview. It’s only when she does so (and also mentions she can bake a mean gooseberry pie) that the dwarfs overrule Grumpy and declare she’s welcome in their home.

Yet even when all is said and done, Snow makes it clear that if she’s the one doing the work, then the dwarfs must play by her rules. Immediately following their acceptance, she goes into full Team Mom mode, insisting they improve their manners and wash themselves before dinner’s ready. Doc attempts to get around it by saying they cleaned up “recently”, but despite her sweet nature, Snow won’t let them walk all over her. She does a cleanliness inspection that makes the dwarfs almost as bashful as Bashful himself, and even gets a good bit of sarcasm in (“Why Doc, I’m surprised.”) The dwarfs washing themselves is another one of those Silly Symphony-esque filler scenes, but at least it gives us more time for their fun shenanigans; though I have to wonder if dog piling Grumpy and half-drowning him takes it too far.

“Where’s the money, Legrumpski? Where’s the fucking money??” “It’s down there somewhere, lemme take another look.”

Back at the castle, the Queen is showing off her newly acquired bodily organ to the Magic Mirror while demanding he validate her preconceptions of who’s fair and who’s not. Alas, the Mirror tattles on Snow White’s location and reveals that heart belonged to a pig, which I’ve got to say I’m glad they didn’t show how the Huntsman got ahold of.

Infuriated, the Queen storms down to her secret lab (and no, there’s no wrong lever scene. I’m disappointed too). She brews up a potion made up of ingredients like scream of fright, a thunderbolt and partially hydrogenated dimethylpolysiloxane which will completely transform her into a disguise nobody could suspect her in, an aged peddler woman.

Was I afraid of this scene way back when? Of course, but it was one of those rare moments where I didn’t want to look away either. Here we have a woman dangerously obsessed with beauty becoming the very thing she loathes in order to sate her implacable desires. Not only that but in this disguise she’s able to set loose the insanity buried deep beneath her frigid calculating exterior, grinning and cackling like the witch that she is. The Queen never smiles once when she’s in her true form. But once she’s the old Hag and it’s all cackling and gap-toothed smiles, it’s extremely unnerving.

Case in point.

“Anyone else miss the creepy fade to black where the villain’s eyes remain for a few seconds? Disney needs to bring that back.”

Major props to Lucille LaVerne, who gives a bone chilling and utterly unrecognizable performance as BOTH the Queen and the Hag. She made the switch from one role to the next by removing her false teeth between recording sessions. In doing so she gave us one of the great Disney villain performances.

The part where she preps the infamous poisoned apple does undercut some of her menace, however. The Hag is supposed to be sharing her scheming with a cowardly raven, but due to how much she stares directly into the camera while monologuing, it comes off as directly addressing the audience, like we’re watching her in a play. It’s not just the Silly Symphony style of storytelling creeping in, it’s melodramatic semi-vaudevillian theatrics that early Hollywood was moving well away from at this point. And again, what’s with the sudden speaking in rhyme?

At the last moment the Hag looks up a possible antidote to the poison and learns that it’s Love’s First Kiss. However she scoffs at the notion that Snow White can be saved because she’s counting on the dwarfs believing the princess is dead and burying her alive.

“For those of you who claim Disney waters down fairy tales into saccharine pap, I point you to Snow White.”

And it doesn’t end there. As the Hag leaves the dungeons, she passes a cell where a skeleton is sprawled out between the bars, reaching for a water pitcher. It’s bad enough to imagine this poor soul dying of thirst, spending their last moments with salvation just out of their grasp, but the Hag openly mocks the skeleton and kicks the pitcher aside. If that’s not a deciding irredeemably evil factor moment, it comes pretty darn close.

This would have also tied into an important but ultimately scrapped sequence where the Queen kidnaps the Prince, locks him in the dungeon to keep him from saving Snow White and torments him by detailing her elaborate scheme.

This sounds vaguely familiar…

Depending on which pitch you’re reading, the Prince refuses the Queen’s offer of marriage, and she enchants the chained-up skeletons of other scorned suitors to dance in an extremely misguided attempt keep him entertained while she’s out, or floods the dungeon to drown him. He makes a daring escape and rides to the rescue on horseback.

Again, vaguely familiar…

Unfortunately we had to wait twenty-plus years for this to happen because the animators weren’t confident in their abilities to create a believable male character. This is why the Prince appears only in the beginning and the end of the movie (and by extension why the Cinderella’s Prince is barely in that feature as well). When it came to making Snow White look realistic, they subtly incorporated some rotoscoping in a few places (I’d call it cheating but it’s difficult to tell where it begins or ends because she looks that good eighty years later). But I guess it just wasn’t worth the effort to do the same for her love interest, who doesn’t even get the dignity of an official name (fans go back and forth between Florian and Ferdinand). He’s reduced to a deus ex machina – which to be fair is exactly how he was treated in the fairytale. The movie has the slight advantage over that, however, by setting him up before he arrives for that wake-up kiss.

“And now it’s time for Silly Songs With Happy, the part of the review where Happy comes out and sings a silly song. Today’s interlude, appropriately titled “The Silly Song”, features choreography which has gone on to inspire many other Disney musical sequences dating as far ahead as the 70’s.”

“Hold it!! It’s just the exact same movements with the Robin Hood cast grafted over them!”

“Is there a problem with that?”

“Well…no…it’s just a bit distracting when you finally notice it. I mean I love Disney’s Robin Hood, but boy did they take the main character’s attitude towards stealing to heart when it came to the animation.”

And yes, “The Silly Song” itself is fun too. It’s one of the less remembered Disney tunes, though I have fond memories of it due to its inclusion in the Sing-Along video lineup. The decision to have it follow the Hag’s unsettling introduction makes perfect sense; I could imagine audiences experiencing it for the first time needed a bit of a breather after that.

I guess I should mention the musical number we could have had instead of this one, though. “Music in Your Soup” was a similarly lighthearted song that was fully recorded and animated before it was ultimately cut. It was expertly animated, featured more dwarf-Snow White interactions, and it also closed up a plot hole involving a bar of soap Dopey swallowed earlier. Still, it didn’t add much to the story overall and it disrupted the flow, and keeping both that and “The Silly Song” would have been superfluous; so as much as I like “Music In Your Soup” I think they made the right call in sticking with “The Silly Song”.

After the dancing, Snow regales the dwarfs with a love story, though they quickly figure out she’s talking about herself and her prince. She dispenses with the self-insert fanfiction and sings the movie’s eleven o’clock number “Someday My Prince Will Come”. Bawl all you want about setting women’s rights back a decade, it doesn’t change the fact that it’s still a lovely song, even without Casselotti’s vocals. In fact, much of the movie’s soundtrack has been a go-to for jazz artists through the decades ranging from Miles Davis to Dave Brubeck. The pure simplicity of Larry Morey’s lyrics and Frank Churchill’s melodies are ripe for riffing on. Virtually every cover I’ve found succeeds in the impossible task of measuring up to the original in some capacity. The action in the song itself is subtle and restrained, mainly focusing on the dwarfs’ reactions. It’s not only good storytelling, but a clever way to get around showing more of Snow White than the animators could handle; she was already tough enough to animate even with rotoscoping.

Snow realizes how late it’s getting and ushers the dwarfs to bed; however Doc and the others try to behave like gentlemen and allow her to sleep upstairs while they take up whatever space they can fill on the lower floor. It goes to show how much her kindness and politeness has had an influence on them, at least while she’s around. Them taking up whatever sleeping space they can find on the ground floor is an excuse to squeeze more gags in, but I’m fond of how it lets us wind down and take in this cozy atmosphere.

The next morning before they head out the dwarfs warn Snow White to beware of strangers. Even Grumpy can’t help but show concern in his own gruff tsundere way. It’s little touches like this that reveal Snow White’s unwavering compassion is chipping away at his chauvinist attitude and he really does care about her after all –

Hang on, they couldn’t spare ONE dwarf to stick around and keep an eye out in case the Queen does drop by? They’re really think the Queen isn’t going to make another murder attempt as soon as possible? They sadly must, because no sooner do the dwarfs heigh-ho off to work than the Hag creeps up like a meth user turned Jehovah’s Witness.

“Hello, my name is Elder Grim. Would you care to learn more about our lord and savior Chernabog?”

After the animals fail to communicate the obvious danger, they fetch the dwarfs for help. Meanwhile the Hag has convinced Snow White to let her into the cottage and show off her “magic wishing apple”.

Already I can hear the slapping of a thousand facepalms through my screen. I get why, but there’s something about the situation that feels strangely relatable. The Queen is fully aware of Snow White’s gentle, trusting nature and knows how to take full advantage of the girl. Snow isn’t all smiles and open arms though. There’s a split second of regret the moment she divulges she’s by herself, and as the Hag literally corners her into tasting the poison apple her body language gives away how uncomfortable she is. Even the cottage itself grows darker and claustrophobic, mirroring her trapped state. Snow White knows there’s definitely something off about this stranger, but there’s the downside of her kind personality. She can’t bring herself to kick the old lady out no matter how wrong this scenario inherently feels.

“Just keep smiling and slowly reach for the mace.”

Ultimately the Hag coaxes her into tasting the apple. Every breath leading up to it is dramatically intercut with the dwarfs led by Grumpy (further proof Snow White really has gotten through to the old softie) racing back to the cottage.

Do you want to know why the original Texas Chainsaw Massacre is considered one of the scariest movies of all time? Because for all its promise of a gory spectacular, the violence is deliberately kept offscreen. Our imaginations fill in the blanks and come up with even worse terrors than they could possibly show. Snow White’s poisoning works on that logic. All we hear is her gasping and groaning as the Hag gleefully looks on, ending with the most cinematic shot of the film.

If you’re still convinced Snow’s a dunce for biting the big apple, trust me, it’s a vast improvement over the original. The Queen showed up in disguise three times to kill Snow White with varying methods: strangulation by laces, a poisoned comb, and of course the apple. This was cut down to the last one for obvious reasons – not only would the story be repetitive and extremely padded if they remained, but it makes Snow White look like an idiot for falling for the same trap thrice in a row. The only time I’ve ever seen the inclusion of all three murder attempts work is in the anime The Legend of Snow White (which despite the laughably bad English dub is worth checking out). By the time the Queen comes around with the apple in that instance, Snow White is well aware of who she’s dealing with. But she plays along because the Queen has turned the kingdom to stone, and the only way to break the curse is by taking the bait and destroying her staff while she thinks she’s down, thus turning what was once an act of naivete into a heroic sacrifice.

The Hag exits the cottage feeling confident in who’s the fairest now just in time for the dwarfs to show up. They chase her through a thunderstorm up a cliff side. Literally trapped between a rock and a hard place, she attempts to dislodge a boulder and crush her pursuers. But Zeus is having none of that and a lightning bolt strikes the cliff, plummeting the Hag to her doom.

To quote Linkara, “Thus the origin for ‘Rocks fall, everybody dies’.”

And in case you’re still thinking she could have survived that drop, even with that boulder tilting over after her, the vultures that have been tailing her since she left the castle begin circling lower and lower over the place where she now lies. A chilling, subtle way to show they’re getting a meal after all.

We fade to a wake the dwarfs are holding for Snow White, complete with organ music and weeping – LOTS of sad, silent, motionless weeping. Poor Grumpy gets the worst of it. One can only imagine the tsunami of emotion he must have felt coming home to see that she was making a pie just for him. Like “Someday My Prince Will Come” it shows how restraint can be an asset in acting for animation. Considering how it’s very much like a real-life wake and just how much everyone believes Snow White is truly dead, this was a tough scene to get through.

The seasons pass and we’re told through title cards that the dwarfs couldn’t find it in themselves to bury Snow White, so they built a glass coffin and kept constant vigil along with the depressed forest animals.

“Clearly the idea of watching her slowly decompose over time never crossed their little minds.”

The funeral on top of the wake keeps piling on the sadness. We’re used to animated features moving us to tears, but you have to remember for audiences back then this was an entirely new experience because no animation dared to get this heavy. Think about it: Shirley Temple, Charlie Chaplin, the best and the brightest of Hollywood who poo-pooed Walt for his ridiculous idea – all moved to tears over Snow White. I can only imagine the satisfaction Walt must have felt hearing their sobbing at the premiere. Again, going back to that animator who felt genuine fear for her safety, the audience developed an emotional bond with the character just as they would for a real human on screen.

The Prince FINALLY shows up again still singing his One Song. Believing the love he has long searched for to be lost to him forever, he says his final farewell by bestowing her with Love’s First Kiss.

“Ah – “

“If you make ONE necrophilia joke, I swear I’ll take all the Adam Sandler movies off the Shelf.”

“Please, no!! I’ll have nothing to fully snark at!!”

The kiss does its work and Snow White awakens none the worse for wear. And since what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger, she’s immune to all poison ingested via deciduous fruit now. That’ll make ruling the kingdom she’s inherited from her stepmother and disappeared father much easier. And for those of you complaining how a magical kiss is a cop out, trust me, it’s better than how the original fairytale resolved it.

“Somewhere my love lies sleeping, and here she is! I’ll pay you dwarfs anything to let me take her back to my castle and keep her there as a memento of our tragic love.”

“This had better be worth it, she weighs a freaking ton!” “OHH, there goes my hernia!” *BANG*

*HACKHACKCOUGHHACK* “Thanks for the Heimlich, guys, damn apple’s been stuck in my throat for a year!”

“Seriously, I’m not making that up. Plus, they invite the Queen to the wedding and force her to dance to death in red-hot iron shoes.”

Everyone rejoices, Snow White says goodbye to the dwarfs, and the Prince leads her on his horse to his shining palace in the clouds. They all live happily ever after, the end.

And that’s Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs, the very first animated Disney movie. Do I believe the American Film Institute’s claims that it’s the best animated film of all time? Well, to be honest, no. The main characters aren’t as developed compared to future Disney protagonists, the animation goes noticeably off model at times, and it’s got one foot stuck in the style of the Silly Symphonies shorts that came before.

Is it the most influential animated film, however? Of course! Without it animation wouldn’t be as mainstream as it is today. While the formula has been updated and subverted through the decades, most animated features follow a similar blueprint – a dastardly villain, fun side characters, memorable music, distinct visual flair, fighting, torture, true love, miracles, you get the picture. We wouldn’t have any of that without Snow White. Once upon a time, this movie was the Star Wars of its era; a groundbreaking, audience-thrilling blockbuster that changed the way people looked at movies. Part of that is because Snow White taps into an emotional simplicity in a manner few films are able to. It relies more on providing an emotional catharsis than logic, inviting us to experience the story as we once did through the eyes of a child, and in doing so captures the essence of a classic fairy tale.

In fact, looking at the ripple effect of how movies can influence one another across the years, Snow White ranks among one of the most influential movies made in general. Apart from Disney you can see its echoes in The Wizard of Oz, Gulliver’s Travels, Citizen Kane, and yes, the original Star Wars. Even Sergei Eisenstein, the man who revolutionized filmmaking with freaking Battleship Potemkin, declared Snow White to be the greatest film ever made.

…So why did Walt Disney come to hate it later on in life?

Every movie that’s met with acclaim and accolades is bound to hit some backlash for one reason or another. Maybe it’s been overhyped, or time hasn’t been that kind to it. For Walt, Snow White leaned into the latter as his artistic prowess grew. No creator likes looking at their past work because it’s easier to notice the flaws when viewing it through a more experienced eye (believe me, I know). That, and no matter what he did, it seemed impossible to escape from Snow White’s shadow. For decades everything he created was inevitably compared to it.

Hmm, the animation and music are an improvement, but what it’s really missing are some dwarfs.

Hmm, the creativity leaps off the charts, but if only the score had lyrics that rhyme with the words “shmeigh shmo”.

Hmm, it’s breathtaking and magical, but it’d be perfect if you could just sit and watch it for eighty minutes without interacting with any of it at all.

Hmm, it’s practically perfect in every way, but…um…uh…more dwarfs, dammit!!

Thankfully Walt’s displeasure mellowed after some time. As for Snow White, she’s still rightfully hailed as the one that started it all. The art is iconic, the characters are unforgettable, and virtually all the songs are Disney gold standards for a reason. Well before Rodgers and Hammerstein changed the face of musical theater by having the score and the book go hand in hand, Snow White did it first in the cinemas. In fact this was the first movie to ever have a commercially released soundtrack, another confounded idea Hollywood wouldn’t understand for quite a while. Though time may temper with modern expectations, Snow White is as much a classic now as it was destined to be eighty years ago, and nothing can touch it. It still is the fairest one of all.

“HA! Try to remake/sequelize THAT, Disney!”

“Excuse me, is it too late to join this review?”

“I’m sorry, who are you?”

“Oh, where are my manners? I’m Snow White’s sister, Rose Red.”

“…You sure you’re not just a color-swapped OC clone from Deviantart?”

“Of course I’m not, silly! I’m in the fairytale and everything! Well, not THE fairytale per se, but there is one titled ‘Snow White and Rose Red’ where we’re siblings.”

“Checks out. They’re technically related.”

“Okay, but what are you doing here?”

“I was just wondering when you were going to discuss my upcoming movie!”

“Your…movie?”

“Oh yes! It’s going to be Disney’s Snow White all over again but from MY point of view! Isn’t that exciting?”

“But…but you weren’t even in Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs.”

“I know! I was off to the side doing…well, you’ll have to wait and see! The lady who wrote that Gone Girl knockoff that takes place on a train and the Indecent Proposal remake is doing the screenplay and she is just delightful!”

“…Excuse me for one moment.”

“Oh dear. Have I said something wrong?”

“It’s ok. This is just the part of the review where Shelf goes berserk.”

Thank you for reading! If you enjoyed this review, please consider supporting me on Patreon. Special thanks to Amelia Jones and Gordhan Ranaj for their contributions.

You can vote for what movie you want me to look at next by leaving it in the comments or emailing me at upontheshelfshow@gmail.com. Remember, you can only vote once a month. The list of movies available to vote for are under “What’s On the Shelf”.

Also, Patreon supporters get extra votes among other perks. If I reach the goal of $100, I can get back to reviewing animated series! I’m at the halfway mark right now, so please consider supporting me if you’re able.

Artwork by Charles Moss.

Most screencaps courtesy of animationscreencaps.com.

February Review: Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs (1937) If there's a reason why we're able to recall the story of Snow White from memory, and why said princess is usually depicted with short hair, a cute bow and surrounded by woodland fauna, look no further than Disney.

[starwarsgirl198]

Vampires and a Mermaid

Author’s Note: Lost Boys AU with a mermaid and all the Boys live, also poly with the Boys and the mermaid.

Jamie was riding on one of the colorful horses on the Merry-Go Round, she was wearing a large Creature of the Black Lagoon t-shirt that looked like a dress and sandals. To the people around her, she looked like a normal human woman.

A human with a skin disease that gave her the appearance of having scales littering her some of her face, neck, arms and legs.

But that wasn't true, she was a mermaid and she was hunting. Jamie knew that there was a pack of vampires that was also hunting here but she hadn't encountered them yet and as long as they didn't go for the same prey, she doubted that she would ever cross paths with them.

Blue eyes were drawn over to a rowdy group of bikers that were close to her. She took in their scent and grimaced discreetly, they didn't smell appealing at all but they were her usual prey of choice. Jamie made it a mission to remove anyone that threatens the innocence of this town.

A shadow fell over Jamie. Passing by her was a young man dressed in all black. His pale blond hair was spiky at the top, leading down to a medium length mullet. His eyes, one blue and one green, glittered under the carousel lights.

And he wasn’t alone. A second young man followed, his chiseled face framed by wavy dark hair. From his left ear hung an earring, made from a coyote tooth. His necklace was made in a similar fashion, leading the eye to his exposed chest and stomach under his leather jacket.

Two more boys caught up with them, both blonde. The taller of the two looked every bit a rockstar with his stubbled chin and lion’s mane of golden hair. His black waistcoat was decorated with pins and badges, rings on nearly each finger and bracelets on his wrists. The shorter blond has curlier hair, wearing a black skull earring and a distinctive jacket he had to have tailored himself. Leather chaps covered his jeans and under the jacket he wore a white crop top.

Jamie found herself watching all four boys as they moved past her, especially letting her eyes wander down the exposed chest and stomach of the second boy before she snapped herself out of it.

…that had been…well, odd, she usually didn't do that to men that she was hunting and she didn't understand why she didn't feel the urge to hunt one of these four down.

She shifted on the horse, trying to get comfortable but the wooden saddle wasn't allowing for that and the shirt was sweet torture against her scales. Jamie looked back at the boys, they were handsome and she found that she couldn't honestly pick which one she found more pleasing.

With a jolt, she realized what was happening. She had found suitable mates, her mother had told her about this though she never mentioned anything about having *four* .

Yeah, it was time for her to go because they were now distracting her. She started to climb off the horse, losing her balance and stumbling off its back…

Powerful arms caught her.

“Nice catch, Dwayne!” The rockstar blond was laughing.

The first thing Jamie noticed was how warm Dwayne was compared to herself and the humans she had come into contact with in the past. And her brain short circuited when she felt his warm, bare skin against her skin and scales. Jamie mentally kicked herself to snap out her daze. "Um…thank you," she breathed out. "They really should put a warning sign."

The mermaid had her hands clenched together against her chest, not trusting herself to not let her hands wander if she touched him. "You can put me down now, please." Her eyes darted over to the others, her eyes going to the rockstar blond and finding that she liked the sound of his laughter.

But Dwayne's scent was starting to affect her being this close to him, she needed to get away before she did anything that would be considered indecent by human standards. And she didn't want the others getting close to her either in case they pushed her over the edge.

Dwayne caught the scent of sandalwood, and vanilla. “No problem.” He carefully set her on her feet.

David noticed her skin, and how it seemed to have a sheen in the boardwalk light. Some kind of body glitter…? And why did he suddenly smell cherries?

Jamie tried not to look too disappointed that he actually listened to her but she was also happy that she did because she had been losing her mind. She fixed the shirt she was wearing, making sure that it hadn’t ridden up because she exactly wasn’t wearing anything underneath it and didn’t want to deal with human laws.

The mermaid noticed that the first blond was looking at her, blue eyes following his line of sight and she stifled a curse. She had forgotten that lights made her scales glitter but usually humans think she was wearing body glitter and didn’t realize that they were actual real scales she had.

“Hey, freak, are you going to move or continue to stand there and make us sick with your nasty skin?” A voice said from behind her. “And that better not be contagious, we’ll have to avoid it and let others know that you touched it.” A chuckle. “Though that guy that caught you better wash his hands and burn his jacket.” Ah yes, she almost forgot that there were other humans who thought she had a skin disease and were disgusted by it.

Jamie slowly turned around, fixing the biker with a predatory stare that isn’t normally seen on humans. She stared at him until he started to get uncomfortable and that was when she looked away forcing a smile at Dwayne and his friends. “Thanks again for the save…now if you’ll excuse me.” She turned to leave before she decided to sing to lure the biker after her so she could eat him.

The rockstar blond glared. “Fuckin’ surf nazis-“

David stepped forward, making clear to Jamie that he was the group leader. “Not big on manners, are you?” He asked the biker. He looked at the girl next to him, and brazenly stroked her chin. “Why waste your time…?”

The biker reached for David but Dwayne intervened, and a brawl was about to ensue… until a security guard broke them up.

Surf Nazis? She never heard that before but she usually doesn’t pay attention to human slang, she mostly focuses on hunting them and when she did hear them, it was either them singing or screaming.

She stifled a hissing growl that nearly erupted from her when she saw the leader stroke the chin of the girl that was with the biker. And she moved completely out of the way when the biker reached for the leader but Dwayne stopped him which almost triggered a brawl but the arrival of the security guard stopped him…by shoving the end of his nightstick against the leader’s Adam's apple.

The mermaid once more stifled the sound and the urge to tear off that arm.

“I told you to stay off the boardwalk,” the security guard said before he glanced over at Jamie, she knows that he remembers her. This wasn’t the first or last time she had triggered a fight though this time she was innocent, she didn’t sing to trigger their fight. “You again? I thought I told you to stay off the boardwalk.”

The Surf Nazi started this by insulting her and the leader actually came to her defense, the other blond obviously didn’t like him insulting her. Jamie didn’t know if he’d usually do something like this or not but she was grateful.

“I wasn’t even doing anything,” Jamie growled, angry, she could feel her dual fangs growing. “Those assholes started it first by insulting me.” She glared at the man and his girl. “And for the record, it’s scale shaped body glitter and not a skin disease, jackass.”

“Enough!” the guard snapped before the biker could even retort, the fat human glared at Jamie. “You leave first, girl, and actually leave the boardwalk, don’t linger.”

Blue eyes narrowed at him before she shrugged. “I was leaving anyways, *sir* .” Her tone was sarcastic as she turned and climbed down. That was a lie, she knows all the areas that the guard won’t return to so she’ll stay there and hunt. Though she might choose the security guard or one of the surf nazis as her next meal.

David smirked, despite the position he was in. “Okay, boys. Let’s go.”

His three friends followed him off the carousel, the rockstar blonde glaring daggers at the surf nazis with his sharp blue eyes.

Dwayne moved to walk alongside David. “Did you hear that? From her?”

“Sure did.”

Jamie was walking past a stall that caused her to come to a complete stop when she saw an image of Ariel from _the Little Mermaid_ and she scowled incredulously at it. Did humans seriously imagine mermaids to look like this? She didn’t even have scales or gills!

Also she didn’t wear seashells over her breasts, They were covered by scales so she didn’t have nipples that she had seen on human women.

She shook her head and continued to walk, glancing behind her to see if the security guard was following her to make sure she was leaving…or maybe even those Boys. Jamie blinked at that thought when it popped in her head. Was she seriously hoping that she would see them again?

Yes, yes, she was.

The mermaid sighed heavily before she looked back ahead of her. They probably were leaving the broadwalk so she doubted that she would see them behind her.

But there they were, looking more like a rock band with each confident step they took.

Marko glanced at the poster then back to Jamie, a playful smile tugging at his lips.

Jamie raised an eyebrow, unsure how to take that smile from the third blond…and she got her answer when the wind shifted, wafting their scent to her.

Earthy.

Vampires.

If they were vampires then there was a chance that they knew what she was especially if they were created by an even older one. But right now, she needed to return the favor to the third one and luckily she came to a stop next to a mannequin dressed like Count Dracula. Jamie glanced at it then at them, a playful smile curling her lips as she walked backwards.

There was another reason why Jamie didn’t like Ariel: the red head was thin and Jamie was…well, she wasn’t thin and humans now thought of mermaids that looked like Ariel. Red hair and skinny with seashell bras.

And not thick and covered in scales with long black hair.

Jamie had no shame in how she looked, knew that there were at least some humans who found her attractive. Though she was unnaturally beautiful and that’s what drew her prey towards her at the end, that and her song.

Marko’s smile widened as he watched Jamie purposely stand by the Dracula mannequin. Touché.

“Smell that, boys?” David asked.

“Smell what, David?” Paul grinned.

“Your favorite thing, Paul.” David tilted his head. “Do you smell it?”

“Caramel?” Paul moved around Jamie. “Sure do. What do you smell, Marko?”

“Mangoes. What about you, Dwayne?”

“Sandalwood.” The dark-haired vampire said quietly, his equally dark eyes on Jamie. “What about you, David?”

“… Cherries.” David purred, stopping only when he was in front of Jamie.

Jamie watched them closely with the smile still on her lips, especially Paul when he moved around her. She raised an eyebrow when she heard David’s question to his friends, about what they smelled. Their favorite thing.

She shivered when she heard David’s purr, slapping her hand over a group of scales on her arm that shifted color. Turning from shiny flesh color to blue, yellow and orange. An obvious sign that she was starting to come aroused and not something she wanted to broadcast, especially with all these humans around.

“Is that what you smell from me?” Jamie asked, her head tilting to the side as she kept her eyes on David but she was very much aware of the other three. “You could be smelling scented soaps or even perfumes.” The mermaid was teasing and teasing them...and daring them.