#robert plant ghost wrote this

[scots-gallivanter]

FOURTEEN

The Stinchar, descending from its interior heights, winds through a vale of which the scenery is, in my mind, unequalled, in wild beauty, by anything else in Scotland; and falls at last into the sea at Ballantrae.

ROBERT HERON, A Topographical Description of Scotland (1797)

AS OUR BUS rattles up the road that hugs the western sea, a large vehicle with four laughing men in it whistles past us towards Kennedy’s Pass, fishing rods sticking out of a side window like aerials. They may well just be off the Irish boat.

Fanning its tail behind it like a hand of cards, a kestrel floats on the breeze above the raised beach of Ballantrae and rides the sky beyond one of the oldest industrial buildings in Scotland, a windmill built in 1696. The weather here on the south Ayrshire coast has downgraded itself from unsettled to changeable and six stolid cows gather at a gate, clearly expecting rain more than the Met Office does.

A madcap aristocrat used to fly a biplane on the breezes here. In March 1928 Time magazine wrote of the daughter of Viscount Inchcape, head of P & O Ferries:

‘Dark, not unattractive, graceful, habitually well-gowned and bejeweled, Miss Mackay was the envy of most women. Her silver Rolls-Royce flashed by at breakneck speed. Her horses invariably galloped.’

Elsie Mackay was born in colonial India and was bred on the family estate at Glenapp castle, a mile and a half south of Ballantrae (the castle is reportedly where Churchill and Eisenhower planned D Day). In 1917 she eloped with Denis Wyndham, a South African actor, and after the war she became the silent screen actress Poppy Wyndham. The marriage lasted five years, whereupon she was welcomed back into the family fold. Her father prayed she would buckle down to the cushy life of an aristocrat, but she gained her pilot’s licence in 1923 and, five years later, she made off with a one-eyed war hero, Capt. Walter G. R. Hinchcliffe, to fly across the Atlantic against the prevailing winds. They took off from snowbound Cranwell aerodrome in England, but they were never seen again beyond the Irish coast. A crowd of 5,000 stood all night at Long Island, New York, waiting for them, but they never landed. Only a slither of debris was ever found. While they were missing, the New York Times stated: ‘Every luxury money commands has not satisfied Lord Inchcape’s daughter in her thirst for adventure.’

Time reported three months later: ‘Since the death of Elsie Mackay is now presumed, her father, mother, brother and sisters presented her residual estate of £500,000 to the British Exchequer, last week, announcing that they ‘have no desire to profit from her death’.’

Shrubs were planted in Glenapp, so that the name Elsie could be read from the sky. Nature has erased her name, but she is commemorated in a stained-glass window in the chancel of the church at Ballantrae. There is the inevitable ghost story. There are some who claim the steel-nerved socialite haunts the corridors of Glenapp Castle. The industrialist James Hunter built the castle as his home on ground he had purchased from the Earl of Orkney. It passed to the wealthy Mackays in 1917. In 2015 the castle was acquired by Paul and Poppy Szkiler. Paul is the Chairman of the Truestone Group. They have upgraded it into a luxury hotel.

As if to pay homage to the late aviatrix, the Monte Carlo rally passed through Ballantrae in 1961. It was the one and only time: the fact that an over-zealous policeman charged 10 drivers with speeding may have had something to do with that.

Nowadays visitors to the hotel can sail up and down the rugged coast accompanied by the resident falconers and Ripley, the resident sea eagle.

Fishing and farming fed the villagers of Ballantrae for generations, as did wholesale smuggling, and Robert Burns met many local smugglers when he was a boy in Ayrshire; he wrote to Dr John Moore, of Mauchline, of the smugglers’ ‘swaggering riot and roaring dissipation’. In his History of the Counties of Ayr and Wigtown (1863) James Paterson tells us boats with 30 guns had once landed their cargoes in Ballantrae, while a hundred ‘lintowers’, some of them armed with cutlass and pistol, conveyed the goods ‘by unfrequented paths through the country and even to Glasgow and Edinburgh’. Cellars were dug in kitchen floors along the coast and there were holes and caves stuffed with contraband. There is an apocryphal story that a farmer’s wife made porridge with brandy one morning and only realised her mistake when there was a noisy demand for seconds.

Ballantrae, whose original name was Kirkcudbright-inner-Tig, is a now a one-horse town along the A77, albeit with a sand and shingle beach and hulking dark rocks haunted by terns, sandpipers, cormorants and kittiwakes. The laybys here attract twitchers in quest of rare birds. Porpoises, grey seals and basking sharks pop up too now and then, but they are hiding today.

I’d a nap in a layby along this bracing shoreline after watching shags shimmying across sea-sculpted stones; I woke to a seabird symphony, and the daybreak splendour of the islet of Ailsa Craig surfacing from the water. Alas, I hadn’t dandered ten yards along the foreshore before I stood on a blackened heap of empty pop cans, wet wipes, polystyrene receptacles, half-consumed packets of a snack called Ringos, and what looked suspiciously like a condom. Who would defile this splendid coastline? What bampottery drives you to set fire to lemonade tins? And what would Elizabeth Anderson Gray have made of it all? It was along these picturesque shores that this local heroine spent her whole life collecting and classifying fossils. By the time of her death in 1925 she had extensive collections in several British museums.

Think The Wrong Turn meets The Texas Chainsaw Massacre meets The Silence of the Lambs and you’re getting close to the tale of Sawney Bean, who, tourism marketeers have long informed us, lived in a cave north of Ballantrae; that he was the head of a family of mutant monsters who waylaid travellers, robbed and murdered them, and then ate the evidence. There are tales of caves full of pickled and salted arms, legs, and other human body parts. Reportedly the male fiends were finally dismembered in front of the women, then the women and girls were burnt in a bonfire, but there is no historical record. There is a theory that the arch-Unionist and English spy, Daniel Defoe, put the story out to disparage Scotland.

An anonymous contributor to the online history group Ayrshire Notes observed in 2002: ‘The story cannot be traced beyond the 18th-Century equivalent of the Sunday Sport, so is it worth pursuing at all? I can think of no sound reason for doing so other than gratuitous and morbid titillation. What is most reprehensible about all this is that the myth is popularized as part of a despicable conspiracy of the heritage industry, tourist agencies and local authorities to turn parts of Scotland into little more than gruesome theme parks. If peddling the Sawney Bean story attracts tourists to Carrick, surely, they are the wrong kind of tourists.’

Ouch!

There is a long history of tramps, misfits, and disillusioned loners giving two fingers to the rat race to reinvent themselves, to become hermits; and several have found their havens in caves along Scottish shores. For 30 years, for example, Henry Ewing Torbet lived the quiet, simple life of a troglodyte in Bennane Cave, which is a stone’s throw from the one associated with the Beans. He was tall, straight-backed, with a long black beard and shaggy eyebrows – a colourful character, so well-liked that the locals put up a small cairn above his beloved shore as a memorial to him when he died of pneumonia after freak weather in 1983. He’d been a refugee from banking (and marriage), who had drifted around Scotland, and been in and out of jail for begging, at one time throwing a bag of flour and two bars of soap at a shopkeeper who had refused to serve him when he did not have ration coupons. At Ballantrae he was treated kindly, although he never spoke much. He lived on rabbits and potatoes, built fires from driftwood, and did odd jobs, although, in his Travels in Galloway, Memoirs of South-west Scotland, Donald McIntosh tells us: ‘He was as cunning as a hill fox and the very mention of the word work was enough to make him physically ill.’

McIntosh had heard that Torbet, who called himself Snib Scott, was offered soup and scones for chopping firewood. He had told the housewife: ‘Missus, when a man’s belly is empty, he doesnae have the strength to work.’ Two plates of broth and 10 cheese scones later, he got up and made off, remarking with a belch: ‘Missus, when a man’s belly is fu, he doesnae need to work.’

It is said that, after trudging across the hills of Glenapp into Galloway, he tried to cadge from a young farmer at Newton Stewart. The farmer and his friends washed, scrubbed, shaved, suited and booted Snib, and plied him with food and whisky. They took this clean-shaven, well-dressed gentleman to the young farmers’ ball and introduced him as a wealthy visiting farmer; and many ladies swarmed about him. The day after the night before, the joke was on the farmer; Snib was off on his wanderings again with four bottles of Johnnie Walker whisky crammed into his haversack.

In a layby down from Snib’s cave stands a monument to the former Russian Imperial Navy cruiser Varyag, which ran aground while being towed near Lendalfoot for scrap in 1920. The first memorial to the crew, who had years previously defied a Japanese siege, was unveiled in 2006 in a ceremony attended by Russian top brass. A year later a bronze monument was added. I’m told the then harbour master fell foul of Westminster for unilaterally inviting the Russian visitors.

Over the centuries travellers have reported screams around Lendalfoot, none of which was ever caused by birds. The ruins of Carleton Castle are reportedly haunted by John Cathcart, a Scottish Bluebeard, and by the eight heiresses he flung from the cliffs in order to augment his estate. His ninth chosen bride and victim, Mary Kennedy of Culzean, escaped by preemptively propelling him down to the rocks below.

 

[rambleonwithrosie]

I swear Robert Plant ghost wrote half this

Legolas pretty quickly gets in the habit of venting about his travelling companions in Elvish, so long as Gandalf & Aragorn aren’t in earshot they’ll never know right?

Then about a week into their journey like

Legolas: *in Elvish, for approximately the 20th time* ugh fucking hobbits, so annoying

Frodo: *also in Elvish, deadpan* yeah we’re the worst

Legolas:

[the-most-lamentable]

oh baby it's askin' time. 58, 66, 73, 90, and 21 for funs :)

Good evening, got booted out of my account for a moment but I am back and presently avoiding working on my writing projects ( will be working after this because my project list is ever expanding and I Still need do get done the ch3 illustration aaaaaa)

What's the last thing a fic made you Google when you were writing it?

Uhh the last thing was the bus system in the Tampa Bay area to Plant city for the immortal blade story. He starts off as a college student before having the worst night of his life brought to you by maybe a few too many Jaegerbombs.

In other research I tried an energy drink to see how it would feel as I have a scene in that Eugenia is an incredibly passive aggressive ghost wherein Keith absolutely crashes right before a show so Mickey gives him a monster thinking what's the worst that could happen? It goes poorly.

When have you felt the most confident in your writing?

Occasionally when I'm working on a project I'll have one of those moments where I realise Hey I just set up and paid off some very nice bits of theme and motif Ohoho it's all coming together, I've connected the dots. It's usually then.

Otherwise, my best writing? This line I wrote at 4 am.

"“Well- jokes on you! Both of my parents are dead!” Kevin sputtered.

Jeremy paused for a moment. Someone nearby shouted, “Her ghost is disappointed!” The crowd murmured in agreement."

How do you visualize scenes? Do you see it like a movie in your head, or do the words just flow?

So when I first start drafting a story I will be sitting there staring at a wall and there's a tiny film projector in my head playing out key beats, very visual but also vibe driven. The Great Imposter was very one to one in the scene beats and imagery I came up with initially like the imagery of the study sequence where he's stuck watching the action unable to act, or the whirring ambulance lights in sprinkling rain for Shock Blanket.

When I actually start writing it's a bit of both, my brain is multitasking to high hell. Those central images serve as a guide which is supported by insane amounts of character research and story structure. Most of the chapter illustrations are those initial clear images translated to drawing. I figure if the iconography is so effective to me, it should hopefully work on my audience too as a supplement to the vibes.

Do you notice your own voice in your writing?

Exceedingly so, yes. While I do make an effort to write within character logic and voice, it is still my writing. I have been told my usual voice is resemblant of a late 1800s British satirist, which seems fair (irony is the death of sincerity, my deepest struggle writing) however other inspirations include: Terry Pratchett, Lemony Snickett, Clue 1985, Tj Klune, David Sedaris, etc. All this to say always very dry humor, fast rhythm, and exceedingly long metaphors that are just a bit too specific.

Pick a writer to co-write a book and tell us what you'd write about.

Uhhhh I don't know but if you ever want to write a story together here's my pitches that I am coming up with on the spot (absolutely no pressure, i just dont know how else to answer this):

An AU of Homeward, Boumd where the Beans are all human, but still just as fucked up. Like Chris mentions offhand that his brother once threw him into a hole in their basement and left him for dead and everyone is just !!!??????

Celia Bean had an affair (outside of her one with Robert of course) which after an ancestry test brings James's number of suprise siblings up to 3. I just feel like him and Chris have similar vibes. Plus the chaos of introducing these two groups, particularly Cornley being perhaps a little too snooping over this (Jonathan and Dennis trying to casually hide behind a newspaper in a café only to be immediately clocked by Chris)

I've got an urban fantasy noir sorta story where magic is real and the whole thing kicks off with a spell backfiring and James's dad disappearing. Features things such as Keith and Mickey Co running a psychic shop (Keith runs the shop, Mickey is his glorified landlord, roommate, and self nominated HR department), Kevin getting up to shenanigans as a ghost, human glowsticks being abused for said glowing, werebear the ultimate bear, group sleepover (See: James and Mickey fall asleep and nobody has the heart to wake them). I believe I've mentioned this one before.

Anyways thanks for the ask, forgive me if it's A bit incomprehensible I am extremely sleep deprived from an absolute eager with my friend last night wherein we reorganized her bedroom and then discussed theology till 4 am. Best wishes, Jon, I don't know why I'm signing off like an email but it's there now

[apiratewhopines]

In the Offing

Chapter 12 — Skin Deep

Summary: In which our heroine gets an inkling

Chapter 12 on AO3

“Too late, too late, a fool could read the signs

Maybe baby, you better check between the lines

Please read the letter, I wrote it in my sleep”

-Please Read the Letter, Robert Plant & Allison Krauss

Emma barely had time to covertly get the manuscript back to the bedroom without Killian being any wiser when he was calling out that breakfast was ready. She wasn’t sure why she felt the need to keep it a secret but rationalized that since it was for the case, she would continue to keep her sources protected until she had a reason to divulge information.

Throwing on a pair of shorts and a tank top, she made her way to the kitchen. Noticing for the first time the general lack of surliness, she took the glass of milk Killian passed to her and asked, “Where’s Liam?”

“Elsa is taking him for his first physical therapy appointment,” he answered, putting the dirty pan in the sink and beginning to scrub it. She watched with rapt attention, wondering how she could be falling in love with a man who cleaned up the kitchen before he ate. It was so against the natural order of things.

The fact that she was admitting to herself that she was developing real feelings for Killian was a big step. She normally would have been checked out and ghosting phone calls by this point. “Physical therapy, huh? Is that what the kids are calling it these days?”

He shook his head in amusement. “That is an image I would prefer not to have in my head while I eat breakfast, Swan.”

“I call it like I see it, Dr. Jones,” she teased. It was so easy to talk to him, their rough and tumble banter was unlike anything she had experienced before and she loved that he always gave as good as he got. He wasn’t scared of her or so needy that he bended to her whims. If anything, she felt like recently she had been the clingy, emotional one. He didn’t seem to mind though. He accepted it, and her, like he had from the beginning.

“Today is my last day at the pit,” he said while he leaned against the counter and ate. It had been days since they had talked about anything other than August or her falling under suspicion for his attack but she could tell that he was anxious to be done with this consulting job.

Although it was a rough way to get a break from her nightmares, she could honestly say she hadn’t thought about that hellish hole since her friend had been shot. “What’s the verdict? Is it historical or modern?”

“Relatively modern, I would say,” he commented. Thoughtfully he added, “The lumber is treated and the spikes were fashioned with an electric tool like a chainsaw or hedge trimmers. The pit itself may be older but I think the trap was laid no more than thirty to forty years ago based on the condition of wood. We’ll probably have an better timeline if they can match the victim’s dental records.”

“Why would someone do that? There are easier ways to kill people,” Emma asked rhetorically. She knew enough about the world to know there were some sick people out there who devoted a lot of time to making other people suffer.

“I’ve been wondering that myself, Swan. Even though it is somewhat isolated, it would have taken a fair bit of time to fashion such a large scale torture and some ingenuity to get the spikes lowered and anchored alone. Assuming the person was acting alone, that is. But I much prefer a lone psychopath to a death cult. The risk of discovery while he or she made countless trips onto the convent grounds would have been large.”

“That means we have a better chance of catching them,” she remarked. “More exposure increases the likelihood someone saw something. It’s amazing there was only one body and no one else was hurt.”

“You were hurt, love,” he reminded her with a pointed look at her arm where her stitches were glaringly obvious against her slightly tanned skin. They weren’t due to be removed until the next day but she had mostly forgotten about them. Clearly, he had not. “It is a thought that haunts me. The spikes were placed in such a way that I honestly don’t know how you avoided them.”

“Pure dumb luck,” she joked, trying to chase away the hollowness in his eyes. “It certainly wasn’t by design. One minute I was standing on solid ground and then I wasn’t.”

“The sheriff had better hope he finds who is responsible because I will kill the bastard if I find him first,” Killian vowed.

Emma had heard a lot of empty threats in her day. Criminals promising retribution for her part in their capture, angry family members threatening and blaming her as if she was the reason their loved ones were going to jail instead of their own decisions. She knew deep down that Killian meant what he said. “I may not have mentioned that I have a gift. I call it my superpower.”

Plainly fascinated, he quirked his eyebrow at her. His voice was dripping with suggestiveness when he said, “Darling, I have no doubt that you have many gifts and I look forward to enjoying them all.”

“Focus, Dr. Jones,” she retorted. “I’m trying to tell you something important. Ever since I was a kid, I could tell when someone was lying and when they were telling the truth. One hundred percent of the time.”

“Very interesting, Swan. I’m sure that has been an asset in your line of work,” he commented before adding jokingly, “and it is certainly nice to know what I’m up against.”

She appreciatively noted that he accepted her word and didn’t try to belittle or talk her out of what she was saying. “You have nothing to worry about unless you’re a liar.”

It was with some unease that she convinced herself she imagined the shadow that passed over his face. They continued to stare at each other, the odd moment drawing out until she continued, “I told you that fun little fact for a reason. So you would trust me when I tell you that I know you meant what you said but I’ve been working too hard to clear your name to have you go to jail for murder.”

He nodded rigidly and collected their plates without meeting her eyes. It was so unlike him that she almost recoiled. Feeling a tug in her gut, she whispered, “Is there something you’re not telling me?”

“I need to go,” he answered, dodging the question she asked. “Don’t worry about the dishes. I’ll take care of them when I get home.”

With a perfunctory kiss on her cheek, he was out the door before she could even respond.

—

Given that Killian was tied up the rest of the day and had left on such a strange note, Emma decided to take advantage of her solitude to see what August had turned up in his book. She hoped it would provide insight into his shooting and perhaps the cases she was there to investigate as well.

Picking up the box, she moved out to the porch with a notebook and pen. The brief note from his lawyer stated that he had instructions to send her the box if anything happened to August and provided contact information if she need to discuss the terms of the Power of Attorney. Ignoring the urge to call and ask the lawyer what in the world August was thinking to do such a thing, she placed the note to the side and stared at the title page for longer than necessary.

With some trepidation, she flipped through the pages of the manuscript. Stopping occasionally at one of the pictures or when a word caught her attention, she was halfway through the stack when the name Peter Wolfe jumped out at her. Shifting her focus out to the ocean, she tried to recall the details from the file she reviewed almost a month ago.

Peter Wolfe had been a young man in his mid-twenties. No prior criminal history, steady job at the cannery, no family to speak of other than a mother who had passed away before his disappearance. Reported missing by Ruby Lucas when she noticed he hadn’t stopped into the diner for his normal cup of coffee in over a week. It seemed he had disappeared into thin air one summer night a month before Milan Gold had vanished.

As cryptically as possible, she made some vague notes to cement the facts as she remembered them before she read what August had to say about the man. When she eventually started reading the chapter where his name appeared, she was shocked to find that rather than a true crime recital of facts, it was a layered fiction complete with a tragic romance and unhappy ending.

Leaning back in her chair, she stared at the pages puzzled. August wasn’t writing about the recent crimes of Storybrooke. It was a book of fairy tales, make believe stories that happened to use some real names. It didn’t make any sense.

Flipping back to the beginning, she scanned the pages quickly. She didn’t bother reading them, only making a list of the names of Storybrooke residents that were included. Reaching the end of his manuscript, which seemed to be unfinished, she looked at the lengthy list.

Cora, Henry, and Regina Mills; Leo, Eva, and Mary Margaret Blanchard; Robert, Ruth, and David Nolan; George Nolan; Mr. and Mrs. Gold; Mother Superior; Peter Wolfe; Ruby Lucas; Killian and Liam Jones; Sheriff Graham Humbert; Emma Swan.

It had been a shock when she found her name at the end of the book. The last chapter that had been included listed her name in final sentence as if August was just starting her story and had been interrupted. The interruption must have been of a nature to spook him because the abrupt end made her feel like he had hastily moved to get it to safety.

Starting to wonder if his latest project didn’t have anything to do with his attack, because how could a book of fairy tales cause any concern for the people of Storybrooke, she went back to Peter’s tale. Could it have all been a misunderstanding?

August had set the man’s story in the woods of a fictional village long ago. He was deeply in love with Ruby Lucas but neither family approved. One night in the woods, Peter ran into a fleeing woman who promised to help him with his plight if he would reclaim a lost treasure for her, which would provide her with the means to escape her husband. He did as she asked but she disappeared once the treasure was returned, leaving him to deal with the consequences of the theft from a powerful wizard. Fearful for his life, he planned to run away but it was too late. The wizard found him and cursed Ruby. Shifting into a werewolf, she killed Peter. Not remembering her crime after the full moon, she was doomed to she spend the rest of her days wandering the forest looking for her lost love.

The picture inserted in the middle of the story left no doubt that the name wasn’t a coincidence. The woman in the story looked exactly like the waitress from Granny’s Diner, down to the red highlights that framed her angular face.

What the hell was August doing? Had he found evidence that Peter was dead? That Ruby was somehow involved? Or was it simply a story meant to amuse the citizens of Storybrooke with fictionalized versions of themselves?

Carefully packing up the manuscript and hiding the box at the bottom of her gym bag, she headed to town.

—

The day was the hottest so far that year and by the time Emma entered the diner, tendrils of hair were plastered to her face and neck after her walk from the cottage. The HVAC system was unable to keep up with the demand so the air inside was hot, sticky with humidity and stale with the smell of old fried food. It was past the breakfast rush and too early for people to be eating lunch so she was pleased to find the place deserted.

Looking around, she spied Ruby by the cash register examining her nails during the lull. Approaching the counter, she forced a friendly grin on her face and offered, “Ruby, let me buy you brunch. I need to ask you some questions.”

Smiling widely, Ruby responded, “Anywhere but here!”

Confused, because other than the pizza place, Emma hadn’t been to any other restaurants in town, she agreed, “Sure. Pick the place.”

“Taking my break, Leroy.” Not waiting on an answer, Ruby tugged her apron off and threw it on a hook behind the counter before putting her arm through Emma’s and confiding to her, “There is a coffee place down the street that has chocolate croissants but don’t tell Leroy. He hates competition.”

Walking arm and arm down the sidewalk, she tried to ignore how the sweat was pooling where their skin met. She wanted to disentangle herself from the other woman but decided she could endure it for a while if it kept Ruby in a good mood. Especially since she was essentially going to accuse her of having something to do with Peter Wolfe’s disappearance. Emma wasn’t known for her subtlety but even she would normally have eased into a conversation like this. However, she didn’t have time to waste with niceties so she would have to channel her inner Liam.

Passing by the pawnshop, she noticed the closed sign still displayed. “Is that place ever open?”

“Honestly, I’m pretty sure it’s a front for some kind of crime ring. You’re lucky he’s been out of town since you arrived. Man’s a creeper if ever there was one.”

Reaching the coffeehouse, Emma was grateful that the newer building seemed to be maintaining a more pleasant temperature. Ordering a couple of pastries and two coffees, she grabbed the tray and followed Ruby to a table on the second floor loft that overlooked Main Street.

Moaning loudly in a way that drew the attention of the other patrons, Ruby took a bite of the croissant as if she hadn’t eaten in years. “The only thing better than chocolate is sex and the only thing better than sex is ice cream on a hot day. Hey, we should go to the ice cream place next!”

Choking on her sip of coffee, Emma coughed uncomfortably while she stole glances at the tables around them to see if anyone had heard. From the looks they were receiving from the older ladies at the next table over, the answer was a definitive yes. “Won’t you have to get back to work soon?”

“I own the place. I can do what I want,” she shrugged.

Gobsmacked, Emma asked, “You’re Granny?”

Laughing, Ruby slanted her a coy look and explained, “Of course not. My Granny, who opened the diner, is Granny. Sadly, the people in this town don’t do well with change so when I bought her out and took over, I kept the name and the menu. Boring as it is.”

Curious despite herself, Emma’s next question popped out on its own. “Why did you buy it if you don’t like it there?”

“Because I like the money it makes,” she replied as if Emma was being incredibly thick about the whole situation. “Three bucks a coffee adds up fast, Emma. I didn’t graduate with my MBA so I could mess with a good thing. I can take monotony if it pays well. At this rate, I’ll be able to retire in ten years. Don’t be jelly.”

“I’ll try not to be,” Emma chuckled. “I have to admit that my first impression of you couldn’t have been more wrong.”

Looking excited, the other woman leaned forward expectantly and in a hushed voice asked, “What was your first impression?”

“That you were a man-eater. I warned Killian about you,” she admitted, taking a bite of her croissant and suddenly understanding why Ruby had moaned. It was delicious.

“Oh, you weren’t wrong,” she agreed happily. Her unadulterated openness was refreshing. She was unabashedly herself and Emma decided to like her for it. “But that doesn’t mean a girl can’t have a plan, does it?”

“Right.” Enjoying the conversation but knowing she had a job to do, Emma tried to reign her in. “Listen, I have to ask you some questions about something that happened in town about ten years ago.”

“Oh, is this about Milah? I heard from Leroy that you and Killian were going at it pretty heavy in the Rabbit Hole parking lot a few days ago. Not that I’m surprised, that man is so hot that he could melt asphalt. I would have done the same thing. Seems like Liam took it okay if the rumors about Elsa are true so all’s well that ends well. You’re kind of my hero now.”

Emma wanted to bang her head against the table. This town was the craziest place she had ever been and it didn’t even have anything to do with the shootings and other crimes that brought her there. “No, not about Milah. Although perhaps we can discuss her another time.”

“Oh? What do you want to know then?”

Deciding to go straight for it, she blurted out, “What do you know about Peter Wolfe?”

The other woman’s entire demeanor changed instantly. She gave a furtive glance at the door that lead to a fire escape and Emma couldn’t shake the feeling that she was contemplating making a run for it. Tapping the table lightly to get her attention, Emma said sincerely, “Ruby, I’m not here to cause any trouble. I’m only trying to put some puzzle pieces together. Can you help me with that?”

Sighing, Ruby nodded. She was silent as the space around them emptied but once they were alone, she looked straight at Emma and swore, “I didn’t kill him if that’s what you’re thinking.”

She hadn’t realized she was tense until her body relaxed at Ruby’s words. She was telling the truth and somehow she knew what Emma was there about. “Tell me everything you know.”

“Peter was my first love,” she remembered with a sad smile. “The way I would moon over him when he came in for coffee every morning...God, how embarrassing it all is now. Well, suffice it to say that there weren’t any doubts about where my affections lay. He was a little older, not enough to be scandalous but I think it was enough that he was hesitant to get involved with me at first.”

Emma remained quiet as the other woman became lost in her thoughts. She could tell Ruby was trying to organize her next words carefully, fearful of something.

“His mother was really sick and he was working two jobs to make enough to keep up with the medical bills. Some days the only time I got to see him was when he came by for his daily dose of caffeine but I was okay with that because it showed how honorable and good he was, you know?”

“It seems like he was a very devoted son,” Emma agreed, not knowing what else to say.

“The summer he went missing, his mother took a turn for the worse. She needed an experimental treatment but they didn’t have the money to go to New York. He was despondent, he told me he was a failure. I felt so helpless, I was eighteen and I wanted to help. How many eighteen-year-olds have access to fifty thousand though?”

“Fifty thousand? That’s a hefty bill.”

“Don’t get me started on the scam that insurance is in this country,” Ruby said darkly. “One night he showed up at the diner and said that his luck had changed. He got another job, one that would pay more than enough for his mother’s treatment and that he would have some left for us to move away from here.”

“Did he tell you what the job was?”

“Not at that point. For weeks I didn’t see him much. He was always walking up and down Main Street but when I asked him why, he wouldn’t tell me. After a while, I noticed him with Milah frequently. It really bothered me. Everyone knew that she had a thing for younger men and she and Killian had ended things so my mind immediately connected the dots. He denied it, of course. I wanted to believe him but the more he said nothing was happening, the more often I would see them together and the more we fought.”

“Did he ever fess up?”

“No, that’s the thing. I honestly think he was telling the truth,” Ruby said with a rueful shake of her head as if she herself couldn’t believe how naive she was being. “Shortly thereafter, his mother passed away and he stopped coming by at all.”

With a serious look at Emma, Ruby stated, “I’ve never told anyone this, Emma. You have to keep it a secret.”

Reaching across the table to squeeze the other woman’s hand, Emma promised, “Ruby, I’ll do my best but if it helps us find the person who shot August, I may have to say something. I swear I will keep your name out of it.”

“The night he disappeared, he showed up at the diner out of the blue after we closed. He was frantic. He said he had to leave town. He wanted me to come with him. I refused, I was still convinced he had thrown me over for Milah. When I turned him down, he told me he had broken into Gold’s shop. That Milah had hired him to break into the safe and steal a copy of the prenuptial agreement but that he had found something else as well. He swore that he gave everything to Milah but he was worried that if Gold found out, he would be arrested or worse.”

“What did you do?”

“What could I do? I was relieved to finally know why he was hanging around Milah so much and worried that one mistake was going to cost him everything. I cleared out the cash register and gave him all the money. I told him to go. As of the last time I spoke with him, he was living in Seattle with his wife and they were expecting their first child.”

Settling back against her chair, Emma looked at the other woman thoughtfully. The fact that Milah had hired Peter to break into her husband’s shop made her wonder if that wasn’t her first attempt, if it was possible she had been trying to break away for years. “Did he ever tell you what else he found?”

“No, and I never asked. Curiosity is all well and good until someone is shot,” she said in warning. “August came around asking about Peter too but he seemed to think I had something to do with his disappearance.”

“Technically you did,” Emma pointed out. “You didn’t tell August anything you just told me?”

“No, I promised Peter I would keep his secret and I have until now.”

“Do you have a contact number for him?” At Ruby’s look of uncertainty, Emma pushed, “Trust me, it is better if I come looking for him than whoever shot August.”

“Do you think that has anything to do with Peter? It was years ago,” Ruby commented in disbelief.

“I’m beginning to think there are no coincidences in this town,” she replied ominously. “Ruby, a fifteen minute phone call could save his life.”

Nodding again, Ruby pulled a pen out of one pocket and her phone out of the other. Opening up her contacts, she scribbled out a number on a napkin before folding it in half and handing it to Emma. “I hope you know what you’re doing.”

“I’m trying to save a friend, same as you,” Emma answered with a grim smile before getting up and leaving Ruby alone at the table.

[goldnrry]

THANK YOOOOOOOOOU FOR TAGGING ME LOVE @besogolden 🥰🥰

I need to put the first 10 songs on shuffle in my favourite playlist

I SUCK at making playlists so i put my saved songs on shuffle (and sorry for the people on desktop this will be huhe bc of the audios but i lile to put them heheh)

Rainbow - Robert Plant

2. Bédi Beat - DUDA BEAT

3. Ghost of you - 5sos

4. All Star - Nando Reis (this song makes me so emotional :( like he wrote it for Cássia Eller a little after they met because he felt they were already best friends and its such a soft song :((( i miss Cássia her doc is so sad)

5. Le temps est bon - Bon Entendeur ft. Isabelle Pierre

6. Skip to sunrise - Outcalls

7. Who loves the sun - NU ft. Jo Ke

8. The Woman In You - Ben Harper And The Innocent Criminals (i need harry to cover this song)

9. Goosebumps- Stormi’s dad

10. Carvel - jhon fusciante

mmmm i tag @bfharry @sophism @loseir @theasstour @guccifloralsuits @goldenbluesuit @taurusrry @hers @beehivebabies @loveliyish @colaharry

I’m so sorry if im missing something i have pea brain 😰

[english-immerse]

Konstrukcje gramatyczne - matura rozszerzona

zadanie online :

https://quizizz.com/admin/quiz/60892ab0b76bcf001df11a9f

https://quizizz.com/join/quiz/5ed8f154984c2b001bf148ce/start?referrer=5e7334eb5ed563001ce2ab53

https://quizizz.com/join/quiz/5e9b5069d3069b001b9c8bba/start?referrer=5e7334eb5ed563001ce2ab53

1.      Neither Paul nor Janek is/ (are)  honest

—  Ani Paul ani Janek nie jest uczciwy

2.      Neither of us – zwrotu tego używamy w odniesieniu do dwóch osób – żaden z dwóch

I have two brothers , neither of them is slim.

3.      None of us – zwrotu tego używamy jeżeli w zdaniu odnosimy się do grupy większej niż 2 osoby

None of us is prepared to the exam.

4.      Either …………….or ………albo, albo .

Either I will go to the sea, or I will go to the lake.

Albo pojadę nad morze, lub pojadę nad jezioro.

5.      It is no use crying – nie ma sensu płakać

It is no use complaining

W tej konstrukcji używamy czasownika z końcówką ing.

6.      There is no point in crying - nie ma sensu płakać

There is no point in breaking up

Nie ma sensu marudzić .

W tej konstrukcji używamy czasownika z końcówką ing.

7.       If only I could swim – życzenia na terażniejszość - Past Simple – Gdybym tylko umiała pływać

If only I shared the room with Robert

If only I had a laptop- gdybym tylko miała laptopa

If only I lived in France- gdybym tylko mieszkał we Francji

8.      If only I had  learnt that earlier- Gdybym tylko nauczył się tego wcześniej- żałujemy czegoś z przeszłości - Past Perfect

If only I hadn’t answered back that teacher.

Życzenia na przeszłość past perfect ( had + 3 forma lube d )

9.      I wish I had a dog     - chcałbym mieć psa= żałuję ze nie mam psa        

Jeżeli wyrażamy życzenie odnośnie sytuacji terażniejszej stosujemy  czas Past Simple

I wish I knew French      - Chcialbym znać      francuski

I wish I could sign up for/ join that gym. Żałuję, że nie mogę zapisać się na siłownię/ Chciałbym zapisać się siłownię.

10.  I wish I had bought it . – żałuję że tego nie kupiłem                  

Jeżeli, żalujemy czegoś z przeszłości stosujemy Past Perfect (had + 3 forma lub ed )

I wish I hadn’t been at the  event .

I wish I had invited Robert

!!! Jeżeli zaczynamy tłumaczenie od żałuję

To jeżeli w polskiej wersji jest przeczenie to w angiel. twierdzenie

! !She wished she learnt French – czasownik wish odmienia się przez czasy

She wishes ……………,

 Does she wish she had a laptop?- czy ona żałuje ,że nie ma laptopa

11.  I wish you would stop smoking. Wish + would – życzenie na przyszłość, jesli chcemy zmienić jakąs sytuację, kogoś zachowanie, które nas irytuje

.....................................................................................................................................

12.  Konstrukcje strony biernej

Mówi się …………………………

It is said that he is rich = he is said to be rich – mówi się

It is believed that he is talented= he is believed  to be talented- uważa, wierzy się

They say he writes novels=it is said that he writes novels= he is said to write novels

They think he lives in Alaska= it is thought that he lives= he is thought to live

13.  Jeżeli czynność odbywa się na tej samej płaszczyżnie czasowej, np. w danym zdaniu zastosowane sa czasy Simple Present- Simple Present to używamy – to be, to do, to write , itd. Jeżeli czynność odbywa się na różnych płaszczyznach czasowych np. Simple Present- Simple Past to używamy – to have done, to have been, to have written itd.

—  They say he cheats – It is said that he cheats- he is said to cheat

Ta sama płaszczyzna czasowa - Present Simple , Present Simple = to cheat - to plus forma podstawowa czasownika

—  They say he skip classes- it is said that he skip classes= he is said to skip classes

—  They believe he escaped- it is believed that he escaped= he is believed to have escaped

Rózne zastosowanie czasów- to have + III forma lub ed

- They say he wrote – it is said that he wrote – he is said to have written

- They believe he discovered- he is believed to have discovered

- They estimated he had misused the device- It Is estimated he had misused…..He is estimated to have misused

- They said he had mistaken - He was said to have mistaken

14.  Przypuszczenie odnośnie przeszłości. Jeżeli chcemy wyrazić przypuszczenie odnośnie przeszłości, np. że coś prawdopodobnie się wydarzyło, stosujemy konstrikcję:

Modal + have + III forma lub ed

She must have forgotten – On na pewno zapomniała

She  must have lost – Ona na pewno zgubiła

She might have overslept- Ona prawdopodobnie zaspała

! Ale - She had to do it- Ona musiała to zrobić , przymus

! Ważne jest aby rozróżnić przymus od przypuszczenia

She is late. It is so like her. She must have overslept.- przypuszczenie

She had to submit the documents on Friday. It was the deadline. - przymus

She must have done  – na pewno tak

She might have done – prawdopodobnie tak

She can’t have done – na pewno nie

She might not have done – prawdopodobnie nie

She could have done - mogłabyła to zrobić

............................................................................................................

—  Czasownik should !!! I should have done it – czasownik should jeśli chodzi o formę przeszłą korzysta z konstrukcji modal have i 3 forma lub ed

I should do it now.

Ale

I should have done it a long time ago.

Różnica między : I needn't have done a I didn't need to do it.

I needn't have done it- nie musialem tego robić, ale zrobilem

I didn't need to do it- nie musialem tego robić,i nie zrobilem

I needn't have bought so much food for the party, but I did as my mum didn't tell me that she had already bought all the food.

I didn't need to write the review for yesterday as my teacher had changed the deadline.

15.  Po przysłówkach : when, as soon as (jak tylko), as long as (pod warunkiem że)  , before, if, after , until , provided that, providing that (pod warunkiem że) , in case  nie używamy czasu Future tylko Simple Present

When I finish writing it, I will watch “you can dance “

When he finishes writing it, he will watch

As long as you promise to give it back soon, I will lend you my car.

16.  Despite, in spite of + ing- pomimo

Despite being alone- pomimo

Despite + ing/ lub rzeczownik

Despite being late- pomimo, że sie spóżniłam

In spite of not liking

In spite of + ing / lub rzeczownik

In spite of not liking - mimo, że nie lubię

!Ale

Although I don’t like - mimo że nie lubię

Even though I don’t like - mimo że nie lubię

Po wyrazach although, even though używamy formy czasownikowej, odmieniamy przez dany czas gramatyczny

....................................................................................

......................................................................................

17 Konstrukcja Kozatywna

Konstrukcji tej używamy, jeśli chcemy zlecić komuś wykonanie jakieś czynności

Have sth done/ get sth done

I had the roof mended- naprawiono mi dach - Past Simple

I will have the roof mended- naprawię dach/ naprawią mi dach - Future Simple

I have had the roof mended- naprawiono mi dach

17.  High time - Najwyższy czas- w tej konstrukcji stosujemy czas Past Simple

It is high time she went down to work

18.  Had better – lepiej- w tej konstrukcji używamy formy podstawowej czasownika

You had better work

You had better not lie - przeczenie

19.  Would rather

Jeżeli mówimy o sobie, o tym co my wolimy używamy formy podstawowej czasownika

I would rather work here than there

Jeżeli mówimy, że wolimy aby ktoś inny coś zrobił stosyjemy czas Past Simple

I would rather you worked here

................................................................................

20.  Ogólne upodobania – prefer ing to ing

I prefer learning English to learning German

21.  As if / as though – jakgdydby-generalnie w zastosowaniu tej konstrukcji "cofamy się o czas do tyłu"

He behaves as if he was the most important person.

Ona zachowuje sie jak gdyby była najważniejszą osobą, a nie jest

He behaves as if he had seen a ghost

On zachowuje się jakgdyby zobaczył ducha.

22. strona bierna

Konstrukcja strony biernej to : czasownik być + 3 forma lub ed

This plant is grown in this country. Present Simple

She was assessed really severely- Past Simple

She has been promoted- Present Perfect

It will be fixed soon- Future Simple

It is being considered- Present Continuous

It might be changed - czasownik modalny

She had been rejected - Past Perfect

Ćwiczenia 

1.      Neither Mark nor Greg ( be) .............................keen on goingon that expedition 2. There is no point in ( revise) .....................................it. 3. If only I ( can ) ..............................speak French fuently.But I can't. 4.I wish  I (can ) .............................speak Greek fluently.But I can't. 5. If I (can) .......................speak French more fluently, I (get) ..............................that job . But I can't 6. If I (can) .......................speak French more fluently, I (get) ..............................that job . But I couldn't 7. I wish  I ( be) .....................better at French but I wasn't. 8. I wish I (be) ......................better at French but I am not. 9. If only I (revise) .........................the material more thoroughly, I would have been given a better mark. 10. She is said to ( be) ..................a talented artist.She writes brilliant poetry. 11. She is said to (be) ....................a talented artist.She wrote brilliant poetry. 12. She is said to (write) ........................in several languages. In fact, she is learning a new one. 13. She is said to (write) .......................in several languages. In fact,she knew 4 of them. 14. It is said that she (leave) ...........................him without a sinle word. It was last year. 15. Where is John? He ( must forget) .......................about the meeting. I am sure. 16.  Where is John? He (might  forget) .......................about the meeting. Probably he forgot. 17. You should (visit) ...................................your aunt a long time ago. 18. It is a shame you didn't vist me.We could (have)..........................a lot of fun. 19. She is unlikely ( win) ........................the ski competition. 20. She (can ) ..............................paint when she was 8 years old. 21. She ( be ) ..............................able to extend her visa and she was so satisfied that day. 22. She ( have to) ..........................extend her visa last year. 23. I am taking my umbrella in case it (rain) ..................................... 24.But for  your (stand up) ..............................for me, I would have been beaten up by those bullies. 25. If you   ( not stand up) ............................for me, those bullies (beat ) ..............................me up. 26. If I (be) .........................bored, I  often ( read) ...............................books. 27. If I ( have) .........................more time , I ( read) .........................more books. 28. If I (have ) ...........................more time at university,  I ( read) .........................more books.But I didn't. 29. I would rather ( go) .........................alone than (ask) .....................for your favour. 30. I would rather you ( not cheat) ..........................on my tests. 32. I would rather you ( not cheat) ............................yesterday. 33. I prefer (read) .......................to (watch) .................................films. 34. Despite ( share) .........................the flat with her, I will not invite her to my party. 25. Although I (share) ....................the flat with her, I will not invite her to my party. 26. She told me (clean) ....................my room. 27. She told me ( not smoke ) ..........................in the office. 28.I want to know where you (live) ......................Can you give me your address.? 29. I want to know where and when you (buy) ..............................it 30.Rice ( grow) ....................... in China by local farmers. 31.The Witcher ( write) .............................by Sapkowski. 31. I (give)..........................a promotion and I am so excited. 32. My bathroom ( refurbish) .....................................................now. 32 a. I (refurbish) ...............................my bathroom ...........................now. 33. She behaves as if she ( know) ..........................................everything. 34. She behaves as though she ( lose) ....................................everything. I know that it was a setback for her. yet I think she exaggerates. 35. I ( not need) ................................to stand in that awful queue as my mum had already bought the food. 36. I (not need stand) .............................in that awful queue as when I reached the cash register my mum phoned me to tell me  she had already bought the food. 37. It is high time you ( move out) ..................................you dont't pay the bills. 38. You had better ( listen ) .........................to me. 39. I ( test) ..........................my blood...........................now. 40. I (test) ........................my blood............................... yesterday. 41. I refuse............................(tell) you that. 42. I admit ...................................( be) there. 43. I regret ...................................( tell) you that as you told my secret to everyone. 44. I apologise for...........................( make) that mistake. 45. By midnight I ( know) .............................the results of my exam. 46. On Monday I ( do).............................................yoga for 7 years now. 47. As soon as I (hear) ..............................the news, I broke to tears. 48. I (read) .............................Lalka for 2 weeks now. 49. I (read) ..............................the book twice. 50. When ..................you (read) ...........................the book.? 51.I will phone when I ........................(know) the results. Rozszerzoan zwroty   Match 1. owing to                                        a) pod warunkiem że

2. due to                                            b) jeśli nie

3. despite                                          c) pomimo

4. in case                                          d) gdyby nie

5. unless                                           e) jak gdyby

6. but for                                            f) przypuścmy

7. although                                       g) prawdopodobnie

8, likely                                             h) z powodu

9. as if / though                                  i) z powodu

10. provided that                                j) pomimo

11. as long as                                    k) pod warunkiem że

12. supposing                                    l) na wszelki wypadek

13. unlike                                           m) w przeciwieństwie do 14. contrary to                                   n) w przeciwieństwie do

  Wstaw powyższe zwroty do zdań. 1. She is ............................to win the race. Nobody can catch up with her.

2. You can borrow that bike.......................you give it back tomorrow.

3. She behaved ...............................she had lost all her world.

4. .............................you won a lot of money, what would you do?

5. .............................thick fog, the flights were cancelled.

6. Take your umbrella, .................................it rains.

7. .....................she gets down to work, she will fail the exams.

8. ..........................liking her, I will not invite her. 9.............................I don't like her, I share her point of view.

[schnowydays]

The “Herne and the Red Kite” Analysis Nobody Asked For

WARNING: This is probably a very long and unnecessary post. 

Wah, so at first I was quite nervous on posting this at all because this is just so embarrassingly long and it is really overly thought out. Plus no one even asked for it and there does not seem to be a need for this since the song is kind of straightforward. But, I still put work into this so I’m going to post it anyways cuz it would feel like a waste if I didn’t. Plus, I’m immensely busy with school right now, so why not just let this fester while I’m away? So,,, here we go:::

Okay, so this was spun out by this post and I just became so interested in what the heck this song was about. I’ve always loved listening to it but I had no idea what the heck was going on - who is Herne? A red kite?? Does this relate to Hadley and Rosalie???

Plus, I love reading analysis on stuff so, here I am, attempting to make my own.

Anyways, to give a quick overview, I am going to be analyzing both the words and the instruments used in the song, going strictly by the studio recording. Everything here will be MY OPINION ALONE so it could be possible that I am horribly wrong on certain things. This research was INCREDIBLY LIGHT so there are probably a lot of details that I missed. Plus, I don’t really have strong music or literature knowledge, nothing beyond what you’re taught in high school. I’ll try to clear up the blocks of text with pictures or videos of things I think are helpful. 

I’m basically going to be the English Teacher who finds meaning in everything meme. You know, the:

So, without further ado...

Background

The Song Itself

As we all know, “Herne and the Red Kite” was written by Hadley Fraser and was released on his EP Just Let Go. Although it was released in 2014, I’m not entirely sure when this song was written, so it could have been really any time before then. Just to get it out there, based on what others have already said (from that post, yes), this song is most likely to be about Hadley and Rosalie Craig. Here is the song itself if you’ve (somehow) never heard it before. You can also listen along and read at the same time :D

Characters in the Song

Herne

Based on only a Google search, “Herne the Hunter”, an English folklore ghost, is really the only thing that shows up. He is mentioned by Shakespeare in The Merry Wives of Windsor in which he is described as “the ghost of a former Windsor Forest keeper who haunts a particular oak tree at midnight in the winter time” (Wikipedia). He is associated with the Windsor Forest and the Great Park in Berkshire. He basically does a lot of not cool stuff, like making cows produce blood instead of milk and making trees die. Another version states that he was made so that parents can scare their children into being more obedient. Herne is also the surname of a bunch of people. Because Herne is such an interesting name to use for a song like this (why didn’t he pick literally anything else??), then there is probably some intention behind the use of this name and probably the connotations that come with it.

Red Kite

So, apparently, the Red Kite isn’t actually a kite but is actually a kind of English bird. Fun fact, during Shakespeare’s time, it was considered to be an insult to be called a kite because this bird, back then, was regarded as quite a lowly bird since it was literally associated with trash. It was related this way because it eats dead things haha... However, it was hunted intensely until it became basically extinct except for a few in Wales. Over time, as the population began to thrive again, the Red Kite became a celebrated symbol of Wales (probably) (source). 

According to a lot of different sites, apparently Red Kites also have some meaning to them. I think the most consistent and most important one is how they are a connection between the living and the underworld. This mystical connection binds well with Herne being a folklore ghost who, of course being a ghost, is probably dead. So, already, they are a pretty good match.

A good thing to note as well, birds, in general, are usually used to symbolize freedom. Also, as far as I can tell, there are really no previous stories or songs or works or whatever about Herne and Red Kites together. 

Hadley and Rosalie’s Relationship

I got this information from here (brought up by @peonybooks​ in a chat, thank you!!)

So, depending on where you look, in 2008 or 2009, Hadley and Rosalie met on the set of A Christmas Carol production in Birmingham, although at the time, they were both dating other people. A piece of the set had fallen on Rosalie during that time and basically destroyed her arm. However, she was determined to swiftly come back to the stage because she was afraid that if she hadn’t, she’ll never be able to come back at all. That, and “because [she] had fallen in love with [Hadley]” (my feelings waaa).

Once the production was over, Hadley shipped it back to LA while Rosalie stayed in London. Hadley returned a year later and called up Rosalie for a drink. It was then discovered that they had actually liked each other this entire time!! They just never told each other. They lived together in Crystal Palace after that and married in 2014. This makes it around the time that this EP was released. 

Hadley and Rosalie as Herne and the Red Kite

Something interesting I noticed was the relation of their names to these characters. H is for Hadley and Herne. R is for Rosalie and the Red Kite. 

Of course, this little fun fact breaks a bit if Hadley is using his real first name, Robert, haha. The “Red” in “Red Kite” can also be a relation to how Rosalie has red hair (thanks @alittlepawblog​ hehe).

Also, something worth noting is how Rosalie sings all the lines that are in Herne’s perspective, and Hadley sings all the lines about the Red Kite’s perspective. That trade-off is quite neat, actually. They are both narrators together in this story, but they are swapping who talks about who. It makes the whole song feel like they are speaking for each other together. 

Lyrics and Instruments

I think for this part, I am going to break it up by when each person sings. So basically, whenever there is a new singer or if they start singing together, that will be a new section. Italics are lyrics, regular print is the analysis.

Instrumental

The story is introduced by an accordion. To be honest, it sounds quite static, or maybe even stoic. There is not a lot of feeling in it, maybe to demonstrate how Herne and the Red Kite’s lives were like before meeting each other.

The sprinkles of hi-hats spring the beginning of the song, which consists of a guitar melody, bass and a violin. The violin has a recurring melody that is highlighted every time there is an instrumental break. It could perhaps represent Herne as both Herne (and subsequently Hadley) is mentioned throughout the song consistently, while the Red kite is only mentioned after the introduction. 

Rosalie

Herne lived alone, lived alone in a wood Staring at swallows, wishing he could Join their migration from flower to flower Finally deciding to rest on some bower

Herne is introduced right off the bat, making him kind of the main character. That, and the fact that he has the most lines in the song directly about him. Makes sense if Herne is supposed to stand in for Hadley, since Hadley wrote this song. The fact that he lives in the woods also fits nicely with how he is supposed to be a ghost associated with the Windsor Forest and the Great Park. 

The lyrics state he is lonely and stares at swallows, wishing he could join them and fly far away visiting beautiful things (“flower to flower”). Swallows are typically symbols for very very good things, like happiness, protection, connection, conflict resolution, etc. The words “finally deciding to rest” kind of makes it like he has been on this long trek for happiness for a while. He’s been doing this search for so long that he just has to rest, finally. And, in case you didn’t know like me, a bower is “a pleasant shady place under trees or climbing plants in a garden or wood” (thanks Google). 

So, just to recap Herne is a lonely ghost who doesn’t want to be this way. He wants to be happy, have a connection with something, but being isolated in the wood just doesn’t let him do that. This may indicate how lonely or just duller things seemed to be for Hadley before he met Rosalie. He didn’t feel a true connection or see true beauty, something he desperately wanted to experience, until her. 

BOTH

With another With another

Albeit being very short, these can potentially have meaning behind them. “With another” - another what? They also start singing together here for the first time. Perhaps the “another” is each other, Hadley and Rosalie, or a foreshadow that Herne will be joined by another person or being soon, a sort of set up for the Red Kite, who is introduced in the next line. 

Hadley

Herne lifts his head and the Red Kite goes drifting by Suddenly in love with something that caught her eye

Hadley now sings but from the perspective of the Red Kite. Notice before that Rosalie sang the last verse, but all about Herne. They kind of mirror each other in this way. 

With the video above, you can see how, while they drift, the Red Kites move their head a lot. Maybe this is a normal bird movement and I’m just too dumb to know, but they seem to be actively searching below them. I think this derives from how they are scavenger birds. However, instead of spotting food, she spots Herne and is “suddenly in love”. This could parallel into real life, where Rosalie might have seen Hadley in passing on the production and experienced love at first sight. These lines indicate that Herne (Hadley) has clearly seen the Red Kite (Rosalie) as well, probably having the same love at first sight moment, something that can be inferred once the song progresses into the next Rosalie verse. 

In this verse, the accordion returns as well, possibly indicating some remnants of the past sadness still lingering. There is uncertainty. However, a new instrument is also introduced simultaneously: the mandolin. To me, it kind of sounds very happy and bright and hopeful, especially in the plucky way it was used. This new instrument, as well as the potentially cheesy representation (rip me), can indicate that something new and exciting is going to begin.

BOTH

Something that's shining so bright in the sunlight Let's hope we never...

If we’re sticking with the definition of bowers being shady, then should it not be very unlikely that the Red Kite or Herne have spotted each other at all? Perhaps through this line, they are saying how unlikely their relationship was to have occurred, but when it ultimately did, it was glorious. In the following line, they say “Let’s hope we never lose that thing that shines in the sunlight ever again”. Maybe it was just so unbelievably good, so amazing, that they were afraid that they would lose it because it just feels so unimaginable. Besides, this flips well into reality since they never told each other they liked each other and kept it secret for a whole year!! PLUS, they were dating others when they first met!! Very unlikely relationship indeed. 

...then again, this could just be them saying the other is really great haha. 

The accordion is fazed out as if the longer Herne and the Red Kite gaze at each other, the past sadness and loneliness are slowly melting away. The violin returns, swelling into the next line. 

BOTH - HADLEY MELODY, ROSALIE HARMONY

...lose that thing that shines in the sunlight ever again

Them singing together makes it like they are in total agreement with each other.  It’s like Hadley is making this statement in the melody, and Rosalie supports wholeheartedly with her harmony. From Hadley to Rosalie, and Rosalie to Hadley, they feel like the other outcompetes the sun (the sun!).

Instrumental

The violin melody from the beginning returns, as does the guitar melody. However, after the violin does its melody once, the trumpet now copies it! If the violin represents Herne because of how both he and the violin are introduced at around the same time, then the trumpet could represent the Red Kite, bringing new a much more vibrant, bold and triumphant vibe to Herne’s life. Plus, the fact that the trumpet copies the violin’s melody probably means there is a connection between the two. This would make it somewhat like an instrumental duet or could also possibly foreshadow that something very good is about to happen. 

Rosalie

Only one Herne and not enough wood Climbed up the bower and atop it he stood Called down the Red Kite from high up above Come land down here and be my love

Herne feels so attracted to the Red kite that he feels a physical pull to her, so much so that he climbs up on top of the bower. With not enough wood, he’s too far away from the Red Kite, and with only one Herne, it feels like nothing is there to support him in what he is trying to do. So he calls down the Red Kite to be with him instead, kind of like how Hadley called Rosalie for a drink all those years ago. It was him that reached out at the end that called her to him. “Be my love”, they will soon declare to each other during/after that fateful meeting. 

This also begins the hunter-bird relationship, if we are going to take this a little more literally. Hunter and bird relationships are very mutualistic. They help each other, with the birds guiding the hunters to their targets and the hunters paying them back in some way, usually through food or other means. 

BOTH

Forever Forever

Singing together, they both want to be together forever (haha, pretty obvious?)

Hadley

Red Kite flies down (he's waited his life for this) Whispers to Herne something, whispers, and then a kiss

As the Red Kite flies down towards Herne (as Rosalie gets closer to Hadley, or comes to meet him), Herne (Hadley) thinks that “he’s waited his life for this”. This goes back to the beginning where we know that Herne really wanted to go beyond the wood to see new beautiful things. Now someone beautiful has come to him instead, making his once isolating and lonely world so much more dazzling and loving. 

They also whisper, which is a pretty intimate choice of word. And they kiss! Literally spelling out a loving relationship. The happiness, love, protection, connection that Herne (Hadley) yearned for, for such a long time, is finally here. 

The mandolin also returns, the hope has its pay off! It continues to play throughout the rest of the song until after a few “Herne and the Red Kite” repeats at the very end of the song.

BOTH

Something that's shining so bright in the sunlight Let's hope we never... 

BOTH - HADLEY MELODY, ROSALIE HARMONY

...lose that thing that shines in the sunlight ever again

Once again, they repeat these words, as if to reaffirm this message that they are the best thing to have happened to each other. This is also at the end of the song, you can interpret as the end of this segment of the story, but the start of something beautiful. As time goes on, this magnificent idea they hold of each other never changes, despite anything that happens. 

Instrumental

This instrumental segment sounds like a slightly altered version of the instrumental breaks we’ve heard before. It is a lot more energetic, with the first threeish notes being kept from the original, but now tacked on with something extra. Overall, it just sounds so much happier than the instrumental breaks we’ve been getting before. 

BOTH

Herne and the Red Kite (repeat)...

This line is repeated 12 times (yes, I counted). The overall feel just sounds so triumphant and happy, like we’re celebrating. The joyous melody has the mandolin fade out, and if you really listen, the trumpet and violin seem to be having a very animated conversation with one another, calling and responding to each other and at times responding really quickly. The same guitar melody that we hear during the instrumental breaks is back as well.

Instrumental

All the instruments fade away, with the violin’s recurring melody closing the celebration off until there is only the guitar left. With only the violin standing out at the very end, it's nice that the original solo melody is now surrounded by all these other exciting things, making it kind of say that Herne is still Herne, but now he is surrounded by so many wonders now that the Red Kite is here. With the guitar having its ending solo, It makes it sounds like this is a tale gone by, and now we talk about it as if it were a folktale or a legend. It kind of feels like we’re just talking about this story around a campfire instead. Herne and the Red Kite grew old and grew old together, closing off the song like a musical “happily ever after”. 

Extra Stuff

Interesting Notes

The way it is written sort of sounds like a children’s poem, describing a simple but cute story

The song, overall, personally has a folklore vibe to it haha

There are a few pairs that can be picked out

Herne and the Red kite

Hadley and Rosalie

Male and Female voice (duet)

Violin and Trumpet

Accordion and Mandolin (Accordion is replaced by the Mandolin)

Any time the two sing together, it kind of just reinforces the narrator aspect of things, how they seem to be telling us the story of how they met and ultimately fell in love from a long time ago

Unanswered Questions

Why use Herne of all figures? Herne is supposed to be a very scary ghost. If it truly is supposed to represent Hadley, does this mean he identifies with the ghost in some way? Or did he derive some meaning from Herne’s presence in the works he shows up in?

Conclusion

Waa ok, that’s all I have for now about Herne and the Red Kite. If you made it to the end, thank you so much!! Truly appreciative that you read all the ramblings <3 

Here is the super general story: Herne was yearning for something more and was feeling lonely. Then he saw the Red Kite drift by, and for both of them, it was love at first sight. He desperately wanted to be with her, so he called out to her despite the odds or the distance, and as she descended to him, he felt excited that his loneliness was finally going to end. From then on, they shared a happy and joyous relationship until the end of time. The end~

The writing of this post took much longer than the actual light research and speculation part of it. Again, I might be completely wrong because this is just what I think is going on, and I might also just be looking waaaayyy too deep into things. If this is truly a proper, or at least somewhat proper, reflection of Hadley and Rosalie’s relationship, then I feel incredibly soft :’) 

If you have any other ideas, or if you agree/disagree with my analysis, please let me know!! I’m really excited to see what others have to say. :D

Until next time, I guess haha

[perseephoneee]

Flower Shop (Klaus Hargreeves X Reader)

it’s been a minute since I’ve written anything and my boi has inspired me.

i wrote the reader as a girl (as I am, in fact, a girl) so FYI. also the reader is definitely a very pastel, fluffy person, so that’s another thing.

if you don’t know, klaus is pansexual (confirmed by Robert and the showrunner) so he is down to go with whomever he likes.

anywho enjoy.

—————

When fighting the apocalypse, sometimes the atmosphere in the house became unbearable, and Klaus found himself bowing out more often than not to escape into the frigid outside. Today was another one of those days, with Luther frustrating everyone, so Klaus left as per usual and found himself walking the streets looking for something to do. He’s been trying to be sober, but once an addict always an addict. It’s hard to not look for your next hit.

« Don’t, » Ben says, like he could hear his thoughts.

« Don’t what? » Klaus questions.

« Don’t go looking for your next hit and end up wasting your life, seriously man, it’s horrible, » Ben scoffs, walking through a fire hydrant.

« I’m just wandering, looking for an adventure— don’t you like adventure? » Klaus smiles , skipping a bit as Ben rolls his eyes.

« Okay, you want an adventure, go into the third shop on your left and tell them you can talk to ghosts, » Ben smirks. Klaus, without any qualms, marches to the third shop, takes a sharp turn and walks right in. Ben follows behind, glancing up to see the sign for the shop and snickering slightly.

« Hello! » Klaus announces loudly, marching into the shop. He was met with the smell of flowers, and other plant goods. It was a flower shop, and one that was covered in brilliant colors and wonderful scents from different types of flowers.

« Hi there, how may I help you today? » you say, coming out from behind a stack of tulips, a green smock wrapped around your waist.

« Just looking around, me and my dead brother like the smell of flowers, » Klaus chirped, Ben cackling in the back. « I can see the dead, bit of a sixth sense, » he whispered.

« So could my grandmother, well if you need any help, let me know, » you smile, returning to your work as a frown crosses Klaus’ face.

« Woah wait, you’re not weirded out at all? » Klaus inquired, following behind you. You turn, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

« No, the world is full of mysteries, dont be weirded out by them, » you smile.

« What’s your name? » Klaus asks, façade disappearing.

« Y/N, whats your name? » you ask.

« Klaus, its uh, nice to meet you, » Klaus puts out a hand, which you shake chuckling.

« Tell me more about the ghosts, » you say, going back to organizing the bouquets.

« They’re kind of a nightmare, » Klaus mumbles, « I kind of hate my ability. »

« Why? » you inquire, peering up at Klaus.

« Why do you care? » Klaus questions.

« I don’t get to meet many people, I like to hear new stories, » you admit, blushing a bit.

« You want a story? » Klaus crosses his arms, leaning against the bouquet table. « I got plenty. »

Since then, Klaus has found himself going back to that flower shop to talk to you. You’re a great listener, and you don’t judge him when he admits he has a drug problem, or when he talks about his fear of ghosts. You look at him like he’s a person.

You enjoy his company as well. He’s an eccentric personality, but there’s a kindness to him. He genuinely cares, when he’s not high as a kite. You look forward to his visits, and today is no different.

Klaus found himself frustrated by his family, as per usual, and unconsciously walked right to your floral shop.

« Hey Klaus, » you smile, your grin falling as you notice his strained expression. « Family? »

« Yeah, » Klaus sighs, toying with the dog tags around his neck.

« What can I do for you? » you whisper, coming up to him with a face of concern.

« Can I have a hug? » Klaus mumbles, embarrassed. Without hesitation, you pull him down to you, wrapping your arms around his neck and rubbing the back of his head. Klaus wraps his arms around you, taking a deep shaky breath, and feeling himself relax more. You have an effect over him, a way to calm him without the use of drugs. He’s addicted to it. You pull away, looking at him for a hint of anything. His eyes bore into yours, silence hanging between you both.

« I told you about Dave right? » Klaus croaks, while you nod. « You remind me of him. »

« How? » You question. Klaus takes your hands into his, staring at your fingers as he steps closer.

« You’re kind, understanding, amazing, considerate, beautiful, » he says, glancing up.

« And I care about you so much it drives me insane. » He chuckles, trying to make the moment less serious as your eyes stare into his. « I’m a mess and you look at me like— I mean something. »

« You do mean something, » you say. « You mean everything to Dave, to your family when they get their head out of their ass, to Ben, to me, » you smile, putting your hand on Klaus’ cheek. He leans into it, glancing at you. He leans down, pressing a kiss to your lips. Klaus pulls away, wanting to make sure it’s alright with you. You take his face in your hands, kissing him harder. Klaus’ puts his hands on your waist, pulling you close to him as your fingers grip his hair. He lets out a small groan into your mouth when you rugged his hair, and you blush a bit as Klaus kisses you deeper, putting a hand on your shoulder blade as he French kisses you. You end up pulling away to catch your breath, still holding on to each other. You glance down, blushing a bit. Klaus tilts your head up so he can look at you, and sends you a grin. You both crack up into laughter, happiness enveloping you both.

« Can I see you? Outside of here? » Klaus inquires. You nod, a smile spreading across your face.

« I’m off in ten minutes actually, if you’re available afterwards. »

« Always, » Klaus chuckles. He steps apart from you, playing his hands as he watches you return back to work.

« That was disgustingly adorable, » Ben speaks up from behind Klaus, eliciting a tiny scream from the seance. « You’re welcome by the way. »

« For What? And don’t sneak up on me, I frighten easily. »

« Dude, I’m always here. And you’re welcome for daring you to enter this shop so you would meet

Y/N. »

« Fine, thank you Ben. »

« I like her, she’s good, » Ben smiles, putting his hands in his pockets. Klaus smiles, crossing his arms.

« Yeah, I like her too. »

[elevatorsnot-worthy]

Just A Little Chaotic (Chapter 3)

CHAPTER 3 - Little More Care

Description: Alison, a singer-songwriter and an actress, finds herself in a middle of a chaotic set up with two of her cast mates. One’s a new face and one’s an old friend.

Pairings: Chris Evans x OFC x Sebastian Stan

Just A Little Chaotic (All Chapters)

It was already 5pm and I was still in my hotel room with Chris, both of us still wearing our robes. We just ordered room service to fill us up. Chris was on the bed as he was watching the news. His face was scrunched up with mild annoyance and distaste because of the horrible news that was airing. I sat beside him and placed my hand on his lap. He was still fixed on the TV, his eyebrows furrowed, nose scrunched up and lips pouted.

“Hey,” I cooed at him. “I have to pack… Joelle just sent me my flight details, it changed, and I have to leave early tomorrow.” Chris looked at me and pouted even more. Don’t do that, you dummy. You look too cute.

“When can I next see you?” Chris asked sweetly.

“Oh, so you’re thinking of a second date now, huh?” I joked at him. God, I’m gonna miss him. “I’m gonna be gone for a year and a few months. It’s my first headlining tour and it means a lot to me. I really have to focus, y’know… and last night,” worry filled Chris’ face as I continued with my sentence. “Honestly, it was so fun, and you are so sweet and amazing but it’s…” it was hard for me to find the words to say. I took a deep breath and held both of his hand. “I enjoyed my time with you, Chris. And if I could do it every night, I would but I have to focus.”

“Are you – are you ghosting me?” Chris asked exaggeratedly making me laugh.

“Ghosting you is when I’m going to stop talking to you out of the blue. What I’m trying to say is that,” I scooted closer to him and he wrapped his arms around me. “Let’s take this real slow, we’ll keep in touch while I’m gone and when I get back, let’s go back to where we left off.” I planted soft kisses on his lips and he laid back as I rested my body on top of him. “Sounds good?”

“Sounds nice.” He smiled and kissed me deeply. Before things started to get heavier, I got up from the bed and pulled up Chris.

“With that being said, I have to fix my stuff. I have a flight early tomorrow.” I placed my hands on my waist.

“Are you kicking me out?” Chris stood up and mimicked my stance.

“Is this not the first time, huh, Evans?” I teased him, and he smirked in response. I wrapped my arms around his neck and he placed his hands on my waist. “Don’t you have work too?”

“You’re funny,” He kissed my forehead, both sides of my cheeks, my nose then my lips. “And yes, I have a film to shoot soon but I’ll go back in Boston next week.”

“You can see me when I come to Boston, you can come to the show.” I offered.

“Only if I get free tickets.” He smiled and kissed me deeply.

Chris stayed for a little while since he helped me to pack. As soon as we were done he left and let me rest. Chris and I became close while we were filming, and he always offered a hand to me. He cared for everybody, but he was more caring towards me – as pointed out by RDJ. I remember when we were on set for Avengers, we were filming the scene where all of us are in the helicarrier. We were in the huge table discussing about Loki, I was sitting between Scarlett and Chris, with a chair in between each of us, Robert and Mark are behind me, and Hemsworth is standing across us. That day I wasn’t feeling well, I had a cold and I had a lot of phone meetings earlier the day for my tour, so my head was pounding with pain. Playing a superhero with healing powers was ironic to me now.

I found it difficult for me to keep up with the scene even though I just had a few lines. I was messing up the whole day, and it annoyed the hell out of me. Every time I messed up Chris would give me a reassuring smile and cheer me on. His enthusiastic energy helped me get through the scene. Once the director said cut, I slouched down on my seat as everyone were packing up for lunch.  

“You alright, Angel?” Scarlett called me with my character’s name. The Dark Angel, Gabriela Stark, once a HYDRA experiment and now an Avenger.

“I’m going to die in a few minutes, I can feel it.” I shook my head in response and I gave her a faint smile. She rubbed my shoulders to comfort me and left to get her lunch. I looked at Chris who was in a conversation with Robert. Chris was whispering to Robert then in response, Robert gave him a huge smile, two thumbs up and then walked away.

As I stood up from my chair, Chris walked towards me. “Seems like you and Robert have a little secret.” I teased at him.

“It’s nothing,” he said. “Do you want me to walk with you to your trailer?” he offered just like the gentleman that he is.

“Are you still going to ask me about that date?” I raised my eyebrow at him. Chris grinned and shook his head as if I caught him with his plan. I never said no to him. He was persistent in asking but not to the point that he was annoying, but I just roll my eyes at him every time he asks.

“You know what they say, never say never but hey – you’re sick and I worry about you. I just – I don’t,” Chris stuttered as he finds his way through his sentence. I tapped him on his arm to stop him struggling.

“Alright, you can walk with me but don’t ask me about the date while we’re on our way, okay?” I told him, and he grinned like a little kid. To my relief, he never mentioned anything about his request while walking. He told me the crazy story of how he fell face flat on the floor while doing some stunts on the first Captain America movie which made me laugh hard.

“I was ridiculous, I looked like a drunk man passed out on the floor.” He laughed out loud and I clutched at his arm since I was laughing too hard. When we reached my trailer, I stood in front of the door facing Chris. “Are you not going to let me in?” he teased.

“No, go to your own trailer, Evans.” I teased back. He chuckled and placed his hand on his chest.

“That hurt, Ali.” He joked. “Anyway, before I go… about that date…” I rolled my eyes at him in response and shook my head. “Hey! You told me that I can’t ask you while we’re on our way and now we’re here, so…”

“Such a smartass, Christopher.” I said sarcastically and gently pushed him. “Later, Evans.” I waved at him and went in my trailer, leaving him behind. When I got in, my attention was drawn to the table filled with various types of tea and a clear glass tea brewer. Joelle was sitting on the chair next to the table with a smirk and a note card in her hand.

“Mr. America’s something, Ali.” She said as she passed the note to me. Right when I saw who the note was from, my heart fluttered.

              Alison,

                              I heard you like to drink tea when you’re sick.

                              Get well soon, Angel.

              - Chris

                              P.S: I had some help with RDJ.

I took my phone which was on the dresser near the table and texted Chris. Joelle’s right, Mr. America’s something.

              Here’s the deal, I’ll go on a date with you once we wrap. I guess you’re not bad, Evans.

I looked at the different teas that were laid out on the table. Green tea, Barley tea, Earl Grey, Chamomile, and so much more. I picked out the green tea and asked Joelle to help me brew it. I typed another text to send to Chris. I wanted to thank him and at the same time tease him.

              Thank you for the surprise. I guess you’re cute now.

“Who am I kidding, he’s always cute.” I said to myself as I read back my messaged that I just sent.

“You say something?” Joelle asked, and I shook my head in response. Chris makes it hard for me not to fall for him and I love it.

Author’s Note: I have a fic that I wrote for the character she plays, you can read it here. :)

Tag list: @everything-is-awesomesauce @supernatural-girl97

[ruminativerabbi]

Awakenings

For some reason, I’ve always been drawn to Rip Van Winkle-style stories about people who fall asleep for one or many years and then wake up to find themselves in whole new worlds. First of all, there’s Rip himself—a fictional character who first made his appearance in Washington Irving’s collection of stories and essays, The Sketch Book of Geoffrey Crayon, Gent., which came out exactly 200 years ago in 1819. The book has long since been forgotten by most, as unfortunately also has been its author: one of the true giants of American literature in his day, Irving has for some reason not joined the authors he himself encouraged in their careers—writers like Herman Melville, Nathaniel Hawthorne, Edgar Allan Poe, or Henry Wadsworth Longfellow—in the pantheon of American authors still read other than by people to whom their books have been assigned in American Literature classes. And he really was one of the greats! I believe that I’ve read all his stories, certainly most of them, and “Rip Van Winkle” is one of my favorites. His other still-famous story, “The Legend of Sleepy Hollow,” turned into a whole series of Hollywood movies—most memorably Tim Burton’s 1999 film, Sleepy Hollow—and television shows, is also a terrific piece of writing that deserves to be more widely read in its original format. But I digress: I wanted to write here about Rip van Winkle himself and not the author who dreamed him up.

The story is well known and easily retold. One day while wandering deep in the woods near Sleepy Hollow to escape his wife’s endless nagging, Rip runs into the ghosts of the sailors who in their day manned Henry Hudson’s ship, the Half Moon, and promptly joins them in a game of nine pins and in drinking a lot of liquor, whereupon he falls into a deep sleep. Then, when he awakens twenty years later, he discovers that his son is now a grown man, his wife has died, and that he missed the entire American Revolution while he slumbered away. He makes his peace with being a widower easily enough (the Van Winkles don’t seem to have had too happy a marriage), finds it more challenging to abandon his native allegiance to King George, and finally ends up settling in with his grown daughter as he tries to figure out the new world and his place in it.

There are lots of parallel stories to Irving’s tale. Third-century (C.E.) Greek philosopher Diogenes Laëterius, for example, wrote about a man named Epimenides who fell asleep for fifty-seven years and then had to negotiate an entirely new world when he awakened.  Jewish literature has its own version of both Rip van Winkle and Epimenides in Honi the Circle-Drawer, a wonder-working rabbi of the first century (or thereabouts) who fell asleep for seventy years and awakened to find a man tending to carob trees that Honi himself had witnessed the man’s grandfather planting just (it must have felt like) a day earlier. Other cultures have their own versions, but what makes them appealing—and also slightly terrifying— is the fantasy that this could possibly happen to us readers, that we too could possibly get into bed tonight, turn off the light, drift off into sleep…and then awaken not tomorrow morning but a century from now. Nor is it hard to explain why this is such an arresting theme to so many. We all like to think that the world is so sturdy, so substantial, so there, after all…and then an idea like this takes root and suggests that it’s all a chimera, all a fantasy, all an elaborate illusion played out against an equally illusory dreamscape, that what feels so real is only an elaborate set that the stage crew will take down the moment we breathe our last. And why shouldn’t the theater of life mimic the way things work in real theaters? The show closes, the crew strikes the set, the actors return their costumes, and everybody goes home. And, on Broadway, that is that!  

And now it turns out that it really is so that people fall asleep and awaken decades later. Some readers may have noticed a story in the paper a while back about one Munira Abdulla, a woman from a small town in the United Arab Emirates, who was in a terrible automobile accident in 1991 when she was only thirty-two years old. She fell into a coma, but was kept alive by her family in the hope that she might one day awaken. And she did just that, awakening, apparently on her own, after twenty-seven years. Technically speaking, Ms. Abdulla was in the state technically called “minimal consciousness,” which is less bad than being in a full coma (i.e., in which the patient shows no sign of being awake) or in what’s called a persistent vegetative state (in which the patient appears to be awake but shows no signs of awareness). It is, however, still extraordinarily rare for patients possessed of minimal consciousness simply to awaken.

It’s happened closer to home as well. Terry Wallis, for example, was nineteen when his pickup skidded off a bridge near his hometown in Arkansas, which accident left him in a persistent vegetative state. Doctors told his family that he had no chance of recovery. But then he somehow managed to move up a notch into the same state of minimal consciousness that Munira Abdulla was in. And there he remained for nineteen years, domiciled at a nursing home near his parents’ home. And then one day in 2006 his mother walked into his room, whereupon he looked up and said “Mom” out loud, the first word he had uttered in almost two decades.

Donald Herbert’s is a similar story. A Buffalo fire-fighter, Herbert was injured on the job in 1995 when debris in a burning building fell on him and left him in what doctors called a state of “faint consciousness” for a full decade. And then, in 2005, after a full decade of silence, he opened his eyes one day and asked for his wife.  

These are rare stories, obviously. Most comatose people—including people possessed of faint or minimal consciousness—do not suddenly wake up and start talking. Indeed, in every real sense, these people I’ve been writing about are the rare exceptions to an otherwise sad rule. But the fact that such people exist at all is very meaningful: even if the overwhelming majority of comatose patients do not spontaneously wake up, some apparently do. And in that thought inheres the huge problem for society of how to relate to the somewhere between 100,000 and 200,000 Americans who exist in states of partial, faint, or minimal consciousness. Most will never recover. But some few may.

Many readers will remember Penny Marshall’s terrific 1990 movie, Awakenings, starring Robert De Niro and Robin Williams, and based on Oliver Sacks’ 1973 book of the same title. (Less well known is that Harold Pinter wrote a short play, A Kind of Alaska, based on Sacks’ book as well, which is often performed as part of a trilogy of the playwright’s one-act plays.) The story of the book and the movie (and presumably the play as well, which I’d like to see one day) is simple enough: a doctor working in 1969 at a public hospital in the Bronx is charged with caring for a ward of catatonic patients who survived the world-wide epidemic of encephalitis (specifically the version called encephalitis lethargica) in the 1920’s. The doctor, very movingly and effectively portrayed by the late Robin Williams, somehow has the idea to try using L-Dopa, a drug used to treat Parkinson’s Disease, on these patients and gets astounding results; the movie is basically about one of those patients, portrayed by Robert De Niro, whose “awakening” is depicted in detail. It doesn’t work in the long run, though; each “awakened” patient, including the one played by De Niro, eventually returns to catatonia no matter how high a dose of L-Dopa any is given. The movie thus ends both hopefully and tragically: the former because these people on whom the world had long-since given up were given a final act in the course of which they sampled, Rip Van Winkle-style, the world a half-century after they fell asleep; and the latter because, in the end, the experiment failed and no one was cured in anything like a long-term or fully meaningful way.

Why do these stories exert such a strong effect on me? It’s not that easy for me to say, but if I had to hazard a guess, I think I’d say that the concept of dying to the world briefly and then coming back to life to see what happened while you were gone is what draws me in. (Fans of Mark Twain will recall Tom Sawyer’s wish to be “dead temporarily.” But even Tom and Huck only manage to be gone from the world long enough to attend their own funeral and enjoy the eulogies they hear praising them, not to vanish for decades and then come back to life.) I’m sure there would be surprises if I were to go to bed tonight and wake up in 2089. Some would be amusing—seeing what model iPhone they’ve gotten up to or what version of Windows, or if anyone even remembers either—and some would be amazing: if the President of the United States in 2089 is sixty years old, then he or she won’t have been born yet.  But mostly it would be chastening, and in the extreme, to see how all the various things that seem so immutable, so permanent, so rooted in reality in our world, have all vanished from the world, as will probably also have all of the houses in which we live today, the banks in which we store our cash, and even the shore lines that mark the boundary between the wine-dark sea and the dry land upon which we live in safety or think we do. Depending on a wide variety of factors, that thought is either depressing or exhilarating. But in either event, it makes it easier not to sweat the small stuff or allow our own anxieties to impact negatively on the pleasures life can offer to the living.

I will bring all these thoughts with me as I prepare for Israel in a few weeks’ time because the Rip Van Winkle and Terry Wallis stories are Jerusalem’s own as well. The vibrant center of Jewish life for more than a millennium when the Temple was destroyed in the first century, the city was suddenly emptied of its Jews by its Roman overlords who renamed it and forbade Jews from living there. And yet…some small remnant always remained in place while the city slept. And then, just when the Jewish Jerusalem’s faint consciousness seemed poised to flicker and die out entirely…just the opposite happened as Jews from all over the world built a new city on the outskirts of the old one and breathed consciousness and life itself into its ancient alleys and byways. As the patient came back to life, she didn’t only re-enter history either—she began to be a player in her own story, stepping off the stage to become her own play’s playwright and director. It felt like a miracle then and it feels like one to me today too.

When I’m in Jerusalem, I myself feel my consciousness expanding and becoming in equal parts rejuvenated, reconstituted, and revivified. I never run out of things to do, to write, to read, to experience. I can’t imagine being bored in Jerusalem, even on a hot day in mid-summer when I could just as easily be on the beach in Tel Aviv. I love the beach! But there is something about the air in Jerusalem, and the light, that is the spiritual version of L-Dopa that Robin Williams gives his patients in Penny Marshall’s movie. Except that it doesn’t wear off with time and, if anything, only gets stronger and more powerful as the weeks I spend in Jerusalem pass one by one until the time comes to come home and begin a new year in this place we have all settled.

[arinrowan]

what i really think needs to be said to get people interested in writing letters is that you basically have a captive audience. you can write about whatever you want, in exhaustive detail, and the reader is trapped by social convention into reading it or lying that they read it and appreciated it because YOU wrote THEM a handwritten letter in this day and age. people stop being able to shame you for not updating your facebook.

(whatever I want has included: the functions of the hippocampus, splenosis, neurodevelopmental trauma, why herb robert is also called stinky bob, the history of crochet, how pretty this one custom loom looked, base 12, acorns I found that split open and the nut had oxidized pink, ghost plants, balds, checker lilies, and mercy killing your sour dough starter)

Who else loves writing letters? Wouldn't it be nice to have a pen pal? (art by Richard Scarry)

[butwhyduh]

The inheritance pt 2

Avenger cast au

Warning: cursing, hint of smut, death.

Word count: 1886

Summary: Tom Holland is informed he's inherited a fortune from his grandfather he never met. He and many members of his family go to the family estate and learn that they will compete to win the estate. For @uglypastels movie challange. The quote will be in the next chapter. Sorry.

"So we call the cops, right?" Elizabeth said pacing.

"Good luck. The signal is always terrible and the storm has made it impossible," Zoe told them crossing her arms.

"We drive into town and tell them," Chris suggested.

"The bridge was about to overflow on the way over," Benedict said. "Didn't you notice? Its probably flooded by now."

Tom hadn't noticed. The thought that he might have to spend all weekend with a dead body never once crossed his mind. For a second he thought about Jacob actually being right about his family. Who would have guessed?

"So we are stuck? What are we going to do with him?" Anthony asked.

"I'll wake up my father," Laura said leaving the room. Tom hadn't moved from his spot and realized he still held his glass and sat it down. He looked around the room in shock.

Everyone began pulling out various devices and indeed there was no signal. The storm raged outside. Christopher and Sebastian carried the body into the dinning room and closed the door.

The body was cold to the touch and pale but appeared to be unmarked. No one said anything. The room was thick with apprehension.

"Did he have a heart attack?" Jacob asked almost hopefully.

Bendict removed Jeremy's hat and his head tilted to the side where a dark blue strip shone around his throat. A gasp filled the room.

"He was- He was killed!" Anthony said. He stood from his chair and began pacing. "We are trapped with a fucking corpse."

"Probably all weekend, unfortunately," Don interrupted Anthony's pacing. The group stared at him.

"What the hell do you mean?" Chris asked sharply. Christopher put a hand on his shoulder.

"I would like to know as well," Mark said.

"The road floods in a spot in high rain. If it stops now the road might be open tomorrow. If it keeps raining, who knows? You can stay in a guest room. There are plenty" Robert said shrugging.

"What are we going to do with him?" Chris H said. He peered at the body. "He can't stay there all weekend."

"I would advice against moving him," Don said. The group looked at him. "Messing with a crime scene and all."

"Well we can't leave him there. In the fucking floor of the dining room," Christopher said loudly. "Take pictures or whatever. But I'm moving him to the cellar. It'll probably freeze tonight or get close so he won't... you know."

Don shakingly grabbed his phone and snapped a few pictures before Christopher and Sebastian carried him out of the room and down to the cellar in the kitchen. Laura looked away when they walked by. Elizabeth stared at the body. When the two men returned to the room, Sebastian noticeably paler, Don began talking again.

"I hate to bring this up now, but the will must be delivered this weekend. The reason being, is that it is on an automated system that will automatically close for 10 years if not found this weekend. So as a group, you must decide to either wait 10 years, or go forth with it tonight," Don said to the astounded group.

"Who's going to say yes?" Robert said bitterly.

"Who's going to say no?" Benedict responded.

"We'll write it down, anonymously. And I'll tally it up and we'll decide," Don said. He pulled out a piece of paper and ripped it up for all of the people who might receive the inheritance. They each were handed a paper and Tom stared at his.

Did he want to go ahead with this 'game' after someone died? Could he really pass up an inheritance? Jacob sat near him warily. He certainly wasn't going to decide. Finally Tom wrote his answer down and gave it to Zoe who was counting them silently.

"I need a drink," Robert said as he turned in his paper. He poured himself a scotch.

"Of course you need a drink. You always need a drink," Benedict muttered.

"Strong words coming from a man who drank at least of bottle of Bordeaux," Robert quipped. "You always did take after mother."

"And how is that? Let's talk about mother. She's only been dead for 15 years. Not that you stuck around after you got out of school in the first place," Benedict said slamming his wine glass down. The room watched the 2 quietly.

"I'm sorry but we all didn't get shipped off to a fancy English boarding school for gifted kids. I was here when not in military school. I needed to leave for my health. Something no one else cared about," Robert said taking a drink.

"You could have come back when she got sick. When mother was dying. Take care of your mother," Benedict retorted.

"I wouldn't talk to highly of taking care of your parents. Neither of you were there for your father. You know, the man who died to bring us all here tonight," Sebastian interjected.

"Okay, guys let's get along," Zoe said. "I've tallied up the numbers and the majority have voted to continue with the hunt. So I guess that's what we'll do..."

"God help us all," Elizabeth said taking a drink.

"So the paperwork is very clear that the first clue will be given at 8 am tomorrow. So enjoy your evening and I will meet you in the morning. This evening has been... difficult to say the least. I will try to call out early in the morning. We can't do anything now," Don said before leaving the room.

Tom looked around, unsure of his next move. Jacob looked at him. His eyes showed deep confusion. Tom pinched his eyebrow and breathed deeply. His throat felt tight from the stress of it all.

"Let's get some sleep, man," Tom told Jacob. The pair left for their room.

"What. The. Fuck?" Jacob asked Tom as he shut the door. "There was a dead body. A literal dead human in the fucking vegetable bin now."

"I don't know. I have no fucking clue. I've literally never seen Dad like this. I thought he was going to fight Benedict. So do you have any signal?" Tom asked laying on his bed.

For the next 30 minutes they tried to get some form of communication but found nothing. Finally Tom laid face down on the bed. It was getting late. And the stress of seeing a dead relative he never knew was... a lot to say the least.

The room to the right, and next to Jacob's bed, began to make noise. A rhythmic noise. Jacob scrunched his nose up at the thought.

"Who is fucking right now?" Tom asked covering his head with a pillow.

A feminine moan filled the air. The two men looked at each other. They knew who it was. The moans turned to gasps and yells of "oh god" with the distinct sound of a headboard slapping the wall. The sound of a male grunting was added to the noise.

"Jesus, how can someone be having sex after seeing a dead body," Tom groaned. "Who does that?"

"Murderers," Jacob said wiggling his eyebrows. "Sex maniacs? Horny ghosts? Your cousin Sebastian and his wife?"

"Please shoot me."

"I wouldn't say that too loud around here. Plus, they aren't banging against your wall anyways," Jacob reminded Tom.

The sounds hit a crescendo and then died away. Jacob lightly clapped as Tom rolled his eyes. With the noise stopped they laid down and tried to sleep.

Tom drifted off fitfully. His hands were clenched around the blanket and he slept in his shoes. Jacob snored softly.

Tom opened his eyes to find himself back in the dinning room. "What the hell," he gasped. He was alone. The electrical lights were replaced with actual candles on every surface. Tom heard the ticking of a clock in the corner. The red walls garish in the flickering light.

He walked out to the hallway and down a set of stairs into music room. A soft piano played in the corner. Tom felt himself freeze as it played by itself. He rationalized it by thinking it was an electronic one like they have at hotels.

A soft voice sang a song he didn't recognize through an arched doorway. "Hello? Is there anyone there?" Tom followed the voice. As he got closer he realized it was nursery rhymes being sung.

The archway led to a tightly spiralled staircase down surrounded by plants. Tom must have walked into a greenhouse. He looked around the lush greenhouse lit by streaming moonlight before looking down the stairs. He knew the voice was down there but he was nervous to follow.

Steeling his courage, Tom followed the woman's voice down the dark staircase. The tight iron stairs wound down into a rather plain hallway made of stucco or cement. More candles poorly lit the hall. It was a stark contrast to the ornate upstairs that had beautifully painted, wallpapered, and embossed walls. The air felt humid and cool down there.

The hallway was narrow and it reminded him of world war 2 bunkers he had seen. The woman's voice sounded close as she sang about little ducks. The path sharply turned to the left and it opened into a wine cellar with rows of bottles stacked tall. There were multiple rooms attached with more wine and spirits. His father and Benedict couldn't hurt this stock no matter how hard they tried.

"Hello? Where are you?" Tom asked certain he heard her voice now. Bottles at the far end of the room fell to the floor. "Are you okay?" Tom asked walking towards it.

Bottles in the far back began crashing to the floor. Tom could see there was no one with him. The bottles slowly started crashing in line towards Tom. Tom gasped and ran to the stairs as his heart beat out if his chest. He leaped up multiple stairs at a time as the thunderous sound of the bottles followed him.

When suddenly he was awakened by the sounds of screaming. Tom sat up in bed. He held his racing chest. It was a nightmare. That's all it was. He was laying in a bed in his grandfather's estate. He relaxed visibly.

Another scream pierced the air and Tom jumped to his feet. Jacob sat up suddenly. They looked at one another as a third scream, this time more of a mangled cry came.

"What was that," Jacob asked.

"I haven't a clue," Tom said searching for a weapon. He found an old umbrella in the closet and he opened the bedroom door to the hallway. Jacob scrambled to his feet to follow.

An attractive blonde woman pressed her face against a tall thin man man with curly hair and glasses. On the ground lay the woman Tom's grandfather had labeled the one who got away. Tom froze in fear. His arm still raised with the umbrella.

"Woah," Jacob said.

"Is- is she dead?" Tom asked tensely. He finally lowered the umbrella.

"I'll check," the unknown man said. The woman moved off of him and wrapped her arms tightly around her chest with wide eyes. He bent down and touched The woman's neck.

"What is going on?" A groggy Sebastian asked opening their room door. The man on the ground almost jumped from his skin.

"Good Lord," the man exclaimed. "She...err. . She's dead."

Tag list: Permanent tag list

@meg-holland @smexylemony @flashgunashton @calum-hoodwinked-me @laucontrerasv @courtneychicken @beeloverqueen @imahoformarvel @joyfullyje

Avengers inheritance

@fortheluvofgods @somethingabouttheway @marvel-my-ass @azurlight @swagaliciouspupper @ollierae @redstarstan @goodolbucky @imjustafriendlynobody @theonebigfan @yougaveyourgametokevin

Let me know if you want to be added or removed from permanent or the Inheritance tag list. I also welcome message or theories on the story.

[batsandbloodmoons]

Pagan Origins: Christmas

WARNING: LONG POST

So I’ve always had a love for knowing why we as people do certain things, it’s kind of a strange marriage between history and psychology. This really blossomed when I became a witch and started working on my craft. As part of developing my Sabbat traditions, and I plan on celebrating the pagan origins of Christmas as well as Yule, I figure I should learn about the history of them.

One of the things that baffled me were the major holidays that are celebrated in the United States. I was raised Roman Catholic, and have long since became disillusioned with the Church and ultimately switched to paganism. But I remember as a child, wondering about why we gave and received presents on Christmas when it was supposed to be Jesus’s birthday, why did we believe in a jolly fat man that delivered the presents, and why did we have a tree in the house? When I posed these questions to my family as a child, I never got a satisfactory answer... until now.

*Note* the following is for how Christmas is celebrated in the United States and are not universal to all cultures. Nor is it a hit at any religion.

❄️☀️🎄🎁🎅🎁🎄☀️❄️

GIFT-GIVING AND MERRYMENT

This custom started as far back as Ancient Rome and thier festival of Saturnalia. Originally, a farmers’ festival that was dedicated to Saturn, the god of agriculture and the harvest. According to Roman Mythology, Saturn was a titan and the father of Cronus, thus grandfather to Jupiter. Saturn was eventually overthrown by Cronus and moved west into the Italian peninsula. He then taught the people he meant there how to farm the land. In Greek Mythology, Saturn doesn’t have a name.

Saturnalia starts on December 17th and lasts until the 24th. Homes are decorated in wreaths and greenery. Feasts and parties werr thrown. People would overeat, overdrink and burst into songs in the streets (origin of caroling). Originally, the festival was only one day but grow longer and longer over time. By the time Rome converted to Christianity, Saturnalia now incorporated other festivals including Sigillaria, the day of gift giving which was on 12/23, and Died Natalie Solis Invicti, the birthday of the sun god Sol Invictus, which was on 12/25 because that is when it is noticeable that day is getting longer.

Saturnalia was so popular with the people that cancelling it was unthinkable when the Christian Coversion happened. So Saturnalia was transformed into a Christian holy day instead by replacing the sun god with baby Jesus. Despite the fact, that the Bible gave references to the time of Jesus’s birth being around the lambing season, in other words springtime. (bbc.co.uk)

SANTA CLAUS

Santa Claus has a number of origin stories and a number of different forms depending on the country in question. This will focus on the American version of Santa.

He can be traced back to a monk named Nicholas, later St. Nicholas by the Church, who was born around 280 A.D., in modern day Turkey. According to St. Nick’s legend, he was born into a wealthy family but gave away all of his possessions to travel the country and help the sick and the poor. One of his best know of these stories was when he raised enough money to cover the dowries of three sisters so they could marry instead of being sold into slavery or prostitution by thier father who couldn’t afford to care for them.

Over the course of the centuries, he became the protector of children and sailors. He died on December 6th, which became the day of his feast. It is also said to a lucky day for making a big purchase or getting married. By the time of Renaissance, he was the most popular saint in Europe and remained so during the Protestant Reformation, especially in Holland.

St. Nick was introduced into mainstream American culture at the end of the 18th century. In December 1773 and 1774, a New York newspaper reported that groups of Dutch families have gathered to celebrate St.Nick on the anniversary of his death.

The name Santa Claus evolved from his Dutch nickname, Sinster Klaad, which is a shortened form of Sint Nikolaas.

As his popularity grew, St. Nick was described as everything from a rascal with a blue three-cornered hat, red waistcoat, and yellow stockings to a man wearing a broad-brimmed hat and a “huge pair of Flemish Trunk hose.”

The Santa that most Americans know today didn’t emerge until 1822, when Clement Clarke Moore, an Episcopal minister, wrote a poem about Santa. He described Santa flying from house to house on Christmas Eve in a sleigh led by eight reindeer, leaving presents for deserving children. He gave Santa the ability to magically squeeze down the chimney and his love of milk and cookies.

In 1881, Santa got his iconic look from political cartoonist Thomas Nast, who used Moore’s poem as inspiration. His cartoon depicted Santa as rotund, cheerful man with a full, white beard, while holding a sack laden with toys. It was Nast who gave him his famous red suit trimmed with white fur, the Northpole workshop, the elves, and his wife, Mrs. Claus.

Other versions of St. Nicholas:

-Christkind or Kris Kringle was believed to deliver presents to well-behaved Swiss and German Children. Meaning “Christ Child”, Christkind is an angel-like often accompanied by St. Nick on Holiday missions.

- In Scandinavia, a jolly elf named Jultomten was thought to deliver gifts in a sleigh drawn by goats.

-English legend says that Fathrt Christmas visits each home on Christmas Eve to fill children’s stocking with treats.

-Pere Noel is responsible for filling the shoes of French children with treats that were left by the fireplace.

-In Russia, it is believed that an elderly woman named Babouschka purposely gave the three wise men the wrong directions to Bethlehem so that they couldn’t find Jesus. Later, she felt remorseful, but could not find the men to unto the damage. To this day on, 1/5, she visits Russian children leaving gifts at their bedsides in hope that one of them is the baby Jesus and she will be forgiven.

-In Italy, a woman called La Befana, a kindly witch who rides a broomstick down the chimneys of Italian homes to deliver toys into the stocking of lucky children. (History.com)

RUDOLPH THE RED-NOSE REINDEER

Rudolph was created over a hundred years after the other eight reindeer, in the 1920’s, by Robert L. May, a copywriter at the Montgomery Ward department store.

In 1939, May wrote a Christmas-themed story to bring holiday traffic into his store, which is the story Americans know today. In 1949, one of May’s friends, Johnny Marks, wrote a short song based on the poem. It was recorded by Gene Autry. The television movie, narrated by Burl Ives, was released in 1964. (History.com)

CHRISTMAS TREES

Plants and trees that remained green year had a special meaning for ancient people. One myth I heard, but couldn’t find a source for, for the reason Evergreens stay green was that. During the first winter, the sun spoke to the trees and told them that he would be resting for a few months and told them not to loose faith in his return. Months later the sun had not returned yet, many trees and plants began to lost faith and dropped thier leaves in thier despair. All except the Evergreens. When the Sun finally returned he saw what had happened, disappointed in those who lost faith, he cursed them to lose thier leaves every year while the Evergreens were allowed to keep their needles.

Another belief is that Evergreens would keep away witches, ghosts, evil spirits and illness when hung in the home.

In the Northern hemisphere, the winter solstice is the shortest day and longest night of the year, which falls on December 21st and 22nd. Many ancient people believed that the sun was a god and the winter came very year because the sun had become sick and weak. They celebrated the solstice because it meant that at last the sun would began to regain strength. Evergreens remind them of all the plants that would grow again when the sun was strong and summer would return.

Even ancient Egyptians worshipped the sun, in the form of Ra. At the solstice, when Ra began to recover from the illness, the Egyptians filled their homes with green palm rushes to symbolized the triumph of life over death.

Early Romans knew that the solstice meant that soon farms and orchards would be green and fruitful. They decorated their homes and temples with Evergreens. In Northern Europe, the Celtic Druids also decorated their temples with Evergreens as a symbol of everlasting life. Vikings would bring whole trees inside to preserve the spirit of nature.

However Germany is credited with starting the Christmas tree tradition as we know it. In the 16th century, Christians would build pyramids out of wood and decorate them with evergreens and candles. It was widely believed that Martin Luther, the 16th century Protestant reformer, first added lighted candles to a tree. The story goes that while walking home one winter evening, composing a sermon, he was awed by the brilliance of the stars twinkling amidst the evergreen trees. To recreate this for his family, he hung a tree’s branched with lighted candles.

In 1659 the General Court of Massachusettsenacted a law that made any observance of Christmas illegal because Christmas was too pagan in thier Puritan eyes. People were fined for hanging decorations, singing carols, decorating trees or any other joyful expression. That is until the 19th century when an influx of German and Irish immigrants came to America.

Before the then, Americans found Christmas trees to be an oddity m. The first record of one being on display was in the 1830’s by German immigrants in Pennsylvania, although the trees had already been a long standing tradition in German households. But as late as 1840’s, Christmas trees were still seen as pagan symbols and not accepted by most Americans.

That changed in 1846, when Queen Victoria and her German husband, Prince Albert were illustrated in a London newspaper, posing with thier children around a Christmas tree. Due to her popularity, Christmas trees became fashionable through out British and American societies.

By the 1890’s, Christmas ornaments were arriving from Germany and the tree’s popularity was on the rise in the U.S. It was noted that Europeans used small trees about, 4 feet in height, while Americans liked tall trees reaching from the ceiling to the floor.

The early 20th century saw Americans decorating their trees with homemade ornaments, while German-Americans continued to use apples, nuts, and marzipan cookies. The invention of electricity brought about Christmas lights, allowing trees to glow for days in end. With this, Christmas trees began to appear in town squares across the country and having a Christmas tree in the home became an American tradition. (History.com)

MISTLETOE

Mistletoe is actually a poisonous plant and its use as a peaceful symbol is rooted in Norse Mythology.

Baldr, the son of Frigg and Odin, was one of the most beloved of the gods. But he was plagued by dreams of his own death. So in an effort to protect her son, Frigg made everything: plant, animal, or rock, living in or growing in the earth, swear never to harm Baldr. As a result, he became invincible and the other gods began to use him for target practice because he always survived. But Loki, being his usual mischievous self, realize that mistletoe had been missed by Frigg, as it didn’t actually grow on the ground. He fashioned a weapon from some mistletoe. Whether that weapon was an arrow, dart, or spear depends on which version is told. But Loki persuades Hod, Baldr’s blind brother, to strike Baldr with the mistletoe weapon during a target practice session. This ensured that Hod took the immediate blame. Baldr died from a single wound and he was mourned deeply by all, especially his mother. Some versions say he was brought back to life, but most agree about what happened after his death, that Frigg‘ tears became mistletoe’s pearlescent berries, and in her grief, Frigg decreaded that mistletoe shall become a symbol of peace and love. Which is why now, people kiss under it today. (Mistletoe.org.uk)

HOLLY

Holly is another evergreen that is believed to ward off evil spirits when planted outside the house. When brought indoors, it increases fertility. Holly is believed to be linked with masculinity and most people use the holly bushes that produce red berries. But it is female holly bushes that produce said berries. Ivy is often the female equivalent to holly’s masculinity.

WREATH

It was difficult to find a definitive source about wreaths but the general consensus is that wreaths were made in a circle out of evergreens (holly, Laurel, or pine) to represent either the sun and life, or the wheel of the year. In fact the word Yule is believed to have stemmed from the Norse word “Jol” meaning wheel.

CANDY CANES

These are entirely Christian and were invented in 1670 when a German choirmaster at the Cologne Cathedral bent all white sugar sticks into canes for the children who attended the ceremonies. The shape is believe to represent a shepherd’s cane or the letter “J” for Jesus. After the advent of mass production, in the 1950’s, the red stripes were added. The red represented the blood of Jesus and the white was his purity. The three finer stripes were said to be the Holy Trinity (God, Jesus, and the Joly Spirit). The hardness is to symbolize the solid foundation of the Church. The peppermint flavor is supposed to stem from an herb called hyssop because, according to the Old Testament, hyssop was used to symbolize the purity of Jesus and his sacrifice. (Candyhistory.net)

ANGELS AND STARS

These refers to the debate of the tree toppers, angels or stars. The angel is represent the angel Gabriel, who came to Mary to ask her to bear God’s son, Jesus. The star refers to the Star of Bethlehem that wise men supposedly followed to find.

However since it was discussed above that Christmas lights are representations of the nighttime stars, then it could be argue that the star on top of the tree and being the largest, could be the sun, as it is the closest thus largest star to Earth.

🎄Please feel free to add to this as I tried to get most famous symbols of Christmas!! 🎄

[mywayornorway]

🎶🎶 👀👀

Dying Breed - The Killers

When everyone's compromising

I'll be your die-hard

I'll be there when water's rising

I'll be your lifeguard

💕

Darkness At The Heart Of My Love - Ghost

And all this time you knew

That I would put you through

Well, you know this one XD but I think those two lines make for a perfect climax and his voice sounds so passionate when he sings them, I love it. I know the song has a darker meaning but personally, his words feel more like a comforting hug. The music of Ghost has gotten me through a lot of things.

Bron-y-aur Stomp - Led Zeppelin

Well, if the sun shines so bright, or our way is dark as night

The road we choose is always right, so fine

This is a fun and catchy song Robert Plant wrote about his dog, actually :) Nevertheless, the lyrics are great and show that with the right companion, you can't really go wrong, no matter which road you end up choosing.

[aion-rsa]

Marvel’s WandaVision Episode 7: MCU Easter Eggs and Reference Guide

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This article contains WandaVision episode 7 spoilers and potential spoilers for future episodes and the wider MCU.

WandaVision episode 7 is probably the final episode that is going to adhere to the sitcom format. As we’ve seen in recent episodes, the show is spending more and more time in the confines of the “real” MCU, and with its TV homages now brought up to modern day, it can spend its final two episodes bringing more surprises and wrapping up its incredibly ambitious story.

But WandaVision episode 7 is ambitious enough in itself, and like previous episodes, it’s positively full of Marvel Comics Easter eggs and pieces that will likely expand the scope of the MCU as we know it.

Let’s see what we found…

Sitcom Influences

This episode takes WandaVision up to the mockumentary era of television, which featured shows like The Office (U.K. and U.S.), Parks and Recreation, and Modern Family. Characters routinely talk to producers offscreen in confessional-style interviews. The Vision’s microphone is even visible in one instance, clipped to the chest.

The episode draws most of its inspiration and look from Modern Family, probably merely because the premise of Wanda’s “modern family” fits more closely to Westview than an office environment would. The Office does get a major shoutout in the twee opening credits though.

We wrote more about the sitcom influences of this episode here.

Wanda

Wanda wakes up still wearing most of her “Sokovian fortune teller” costume from Halloween, so this episode takes place on Nov. 1st, the morning after the previous episode. Elsewhere in the episode, we learn that just about the entire scope of what we’ve seen (other than flashbacks to Monica’s return from “The Blip”) has taken place over one week.

“Don’t let him make you the villain,” Monica pleads with Wanda. There is some legit commentary here. Assorted “hims” have been making Wanda the villain of her own story since John Byrne did it with a run on West Coast Avengers in the late 1980s. We remain unconvinced that Wanda is actually a malevolent force.

Of course Wanda’s weakness is someone asking her to kill them. That’s where a big chunk of her recent trauma comes from!

The cereal Wanda is fetching in the kitchen at the start of the episode is called Sugar Snaps, though you’d think Wanda would have had quite enough of Snaps. It also had a clown on the box! In the previous episode, Wanda turned a bunch of SWORD agents into clowns. The cereal’s name is also a subtle anachronism, lots of cereals used to prominently have “Sugar” in their names before they were replaced with more innocuous words like “honey” or “corn.”

The Commercial: Nexus

As usual, the fake commercials have a lot going on, and this one for an antidepressant known as Nexus is no different.

The Nexus of All Realities is a magical area in Marvel that acts as a gateway to various other dimensions. In the comics, it’s located in a swamp in New Orleans and is guarded by the mute creature Man-Thing.

Wanda herself is also a Nexus Being. It is incredibly convoluted, but the shortest explanation possible that doesn’t involve telling you about the time John Byrne quit Avengers West Coast mid-storyline for being edited is: Wanda’s probability altering powers make her capable of altering the future, even once it’s set. That allows Wanda to change the paths that would lead to the creation of, for example, the Time Keepers we saw statues of in the Loki trailer.

At Agnes’ house, Billy and Tommy are watching Yo Gabba Gabba on and they’re singing “Jumpy Jump” though “Puppet Master” would have been more on the nose. “Jumpy Jump” might just be a hint that The Hex is a Nexus multiversal jump point. 

There’s another potential Nexus connection, too. NEXUS is where Tony found JARVIS in Avengers: Age of Ultron.

We wrote more about the Marvel significance of “Nexus” here. 

Billy and Tommy

Billy and Tommy, like most kids their age, seem to love video games. Since this episode is modeled after Modern Family (2009), it makes sense that they’re playing games on the Nintendo Wii console, the Japanese publisher’s main platform from 2006 to 2012. 

But the sudden shifts in reality mean that the Wii doesn’t stay a Wii for long. We watch as Billy and Tommy’s Wiimotes transform into GameCube controllers (2001) and then Atari 2600 joystick controllers (1977), both of which seem to fit the eras in which previous episodes of WandaVision are set.

Both of the boys continue to wear their comic book colors. Tommy’s not just wearing green like his “Speed” alter ego, but he’s straight up wearing a tracksuit.

The Darkhold?

It appears that Agatha is keeping the Darkhold in her basement. Well, it WOULD if it weren’t for the fact that this book looks very different from the way that it was represented on Marvel TV shows like Agents of SHIELD or Runaways. 

But if it WERE the Darkhold, this incredibly powerful book would have been written by Chthon, a demon/elder god who has figured prominently in various Wanda and Agatha Harkness stories over the years. It’s said that this book is what created the first vampire (hmmmm…the MCU does have a Blade movie in the works), created werewolves (surely it’s only a matter of time before Werewolf by Night shows up…on the upcoming Moon Knight series, perhaps), and more. If the MCU is going down a more supernatural route for some of its future installments, then the Darkhold would be a key piece of that.

But again, this looks very different than the Darkhold we’ve seen on these other shows.

Reed Richards…you coming or what?

Still no sign of the mysterious “aerospace engineer,” but does the mockumentary/sitcom tone this episode shares with The Office tease John Krasinski’s arrival as Reed Richards?

Monica Rambeau

The official uniform Monica is wearing under her space suit looks very much like some of the outfits she has worn in various superheroic identities in the comics, including when she was Captain Marvel. It’s appropriate since this episode is another big step in her superheroic origin story, and now there’s no more question that she’s gaining powers from her repeated trips through the Hex.

It’s almost certainly Monica’s new powers that allow her to make it through the Hex this time, and when she comes out she can see energy patterns and signatures.

Monica sticks the trademark “Superhero Landing” when she’s confronting Wanda. As Deadpool will attest, it’s really hard on your knees. Totally impractical, but they all do it.

When Agnes is dragging Wanda into her house, Wanda points at Monica and the whole thing is framed like the “two ladies yelling at the white cat” meme. Impossible to unsee. Fun fact: the white cat’s real name is Smudge.

Contact

Monica’s journey through The Hex pays homage to the special effects technique Robert Zemeckis used in the wormhole sequence for 1997’s Contact. During the scene in question, versions of Jodie Foster’s face appear to ghost out from her body, voicing her internal thoughts and memories. By the time Monica emerges from the Hex barrier, she is “ok to go” as a superpowered being. 

Contact’s central character, Ellie Arroway, is a woman who has lost her whole family but suppresses her grief and feels all alone in the universe. Can’t see a WandaVision connection here, no sir!

Is this just a tribute to the cult Zemeckis sci-fi movie or is there more to it? Maybe those wondering if the mysterious aerospace engineer will turn out to be Blue Marvel/Mister Fantastic/Doctor Doom have never considered Contact star Matthew McConaughey as a possibility for one of the latter two roles? We might remind you he’s been desperate for a part in the MCU for years.

Wundagore

Did we see a flash of a Wundagore Everbloom when the plants in Wanda’s house were changing? In Marvel Comics, the Everbloom was a wedding present from Agatha Harkness to Wanda and Vision, and only grows on Wundagore Mountain (where Scarlet Witch and Quicksilver were raised). It lets you see the future if you put a dab leaf on your tongue.

The fact that whatever this is seems to have taken over the basement makes us think of the Yo Magic commercial from last week, which implied that someone (or something) is perhaps feeding off Wanda’s powers.

Agatha Harkness

Agnes is finally revealed as Agatha Harkness in this episode, complete with an absolutely perfect theme song. The brilliant “Agatha All Along” tune is absolutely a pastiche of the Munsters theme, only with lyrics.

At the end of the song, “And I killed Sparky too!” is a good take on the infamous Wizard of Oz Wicked Witch line, “I’ll get you, my pretty, and your little dog too!”

This show has been about Wanda finding her own agency through pain and about counterpointing all the misogyny in her history. For it to be Agnes manipulating her would be a betrayal of the point of the show so far. Not only that, in the comics, Agatha Harkness is generally depicted as an ally of Wanda’s. So we’re betting that “It was Agatha all along” is a red herring, and either Agatha is also being manipulated by an outside force, or Wanda is just putting that villainy on her without knowing the whole story.

Read all our speculation about who the REAL WandaVision villain is here.

In the comics, Agatha’s familiar is a cat named Ebony. Her rabbit being named “Senor Scratchy” is enough of a nod to that while also referencing Agatha’s evil son Nicholas Scratch.

While Agnes was able to trick Vision by pretending to be another victim driven insane by being in the Hex, Billy is unknowingly able to see past that by noticing that there isn’t any psychic pain underneath her performance.

Agnes’ brooch is clearly visible in all of the shots of her. That brooch has three sisters on it, but we still don’t know what it means. It feels so prominent that it has to mean something, though. 

The Post Credits Scene

Wanda is pretty certain that the “Uncle Peter” we met in the previous episodes is most certainly not her brother. The Agatha reveal would seem to back this up, as does his kind of menacing presence (“snoopers gonna snoop”) in the post-credits scene. But if he isn’t Pietro Maximoff, then who the heck is he?

We have some theories here.

Random Stuff and Unanswered Questions

When we saw the first flashback to the borders of the Hex expanding, the drums sound a little bit like The Rolling Stones’ “Sympathy for the Devil.” We can’t be sure, though…so we’re not putting this down as a Mephisto clue. THIS TIME.

In the middle of the intro, one of the screens says in cut-up letters, “I know what u are doing Wanda.” Creepy.

As Darcy chats Vision through his past, she tells him she’s been watching WandaVision for the past week. We’ve been watching it a lot longer than that, Miss Lewis, and we’re still not sure what’s really going on.

The calendar in the intro has a heart over the 10th, but the first episode had it over the 23rd. Probably means nothing, but worth thinking about.

Right after Agnes leads Wanda away from the conversation with Monica, we see Dennis the mailman wearing a logo that says “Presto.” Perfect exclamation considering who Agnes is and what she was trying to do in that scene. Also, with Presto being an Amazon knockoff, the logo appears to be a rabbit running.

We’re looking, but so far we’ve been unable to find a Marvel Comics parallel for Major Goodner.

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At the circus, the butterfly lady on the unicycle looks a little bit like the X-Men‘s Dark Phoenix.

Spot anything we missed? Let us know in the comments!

The post Marvel’s WandaVision Episode 7: MCU Easter Eggs and Reference Guide appeared first on Den of Geek.

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[sweetdreamsjeff]

Remember Me? - Extract from Dream Brother Part 1 of 2

Jeff Buckley drowned three years ago. He’d seemed on the brink of a brilliant rock ‘n’ roll future. Yet he had never shaken off his obsession, part anger, part yearning, with the father he had barely known - Tim Buckley, legendary singer-songwriter. David Browne on their lives and destiny

Friday 15 December 2000 19.17 EST

Although dusk was in sight, the moist, breezy Memphis air still felt mosquito-muggy inside and outside. It was May 1997 and Jeff Buckley, who had turned 30 about six months earlier, emerged from his bedroom in black jeans, ankle-high black boots, and a white T-shirt with long black sleeves and “Altamont” (in honour of the Rolling Stones’ anarchic, death-shrouded 1969 concert) inscribed on it. Though officially out of his 20s, he remained a rock'n'roll kid at heart. As he and his tour manager Gene Bowen stood outside on the front porch, Jeff said he was heading out for a while. Generally Bowen would accompany Jeff on expeditions while on tour, but tonight Bowen needed space. Some mattresses would be delivered shortly, and the last thing he needed was Jeff bouncing around the house when they arrived.

           So, when Jeff told Bowen he would be leaving with Keith Foti, Bowen was mostly relieved. Foti was even more of a character than Jeff was. A fledgling songwriter and musician and a full-time haircutter in New York City, Foti had accompanied Bowen from New York to Memphis in a rented van, the band’s gear and instruments crammed in the back. Stocky and wide-faced, with spiky, blue-dyed hair, Foti, who was 23, could have been the star of a Saturday morning cartoon show about a punk rock band.

Jeff told Bowen that he and Foti had decided to drive to the rehearsal space the band would be using during the upcoming weeks. Bowen told them to be back at the house by nine to greet the band. Jeff said fine, and he and Foti ambled down the gravel driveway to the van parked in front of the house.

Suddenly it dawned on Bowen: did Jeff and Foti know where the rehearsal space was? For non-natives, Memphis’s layout can be confusing; it wouldn’t be hard to get lost or suddenly find one’s self in a dicey part of town. Bowen bolted through the front door, but the van was already gone. Oh, well, he thought, they’ll find the building. After all, they had been there just yesterday.

Cruising around Memphis in their bright yellow Ryder van, past weathered shacks, barbecue joints, pawnshops and strip malls, Jeff and Foti made for an unusual sight. Foti was in the driver’s seat, which was for the best; Jeff was an erratic driver. They cranked one of Foti’s mix tapes, and the two of them sang along to the Beatles’ I Am The Walrus, John Lennon’s Imagine and Jane’s Addiction’s Three Days. Foti and Jeff both loved Jane’s Addiction and its shamanesque, hard-living singer, Perry Farrell. It took Jeff back to the days in the late 80s when he was living and starving in Los Angeles, trying to make a name for himself.

It wasn’t Jeff’s fault that he shared some vocal and physical characteristics with his father and fellow musician, Tim Buckley. Both men had the same sorrowful glances, thick eyebrows and delicate, waifish airs that made women of all ages want to comfort and nurture them. It wasn’t Jeff’s fault, either, that he inherited Tim’s vocal range, five-and-a-half octaves that let Tim’s voice spiral from a soft caress into bouts of rapturous, orgasmic sensuality. In the 60s, Tim wrote and sang melodies that blended folk, jazz, art song and R&B; he had a large cult following himself, and some of those songs had been recorded by the likes of Linda Ronstadt and Blood, Sweat & Tears.

When Jeff had begun writing his own music, he, too, moved in unconventional ways, crafting rhapsodies that changed time signatures and leapt from folkish delicacy to full-throttle metal roar. None of this, he insisted, came from his father’s influence. His biggest rock influence and favourite band was, he said, Led Zeppelin. To his friends, Jeff talked about his bootleg of Physical Graffiti out-takes with more affection and fannish enthusiasm than he ever did about the nine albums his father had recorded during the 60s and 70s.

Tonight, for once, Tim’s ghost was not lurking in the rearview mirror. If anything, Jeff seemed at peace with his father’s memory for perhaps the first time in his life. Whenever Jeff had mentioned Tim in the past, it was with flashes of irritation or resignation. He sounded as if he were discussing a far-off celebrity, not a father or even a family member. In a way, Tim was barely either: he and his first wife, Mary Guibert, had separated before Jeff was born, and Jeff had been raised to view Tim’s life and music warily. But in the past few months, Jeff seemed to have begun to understand his father’s music and, more importantly, his motivations.

Jeff’s years in Los Angeles hadn’t been fruitful, but when he moved to New York in the autumn of 1991, a buzz began building around the skinny, charismatic kid with the big-as-a-cathedral voice and the eclectic repertoire. Many record companies came calling, and he eventually, hesitatingly, put his name on a contract with one of them, Columbia. After an initial EP, an album, Grace, finally appeared in 1994. A brilliant sprawl of a work, the album traversed the musical map, daring listeners to find the common ground that linked its choral pieces, Zeppelin-dipped rock and amorous cabaret. Certainly one of the links was Jeff’s voice, an intense and seemingly freewheeling instrument that wasn’t afraid to glide from operatic highs and overpowering shrieks to a conversational intimacy.

Beyond being simply one of the most moving albums of the 90s, Grace branded Jeff as an actual, hype-be-damned talent for the age. The record business was always eager to promote newcomers in such a manner, but here was someone with both a sense of musical history and seemingly limitless potential. Like Bob Dylan and Van Morrison before him, he appeared to be on the road to a long and commanding career in which even a creative misstep or two would be worth poring over. Comparisons with Tim were inevitable, and a disturbing number of fortysomethings had materialised at Jeff’s concerts to ask him about his father. But, much to Jeff’s relief, the comparisons had begun to diminish with each passing month.

Grace hadn’t been the smash hit Columbia would have liked, but worldwide it had sold nearly 750,000 copies, and it was talked up by everyone from Paul McCartney and U2 to Zeppelin’s Robert Plant and Jimmy Page. Fans in Britain, Australia and France adored him even more passionately than those in America. To his managers and record company, Jeff was a shining star, a gateway to prestige, money and credibility. A very great deal was riding on the songs he was testing out on the four-track recorder in the living room of his house in Memphis. Jeff didn’t like to think about those pressures, which is partly why he moved 1,000 miles away from New York. Here, he could think, write, create.

The drive from Jeff’s house to Young Avenue, where the rehearsal room was located, should have taken 10 minutes down a few tree-lined streets. But something was wrong. Before Jeff and Foti knew it, nearly an hour had passed and there was still no sign of the two-storey red-brick building. They found themselves circling around a variety of neighbourhoods, past underpasses for Interstate 240 and pawnshops. To Foti, everything began to look the same.

Jeff had an idea. “Why don’t we go down to the river?” he said. It sounded good to Foti, who had brought along his guitar and felt like practising a song he was writing. Having a talented, well-regarded rock star as an audience wouldn’t be so bad, either.

The Wolf River did not look particularly wolfish; it barely had the feel of a river. The city government had passed an ordinance banning swimming, but no signs indicated this restriction. According to locals, there didn’t have to be, since everyone in Memphis knew it was far from an ideal swimming hole. The first six inches of water could be warm and innocuous-looking, but thanks to the intersection with the Mississippi the undercurrents were deceptive. All day long and into the early hours of the morning, 200ft-long barges carrying goods from the local granaries and a cement factory hauled their cargo up and down the Wolf. With their churning motors, the tugboats that pulled the barges were even fiercer and had been known to create strong wakes. Local coastguard employees had once witnessed a 16ft flat-bottom boat being sucked under the water in the wake of a tug. Memphis lore had it that at least one person a year drowned in the Wolf.

Even if Jeff had heard these stories, he either didn’t care or disregarded them. Hopping over a 3ft-high brick wall, Jeff and Foti strode across a cement promenade strewn with picnic tables. Then Jeff hiked his black combat boots on to the bottom rung on the steel rail that ran alongside the promenade and jumped over. Foti, gripping his guitar, followed, and they found themselves barrelling down a steep slope, swishing through knee-high brush, ivy and weeds.

On the way down, Jeff shed his coat - just dropped it in the brush. “You’re not gonna leave it here, are you?” Foti asked, stopping quickly to pick it up. Jeff didn’t seem to be listening. Carrying Foti’s boom box, he continued down to the riverbank. The shore was littered with rocks, soda cans and shattered glass bottles, and it quickly sloped into the water just inches away. As gentle waves lapped on to the shoreline, Jeff set Foti’s boom box on one of the many jagged slate rocks on the bank, just an inch or so above the water. “Hey, man, don’t put my radio there,” Foti told him. “I don’t want it going in the water. It’s my only unit of sound.” Jeff didn’t seem to pay particular attention to that request, either.

By now, just after 9pm, Foti had strapped on his guitar and started practising his song. Looking right at Foti, Jeff took a step or two away, his back to the river. Before Foti knew it, Jeff was knee-high in the water. “What are you doin’, man?” Foti said. Within moments, Jeff’s entire body eased into the water, and he began doing a backstroke.

At first, Foti wasn’t too concerned: Jeff was still directly offshore, just a few feet away. He and Foti began musing about life and music as Jeff backstroked around in circles. “You know, the first one’s fun, man - it’s that second one … ” Jeff said, his voice trailing off as he continued to backstroke in the water.

With each stroke, Jeff inched more and more out into the river. Foti noticed and said, “Come in, you’re gettin’ too far out.” Instead, Jeff began singing Led Zeppelin’s Whole Lotta Love. “He was just on his own at that point,” Foti says. “He didn’t really observe my concerns.” Jeff had an impetuous, spur-of-the-moment streak. Many of his friends considered it one of his most endearing qualities; others worried that it bordered on recklessness. Like his father, he liked to follow his muse, to leap into projects passionately and spontaneously, even if they weren’t fashionable or appropriate. Take that night in 1975. Tim was on his way home from a gruelling tour. His record sales were in freefall, but lately he had tried to cut back on his drinking and drugging, and was attempting to get his music and even a potential acting career on track. On the way home from the last stop on his tour, he stopped by the home of a friend, who offered up a few drugs. What was wrong with a little pick-me-up after some exhausting road work? No one knew if Tim realised exactly what he had snorted that late afternoon, but it ultimately didn’t matter; he died that night of an overdose at the age of 28.

Although Jeff had experimented with drugs, he steered clear to avoid his father’s fate, both physically and artistically; he had learned from Tim’s mistakes in the matters of artistic integrity and handling the music business. Onstage, Jeff would often make cracks about dead rock stars, pretending to shoot up or breaking into spot-on mimicry of anyone from Jim Morrison to Elvis Presley. Once this new album was completed, he was planning to dig deeper into his family heritage and unearth the truth behind the seemingly ongoing series of tragedies that haunted his lineage.

Tonight, as he backstroked in the water, Jeff appeared to feel freer than he had in a while. The mere fact that he was in water was a sign of change. Although he had grown up near the beaches of Southern California, Jeff was never a beachcomber.

It was now close to 9.15pm, and Jeff had been in the river nearly 15 minutes. His boots and trousers must gradually have become more sodden and heavy. He began swimming further toward the centre of the river, circling around before drifting to the left of Foti. Then he began swimming straight across to the other side, or so it appeared to Foti. Directly across from them, on the opposite bank, was a dirt road that ran right up from the river. It looked so close - maybe Jeff felt he could reach it and take a quick stroll.

The tugboat came first, moments later. “Jeff, man, there’s a boat coming,” Foti said. “Get out of the fucking water.” The boat was heading in their direction, up from Beale Street. Jeff seemed to take notice of it and made sure to be clear of it as it passed. The next time Foti looked over, he still saw Jeff’s head bobbing in the water.

Not more than a minute had passed when Foti spied another boat approaching. This one was bigger - a barge, perhaps 100ft long. Foti grew more concerned and started yelling louder for Jeff to come back. Once again, Jeff swam out of its path, and Foti breathed another sigh of relief. In the increasing darkness, the speck that was Jeff’s head was just barely visible.

Soon, the water grew choppy, the waves lapping a little more firmly against the riverbank. Foti grew worried about his boom box. The last thing he wanted was to see it waterlogged and unusable. Taking his eye off Jeff for a moment, he stepped over to where Jeff had set the stereo down on a rock and moved it back about five feet, out of reach of the waves. Foti turned back around. There was no longer a head in the water. There was nothing - just stillness, a few rippling aftershock waves, and the marina in the distance. Foti began to scream out Jeff’s name. There was no answer. He yelled more. He continued screaming for nearly 10 minutes.

On the other side of the river, Gordon Archibald, a 59-year-old employee of the marina, was walking near the moored boats with a friend when he heard a single shout of “help”. Concerned, he looked out on to the water. But he saw nothing, nor heard anything more.

The folk singer Tim Buckley, who was to become Jeff’s father, married Mary Guibert in 1965.

It was spring 1966, Mary Guibert was three months pregnant, 18 years old, and Tim was out of town. Even before Tim left for New York, his wife suspected he was spending time with other women. “By no stretch of the imagination was this a marriage made in heaven,” she says. “He hadn’t been faithful to me for very long. And I thought that was perfectly acceptable because, after all, he was so wonderful, and I was so nobody.”

Mary says she told Tim about the pregnancy before he left for New York, but that he told her he had to leave town and that she should move back in with her family in Orange County, near LA, get a job, save money, and “maybe get an abortion or whatever you want to do”, she recalls him saying. Even then, Tim made no mention of another woman. “I just had no idea,” Mary says. “A lot of denial going on. Tons of denial on both sides, because he wouldn’t bring himself, to the very end, to say, 'You know, I really don’t love you very much’.” She sent Tim letters to various addresses in New York; his replies came fitfully and were pointedly vague. Finally, a mutual friend gave her the news: Tim was in New York with a new girlfriend, and would be back in Los Angeles shortly.

Lee Underwood, guitarist in Buckley’s band and a great friend, recalls the situation being a topic of discussion while he and Tim were in New York that summer. Given the choice of returning to Mary and Orange County or following what Underwood calls “his destined natural way”, Tim “decided to be true to himself and his music, fully aware that he would be accepting a lifetime burden of guilt. Tim left, not because he didn’t care about his soon-to-be-born child but because his musical life was just beginning; in addition, he couldn’t stand Mary. He did not abandon Jeff; he abandoned Mary.”

Finally, some action had to be taken. Tim came to meet Mary at a coffee shop near her home. What exactly happened remains unclear. Tim never talked to his friends about it, while Anna Guibert, Mary’s mother, recalls Tim giving Mary an ultimatum: divorce or abortion. According to Mary, she asked Tim what they should do about the marriage and pregnancy, and he replied, “You do whatever you have to do, baby”, and hung his head.

Afterwards, Mary, who was by now many months pregnant, walked home, told her mother the news and cried. As Anna Guibert remembers, “I said, 'That’s the best thing, honey. If he doesn’t want you, be free.’ She was crazy about Tim. But he wanted his career. There was no place for a baby in his life."Mary, however, did want her baby.

He was born on Thursday, November 17, 1966, at 10.49pm, after 21 hours of labour. The issue of identity loomed even before the child left the hospital. Mary named her son Jeffrey Scott - "Jeffrey” after her last high-school boyfriend before Tim (“my last pure boy-girl relationship, my last pure moment”) and “Scott” in honour of John Scott Jr, a neighbour and close friend of the Guiberts who died in an accident at the age of 17. Yet because Mary preferred Scott, the child was instantly called Scotty by his family. Tim was not available for consultation, since no one knew his whereabouts.

At school, Scotty was the eternal clown, making jokes, craving attention and being more interested in music (including cello lessons provided by the school) than grades. His second-floor bedroom became a rock enclave, his most valuable possessions being a Hemispheres picture disc by the prog-rock band Rush and all four of Kiss’s solo albums.

He had a guitar given to him by his grandmother, and although he hadn’t learned to master it, he would sit and cradle it, “like Linus’s blanket”, according to Willie Osborn, his childhood friend. Although Jeff had taken his father’s name, his music tastes reflected none of Tim’s influence. He was just eight years old when Tim died; they had had their only proper encounter just months before.

The meeting between Tim and Jeff Buckley, April 1975.

Mary Guibert was flipping through a local newspaper when she saw a listing for Tim Buckley’s upcoming show. It was, she says, “an epiphany”. It had been six years since she and her first husband had seen each other, and nearly as long since they had spoken. Mary and Jeff took the hour-long drive to Huntington Beach, an oceanside town 10 miles southwest of Orange County, and arrived at the Golden Bear just before Tim walked on-stage. They took a seat on a bench in the second row.

Jeff seemed enraptured, bouncing in his seat to the rhythms of Tim’s 12-string guitar and rock band. “Scotty was in love,” Mary says. “He was immediately entranced. His little eyes were just dancing in his head.” To Mary, Tim was still a dynamic performer, bouncing on his heels with his eyes shut, but she also felt he looked careworn for someone still in his 20s.

At the end of the set, no sooner had Mary asked her son if he wanted to meet his father than the kid was out of his seat and scurrying in the direction of the backstage area. As they entered the cramped dressing room, Jeff clutched his mother’s long skirt. It seemed a foreign and frightening world to him, until he heard someone shout out, “Jeff!” Although no one had called him that before in his life - he was still “Scotty” to everyone - Jeff ran across the room to a table where Tim was resting after the show.

Tim hoisted his son on to his knees and began rocking him back and forth with a smile as Jeff gave his father a crash course on his life, rattling off his age, the name of his dog, his teachers, his half-brother and other vital statistics. “I sat on his knees for 15 minutes,” Jeff wrote later. “He was hot and sweaty. I kept on feeling his legs. 'Wow, you need an iceberg to cool you off!’ I was very embarrassing - doing my George Carlin impression for him for no reason. Very embarrassing. He smiled the whole time. Me too.”

Tim’s drummer, Buddy Helm, recalls. “It was a very personal moment. The kid seemed very genuine, totally in love with his dad. It was like wanting to connect. He didn’t know anything personally about Tim but was there ready to do it.” The same seemed to be true of Tim; after years of distance from his son, he seemed to feel it was time to re-cement whatever bond existed between them.

Shortly after, before the second set began, Judy, Tim’s new partner, asked Mary if it would be acceptable for Jeff to spend a few days at their place: Tim would be leaving soon on tour, but had some free time. It was the start of the Easter break, so Mary agreed. Next morning, she packed Jeff’s clothes in a brown paper bag and drove him to Santa Monica to spend his most extended period of time with his father.

Tim and Judy lived a few blocks from the beach. As Jeff remembered it, the following five days - the first week of April 1975 - were largely uneventful. “Easter vacation came around,” he wrote in 1990. “I went over for a week or so, we made small talk at dinner, watched cable TV, he bought me a model airplane on one of our 'outings’ … Nothing much but it was kind of memorable.” Three years later, he recalled it with much more bitterness: “He was working in his room, so I didn’t even get to talk to him. And that was it.”

Mary recalls Jeff telling her that he would dash into Tim’s room every morning and bounce on the bed. At the end of his stay, Tim and Judy put Jeff on a bus out of Santa Monica, and Mary picked him up at the bus station in Fullerton. When Jeff stepped off, she noticed he was clutching a book of matches. On it, Tim had written his phone number.

By his teens, Jeff was exhibiting impressive musical skills, as another school band member, drummer Paul Derech, discovered when he visited Jeff in the Guibert home in early 1982. Sitting on his bed, Jeff played songs from Al Di Meola’s Electric Rendezvous and the first album by Asia. Even though Derech had to listen closely to Jeff’s guitar - Mary couldn’t yet afford an amplifier for her son - his dexterity was so apparent that Derech literally took a step back.

Once, Jeff pulled out a picture of Tim from his closet and softly said, “I’ve spent a lot of time looking at that picture”, before moving on to another topic. Derech, like other kids, sensed immediately that his father was a sore point. Instead, they talked music. Although punk and new wave were the predominant rock styles of the moment, Jeff had little interest in them. He preferred music that challenged him and transported him to imaginary worlds. In the late 70s and early 80s, that music was prog (short for progressive) and art rock - bands such as Yes, Genesis and Rush that revelled in complex structures, science-fiction-themed lyrics and virtuosic, fleet- fingered guitar parts that only a few teenagers could hope to master. In a friend’s garage, Jeff and Derech soon began jamming on versions of Rush songs. Jeff declined to sing, though; he told friends and family he wanted to be a guitarist, plain and simple.

The reason, some felt, was because he didn’t want to be compared to the musician father he barely knew. “He had exactly the same speaking voice as Tim,” recalls Tamurlaine, the daughter of Herb Cohen, Tim’s one-time manager. She befriended Jeff when he and Mary would visit the Cohen family for dinner. (Cohen and Mary kept in touch after Tim and Mary’s break-up.) During those meals, Jeff’s vocal and physical resemblance to his father led Cohen often to mistakenly call Jeff “Tim”.

Jeff moved to New York City in 1990.

Often sporting his black Hendrix T-shirt, Jeff immediately took to New York, hauling his guitar into the subway to play for change and roaming the streets. “I talked to him right after he got to New York and he was loving it,” recalls his friend Tony Marryatt, a fellow student at Musicians Institute in Hollywood. “He said it was just like a Woody Allen movie.” To support himself, he took a series of day jobs, from working at an answering service (for actors such as F Murray Abraham and Denzel Washington) to being an assistant at a Banana Republic clothes store.

© David Browne 2001. This is an edited extract from Dream Brother: The Lives And Music Of Jeff And Tim Buckley