#yes i am on the 19th century thanks for asking

[jackredfieldwasmyjacob]

btw tumblrinas i am happy to go through this oposiciones journey with you. i like to think you see me posting about a specific thing during a couple of days and you go 'oh so vivi is on the art history section again can't wait for him to comment on his love of mudéjar again'

[kaiserin-erzsebet]

Hi there! Sorry if you've gotten this type of ask before, I searched your blog first and didn't find anything, but we all know about the tumblr search algorithm. I was wondering what you think of Elisabeth das Musical, like its portrayals of the historical figures involved, or its general historical accuracy? I love that musical but I'm no historian, and from my Wikipedia research it does take some liberties. Just curious if you're familiar and have thoughts! Have a good day :)

Thanks for the ask. I don't know if I have ever really made one post addressing the historical accuracy of the musical.

To a degree, I don't know if historical accuracy is a fair metric for a musical that is clearly stylized. Death being a character makes it pretty clear that it is leaning into surrealism. I like to meet media where it is at in terms of what it is trying to be.

And I do personally enjoy the musical quite a lot. Songs from it still regularly appear on my writing playlists. In the current landscape of Sisi media, I think it remains one of the most interesting and compelling explorations of her as a difficult woman with a complex internal life instead of a girlboss or 19th century Princess Diana. She is selfish and sort of inconsistent and perpetually flirting with her own death, and I think that's closer than making her the feminist hero.

There are some key points that it does better than other pieces of media: It also does not portray nationalism as liberation, which I think it important. The Hungarian coronation is not an unmitigated triumph with Lucheni singing the secondary part about rising nationalism as a warning for the unstable times that are coming. The rise of Lueger and Schoenerer as a direct antecedent to Hitler is a bit too linear to be completely historically accurate, but I think the point the musical is making is ultimately a good one. The collapse of the empire unleashes violent nationalism and the musical is pointing that direction ominously.

I also do like that it includes Rudolph's politics and his conflict with his father, since some other things are quick to minimize that. The musical isn't necessarily about him, but I like what it does to explain his disillusioned liberalism.

I don't like other things in it: For example, it moves past the early 1860s in one song, which is a period of constitutional experimentation and the last gasp of absolutism. I wish that wasn't so flattened. That's more personal for me since that is the period I am the most interested in.

My biggest frustration about it is the portrayal of Archduchess Sophie. For all the complexity that the musical grants Elisabeth, Sophie is still just the overbearing, intrusive mother-in-law. Historically, this is a disservice to her and her relationship with Elisabeth. Yes, she could be overbearing, but it was for the good of the monarchy. She's not wrong to be concerned that a teenager doesn't know the gravity or importance of being empress and isn't prepared for it. I just want my girl to get her due without being reduced to an archconservative or nightmare mother-in-law.

On the whole, I still think the musical does more than most media to portray Elisabeth as she was in spirit if not completely in substance. I just wouldn't look to it for accuracy, and I don't think the surrealist elements are really trying for that anyway.

[tarithenurse]

A suitable arrangement - 2

Fandom: MCU AU. Pairing/starring: Loki Laufeyson x fem!reader. Word count: 1362. Content: The audacity! A/N: I WROTE 18th CENTURY LAST TIME – THAT WAS A TYPO: it should have been 19th. Also I don’t think this will be a super long series...but it’s something. Let me know if it’s okay, please. Send ASK if you want a tag and please reblog. Also using my old tag list so if you’ve been tagged but don’t want to be on the list, just let me know.

2.

You can’t breathe properly. Admittedly, that might have more to do with how tight the maid laced your corset but you probably still would have been short of breath as you prepare to head downstairs to the sitting room where Lord Laufeyson is waiting.

Father has been clear in his orders: don’t bore the man to death and for goodness sake speak up when spoken to. He doesn’t understand how it is his own doing that you are so quiet.

Braving the steps, you make it down in the foyer with a rustle of fabrics and try to stride confidently through the doors.

There’s your father, standing by the book case and sending you a heavy look to remind you of your role.

And there’s Laufeyson, getting up from the settee with a bouquet of flowers in his hand, the other stretching towards you as he bows politely and as the good girl you are, you hand him yours as you courtesy, allowing him to kiss your knuckle lightly.

Then he presents you the bouquet: red tulips. It’s a bold statement and you can feel the heat rush to your cheeks as you accept them with a soft “thank you”. Thankfully Maude is there right away to whisk the flowers away, she will most likely put them in a vase in your chambers.

“You will have me excused,” your father says and leaves the two of you alone quite contrary to etiquette – but then again, your father has never really concerned himself much with the needs of the ladies including you.

So you straighten up, taking on the role as hostess and offer Laufeyson the opportunity to reclaim his seat as you sit on the settee opposite of him.

“Tea?” you manage to offer.

There’s a smirk on his lips. “Gladly.”

Chiming the little bell, it only takes Maude a moment to return and accept the order for refreshments. Then you’re alone with Laufeyson once more and you can feel your nerves fray ever so slowly.

“You may be wondering what caused me to near you at the debutante,” Laufeyson begins to explain, “I saw you, deeply enthralled in the artwork and I am quite an admirer of the arts myself. My intention was so converse upon the subject as it is rare I find any with the same love for it as I hold.”

You nod. “I understand,” you manage to press out on a breath.

There’s a gleam in his eye. “Do you dabble in the visual arts?” he asks, forcing you to speak further.

“I...I draw, yes.” It’s hard to get the words to be more than a whisper and you try to fight down the wiggling in your discomfort. “Mostly charcoal sketches, though.”

“And what is your preferred subject?” he keeps pressing.

“P-people,” you eek out.

He smiles again, the same smile that many must find warm and endearing but you can’t help but feel more appropriate for a cat that’s caught a mouse. And you are the mouse.

“I suppose your father makes one of your recurring models, then?”

You shake your head. Although you’ve managed to sketch your father a few times, he never takes the time to sit down, allowing you to render him properly. No, what you do is you draw from memory or make quick sketches of people passing by that you see from your window. Maude is often depicted on your paper, mostly when you’ve made your way to the kitchen while she’s cooking but you have never dared to ask her to sit model for you. Thankfully, Elena is differently keen to assist, often striking silly poses in which she looks dreamily at flowers or her own mirror image.

“No?” Laufeyson seems genuinely surprised. “Then perhaps I may do the honour of sitting model one day?”

If you hadn’t felt flushed before then you do so now at the idea of anyone else seeing you work and, even worse, the result thereof.

“Oh, I couldn’t ask that,” you gasp.

“Nonsense!” he declares. “It would be my honour.”

He looks at you expectantly but thankfully you are saved from answering him just then as Maude arrives with the tray of tea and biscuits. Pouring for your both, she manages to catch your eye and discreetly nod towards the space next to the guest. Narrowing your eyes, you try to silently remind her of her place and she does leave right away, closing the doors softly.

“Diligent help,” Laufeyson comments.

“Yes, quite,” you whisper.

He turns to you. “Pray tell...what does it take to hear your voice ring true and clear like I heard that day? Must we sing?”

You nearly spill your tea at his boldness. “Lord Laufeyson!” you gasp softly.

But he is undeterred, coming to sit next to you on the seat and grasping your slightly trembling hand. “What I heard that day was not the shy sparrow I see before me now but a bold lark and I intend to win that mesmerizing creature over and have her sing my name.”

Snatching your hand back, you don’t dare meet his gaze. You get up and walk over to open the door, a clear indication that the visit is over. He does follow. Even accepts to go to the front door but that’s where he pauses as Maude comes rushing with his coat and hat.

“Until next time, miss [Y/L/N],” he smiles crookedly.

You have no way to ban him from visiting again unless you can convince father...and speaking up again him is beyond your abilities. So you just courtesy and see the bold visitor out the door.

---

In the days that follows gifts are delivered to you: flowers of ruby and pink hues, boxes of confection, even a delicate silken shawl that must be worth more than half your wardrobe.

Thankfully, though, Loki Laufeyson himself remains at a distance.

That is...until the next ball.

Lord Stark has invited and all of course attend. It had not been long before Elena had been swept up in the dances, leaving you to stand by yourself. You’ve half made up your mind to go exploring the halls for more art when a figure approaches: Laufeyson.

Smiling coyly, he extends an arm. “A dance, miss?”

You know it would be rude to refuse and so you accept, linking your arm in his and hoping that a dance will deter him.

Hand in hand, you float across the floor, finding that he is exceptionally good at guiding your movements despite your lack of familiarity with the steps. Sure, you’ve learned them, taking lessons like any young bachelorette, but you have never truly danced before as none have ever asked you. Now, not only are you dancing but you’re dancing with Lord Laufeyson and you feel the envious glares of many of your peers. Little do they know you’d love to trade places with them especially as his large hand supports your back, nudging you slightly closer to him.

In all fairness: it’s not that Loki Laufeyson is a sore on the eye or has a bad reputation. Quite the contrary. His features are beyond handsome, raven hair and sharp cheekbones and jawline match the air of nobility. And his stature! Tall, lithe, strong, slender. No, he truly is a wonder to behold. And you have only heard whispers of admiration about him.

So why your dislike?

You do not dislike him, actually. You fear him and his perfection. You know you can never measure with him. And now...now for some reason he has made it his mission to hear you speak or sing and it scares you beyond measure to be heard. Everything is so much easier when you can go about unnoticed.

As the music comes to a halt and the dance finishes, you are about to excuse yourself with yet another courtesy when he pulls the boutonniere from his coat and tucks it behind your ear. You hear the whispers and soft gasps at his actions, you feel the heat rise to your face unbidden...and you see the warmth in his eyes as he takes your hand, kisses it, and bows.

[enlitment]

top 5 frev women?

Thanks for the ask! Oh, this one's going to be tough as well. But let's see...

Lucile Desmoulins

Much more than a pair of fine eyes, Lucile was, like her husband, heavily invested in politics. She shared Camille's convictions and is even reported to have defended him in front of others. She did pay the price for her loyalty in the end, when she was only my age (though it should be noted that the whole Germinal/Indulgent business is much more complex to be accurately presented in this short overview of course).

I also really like her writing! Her 'advice' to Marie Antoinette is definitely quite something. Go read it if you haven't! Her diary is also at times quite relatable. ("I feel that I am born to live far from men. The more I examine them, the more I seek to understand them, the more I see that one should flee from them.”)

Bonus - my favourite quote of hers on women's place in society:

To hear [men] speak, we are celestial beings, nothing is equal to us. Ah! may they deify us less and leave us free!

2. Simone Évrard

I have to confess I was sleeping on Simone for the longest time, but she is such an interesting figure! She continued to be so supportive of Marat even when times were incredibly tough for him. I'm convinced he wouldn't be able to achieve half as much as he did if it weren't for her. She then went on to defend his legacy long after his death, despite the fact that it caused quite a few problems for her. I find her incredibly inspiring!

3. Charlotte Robespierre

Listen, I'm always going to appreciate a single lady who made it her life's mission to try and take charge of the narrative.

In all seriousness, I'm still not quite sure how her mind worked, but I find her incredibly interesting. Especially the way she seemed to be so protective or Maximilien (re: Éléonore?), both during his life and after his death. She also seemed to have been so strong-willed, much like her brother, perhaps even more so. The fact that she accompanied Augustin to suppress the revolt in Nice is still kind of mind-blowing to me. And the fact that she was supposedly going to marry Fouché at one point? One of my favourite historical what-ifs, honestly. Just imagine!

(That said, my knowledge of her is quite lacking. If anyone can recommend a good biography on Charlotte, I'd be really thankful!)

4. Olympe de Gouges

Okay, here's a controversial one!

Obligatory 'am not a Girondist!', but I feel that I still have to give her some credit for her feminist ideas. Yes, her feminism was centred on upper-class women, but I still see her contributions as an important first step. Déclaration des droits de la Femme et de la Citoyenne is one of the most crucial documents in the history of feminism in my opinion.

I also appreciate the fact that while classist, her feminism was much less 'white-only' than that of a lot of women that came after her (case in point a lot of the Seneca Falls suffragettes in 19th century America). Again, not all of her views on slavery probably stand up to the test of time, but I will always appreciate anyone in the 18th century who expresses abolitionists sentiments, which she did.

She is also the author of many of my favourite french revolution era quotes:

"A woman has the right to mount the scaffold. She must possess equally the right to mount the rostrum."

She has a point and honestly? Well said.

(Side note - also kind of obsessed with her address to Robespierre. "I suggest we should bathe together in the Seine but to entirely depurgate you of those blemishes with which you have smeared yourself since 10th June, we should attach sixteen or twenty-four pound cannon balls to our feet , and together race into the flood ….")

That said, the narrative that she was executed for her feminist views is both incorrect and extremely tiring.

5. Pauline Léon

How can I not mention the leader of female Sans-culottes herself? To counter de Gouges, let me mention another French revolutionary feminist that is - in a lot of ways - an antithesis to Olympe, since she was: a) a radical republican b) a member of the working class.

She seemed to have been incredibly courageous and always managed to find herself right in the centre of the action (Bastille, Champ de Mars...). There are unfortunately not that many resources on her as on some of the other female figures, but I think her story is incredibly important. More so for the fact that she was one of female revolutionary figures we know at least something about that wasfrom a working class - as opposed to upper class - background.

My favourite fact about her is that she wanted to establish all-female militia group to defend the country against counter-revolutionaries. Not going to lie, it was a wild proposal, but it would be kind of amazing to see it happen.

(It was not easy to find her portrait, but this should be her I hope?)

[hiwaaranit]

hey, it's me, the anon that left the ask about studying Native American history and cultural appropriation. Thanks for the book recommendations, I've added them all to my to-read list.

It's crazy how much people seem to dislike the topic of history I've chosen, but you genuinely helped so much. Definitely reassured me. I've also bought bury my heart at wounded knee which is a *bit* outdated but was the first book I bought on the topic so I always think of it fondly, and another called Blood and Land, and also one called a Century of Dishonour, which was written in the 1880s (very outdated in areas but also. definitely against the government policies). I'm also trying to expand my reading horizons from what happened in the 19th century USA.

(Btw, wasn't Killers of the Flower Moon turned into a film recently starring Leonardo di Caprio?? I wondered if you'd watched it. I would like to find some more modern films/tv shows with good indigenous rep - I watched Annie Get Your Gun a while back but frankly it was shit. I want to purge it from my mind).

I hope you have a lovely day, I just thought I'd say thanks for the recommendations and the reassurance </3

Yes I am very excited for the movie to come out, and there’s nothing wrong with outdated books besides biases told by the white people at the time, you gotta be picky and not take everything at face value. I read so many old books and university papers of recounts of native history and it’s kind of an art to describe them and the bs some of them say and the crab meat of truth you’re trying to find. Or like by proxy of growing up and hearing stories, and then using those accounts to figure out "oh that’s what they mean" or "Oh they mean this thing not that, they mixed it up." Cultural and language mistranslations are just so prevalent.

Then here’s some movie and video recommendations, I’ll just say with Wind River and Bury my heart again be kinda thoughtful about them. Bury my heart has like this Hollywood kinda atmosphere, more cinematic it’s a great movie but it’s also based on events and they kinda dramatized some. Gives me the same feeling of "woman who walks ahead." Still great movies and a great way to get a feel for thing that happened back then. I really love news of the world too especially what they show with the buffalo and little girl, but I really wish they hired a native actress, it’s true that adoption of any race of people happened a lot in tribes but the representation of native kids in Hollywood is nonexistent and I think these movies would be so much better portraying native head leads. With Wind River if Jeremy renner and Elizabeth Olsen where switched out with native leads the plot would be so much richer. Like a city native and Rez native story would be so good. Movies that greatly follow white leads or have white characters for the yt audience to attach to just limits the movie for me.

[subzeroparade]

hello there, I would just like to say that you are an inspiration to me and my own writing journey. you have such a profound way of skillfully weaving a story, I adore your works. it really reminds me a lot of madeline miller and her amazing stories (I really like a specific style of writing, lol)

may I ask what your writing process is? I myself have trouble sticking to motivation and finishing my own works. hope this message reaches you well, cheers <33

(Long post warning, and sorry to the people still languishing in my inbox, especially anon who sent me a similar writing ask - I will get to it, but hopefully in the meantime you can glean something useful from this, too.) 

Thank you! Also, yes - I came back to creative writing a few years ago (after many years of nothing but academic writing, grad and post-grad) around the same time Miller published Circe, and my ER work definitely pays tribute to that. In the genre of modernised(not modern)-greek-myth-retellings, hers are the only ones I tolerate. (That’s not true, I do like Pat Barker’s work to an extent, though she’s much less lyrical than Miller. But sometimes you need that). 

To answer your ask, here's my writing process - but first, a couple of disclaimers:

Disclaimer 1: Everyone’s method is different, etc etc; this is a given. But I also have a decade’s worth of disciplined professional writing under my belt, which is very helpful when it comes to sitting down and just choking something out on paper, even when my brain is unwilling, or the spark is not there. This takes time to cultivate. 

Disclaimer 2: No writing method or process is going to work if you are not actively reading. All the time. There is never a time I don’t have at least one book going. When I am feeling cheeky, I commit to four or five at once, all very different: novels (from disparate genres), edited volumes, anthologies, non-fiction; regardless, a wealth of different voices to draw from. If you are super busy, and we all are, at least try to read a bit before bed, it’s good for you. 

Anyway! Process:

STEP 1: A thing I might want to write: a scenario. A scene. An interaction between two characters. A short sequence of events. A long history. This particular climax, and its aftermath. The POV of that particular character. How am I going to do that? What do I need to know? What are the possible approaches - which POV, past or present, told or retold, and in what manner? 

Ex: before I sat down to write Litanies (Bloodborne), I knew I was interested enough to commit to a fic about the Fishing Hamlet. There are a million ways to do this. It was only while reading/watching certain material - journals, accounts of 19th century expeditions, a book about piecing together the mystery of a murder on another planet through conflicting eye-witness testimony, watching AMC’s The Terror - did it make sense to do an “interview” style, slow-burn mystery-box-esque piece, in which an interviewer has to piece together first-hand accounts of what happened (just like us, the Hunter!). Could I have done it another way? Yes. Would it have been nearly as interesting from a storytelling perspective? Not remotely. 

Tdlr; Who and what will I write about? In what way, and how will that approach make the work even stronger? How many things do I need to clarify about where and how this is going before I start writing? The tighter your plan - it doesn’t even need to be written down - the less likely you are to hit a wall later because you don’t know where you’re trying to go or what you’re trying to say. 

STEP 2: I start plotting scenes. For Vanitas (Elden Ring), I knew I wanted to write the history of Godwyn’s war and subsequent allegiance with the ancient stone dragons. I would need battle scenes, political intrigue and broader worldbuilding, alongside more intimate, dialogue-focused exchanges with Fortissax. On my shitty little notes app, I started writing these as they came to me, as I mulled over the ways to make them fight, meet, agree, quarrel, separate. Mostly, I start with the core of a scene - what is the question being answered, the main point, the crux of it? - and then build the rest of the scene around that. In that way it’s rarely, if ever, meandering and useless. Especially in short works - every scene should matter, and keep its focus where possible. You will be surprised how many disparate scenes you can merge into a single one for more impact.

Tldr; elevator-pitch style, what’s this work actually about??? And what scenes do I need for my readers to get it?

Big huge disclaimer here: at this stage, if I am starting to construct little bits and pieces in my notes app (everything from swathes of dialogue to jumbled “then he does this” reminders) they are in a very raw form. HOWEVER, at this point, I need to know how the story will end, especially if it is multi-chapter. I need to have outlined how these scenes flow into each other, and why. If it’s a vignette or one-shot, I need to know exactly what I will show, mood and message, so that it never becomes any longer than necessary, or loses the thread that holds it together, so to speak. 

STEP 3: I have a lot of material in my shitty little notes app (this will vary, depending on the size of your piece. The outline of A History of Iniquity (Elden Ring) was about 8k, which makes sense for a work that’s gonna top out at 80k). It’s time to bring it over to proper writing software. There, I start sorting my notes into scenes, as well as supplementary material (stuff that feels useful, or important, like worldbuilding tidbits, but that I have yet to weave into the story progression). Personally, separating all my notes into these individual scenes makes me feel like I have a better handle on the work, and can bounce around from scene to scene without having to work in linear progression, which I almost never do. 

Tldr; organise. Today I feel like writing scene 4, tomorrow scene 2. Because I have a handle on the work’s structure and I always know where it will end up, this is easy to do. 

STEP 4:

Write it.

Sloppily, badly, plainly. Commit to writing a scene, or x number of words per day, and get it done. A bare minimum of what happens in that scene. Dialogue. Actions. This then that and then this. Just put it down.

This is my big secret: I am a good writer, but I am a better editor (alas, a thing you could never tell from the state of some of my Tumblr posts). Writing is the painful part. Editing is a joy. It’s all there - what is left for me to do but to make it smoother, shinier, more polished? Remove what is superfluous, add a punch where needed. I much prefer making a drab paragraph sing than the initial act of writing that paragraph. 

I spend more time on editing than I do writing. I read, I reread. I go away. I come back, fresh, and reread again. I reread my work until I know enormous amounts of it by heart, then I go away, put it out of my mind, read something else, come back and edit again. There is no way around this, especially if you are writing fic and you don’t have a beta (or at least a first/second reader). It can always, always, always be better. The more aggressively you edit, the better you train your critical eye, and the sharper you are on your next first draft, or if you’re kind enough to beta for someone else. I am a ruthless editor (and I can and should be even worse), only because that’s what helped me, and I’d hope anyone better than me taking the time to look at my stuff would do me the same courtesy. 

STEP 5: Publish, go away, cry. If it’s fanfic, come back and read it for some last little edits. If it’s in an academic volume, cringe and hope no one reads it (/jk. Mostly). 

To come back to your initial point about motivation and sticking the landing -  some of that is going to have to come from you, personally. On my end, I finish what I start for three reasons.

I do not truly start the honest-to-god writing unless I have that body of notes already, and it’s hefty enough to serve as a skeleton. If I’m unsure, I’ll often leave ideas in this nebulous state of notes/ideation until I can come back with a clearer vision of what it would look like as a finished piece.

I do not start unless I am 100% committed to putting this work out there. If it’s too daunting, I’ll write it as a vignette or a one-shot, which is great practice, and there’s no excuse not to finish one. 

I do not start a work unless I know exactly how I am going to finish it. I more often than not know the last sentence of my work before I make it to the first draft stage. I know in amateur circles/fic writing it’s fine to just see where the work takes you, or leave the chapter count open, or whatever - it’s all practice, anyway - BUT I do think that if your main goal is closing a piece, then you need to be strict about how you get there. There’s plenty to do along the way, but at minimum know the scenes you need to make it to the finish line, and give yourself the tools to get there. 

THIS IS SO LONG I am terribly sorry, clearly I lied about being a good editor. 

Hope this helps! 

[xandriagreat]

Fate Be Changed

Chapter 8: Cleaning up/Dig a little Deeper

First chapter | Last chapter | Next chapter

Author’s note: reminder: The song’s lyrics are going to be bold and italic.

Notice/warnings: naked, showers/cleaning, food, scary moment, pain, transformation

▪▪▪

As they followed Granny Gumbo to her place, there were some stilt houses and there were some other people living.

It felt like a whole community. 

Diane noticed the sound about people talking to each other, music playing, the chirping of birds and crickets, and the water streaming. To her, the sounds made this community all more alive.

Then they soon got to some type of tree house. Of course it was big and beautiful. Almost like a mansion but it was almost like a cottage somewhere around the late 18th to early 19th century.

The lights inside were on as they approached the tree house.

When they went inside, Diane saw Ruby (who was still human) and an alligator wearing a suit.

The both of them just finished talking about something.

Diane gasped excitedly when seeing Ruby. “Ruby!” said Diane, running to her.

Ruby turned around and her eyes lit up with excitement. “Diane!” Ruby exclaimed, hugging her when she got to her.

“Thank goodness you're ok!” Ruby said, looking at Diane again after they hugged.

“Same with you.” Diane said, smiling.

Ruby’s eyes sparkled with excitement when looking at Diane, gently petting her fur. “You are so fluffy!!!” Ruby exclaimed with a big smile. Then she pulled her hand away and quickly said, “Sorry, I should have asked.”

Diane blushed a bit red after her fur was touched. “I am fluffy but thank you for stopping.” she said

Ruby nodded and looked at Lou, Pepe, Moe, Herbert, and Webs. “Are those one of your new friends?” she asked, looking back at Diane.

The ‘fox’ looked at them before looking back at Ruby, nodding. “Yes, this is Lou, Pepe, Moe, Herbert, and Webs.”

Ruby hummed and nodded with a soft smile, waving at them.

While that was happening, Rhonda was still carrying Webs as she walked over to the alligator wearing a suit. Then she offers Webs to him, as if to say ‘Here’.

The ‘alligator’s’ eyes lit up in excitement and in relief when seeing the spider, smiling big. “Webs! You okay?” said the ‘alligator’, picking up the ‘spider’ from the ‘Tasmanian Devil’.

Webs stared at the ‘alligator’ in confusion before her eyes widened in realization. “Wait… Milton?!” Webs said in shock, realizing that it was her other friend.

“Yes! It's me!” Milton said, putting Webs on a nearby table. “You, Moe and Herbert weren't at the place of the meeting and showed you guys a place to stay. So I knew something was up finding you until I found you guys with-”

“Yes, Marmalade, and we made a dumb deal with him.” Webs said flatly as she got on a table. 

“Yeah, I was completely affected by it by the time I alerted Granny Gumbo about it.” Milton explained.

Webs nodded before pausing and stared at him in silence for a bit. “Wait… How did you get infected.” she asked, pointing at him.

“It's a long story.” Milton said “But that’s why I’m also here. To see what’s going on and see if it can be reversed.” 

“Ah. Got it.” Webs humming, nodding.

Then everyone looked at Granny Gumbo as Granny looked at the two ‘water animals’ and asked, “Do you two fishes need a bath too?”

“We’re good but thanks.” Pepe said, shaking his head.

Granny Gumbo looked at Diane, Moe, Herbert, and Webs. “I’ll show you four where the showers and baths are.” the old woman said to them. “Did you bring extra clothes?”

The four looked at each other before looking back at Granny Gumbo. “Well… uh… Lou made us some clothes.” Moe said, pointing at Lou.

Lou took a bow and smiled. “I can go get them.”

“Alright.” Granny Gumbo hummed with a soft smile. Then she looked back at the four. “Now, let's get you four washed up.”

Moe, Diane, Herbert, and Webs nodded to her.

Diane picked up Webs before Granny Gumbo began to guide the four to the bathroom.

◇

The four followed Granny Gumbo to the bathroom.

“So, how long have you four been animals?” Granny Gumbo asked.

“Two days.” the four said in unison.

Granny Gumbo hummed and nodded before opening and going through the door to the bathroom.

Moe, Diane, Herbert, and Webs followed after her and the four ‘animals’ looked surprised when seeing the bathroom as they got in.

There were multiple showers and a few bathtubs. There were even some sinks. There were also a few wooden benches. It was like it came out of another country.

The bathroom looked more like a bathhouse, just with privacy options and curtains.

“Well, this is very interesting.” Moe said, continuing to look around.

The other nodded in agreement.

Then they looked at Granny Gumbo as the old woman got a basket. “This is for dirty clothes.” she explained before she plugged one of the sinks and began to fill it up with water. “And this is for Ms. Spider.” 

“Thank you.” Webs said.

Granny Gumbo nodded and then pointed at one of the cabinets. “There’s soap, shampoo, and conditioner in there, along with fresh towels.” she said before turning around. “Now I’ll leave to give you four privacy.”

Then she left the room to give them privacy, closing the door on her way out.

Moe, Diane, Herbert, and Webs looked at each other.

“So, how should we do this?” Diane asked as she put Webs on the counter.

“Well, let's get the toiletries and towels out first.” Herbert said, slithering over to the cabinet. 

Moe walks over to help as the ‘snake’ opens it and pulls out a few towels. The ‘wolf’ got the bottles and both of them put them on the counter.

Moe looked at the cabinet one more time and pulled out a med kit before closing it. “Just in case.” he said, pointing it at Diane.

The ‘fox’ hummed and nodded in agreement.

Then the four start to sort the bottles, for who gets what bottles and who gets which shower.

There’s liquid hand soap and travel bottles of shampoo and conditioner set up for Webs. The others are the normal-size bottles for the animal's fur, like for Moe and Diane. And lastly the other bottles are good for scales, like for Herbert.

After sorting the bottles and picking which shower, they all start to realize something.

It seems Granny Gumbo has been prepared for this. 

“It looks like Granny has been doing this for a long time.” Diane said as she realized.

Moe, Herbert, and Webs nodded, looking very worried.

“Let’s get clean.” Moe said, taking his bottles and towel to the shower that he’s going to use.

The others nodded.

Diane and Herbert got their bottles and towels, taking them to their showers that they’re going to use.

Then they each got undressed, putting the very dirty clothes in the basket (except for Webs’ hoodie and Herbert’s hat, those were put on the counter) before going to wash up.

Webs got in the sink while Moe, Herbert, and Diane got in their showers after getting them going.

Diane, Moe, and Herbert begin taking a shower while Webs was taking a bath in a sink, washing off any dirt from their bodies to clean and getting their furs and scales soft. 

They start to feel clean as they clean themselves. 

After cleaning and washing up, Diane shook her body a bit to get some water off of her before she got her towel and wrapped it around her as she got out of her shower. 

She dries herself a bit as looked around to see Webs just got out of the sink and got the hand towel over herself.

Then Webs looked at her and the both of them made eye contact, both starting to blush a bit.

“I- sorry!” Diane started, sounding panic as she covered her eyes with one hand while the other kept her towel up.

“It’s ok!” Webs reassured, wrapping herself in the towel to cover herself. “I promise it’s fine!”

Diane, slowly, uncovered her eyes and lowered her hand to look at Webs, who was still covered by her towel and got something from her hoodie pocket and started to unwrap it.

Both the ‘fox’ and ‘spider’ looked at each other for a moment.

“I've been bathing and showering whenever I can while on the run and doing my business. I normally use gym showers, sometimes rivers, motel bathrooms, or bath houses, depending on the area that I’m in.” Webs explained a bit embarrassedly. “I hope that wasn’t too much.”

Diane hummed and nodded. “It’s ok.” she reassured her, getting her undergarments.

Webs looked at her for a moment before smiling softly and then pulled out a new light green tank top, which got Diane looking confused at her. 

“I told Lou earlier to just make a new hoodie. I have a spare top.” Webs said as she got her backup sports bra on before getting her new tank top.

“Ah, got it.” Diane said with a hum, getting her undergarments on before grabbing the aid kit to get a new bandage on her foot.

“How’s your foot?” Webs asked, tossing the dirty hoodie into the basket.

Diane looked at her and shrugged. “Meh…” she said as she got to one of the benches and sat down. She opened the kit and set it down next to her before lifting and checking her injured foot.

Diane looked at her foot after unwrapping the bandaging.

The cut was still there but the bleeding had stopped.

“Hm…” Diane sighed softly and started to clean her foot with disinfecting cream, which got her to hiss a bit in pain.

The sounds of running water stopped and then Moe asked, “Need help?” 

Diane looked over to see Moe and Herbert just got out of their shower, with their towels over themselves.

Diane nodded. “Yes, please.” she said, putting her towel over herself to cover herself.

“Alright. Give me a moment, then I’ll help.” Moe said, walked over to get his undergarments. After he got his undergarments on, he went to Diane and knelt down in front of her. He checked her foot before getting new bandages from the kit.

It looked like he knew what he was doing as he wrapped her foot.

“I did this all the time back when I was young and while I was on the run with Herbert and Webs.” Moe said, continuing to wrap carefully the foot.

Diane hummed with a soft chuckle. “That’s interesting.” she said, nodding. 

Then the ‘fox’ looked at the ‘snake’, who was looking at the door, as if to either distract himself or know something was coming.

Then there was a knock on the door, which got all four of their attention. 

“I’ll get it.” Herbert said as he slithered over to the door, holding his towel around himself tight so it wouldn't slip.

He carefully opened the door to see Lou, who was holding the new outfits.

“Hi. I’m back with the new finished outfits.” Lou said, showing the outfits in a folded pile. 

Herbert nodded with a hum and carefully took the pile from him, bringing them inside.

Lou turns the other way as he gives the outfits to him.

“Thank you, Lou.” the four ‘animals’ said as Herbert put the clothes on the counter.

“No problem.” Lou said, his head still looking the other way. “Could one of you put the basket of dirty clothes out? There’s a washing machine that Granny has, it’s fast and quick with cleaning.”

“Alright. Here you go.” Herbert said, taking the basket and putting it out into the hallway before closing the door.

The four ‘animals’ looked at the door as they listened Lou pick up the basket and then walked away.

Then Moe went back to bandaging Diane’s foot. “Alright, here go.” Moe said when he was done. 

“Thank you.” Diane said, wiggle her toes for a moment before standing up. Then Diane started to sort out the clothes in order while making sure her towel doesn't fall off her back.

“Ok, I just sorted out the outfits so we don’t get a bit of a mix up.” Diane said when she was done sorting. 

The other ‘animals’ nodded and all four got their clothes.

Diane, Moe, Herbert and Webs smell great, they hadn't washed up since yesterday, aside from the river. They got dressed after they finished washing and drying off.

Diane got on her clothes, which is a violet purple pinafore dress over a royal blue t-shirt, and black flats that fit perfectly. 

Wolf got an ocean color blue suit coat along with a gorgeous grass green swirl design on it, green pants, white socks and even brown shoes. 

Snake got a white shirt with a unique ruby red snake scale-like design on it. He put on his bucket hat back on.

Webs got on cyan blue hoodie with red lining.

All four of them looked at their reflections and they were amazed by their reflections.

The four animals left the bathroom when they were ready.

◇

When Moe, Herbert, Webs, and Diane got to the others, they could hear some of the conversations.

The four of them looked around as they entered the room.

Granny Gumbo was the first one to notice them as they entered the room. “Ah! I see that you four are done.” she said to them before pointing at a nearby table. “I made warm drinks for the four of you.”

“Thank you.” the four ‘animals’ said together.

They noticed warm hot drinks for them on a table as the four went to the table while Granny left the room with Lou and Pepe.

Diane put Webs on the table when they got to the table.

It's been a while since they had warm drinks. There were three normal cups with one small cup.

They each picked up one of the cups.

Moe sniffed his cup before drinking it. 

Herbert and Webs looked at their cups before drinking theirs.

Diane blew her cup before she drank hers.

The drinks tasted good.

They were able to drink some of it.

When Diane finished drinking her drink, she got up and went after Granny Gumbo.

“Hey, wait for us!” Moe called after her as they put their ups down and started to follow her to get the same answer.

They found where Granny went around the house.

It looked like she was looking for something.

“We are so glad we found you, Granny Gumbo. Pepe and Lou have been telling us all about you. We’ve been traveling quite a long way. And you can’t imagine what we’ve been through.” Diane said, walking over to Granny Gumbo, who looked like she was looking for something. “And we heard that yo-”

Then Granny Gumbo began to interrupt her by calling out, “Zee!”

Then a lizard jumps onto a desk and squeaks, getting Granny Gumbo’s attention.

“Come on, over here, you bad boy. Give me some love now.” Granny Gumbo said with a smile, offering her hand to Zee. 

Zee got on her hand, nuzzling, as Granny Gumbo gently pets him and said, “You just missed your mama, don’t you?”

Diane, Moe, Herbert, and Webs all look at each other with weird looks.

Granny Gumbo chuckled as she put Zee on her head. Then she looked at Pepe and Lou, smiling at them. “Again, it’s good to see you both again, Pepe and Lou.” she said as she went to a recliner. “How's everything been since we last talked?” 

“Yeah, it has been a while.”  Pepe said, smiling.

“We have been surviving but we’re good.” Lou said with a soft chuckle.

Granny Gumbo sat down in the recliner and laughed warmly, “That’s nice.” 

Diane, Moe, Herbert, and Webs went to Granny Gumbo, who got comfortable in her seat.

“Granny Gumbo… We don’t want to take too much of your time.” Diane said

“You want some candies?” Granny asked, opening her hand to reveal some candies that looked a bit old and could break your teeth if you tried to bite them.

The four look at each other

“No, not really.” Moe and Daine said while Herbert and Webs said, “No, no thank you.”

Granny looked at them and hummed, nodding slowly.

“Well now, that’s too bad.” she started as she took one of the candies, putting the rest away and wiping one of them off the dust before eating it. “This is a special candy. Woulda turn y’all human.”

After hearing that, Moe, Diane, Herbert and Webs’ eyes widened in a panic. “No, no, no, please!” the four said in a panic. “We’ll take it!”

Granny Gumbo just started laughing, like she just pulled a good prank. “I’m just messing with y’all!”

Moe, Diane, Herbert, and Webs sighed in relief after realizing that it was a bit of a joke, laughing a bit and calming down.

Diane smiled at the others as she started “How on earth did you know that we want to turn back-?” 

She was cut off when seeing Granny Gumbo napping in the chair.

“Um… Granny Gumbo?” Herbert asked, tapping her arm a bit with his tail.

Then Granny Gumbo jumped out of her seat, startling the four (again), and ran into a different room, shouting, “Zee! Why didn’t you tell me my gumbo was burnin’?!”

“Gumbo?” Diane asked before smelling air to smell the scent. It was one of her favorite father's cooking when she was a kid (No offense to her mother's or her friends or even her own).

She followed the old lady to the kitchen, seeing her stir a big pot.

“I can’t believe this…” Granny Gumbo grumbled to herself. “Got to do everythin’ around here…”

Diane glanced over to see what was in the gumbo pot before looking at the old woman. “What type of gumbo is it?” Diane asked, checking and inspecting. She's seen many different types of gumbo, so much so though she couldn't identify which one exactly it is.

“It’s a recipe that I made.” Granny Gumbo said, glancing at her as she stirred the gumbo. “You can taste it if you like.”

The old woman pulled one of the nearby drawers to show where the silverware was.

Diane got a spoon out, so she could taste it. She got a spoonful of the gumbo and tasted it. She noticed that it was a bit sour and a bit sweeter than any gumbo she had tasted.

“Well? What do you think?” Granny Gumbo asked, looking at her.

“Hm… Your gumbo is pretty amazing actually unlike anything I have seen since I was child but… add a little cumin, hit the parsley, lemon zest, additional cinnamon, with a mix of Tabasco and red peppers and it'll have a good taste.”

Granny Gumbo hummed and went to a cabinet, looking for the things that Diane suggested.

Zee got the cheese grinder out, for the lemon zest, with his mouth holding onto the handle of it, while Granny Gumbo got the things on the counter.

The others peaked in as Granny Gumbo got the things into the pot and then stirred the food together.

Then she began taking a taste after letting the ingredients mix together.

It tasted better than expected.

Granny Gumbo started to  laugh and exclaim excitedly, “That got some zydin’ to it! I guess that’s what we needed.” 

“No problem.” Diane said with a confused chuckle.

Granny Gumbo chuckled and looked at her. “Now, you figured out what you need?” 

Diane was confused by the question as Webs crawled onto her shoulder while Moe and Herbert walked over to them.

“Uh… Well… It’s just like you said, Granny Gumbo. We need to be human.” Diane said, pointing at herself and then at the others.

Granny Gumbo’s smile faded into a frown and then she gave a loud forced laugh in her face, making the ‘fox’ jump back a bit and bump into the ‘wolf’.

Webs quickly got onto Moe's shoulder after the bump, clinging onto him.

“You are blind to what’s in front of ya!” Granny Gumbo said with sass, pointing at Diane in the chest. 

Diane was confused about what saying and looked at Webs, Moe, and Herbert to see if they understood what she’s saying.

The three of them looked equally confused.

“What’s going on in here?” Pam asked, walking in with Emmlylou, Joy, Rhonda, Ruby, and Mitlon.

“Well the thing is-” Herbert started but was interpreted by Granny Gumbo clearing her throat, which got everyone’s attention.

“You want to be human…” Granny Gumbo started, sounding calm. “But you blind to what you need.”

“What we want, what we need… It’s all the same thing, yes?” Moe asked with a shrug.

Then Granny gave the ‘wolf’ an angry glare before slapping on the back of his head. 

“Ow!” Moe exclaimed a bit in pain, rubbing where he got slapped.

“It’s the same thing? No!” Granny Gumbo shouted at him before walking away, going to the .

“Come on, there has to be something!” Ruby said angrily. “I don’t want my friends to be hurt or dead because of an animal mix up from hunters!”

Granny Gumbo began to think for a moment as she walked to the main room, where there’s a huge open sunroof on the ceiling and some neighbors went over by the rooftops.

“Well I got an answer.” she said, turning a crank of a record player to play music. 

Everyone (except for Pepe, Lou, Milton, and the other guests) were confused of what’s going on.

Granny Gumbo around to look at everyone, chuckling, “You all better to listen to Granny now!”

She set the tone as she hopped back a bit, smiling at them. Then she begins to sing, “Don't matter what you look like!” 

Granny Gumbo summoned a sort of cane as she continued, “Don't matter what you wear! How many rings you got on your finger, we don't care!” She summoned magical rings on her fingers, showing it to the four animals before making the rings disappear.

“No we don't care!” The neighbors (suddenly appeared on the rooftop) singing like the chorus, which startled most of the ‘animals’ again.

Granny Gumbo chuckled softly as she picked up Zee and put him on the floor.

“Don't matter where you come from. It doesn't even matter what you are.” Granny Gumbo sang before snapping her fingers. “A dog, a pig, a cow, a goat! Had 'em all in here!

She turned Zee into different animals as she listed the animals before turning him back to a lizard.

“We had 'em all in here!” The neighbors repeated.

Granny Gumbo chuckled and spun around a bit as she continued, “And they all knew what they wanted, what they wanted me to do. I told 'em what they needed. Just like I be telling you! You got to dig a little deeper! Find out who you are! You got to dig a little deeper! It really ain't that far! When you find out who you are, You'll find out what you need! Blue skies and sunshine guaranteed!”

Granny Gumbo got her magic cane out and did a digging motion.

“You got to dig!” “(dig!)”

“You got to dig!” “(dig!)”

Then Granny Gumbo looked at Moe, Herbert, and Webs. They looked like they were about to step out of the room, like this doesn’t infect them.

The old woman got a crate that was near them, looking down at them while they tried to step out.

“Hey, Mr. Wolfy, Mr. Snakey, and Websy.” Granny Gumbo sang as Moe stepped away with Herbert and Webs. They stopped and looked up at her when she tapped her magic cane.

“Hey!” the three exclaimed as she pulled them back into the spotlight to them.

“You wanna keep on running with your lover? That ain't gonna make you happy now, Did it make you happy then?”

Moe and Webs were about to say something but were cut off by Granny Gumbo shouting “No!”

With the tap of her cane, Granny gumbo begins to use some wind with her magic spinning all around the three of them.

“Running means no stopping! Running means to let go!”

Moe and Herbert held onto each other while Webs clung onto Moe’s suit jacket like her life depended on it.

“All you need is to stop and look around.” Granny Gumbo explained, tapping her cane and the magic wind stopped blowing. “Make yourself a brand new start! You got to dig a little deeper.”

Moe and Herbert let go and looked at each other before starting to laugh while Webs started to slide off the suit jacket and onto the crate, looking at Granny Gumbo in confusion.

The old woman smiles down at her while she hops down from the crate and then points a hand to someone as she explains to her, “Don't have far to go.”

Webs looked to see that Granny Gumbo was pointing at Diane, who was dancing Rhonda.

The ‘fox’ looks happy and beautiful while dancing. 

“You got to dig a little deeper!” 

Webs start to recognize that she did feel different when she was with Diane. She stared at Diane in awe, a small smile and blush a little appeared on her face as she started to realize what Granny was singing.

“Tell the people Granny told you so!” Granny Gumbo chuckled, putting a gentle hand on Webs’ back. “Can't tell you what you'll find, maybe love will grant you peace of mind. Dig a little deeper and you'll know!”

Webs looked up at Granny and nodded to her, showing that she started to understand.

Granny Gumbo chuckled softly as she gently patted Webs’ back before she started to walk over to Diane.

Then Moe gently tapped the crate top, getting Webs’ attention. She looked up at Moe and smiled softly at him. “... Moe, can I ask you something?” Webs asked, walking over to him.

“Sure.” Moe said, offering his paw to her. “You want to talk about something?”

Webs smiles soft and nodded, climbing up his hand and up his arm. “Yeah… The question is this… How do you tell someone that you… like or love them?” the ‘spider’ asked a bit embarrassedly, looking at the ‘wolf’.

“Here are a couple of suggestions. Pick a good time to tell the person how you feel and don’t rush into it. Also be your real self and be the better person that you want to be.” Wolf explained as he looked at Webs, a soft smile on his face.

Webs nodded before looking at Diane again. ‘Maybe I’ll ask her.’ she thought, smiling softly.

Diane stopped dancing when she noticed Granny Gumbo walk over to her.

“Miss Foxy, might I have a word?” Granny Gumbo asked.

“Yes, ma’am.” Diane said, nodding.

“You're a hard one, that's what I heard.” Granny Gumbo chuckled as she took Diane to the kitchen and to the gumbo, while her friends followed them and stood by the doorway.

It shows Diane a memory of her childhood with her parents (the one with them at the potluck).

Diane’s eyes lit up when seeing the memory, smiling softly at it.

“Your father is a loving man. Family through and through. You are your father's daughter. What he had in him you got in you!”

Granny Gumbo patted Diane's back and guided her out of the kitchen by a different door, taking her up the stairs to the rooftop.

“You got to dig a little deeper! For you it's gonna be tough. You gotta dig a little deeper! You ain't dug near far enough! Dig down deep inside yourself, you'll find out what you need!” 

Everyone starts to follow them, very into the song.

… except for Ruby. 

Ruby looked dizzy as she tried to follow everyone but kept on stumbling until she just stopped and leaned on the wall, panting softly while watching everyone go to the next level as the song continued.

“Blue skies and sunshine guaranteed!”

“Open up the windows! Let in the light, children!” Granny Gumbo exclaimed, using her magic to light up the darkness.

“Blue skies and sunshine! Blue skies and sunshine!” Everyone sang happily. 

“Blue skies and sunshine!” Diane sang, a big smile on her face.

“Guaranteed!” Granny Gumbo sang.

Everyone sang and held a long note until the music finished as a grand finale, the magic lights shined bright. 

Everyone started to talk with each other when the music stopped.

Diane had never felt this joyful since New Year's Eve of Y2K.

The neighbors talked with each other as they went back to their homes

Lou and Pepe thought the music was still on but Milton snapped them out of it by tapping their shoulders. “Hey, it’s done.” Milton said to them.

The two looked at him and gave (more of tried) a thumbs up.

Granny Gumbo chuckled softly and looked at Diane as she asked, “So, Ms Foxxy? Do you know what you need?”

Diane nodded excitedly. She didn't know what to say but before she could say anything, a loud crash came from down stairs and a loud scream, “SOMEBODY HELP ME!” 

Everyone jumped and looked at the direction where it came from.

It was Ruby… and she sounded like she was in a lot of pain…

Diane was the first to snap out of the shock. “Oh my- Ruby!” Diane exclaimed worried, rushing over to where Ruby was. 

“Ruby!?” Diane, Pam, Emmily Lou, Joy and Rhonda called out, quickly rushed downstairs to help and see what’s going on.

The other ‘animals’ and Granny Gumbo quickly followed after them.

“Ruby-!” Diane started as she got to the room but she stopped when seeing what was happening to Ruby.

There were different colors spinning around the friend.

Ruby was on the floor, she stopped screaming as different colors spin quickly around her, starting to transform her into an animal.

When the transformation was done, the different color lights were gone and Ruby was a German Shepherd. Ruby panted as she passed out from pain. 

The five friends stared at their passed out friend, processing what happened, as the rest of the others and Granny Gumbo just got into the room.

Before anyone walked over, Ruby let out a groan, “UGH…”

Ruby slowly opened her eyes as she slowly sat up and looked at everyone, confused about what happened. 

“What… happened?” she asked, looking at everyone before looking at herself. Her breathing became heavy and quick, tears peeking at her eyes. “What… What happened to me?” Ruby whimpered, fear in her voice as her ears went back to her head and she looked at her hands that just became paws.

Pam and Granny Gumbo quickly went to her and checked on her.

Ruby looked at both of them, hoping there was an answer to what was happening.

Everyone was worried and wanted an answer for what’s going on too. 

“Is she ok?” Emmy Lou asked, worried.

“Does it look like she is ok?!” Diane snapped angrily at her.  

Emmy Lou looked at Diane, a look of confusion on her face. “I’m just asking if she’s ok! I’m worried for her. We’re all worried!”

Diane froze for a moment and then took in a breath, trying to calm down. “I… sorry about that…” she apologized. 

Then Diane walked out of the room to get herself to calm down.

Moe looked at where Diane went before going after her. “Diane?” he called out to her.

Diane was in the hallway, leaning against the wall. She took a deep breath before looking at him.

“Hey… You ok?” Moe asked, walking over to her.

Diane stared at him for a moment before looking at the ceiling and sighing, “I don’t know what I’m feeling… Mad? Upset? All I know is that the emotion I’m feeling it’s at myself…”

Moe nodded in understanding. “Can't blame ya.” Moe said, shrugging a bit and looking up at the ceiling. “When Herbert, Webs, and I woke up after our transformations, I was mad and upset at myself…”

Diane looked at Moe. “You were?” she asked.

Moe nodded sadly, looking down. “Yeah…”

They pause for a moment, silence filled the air in the hall.

Then Diane started to ask, “How are you so calm?”

“What do you mean?” Moe asked, looking at her again.

“I mean you sometimes calmer in situations.” Diane said

“Well, remember I told you about how I grew up with my mother?” Moe asked with a chuckle.

Diane nodded.

“I was taught to be calm during situations.” Moe explained, a small smile on his face. “Ever since Young age with my mother's guidance but not only that but along with some of my father figures.”

“Father figures?” she asked “I didn't know you had father figures other than your mother?”

“Yeah. It does also make sense on how I act and treat others.”

Diane hummed and nodded.

Then they looked down the hallway at the room where they came from, seeing Herbert slithering over to them.

“Everything ok?” he asked, looking at both of them.

The two ‘canines’ nodded.

“Yea… I feel a bit better now.” Diane said.

“That’s good.” Herbert said before pointing into the other room. “Granny and Pam just finished checking on Ruby. We’re most likely going to have an answer about what’s going on.” 

Diane and Moe nodded before they both followed Herbert back into the room where everyone else was in.

The others were still in the room when they got back in.

Granny Gumbo and Pam finished checking Ruby to see what was going on with her. 

“Oh… this is bad… this is not good…” Granny Gumbo said under her breath, shaking her head.

“What’s wrong?” Pam asked, worried.

“This curse is different from the others… The curse is spreading.” Granny Gumbo answered loudly, turning around to look at everyone.

“What?!” Milton shouted angrily, walking in. “Granny! You said that it wouldn't spread unless it was fresh made contact!”

“She didn't touch any of the water.” Pam said while Ruby said “I didn’t touch the water.”

Granny Gumbo sighed and looked at the ‘animals’. “This curse is acting more like a sickness that can spread like wildfire instead of just  infecting a few people at a time…” the old woman explained, worried in her voice.

Pam’s eyes widened when hearing this, like it reminds her of her studies. “Like a plague…” Pam said, very worried.

Everyone’s eyes widened in shock and worry, unsure of what to say.

The quiet silence filled the room.

“Is there a way to break this curse? Or is there nothing?” Herbert asked, breaking the silence.

Granny Gumbo looked at him before nodding and pointed at Herbert, Moe, Webs, and Diane. “You four, follow me.” she said as she started to leave the room.

As the four began to follow her, Diane looked back at her friends then at Granny Gumbo.

Diane had a lot of things going through her head and it made her worried. ‘Hope everything will be okay and this will all be fixed.’ she thought.

“There’s one way to break this curse.” Granny Gumbo said to them as they walked out of the room and into the kitchen.

They made it to the kitchen, seeing that Zee was helping with the gumbo by watching it and making sure it didn’t burn again.

“And that’s what?” the four ‘animals’ asked together as they watched Granny Gumbo as the old woman got a spoon out, tapped it and made it glow gold.

“Look in the gumbo pot.” Granny Gumbo said as she got to the gumbo pot, putting the spoon into the pot and begins stirring the gumbo

The four ‘animals’ went to the gumbo pot and looked at the gumbo inside as Granny Gumbo started to chant something.

“Gumbo, gumbo in the pot…” Granny chanted as she stirred. “We need answers, show what you got!”

The gumbo shined for a moment before showing Marmalade with Cuddles in a hotel room.

“Huh?” Diane, Moe, Herbert, and Webs asked, confused and looked at Granny Gumbo.

“Just watch the gumbo.” granny said, repeating what she said earlier as she pointed at the pot.

The four ‘animals’ looked back at the pot to watch the scene.

“Everything will be ok.” Marmalade reassured Cuddles.

(But what we don’t-!) Cuddles started to sign but stopped when Marmalade shouted, “We will!”

Cuddles stared at him, worried on his face.

Marmalade took in a breath, calming down, and then smiled softly. 

“Thankfully, I have a plan,” Marmalade said, taking something out of his jacket pocket. It was a voodoo doll.

The voodoo doll looked like Vinny Wolf.

“Once the shadows come back and we get the Wolf’s blood, things will get back on track. You play as Mason Wolf for the wedding.” Marmalade explained, showing him the voodoo doll. Then a dark smile around his face as he said, “After the ‘I do’s, Vinny Wolf will be taken care of.” 

Cuddles look at him, unsure about all this. (Ok, but what about Mary? She will find out that I am not Mason.) Cuddles signed.

Marmalade stared at him before smiling softly at him. “Don’t worry, everything will be ok, Cornelius.” Marmalade reassured him, putting the voodoo doll back in his jacket pocket.

Then Marmalade went to the door, “I’ll be back.” he said to Cuddles, looking at him as he opened the door.

Cuddles nodded.

Marmalade left the room and closed the door before walking down the hallways.

He sighed as he went down the hallway and went into the stairwell.

Marmalade got something else out of his jacket as he went to one of the walls of the stairwell, drawing a door.

When he was done drawing, he snapped his fingers together and the drawn door started to glow before it became a real door. 

The door was a dark purple.

He opened the magic door and entered this new magic room. 

It was a dark room, full of other voodoo dolls that look like they’re from different centuries. In the middle of the room, there was a table. On it were some tarot cards, a candle, a science kit, and a spell book.

Marmalade walked over to the table, flicking his wrist and the candle lit up.

He got the Talisman out, looking at it with his shadow. Marmalade sighed as he looked at the Talisman.

“Come on, now… I’m running out of time, I need more for the harvest- wait…” he said to himself then an idea popped into his head. Then he looked at his shadow with a dark smile before grabbing and opening the magic book.

Marmalade looked at a page with his shadow.

On the page, it showed how to combine a good soul along with a sinister soul.

“Combining two souls, one good and one sinister, it’ll make a bigger soul. That’ll be more than enough for the harvest.” Marmalade said out loud, pointing at the page.

A sinister smile began to form on his face while his shadow nodded.

Then Marmalade looked at his shadow and asked, “Could you get some more of the shadows?”

The four ‘animals’ were shocked and looked at each other then at the gumbo again.

Marmalade’s shadow showed a bit worried by -body- shadow language.

“Don’t worry.” Marmalade reassured the shadow. “It’ll give us a bigger chance.”

Marmalade’s shadow showed calmer and nodded as Marmalade smiled at his shadow.

Then the vision in gumbo faded away and went back to being gumbo.

“This can't be happening…” Moe breathed, worried as he looked at Herbert, Diane, and Webs. “We need to stop this from happening. If he does this, who knows what horrors will happen…”

Herbert, Webs, and Diane nodded. 

Then they looked at each other before looking at Granny Gumbo.

“What should we do?” Diane asked, worry in her voice.

“There is one way to break the curse.” Granny Gumbo said, putting up a finger. “Break the talisman.”

The four ‘animals’ nodded.

“Ok… Break the talisman…” Webs repeated, recapping what was told before asking, “Then what?”

“I’m getting to that.” Granny Gumbo said, looking at her before stirring the gumbo again.

The gumbo glowed again and showed the silhouette form of the talisman.

“You four, or at least one of you, need to break the talisman.” Granny explained, pointing at the silhouette of the talisman “When you do, BOOM!” She tapped on the form and a burst of light shined and then showed everyone’s silhouettes as human in the pot. “The curse will stop and you’ll all turn back to human!”

The four started to smile with excitement but then stopped when Granny held up a hand and added with some worry, “But… if the four of you aren't back being human again after the talisman is broken… then I’ll try and find something else to help.”

The four ‘animals’ looked at each other, worried expressions on their faces.

“Like a kiss or something?” Webs asked, looking back at Granny.

Granny Gumbo stared for a moment before shrugging. “Maybe.”

That didn’t ease their worries.

“We need to go and stop this from happening.” Moe said, looking at the others before starting to leave the room with Webs. “Come on!”

Herbert nodded and followed after them while Moe talked to the others in the other room.

Diane was about to follow them but stopped by Granny Gumbo grabbing her arm.

“Hm? Granny?” Diane asked, confused.

The ‘fox’ tried to shake her arm to get Granny to let go of her, but the old woman had a tight grip on her arm.

Granny looked at Diane, worried in her eyes. “Diane, I need you to be strong when you face Him.” the old woman warned, not letting go of her arm.

“Um… What do you mean?” Diane asked, getting more confused and worried.

“I see two paths when you face him.” Granny Gumbo explained with warning in her voice, still holding her arm. “He gives you a deal, a deal that you can’t refuse. You MUST say no to him.”

“And if he eventually wins then that means…?” Diane asked, starting to get scared.

“Everyone will be nothing but food and play things to his ‘friends’ while he joins them as being a powerful being… along with you…” Granny Gumbo explained before begging, “So, Please… when the time comes, say no to him!”

The ‘fox’ snapped out of the fear and nodded. “I understand. I won’t let you down.” she reassured her.

Granny Gumbo sighs with a small smile as she lets go of Diane’s arm.

Diane looked at her before leaving the kitchen, looking at the other ‘animals’.

They all begin checking everything and getting their things before they leave.

Diane walked over to them, going to Ruby first.

Ruby looked at herself in the mirror, looking at her new form in the reflection. She looked like she was close to crying, whimpering a bit as her ears went back to her head.

Diane went over to her and asked, “Hey, you ok?”

Ruby looked at Diane and shrugged. “I don’t know…” she replied, holding her hands close to herself.

“Everything will be ok.” Diane reassures her.

“But what if I never-” Ruby started, sounding panicked, but was cut off as Diane held her hands to get her attention and interrupted, “You will go back to being human again, along with everyone else. I promise.”

“That’s right.” Pam said.

Ruby and Diane looked over to see Pam, Emmy Lou, Joy, and Rhonda nodding in agreement.

Ruby started to calm down before hugging Diane, who hugged her back.

Meanwhile, Webs was on a table as she looked at Daine with her friends. She sighed softly and hugged herself.

“Webs?” Milton asked with a blank around his face

Webs look up to see Milton walk over to her. He had a satchel bag full of something. 

“You ok?” Milton asked when he got to her.

“Hm? Oh, I’m ok.” Webs said, trying to sound reassuring.

Milton raised an eyebrow and gave her a look. “Come on, I know you. Something is on your mind.” he said.

“It's just…” Webs started, trying to get out what she wants to say. “I’m just thinking… of asking someone out… It’s stupid…”

Milton hummed softly, nodding. Then he noticed the others starting to leave. 

“How about you tell me while we leave?” Milton asked, looking back at Webs.

Webs nodded.

Then she looked at that satchel bag. “What’s in the bag?” she asked, pointing at the bag

“Some light. Just in case those Shadows come out and attack.” Milton said, adjusting the satchel bag on his shoulder.

Webs hummed and nodded. 

Milton smiled softly and offered his hand to her, so she could crawl up.

She got on his hand and crawled up his arm.

Milton started to walk as Webs explain, “It's just… being on the run for so long and just going from place to place, barely stopping. I just… I’m also scared she would say ‘no’… after everything.”

Milton hummed softly and nodded as he continued to walk. “Well… you can still ask her to see if she wants to. It’s good to ask.” he reassured, smiling softly at her as they got outside.

Thank you.” Webs said, smiling back before then realized something. Then she looked at him and asked, “Wait… how did you and Diane’s friends get here?” 

Milton got quiet for a moment before laughing softly. “Well… It's a long story. A complicated one, but…to cut it short, we got here by a yacht that Emmly Lou owns.” Milton said

Webs hummed and nodded. “Interesting.” 

Milton nodded with a chuckle. “Yeah, but anyways, you got this. Ask her.” he said as he continued to walk.

Webs nodded a bit before looking at where Diane was, who was talking to Pam and Ruby for a bit.

Webs couldn’t help but smile at her. ‘Got to dig deeper and tell her.’ she thought, chuckling softly.

▪▪▪

Author’s Notes: Just to explain, Granny is older and she doesn’t always remember the right things. Like the witch from Brave; she forgot the bit of the spell when Merida left but then remembers sometime later.

[plothooksinc]

For the WIP meme: 🗣️ 📄 ❔ 🤔

🗣️Talk about your favourite WIP

This is actually super hard. Like I love all my WIPs! (Nobody ask me which WIP I hate b/c the answer is "lol none"). Picking a favourite... well, Infinite Ricochet is the easiest to write currently and I'm looking forward to making readers scream dropping the actual plot, but.

But.

I just finished a reread of The Zaibatsu Project and honestly, cyberpunk samurai? I have so much going on in this and I'm proud of myself for taking a bunch of 19th century characters and going "nope you're all from 2029 now" and realising just how much plot I had on the go and that, actually, the last chapter I put up wasn't so terrible or poorly received after all (and I'm struggling to work out why I ever thought that.) It reminded me where I was going with it and I am very encouraged, and it is by far my most ambitious WIP and if Watsuki hadn't taken a sledgehammer to everyone's motivation to do anything with the Ruroken fandom I might actually write this a lot faster than, uh, one chapter every three years '_' Anyway, yes. Cyberpunk samurai, choc full of The Cure references, chess references, and conspiracy theories that drove people nuts on LJ back in the day back when I was writing it in serial installments. <3

📄What’s a WIP you never finished that you would like to go back and revisit?

All of them. But as I've been asked this one multiple times, let's go with Snowblind. It's the closest to being finished out of all of them, and the last time I updated I got a reviewer in her 70s going "Please don't take another 13 years to update, I probably wont' be here to read it," sob. So I whittle away some time on this one. (On them all, actually. While I'm focused mostly on Infinite Ricochet, I have indeed written 1-2 pages on everything else on my way through.)

❔Choose a random WIP and talk about it.

Infinite Ricochet, unlike its predecessor, is a sprawling take-your-time fic wherein there is a plot and I'm slowly going to keep ratcheting up the tension until people are screaming on the rollercoaster all the way down, but I wanna take time to explore relationships along the way. Like I set up certain dynamics in NRFTW that I want to play with. Literally reconstructed one of the main characters. Gave them all even more trauma! I sort of left off with one open plot thread on NRFTW deliberately which could have been left open ended, but then I thought of a bunch of other stuff and went "...hey, what if." And it's messy. It's so messy here at the start because I'm trying to lay the foundations for everything that comes later, and there's a lot that comes later. So sometimes I'm like "...is this scene really necessary" but also "no I can't jump straight to the plot because pacing let's let them breathe first" but also "oh god, the characters are talking again and I can't get them to shut up." And then trying to get from these personality/foundation-laying scenes to pick up speed with actual plot relevant stuff is surprisingly hard?

My outline for Infinite Ricochet is 8000 words long. And it's only two thirds of the fic, because at that point I went "...and by the time I get to this point the plot will look entirely different" so I stopped. Safe to say I have a lot planned. And if I can get it to work I (and hopefully everyone else) will have so much fun (for a given definition of fun), but it feels a little right now like trying to herd cats so. Wish me luck. 8|

🤔Do you have an WIPs where you wish you had chosen a different fandom/character?

Nope! I'm not a hugely prolific writer, so any time I do start publishing a fic I've already thought long and hard about my choices. Places, everyone.

Thank you!

WIP meme questions here.

[izzy-stradlins-harem]

Okay, so ... I wrote the best ask and then my phone died and I lost all of it. Damn! (Pay attention! Wake up! Stop drooling!)

I cannot ask anonymously for whatever reason. (Shells says it's turned on, but maybe I have to be a mutual in order to ask anonymously or something?) So, it would mean a lot to me if the harem sisters (or bros) would not reblog this and let it remain in the harem. Thank you so much, friends. ☺️🩷😆

So here goes.

I've never thought about guys' balls before. I mean, they're just there, you know? And the hope is they're not funky.

But when it comes to Izzy, I would gladly teabag the hell out of those balls and enjoy every damn second of it. I know he's enjoyed some hot tea before ... so I'd teabag 'em while he drank some hot tea for breakfast. I don't know what he likes when it comes to his balls, but I would fondle, kiss, cup, lick, or suck the hell out of them.

Yes - I'm sick. Very sick.

Am I the only woman who thinks about Izzy's balls and wants to see them, touch them, and put them in her mouth? Am I the only woman who sees Izzy's package and thinks his balls are probably big? Am I the only woman who is so nasty that I'd put them in my mouth after he got done boogie boarding and skateboarding and was a sweaty mess? Or came offstage - drenched and funky - after wearing super tight nuthuggers?

Am I the only woman who somehow, instinctually or anthropologically speaking, in the back of my mind, somewhere in the deep recesses, must think big balls equals virile or masculine or horny, or like, 'This man must have more testosterone or a higher sex drive than other men'? 'This man must have huge balls full cum that needs to be shot all over me or deposited inside me?

On a scale of 1 - 10, with 10 being the most sick, dirty, disgusting, 2.00 crackwhore that actually enjoys her job - how sick am I?

If I wrote a fic, I would be the raunchiest, nastiest female fic writer in the business. I'd be transferred to one of those insane asylums they used to put women in back in the 18th and 19th centuries. They would reopen them for me.

Okay, it's settled. I will write a disgusting fic based off of this ask. But you might never see it or read it. Because I might be banned for indecent speech, and impure, demented thoughts. It's probably catching, you know.

Oh honey...

I think we have drawn very different lines according to our beliefs on perversion.

I would get down on my knees and happily suck a pair of sweaty funky balls if Izzy said it was my ticket to getting to look at his. Let alone how I would fuck that old man up if I got my twisted debauched hands on him.

I would ruin him. I promise that this girl would show him some tricks his old rockstar ass has never even dreamed of.

Then we could also get into all the things I would let him do to me. I have a list of kinks longer than I am tall (5'10") and therapists who can't help me 😜😈

So no I think you are very healthy in your desires and express them admirably.

Anyone else want to weigh in? Let's start a convo.

[thiswaycomessomethingwicked]

I know it is only anybodys guessing really, and I truly do not want to sound like 'the historian' but you would go as far as calling these relationships of napoleon 'homoerotic'? Why? Couldn't it be the case of him having just very warm attitude and be close to his friends like that?

Again nothing against it, but I needed to ask since I as well am the person to get alike towards my close friends and I don't feel it having any attraction undertones.

Thank you for the ask! As usual for me, my response got really long.

I mean correct! It’s literally anyone’s guess. Who knows? Certainly not me! Certainly no one who is alive right now!

I’m just a queer on the internet having fun who sees Napoleon and goes "ah yes, a chaotic bisexual even though the concept of modern sexual identity wasn't a thing in his time etc. etc. [insert all the other usual disclaimers required on this webbedsite]" so that's why.

[How do I know he’s a chaotic bi? Well, it’s very simple, he couldn’t sit properly in a chair, liked to sit on his secretaries’ laps, pull their ears, and tell them Fun Facts he learned that day, and wanted to make the tsar of Russia his mistress. He also dearly loved Josephine and wrote about how he liked going down on her. This is clear proof that he was a chaotic bi king and we should be so lucky to know this about him. ;)]

I'm also a writer who likes to slap a queer lens onto most things because that's how I role and I'm very unapologetic about it. Which most people who follow me know.

I’m also someone who has incredibly deep, intimate friendships with a close selection of people in my life that are not romantic/sexual or whatever in their nature—but they are incredibly intimate. They are friendships where partners of my friends have been jealous and insecure because of how close we are—which is a them problem, not an us problem.

I would go so far as to argue that friends are more likely to slot into that problematic category of “soulmate” than anyone romantic (ymmv). And from the outside, I’m sure people might read my friendships with a few people (have read them, in fact) as romantic/homoerotic and frankly I don’t care. Whatever. I know what my friendships are, why does it matter what other people read them as? More to the point, why does it matter that someone reads a dead person’s friendships as homo-something? How does that impact my friendships which may, or may not, mirror that dead person’s friendships? Who cares? One should love one’s friends however one wishes to. Fuck everything else.

--

In an effort to avoid the Great Queer Napoleon Discourse War of 2013-14 I shall include a disclaimer because hot damn do people get REALLY uppity about this: I’m a writer, first and foremost in all things. I’m not a historian. As noted above, I’m a queer fag on the internet having fun. Take what I say with a grain of salt.

(Honestly, doing anything with Napoleon’s sexuality aside from He Was the Straightest Straight Who Ever Straighted, gets everyone’s hackles raised. I think that says more about those with hackles up than it does the person going: maybe he might have had a bit of a queerness about him, it’s not implausible.)

--

Some general stuff on Napoleon & That Doesn’t Seem Entirely Straight, Even For the 18th and 19th Century:

From Cronin’s biography on Napoleon:

“Napoleon found that his friendships with men often began with physical attraction, and this took a curious form. ‘He told me,’ says Caulcaincourt, ‘…that for him the heart was not the organ of sentiment; that he felt emotions only where most men experience feelings of a different kind; nothing in the heart, everything in the loins and in another place, which I leave nameless.’ 

The feeling Napoleon described as ‘a sort of painful tingling, a nervous irritability…the squeaking of a saw sometimes gives me the same sensation’.”

In addition, Talleyrand speculated Napoleon and Bourienne were, uh, intimate in all senses of the word. Talleyrand, of course, well—one should treat his hot takes with some caution.

There is also the (in)famous letter Napoleon wrote to Josephine about Alexander where he said that he and Alexander were inordinately pleased with one another and if the tsar were a woman, he’d take Alexander as his mistress (Napoleon, honey, don’t write that to your wife).

I mean, do what you want with that. Take it for what it’s worth /shrug

---

Of the three friendships under discussion: Lannes, Duroc, Junot—I always read Lannes and Napoleon’s friendship as just friendship. Duroc and Junot though. That’s where we start getting into arguments for a homoerotic friendship—or romantic friendship, if one prefers that term.

I’ll do a little ramble for each, because they all deserve it.

Lannes

Napoleon’s friendship with Lannes was intimate, close, and they loved each other dearly—but as said, I always read them as friends. Even if they lived today and were free/able to be whatever they wanted to be to one another, it’d still just be friendship.

People did make Achilles/Patroclus references to them—particularly around Lannes’ death—but that was the mode of how people spoke back then. It’s the 19th century version of comparing everything to LOTR or Harry Potter (read another classical epic people, jeez).

Their friendship was volatile for sure—these are two hot headed, strong minded, opinionated men who were not afraid to snap and snarl at one another—but at the end of the day I do not doubt their love for each other. But it’s what we would term a platonic love.  

Brian Martin writes this in Napoleonic Friendship: Military Fraternity, Intimacy, and Sexuality in Nineteenth-century France:

Napoleon’s grief for Marshal Lannes took on the very public character of open lamentation. Rather than grieve behind closed doors and conceal his personal vulnerabilities in order to show public strength, Napoleon’s mourning for his beloved friend became a matter of great public spectacle. Like Achilles mourning his beloved Patroclus, Napoleon wept publicly and openly expressed his affection in a way that was widely reported, discussed, and admired by the officers and soldiers in his armies.

[…]

Napoleon’s public grief at the death of Jean Lannes represented a new model for social relations between soldiers in the early nineteenth-century France. weeping over his friend’s broken body, Napoleon demonstrated how the revolution and empire had made it possible not only for an emperor to grieve openly for a fallen marshal, but for a soldier to love his comrade. This uncharacteristic expression of affection between Napoleon and Lannes was echoes in similar relationships between officers and foot soldiers in Napoleon’s armies. Military memories of the first empire bear witness to a wide range of intimate relationships among generals, colonels, and captains as well as sergeants, corporals, and grunts (grognards), the infantry soldiers who made up the majority of the imperial armies. Napoleon’s love for Lannes might thus be said to represent a broad spectrum of masculine affection and intimacy in the ranks of the Grande Armée, or what could be called Napoleonic friendship.

So yeah, I’ve not much more to say on them. Their friendship was loving, affectionate, intimate, and complex. Lannes could be frustrated with Napoleon (often was, the longer Napoleon remained in power—because Lannes loved Bonaparte not the emperor), but Lannes loved his friend and Napoleon loved Lannes. But my read on them has always been that it was what we would term platonic.

------

Junot

This one is messy. Because Junot and Napoleon are messy people. I also think this one is the strongest case for “something more than friendship”. I personally believe Junot loved Napoleon in a deep, phenomenal, possibly obsessive fashion that absolutely was romantic—maybe sexual/erotic—and Napoleon for a time may have returned at least some of those feelings. Then it all went south.

I’m ripping a lot of this from a previous ask I received about Junot—since it covered a lot of the more romantic aspects of his and Napoleon’s relationship.

Junot and Napoleon were close friends when they were in their 20s. Incredibly close. Laure Junot, whose memoires one should treat cautiously, intimated that there was more than just friendship between them at this point. But if that is the case, we’ll never know for certain.

Brian Martin sums it up well (and saves me from having to dig out my copy of Laure’s memoir):

Soon after his imprisonment, Napoleon was released and exonerated, but with little money and no desire to take on a new military post in Brittany, he returned to Paris where, as Laure Junot explains, he lived with his comrade Junot and depended on his friend’s emotional and financial support … The 1794 letter from Toulon initiates a half-year period in the lives of the twenty-five-year-old Bonaparte and twenty-three-year-old Junot when … these ambitious young men relied on each other during their impecunious days in Paris. Describing how Junot “loved Bonaparte as one loves at the age” (1: 188), Laure Junot implies that the young Jean-Andoche developed an adolescent crush on Napoleon, as the two young men grew in intimacy.

[…]

Laure Junot tactfully observes many years later that it was difficult to assess the nature of these friendships [with Duroc and Junot] without offending their masculinity: “These are the very profound and abstract mysteries of the human heart. It is difficult to explain them without first wounding a man’s dignity” (11: 131).

In relegating Napoleon’s military relationships to the realm of the mysteries, Laure Junot defines Napoleonic friendship — long before “the love that dare not speak its name” was articulated by Lord Alfred Douglas in 1894 and invoked at Oscar Wilde’s trial in 1895 —as an enigmatic and unspeakable love incapable of being articulated without shaming a soldier’s manhood. Amid such ambiguity, it is unclear if such “mysteries” encompass both the emotional and the erotic. What is clearer is that Napoleon and Junot shared a degree of affection during their youth in Paris that was undeniably intimate.

As Napoleon climbed up the greasy pole, the power dynamic changed and expectations of interpersonal relationships became more formal putting a strain on his and Junot’s friendship. Junot, like many who knew Napoleon from the early days, loved Bonaparte, not the emperor. As Laure put it in her memoire: “Now let me explain the sadness and pain which afflicted Junot on learning that Napoleon was no longer his General Bonaparte of Toulon. Perhaps the affair simply followed a natural decline. But Junot … did not see it this way. He wanted reciprocity, which he craved even more as his own affectionate fantasies increased … He loved the man, not the emperor.”

In 1800, Napoleon named Junot Commandant of Paris on the condition that he marry because, it seems, there were too many rumours flying around about the two of them. (As noted above, Talleyrand was already making some “huh. Interesting closeness, there” comments about Napoleon.) Dutifully, Junot married Laure.

Junot always exhibited some signs of mental illness throughout his life and at one point he received a head wound (I forget which battle) that massively exacerbated whatever existing mental health troubles he had. (And note that this was one of many wounds - nor was it his first head wound. It’s just the one people in his own life pointed to as a moment of change.)

Junot had jealous and possessive tendencies, something that drove Napoleon a little batty, and they got worse. While Junot was in Portugal, and later Spain, he wrote Napoleon a series of desperate letters begging him to reappoint Junot as his aid-de-camp. We unfortunately don’t have these letters anymore, Napoleon was notoriously secretive and private when it came to personal correspondence and had a habit of burning lots of it. However, we do have Laure’s account of Napoleon’s reception of Junot’s pleading. Laure writes:

"Look here, Madame, what your husband writes to me!’ said the Emperor, ‘Read this and tell me if he sends you such letters."

I read these letters, and this caused me some pain: my husband sent me affectionate missives, but never in the tone of a lover; here were letters that resembled those between Julie and Saint-Preux, or those of the Portuguese nun.*

Napoleon then goes on and says:

“In admitting that Junot loves me more than anything in the world … [he demonstrates] that he does not love me more than his own ambition”

To which Laure replies:

“He loves you, Sire, more than all the honours that you can give, more than your crown, more than me perhaps, for it was pride that made me say the contrary just now, perhaps even more than his children!”

-

*Note: She’s referencing Guilleragues’s Portuguese Letters (1669) and Rousseau’s Julie or the New Héloïse (1761)

Also, as I said above, treat Laure’s accounts cautiously. As with all memoirs, she is positioning certain scenes with a purpose and some things are downplayed, or exaggerated, accordingly.

-

In 1813, Napoleon dismissed Junot from military duty and sent him off to be governor of Illyria which Junot, rightly or wrongly, saw as a form of exile. During his ambassadorship he famously entered a ballroom wearing nothing but his epaulettes and his medals. [above para' edited per conversation in the notes]

Brian Martin:

While one could blame Junot’s naked diplomacy on his progressive dementia, his shocking entrance can also be seen as a kind of buff rebuff to Napoleon. After a lifetime fighting for Bonaparte, watching shrapnel rip into young men’s bodies, leading thousands of soldiers to their deaths, and suffering twenty-seven wounds* of his own, Junot offered his own ravaged body as a hideous and spectacular product of Napoleon’s violence.

-

*Note: Junot says he had 17 wounds, not sure where Martin got 27 - unless there were wounds Junot wasn’t counting.

-

After this incident, Junot was swiftly recalled back to France where he soon after died by suicide.

In his final letter to Napoleon he wrote:

“I who love you with the affection of a savage for the sun, I who am entirely yours. Well then: this eternal war that we must fight for you, I want no more of! I want peace! I want finally to repose my tired head, my sore limbs … to enjoy that which I earned … with my blood! The blood of an honest man, of a good Frenchman, of a true patriot. I therefore ask, at last, for that tranquillity that I earned through twenty-two years of effective service and seventeen wounds from which my blood has flowed for my country, and for your glory.” (emphasis in original)

After Junot’s death, Napoleon ordered that Junot’s personal papers be seized and destroyed as he was afraid their personal correspondence might make its way to a public forum.

So yeah, Junot’s love for Napoleon was definitely on the romantic side, I would say. Because Napoleon burned all their correspondence we don’t know what he sent in reply to Junot—especially in the early days of their relationship. I suspect it was intimate and possibly in line with what Junot continued to send him throughout their life and like hell did Napoleon want that escaping to the public.

Anyway—Junot and Napoleon, I would argue definitely had some homoerotic/romantic undertones and such to their friendship. I think it was mutual in their 20s then Napoleon’s feelings retreated to more platonic but Junot’s never changed.

It just man, gives me strong flashbacks to when I was a teenager and one of my best friends at the time  declared herself my soulmate and carved my initials into her arm and left me a million and a half messages on the home answering machine and said that I was cold like Napoleon and she loved me for it etc. etc.

When I look at Junot and Napoleon I see myself and my old friend in all that glory of the strange complexities of young, intensely emotional and intimate friendships that absolutely blur the line into romantic/erotic.

------

Duroc

Ah sweet Duroc! Duroc who regularly compared himself to Junot in terms of his relationship to Napoleon.

Duroc to Laure Junot in May of 1813:  “Poor Junot! It’s that he’s like me! The Emperor’s friendship is our whole life.”

And again, this is from Laure’s memoirs:

‘Junot and some others,’ Duroc said to me, ‘misjudge me and misjudge my position as well. The Emperor would disgrace me if he made me a marshal of France. What would I do away from him? No doubt it’s a great honor; but my attachment to him, how could it not be affected by that distance? I love the Emperor as Junot loves him. And isn’t he going to choose the post of first aide-de-camp instead of that of governor of Paris? So why judge me otherwise!’

-

Duroc’s a hard one to pin down because he was such an exemplary marshal of the palace, in addition he left us no diaries or memoirs so we have the word of others and what survived of his letters, little else to go on.

However, I think it telling that Duroc compared himself to regularly to Junot—who everyone was aware of how he felt about Napoleon—and that Junot was so jealous of Duroc. That Junot saw Duroc as a rival for Napoleon’s affection and love but not Lannes tells me that clearly Junot could see the similarity of what Duroc and Napoleon had to what he and Napoleon may have once had but didn’t anymore. And, that Lannes was different. It was a different relationship and one that Junot didn’t find threatening.

It's also worth nothing that Duroc was the only one of Napoleon’s officers, aside from Lannes, who was allowed to use tu with Napoleon. Las Cases writes: “I’ve heard the Emperor say that in all of his military career, Duroc alone possessed his blind confidence and received all his affection … Duroc loved the Emperor for himself; he was devoted most of all to the private man, even more than to the monarch”

Duroc’s role as marshal of the palace also put him in an interesting position as a sort of quasi-wife to Napoleon. The role he played was very much a “wife” role—Cronin summarizes Duroc’s duties thus:

"Napoleon was struck by Duroc’s sweet nature, his beautiful manners and the patience which he himself lacked. So he employed his friend as a diplomat and when he became Emperor chose him to run the household and court. […] He had his hands full ensuring that the grocer did not overcharge for the Chambertin, since Napoleon would be sure to notice, and, as Napoleon put on weight, tactfully persuading the Imperial Tailor not to make new clothes but to let out the old ones a couple of inches. He also had to make peace when Napoleon lost his temper: pushing over the table, for example, when he saw crépinettes of partridge. He did this admirably, because he was devoted to Napoleon. Many a time, when the Emperor had hurt a visitor with a sharp word, Duroc would murmur on the way out: ‘Forget it. He says what he feels, not what he thinks, and not what he’ll do tomorrow.’"

No one else of Napoleon’s intimate friends really takes on that wifely role—even after Duroc’s death. Bertrand has the same role, Marshal of the Palace, and he was damn good at his job, just as Duroc was, but there was a difference in their relationship and Bertrand doesn’t read as so close and devoted on a marital level to Napoleon. Not that Bertrand didn’t love Napoleon, he did, gods know he did, but it was more in line with Lannes than Duroc or Junot.

Napoleon describes Duroc to Las Cases:

‘Duroc,’ concluded he, ‘had lively, tender, and concealed passions, little corresponding with the coldness of his manner. It was long before I knew this, so exact and regular was his service. It was not until my day was entirely closed and finished, and I was enjoying repose, that Duroc’s work begun. Chance, or by some accident, could alone have made me acquainted with his character. He was a pure and virtuous man, utterly disinterested, and extremely generous.’

[…]

When he [Napoleon] went to see Duroc, after he had received his mortal wound, he attempted to hold out some hopes to him; but Duroc, who did not deceive himself, only replied by begging [Napoleon] to make them give him opium. …

After this recollection, the emperor, with an apparent effort, began abruptly to talk of something else.

I believe that Napoleon and Duroc were able to see each other’s interiority in a way that few others were able to and that formed the basis for their affection, love and friendship.

Duroc’s letters to Napoleon, anytime they were apart, are also more intense than usual. Plenty of Napoleon’s friends wrote about wanting to be by his side when they were sent off on diplomatic missions or what have you. But Duroc’s express a particularly intense form of devotion:

Duroc to Napoleon, May 29, 1801:

I am waiting to leave, Citizen Consul, until I receive a response to the letters that I had the honor to write you, unless the circumstances or the letters I receive from Paris let me judge that I can leave earlier. I beg you to remember that I am eight hundred leagues from you and, although I’ve been well-received here, I am never better than when I am near you. (Emphasis in the original)

Duroc to Napoleon, July 7, 1801:

I have sought to conduct myself here, Citizen Consul, in a manner that would satisfy you. I am well-regarded and thought highly of everywhere because I belong to you particularly, but I will not be happy until I’m sure that I deserve your approval. I am waiting to set my departure until I know that you’ve received the letter that I had the honor to write you and that I sent with Captain Leclerc. I very much want to find myself near you as soon as possible. (Emphasis in the original)

When Napoleon offered to have Hortense marry Duroc, Napoleon’s proposition was that Duroc would receive five hundred thousand francs and be named commandant of the 8th military division and would be stationed in Toulon (Napoleon was against having a son-in-law in the house).

When the proposition was passed on to Duroc he turned it down because he didn’t want to be sent away from Napoleon’s side and if marriage meant being apart, he didn’t want it, even though from all accounts he was quite fond of Hortense (and she was fond of him).

Later, when Napoleon was having to negotiate his name in exile he said to Barry O’Meara:

“The name of General Bonaparte was the one which I bore at Campo Formio and at Lunneville, when I dictated terms of peace with the Emperor of Austria. I bore it at Amiens when I signed the peace with England. I should be proud to bear it still, but the honour of France forbids me to acknowledge the right of the King of England to annul the acts of the French people. My intention was to take the name of Duroc.”

But he felt he had to keep Emperor Napoleon in order to Make A statement.

In another account, I forget to who, he repeated his intent to have taken on Duroc’s name in exile in order to be a little more incognito/not draw attention to himself, but because England refused to acknowledge that he had been emperor he was like “fuck that, I’m going to insist on being called emperor”. So, had England not been like “you were never emperor” it’s possible Napoleon would have taken Duroc’s surname as his own.

How very married of them.

------

Apologies for the long reply. Not sure this will really answer anything, but it's an amalgamation of my thoughts.

Junot is the clearest of the homo-something friendship between Napoleon and another man. Like, I think that's a tough one to read as anything other than a messy break up. Which is why, when we were all nattering on about queering Napoleon in film yesterday, I focused so much on Junot over the others.

But same sex intimacy, even in Just Friends, can have homo-something undertones to it. Friendships can be complex, multilayered and include some romantic and erotic aspects to them. This doesn't mean those friendships are Romantic Relationships as we think of them, but if there's a romantic tinge to it, or a strong homoerotic tinge to it, then why not explore it? See where it takes the story or the interpretation and undestanding of the person and their actions. Maybe it'll go no where useful, maybe it will. Only one way to find out.

Thank you for the ask!

[a-world-of-whimsy-5]

For the Vampire au

Can you do (trick) for vampFinrod x reader

With prompt "Why are you impressed? You should be terrified."

Not dark please and thank you

"Revelation"

Pairing: Vampire! Finrod x Reader (Guest of Finrod / Second person POV)

Location and time: 19th century England

Prompt : 6 - " Why are you impressed? You should be terrified."

Themes: Angst-ish | Happy ending

Warnings: Vampirism

Wordcount: 1000+ words

Summary:

Minors DNI | You are responsible for the media you consume

A/n: this is for the @fellowshipofthefics October challenge. Two more slots are available for requests, but prompts 4 and 6 (for Vampire! Manwë and Vampire! Finrod) are out. The rules and prompts for requests can be read here.

Divider by @firefly-graphics

Finrod's study was a dimly lit sea of wonders, full of ancient treasures. There was an impressive tapestry covering the expanse of one wall. A dark but mighty beast lay on the ground. Above it, a magnificent white horse reared, its rider bringing down their sword to deliver the killing blow. You could not help but walk up to it and admire the scene portrayed in centuries-old wool.

The tapestry was always there whenever you called on your mentor of an evening, but you never thought to observe its beauty so closely till now.

“Ahh! I see you have found the Demon of the Island."

You shivered. “Was that its name?”

“That and worse.” Finrod appeared by your shoulder without even making a sound. It was as if he moved without even stirring the air around him. You startled. “My ancestor slayed it many a century ago and was richly rewarded for it.”

You turned to face him and gave him a measured look. “What happened?”

“A werewolf happened. That was what the beast was. A werewolf.” Finrod walked over to a chest of drawers by the window and picked up a crystal decanter full of clear, amber liquid. He offered you a glass. You refused. “He terrorized the good people of Tol-in-Gaurhoth for months before my ancestor brought it to heel.”

“Your ancestor slayed him?” You looked at the tapestry again. The warrior was exceedingly fair to look upon, and his hair fell free about his shoulders like molten gold. His eyes were a vivid cornflower blue. They also looked familiar. Too familiar. You study it even more, taking in the warrior’s countenance, the shape of his eyes, his lips. Finrod’s own was a replica of them all.

It is as if I am staring at the same person. 

“Indeed.” Finrod moved to sit by a large fireplace, and invited you to join him. “Lord Edennil was the only warrior who challenged the creature and lived to talk of it.”

“Edennil?” Fear slowly bloomed and surged just beneath your skin, prompting you to stop mid-stride. “Is that not one of your names, sir?”

It was Finrod’s turn to startle, but he quickly regained his composure. “I do not know what you mean, y/n.”

“Yes, you do.” You continued with growing alarm after stealing another glance at the tapestry. The hair, the sword, and the demeanor all screamed of him. “Edennil. It was what that stranger called you when they stopped by your door two nights ago. I know of that word. My governess taught me. It means friend of men.”

Finrod took a step toward you, his eyes widening in shock. “That visit was in the dead of night! How did you even know of it?”

“I was in the library searching for a book.” You took a step back and looked for the doors. They were near, but if Finrod was not what he appeared to be, a mild-mannered wealthy nobleman from a foreign land, would you have time to make it to the doors and the outside world? “And that warrior looks like you in every way. Is it you, sir? Are you the warrior in that tapestry?"

Finrod blanched.

“What are you, sir?” You demanded and took a another step toward the doors. “The truth, now. All of it. That is all I ask.”

The nobleman made no move to come near you. He stood where he was, his eyes full of gloom, and said, “Yes. Yes. I am the warrior in the tapestry. Is that what you wanted to hear? I slayed the werewolf. All of that was my doing.”

“And your late-night visitor?”

“A fellow warrior met by chance on the road. He stood beside me, shoulder to shoulder, as we fought the beast and its minions. Beren was badly wounded, and I…I saved his life. He has been a faithful friend since then.”

“That is all well and good, but it still does not answer my question.”

“Which is?”

“What are you?”

Finrod sighed in defeat. “I suppose my secret would come into the light sooner or later. Very well. You desire to know the real me. Well, this is the real me, y/n.”

He hissed like a large, wild cat and bared his teeth. Pearly white fangs glistened in the light of the fire. You took a step toward him, curious despite your fear.

A vampire. My host is a vampire. After so many years of us writing letters and him teaching me music, I remained in the dark until now.

“Most impressive,” you declared after your curiosity had been satisfied.

"Why are you impressed?” Finrod sputtered in disbelief. “You should be terrified."

“Should I be terrified?”

“No. I would never harm you, y/n.” He went back to his place by the fire. “But I cannot let you go, either. Not when you know what I am.”

Can I blame him for wanting to shield himself from the judgment and fear of others? And perhaps living with him may not be so terrible, after all. I could learn so much from him.

“Then... Then perhaps I can make myself useful to you,” you offered. “You rarely go out during the day because—"

"Sunlight weakens my constitution," he supplied.

"I see." It certainly provided more clarity and explained some of his strange behavior, like the thick curtains that were always drawn together during lessons in his music room. "I could run errands for you. See to any visitors that come calling during that time. Mind the house and the servants for you while you rest.”

Finrod regarded you with suspicion. “Is this a trick?”

“No, sir,” you told him. “I give you my word that it is not.”

He turned away and took his time to consider your proposal. Finally, after what seemed like an age, he said, “There will be a ceremony binding you and me as master and familiar. No harm will come to you, but this ritual is necessary. Do you understand?”

You nodded and wondered what this ceremony would entail and what you would have to dress. “I accept.”

“Good. Now come, join me by the fire.” Finrod smiled mildly. “I have much to tell you about me and my strange life."

[bisexualgirlie]

Hii)) can I request?? William James Moriarty x fem. dazai (reader). How they meet each other and how he react when he realized that he fall in love with fem! Dazai. Also what was his reaction when he founds that dazai(reader) was the well known port mafia member??

Your wish is my command! Although I'm a bit confused but I'll make it worth! (Also this is still in the 19th century, also I'll make reader a bit more kind and caring)

(also thank you for the request! I really need some)

Key word with '(hi)' is author's note

William James moriarty x gn!dazai reader

You inhaled a sigh as the warm air of tea filled your nose, you were casually eating at the cake shop. At some point you were lost in your thoughts dreaming about suicide, and how you could stab the fork you're using to your heart, but. You thought again that it would hurt you and it would be no good so you just sighed ignoring the thought.

You were now looking at the window and you saw a young man about the age of 20 stepping on a child and hitting her, you thought, is she an orphan perhaps? It was not a good sight. So you decided to step in, you rose up from your seat and paid, you hurriedly ran exiting the bakery. Once you've reach the front of the bakery you cough a little to gain their attention.

“it's a bit rude hitting a little girl Infront of the bakery is it? It's pathetic to see such thing! Would you please kindly leave that child pretty boy?~” you kindly asked your deep-like honey voice coating your venomous words. You stepped in front of the child, protecting her. “huh? Who are you to tell me such things! Do you know who I am? Leave us wretched woman!” you gasped in disbelief as the man grabbed your wrist. You were about to punch him until a man stepped in.

He steps Infront of you and the little girl. “that's not a proper attitude Infront of a lady, baron asshat”(iykyk the reference(⁠ ͡⁠°⁠ ͜⁠ʖ⁠ ͡⁠°⁠)is actually from eminence in shadow) said the man with a smile on his face. “what's wrong brother?” you shifted your gaze to a young man that ran up to him, as he finally stood beside him, you could almost feel the young man glare at the baron called 'asshat', you were quite confused but kept quiet and observe them out of curiosity.

After they had done talking the supposed baron had left with an angry expression on his face. “are you okay miss?” he asked worried “my my!~ a handsome man has come to save us? How lucky! Might I know your name?” you asked in your usual flirting tone. “ah.. my name is William James Moriarty and this is my brother, Louis James Moriarty, my lady.” he sweated, it was clear that he was used and not used to this kind of flirting.

“how delightful! My name is y/n l/n! And I thank you for saving me and this child.” you smiled cheekily at him, kneeling to pat the head of the child and giving her some money to let her buy food. “now if it is alright with you, may I have a nice chat with tea?” you grin with a smile still intact on your face.

And that's how you met the two, sometimes you would even go to their home to pass boredom, and with the constant coming there, you eventually met Albert James Moriarty the older brother of Louis and William. Along with their 'servants' Fred, James, and sebatian. And eventually got acquainted with everyone in the mansion. While exploring you did know the secret of the Moriarty household and about the plan to change the world. Also about the crime consultant thing, they eventually settled things and let you in the missions. Oh and also I'll let you in on a secret!

William fell inlove with you at first sight and had realized it when he was eating at your favorite bakery which reminded him of you btw. And that man had never widen his eyes and coughed out his tea that fast. He then confessed and you said yes and eventually you guys started dating. When he figured out that you were once involved with the underground mafia this man was shocked! Well not that shock because your name was quite familiar and your skills with knives and guns was impressive, talented even. He eventually confronted you and asked you to clarify his suspicion.

“i knew you'd figure it out! And yes infact I did am involve with the mafia a few years ago” you confirmed as you were watering the flowers of the garden. “sooo. How'd you figured it out hmm?” you asked gazing away from the flowers to look at him. “well I looked into your background and your quite skilled with weapons which had led me to figure it out” he replied and you hummed, now looking back at the flowers. “well is that all you'd like to ask?” he nodded which you smiled and continued watering the flowers.

God you were so lucky this man is your boyfriend

And that's all! How would you this fic from one to ten? Also please give me some request I really need them. And thank you for reading hope you are in good health!

[scienceoftheidiot]

hello! thank you for that really informative post on the uniforms! I definitely have a better understanding of them now (not sure if that means I'll learn to like drawing them though lol) If you don't mind me asking, what got you into historical costuming (or the era you're into)? It's a really interesting subject and I'd love to know more ☺️

Oh well thank you ^^" I was just indulging in something I find interesting, as well as keeping my brain busy, I'm glad you found it interesting too !

I would say I don't know if I'm into historical clothes or the specific era. Probably the era itself, but as we're reenacting using uniforms, I am especially versed into the clothes and objects of WW1. I am not especially interested in the battles themselves, more in the life in and out of the trenches, on and off the front (I of course have a WW1 AU for Royai that I've been writing for months lol, but I'll get back to it once I'm done with my current long fic).

It's mostly random circusmtances that got me into it, I grew up with history buff parents who loved late 19th-early 20th century stuff (they still do lol and they always have had a lot of objects around), and then met my now husband who's really into reenactment. He used to do so only for WW2, but his focus has shifted now and he's way more interested in the same period than my parents, including WW1.

My husband is from the Chemin des Dames, which is to the French the same thing as the Somme for the British. So he actually grew up surrounded by this history, and yes, even almost (then) a century later, you still see the traces of these everywhere - in monuments and cemeteries of course but also in the land itself, the way it's shaped, and we find things every time we go pick mushrooms in the woods there. Including unexploded bombs. So it's something kinda vivid still, and we now want to keep the history living by doing reenactment.

So, FMA happening in a nondescript European country in the 1910s? Can't help. It's there. I need to make the link XD

Feel free to ask questions if you have them ! thank you so much for showing an interest in this and asking me :)

[sunnyhoneyshimmermagic]

(Dee Dee and Teddy are at town square, selling apples and introducing our story):

Dee Dee: Get 'em while they're fresh! Apples! Christmas apples!

Teddy: We got Mclntosh!

Dee Dee: Get your Christmas apples.

Teddy: Red Delicious. Tuppence apiece while they last. Whatever the fuck that means.

Dee Dee: We... They won't last long the way you're eating them.

Teddy: Hey. I'm creatin' scarcity. Drives the prices up. Read all about it in Ladie's Home Journal

Dee Dee (sighs): Teddy... (sees us) Hello! Welcome to The Big Nate Christmas Carol! I am here to tell the story, in my usual dramatic fashion!

Teddy: And I am here for the food and bantz! This Christmas, I wanna be written with an actual character!

Dee Dee: My name is Charles Dickens.

Teddy: And my name is Teddy Ortiz! Hey, wait a second. You're not Charles Dickens!

Dee Dee: I am too!

Teddy: No. Dickens was called that for a reason!

Dee Dee: omg it's 2023

Teddy: your name isn't even Charles!

Dee Dee: good, cringe name

Teddy: Dickens was a 19th-century novelist! A genius! God I hang around Francis too much.

Dee Dee: Oh, you're too kind. :3

Teddy: Why should I believe you?

Dee Dee: Well... Because I know the story of "A Christmas Carol" like the back of my hand.

Teddy: do I smell a wager?

Dee Dee: I hope, otherwise I didn't brush my teeth well.

Teddy: ugh, just prove it! Prove you know it!

Dee Dee: All right. Um, there's a little mole on my thumb, from when I tried to taste the wood on my stage, and, uh, a scar on my wrist, from when I fell off my bicycle performing as Lance Armstrong: licence to juice.

Teddy: No, No, No, No, Don't tell us your hand. Tell us the story!!

Dee Dee: Oh! Oh!

Teddy: Thank you. Yes.

Dee Dee (ahem): The Betancourts were dead to begin with.

Teddy: Wha, Wha... Pardon me?

Dee Dee: That's how the story begins, Teddy. The Betancourts were dead to begin with. As dead as a doornail.

Teddy (getting into it): ooh! It's a good beginning! It's creepy and kind of spooky. Like Mrs. Godfrey in a conga line.

Dee Dee: Thank you, Teddy!

Teddy: You're welcome, Mrs. Dickens!

Dee Dee: now, where was I? Ah, yes. In life, the Betancourts had been business partners... With a shrewd moneylender named Gina Hemphil-Scrooge. You will meet her as she comes around that corner.

Teddy: Where?

Dee Dee: There. See, next to the klassic komix and Mr. Pretzel?

Teddy: Uh huh! When?

Dee Dee: Not yet... Not yet... Let the tension rise...

Teddy: I am, I am!

Dee Dee: ...Now!

(Gina enters, draped in a black coat and top hat, carrying a cane. Every step calculated and cold)

Dee Dee: There she is! Ms. Gina Hemphil-Scrooge.

Teddy: Say, Is it gettin' colder out here?

(Song)

Emmit the custodian: When a cold wind blows it chills you

Chills you to the bone

Czerwicki: But there's nothing in nature that

Freezes your heart

Like years of being alone

Rosa: It paints you with indifference

Like a lady paints with rouge

Clarke: And the worst of the worst

The most hated and cursed

Is the one that we call Scrooge (yeah)

Chester: Unkind as any

And the wrath of many

This is Gina Hemphil-Scrooge

Miranda, Angie, Kelly, Trudy, Kim, Jenny: Oh, there goes Ms. Humbug

There goes Ms. Grim

If they gave a prize for bein' unfair

The winner would be her

Brindle: Oh, Gina loves her money

'Cause she thinks it gives her power

If she became a flavor you can bet she would be sour

Staples, Shipulski, Calhoon, John, Galvin: There goes Ms. Skinflint

There goes Ms. Greed

The undisputed mistress of

The underhanded deed

Marty: She charges folks a fortune

For her dark and drafty houses

Vern and Marge: Poor folk live in misery

Uncle Ted: It's even worse for louses

Miranda, Angie, Kelly, Trudy, Kim, Jenny: She must be so lonely

She must be so sad

She goes to extremes

To convince us she's bad

She's really a victim of fear and of pride

Look close and there must be

A sweet girl inside.

...

Naaaah!

Everyone: There goes Ms. Outrage

There goes Ms. Sneer

Ahe has no time for friends or fun

Her anger makes that clear

Don't ask her for a favor

'Cause her nastiness increases

No crust of bread for those in need

No cheeses for us meeses

There goes Ms. Heartless

There goes Ms. Cruel

She never gives

She only takes

She lets this hunger rule

If bein' mean's a way of life you

Practice and rehearse

Then all that work is paying off

'Cause Gina's getting worse

Every day

In every way

Gina is getting worse!

(Gina sharply turns, giving a cold stare)

Everyone: OH, UM, I HAVE SOMETHING TO DO SUDDENLY

(They escape)

Gina (quiet rage): ...Humbug.

[dionysus-complex]

hello! I read you're "predominantly a Romanist" so I'm not really sure if you can help me but I have this question bugging me for weeks and I thought some clarity from people more expert than me could probably be insightful, so here's the tea: many generations of Italian high schoolers have been taught that Sappho was the headmaster of some sort of college (the term used in lit history books is "thiasus", but I'm 99% sure this is some wild anachronism, and that if such institution even existed it was certainly not called that); according to Ye Olde Books, this thiasus was some sort of bon ton academy to prep young girls for womanhood and marriage, and Sappho's homoerotic poetry must be therefore viewed through this "socratic" lens. Herein lies the issue, that while there seems to be no ancient evidence to prove or disprove this fact, every Italian schoolbook I've stumbled upon either in high school or university never provided a source for this (they all mention the Souda which is problematic in itself, but even there it's only said that her pupils were so and so and so, not that she was actually the head of any formal institution). Plus, looking over on wikipedia, the Italian one takes the thiasus claim at face value without even giving a source (again), while the English wikipedia goes at a length to explain that this idea has no historical grounds and it's just a xix century suggestion. I've even stumbled upon this Maximus Tyrius rhetorician from the second century and he quotes Sappho's views on love and the women she loved, without explicitly saying they were her pupils or part of an academic circle.

So, here's my question: is this concept actually still taught in the Anglo world, and is there any substantial evidence for it? Is it just a weird little straightwashing lie that is still taught in my home country to try and justify any homoerotic reading of the Lesbian, or is there possibly any truth in it?

Sorry for the long ask but I'm going kinda insane here, and i thought one thing i could do is hear from some non Italians cause it's clear to me that all Italian texts are more or less a copypaste of each other on this subject; if you could please tell me anything about this I'd be so thankful, thanks a lot xoxo

Hello! It's been a minute since I've been seriously engaged with Sappho scholarship, but this is something I am familiar with.

The short answer is, no, as far as I know there is no real ancient evidence for it and the concept has generally been regarded as debunked in English-language scholarship since the 90s. The oldest source we have for the concept is the 10th c. CE Souda, which (as you mention) is deeply problematic for a variety of reasons, and it seems probable that the idea of Sappho's thiasos originates with one of the many Greek comedies about Sappho (Sappho was something of a stock character in Greek comedy, with the joke typically being her excessive (hetero-)sexuality rather than homosexuality). The idea seems to have been picked up by 19th century German scholars, and the argument for it relies on the testimony in the Souda along with apparent parallels between Sappho's expression of homoerotic desire and the homoerotic language between women and girls in Alcman's parthenaia, which do have a context of chorus trainer/trainee relationships. However, there is probably no good reason to assume that Alcman/Sappho parallels make for a strong argument considering that the texts come from entirely different city-states and social contexts. I do know that Renate Schlesier has argued for a much less heteronormative and IMO more plausible version of the thiasos idea, which is essentially that the circle of women mentioned in Sappho's poetry is not any kind of "academy to prepare (aristocratic) young women for marriage" but a circle of enslaved sex workers/courtesans (hetairai). Schlesier cites the fact that the female personal names mentioned in Sappho's poetry are all names that would typically be associated with enslaved women and hetairai, at least prior to the Hellenistic period, and considering that the symposium was probably the main venue for the performance of erotic lyric in antiquity this seems to make a good deal of sense.

I won't recommend the article that essentially debunked the thiasos idea on account of its author being a truly awful person for unrelated reasons, but I would recommend this excellent Eidolon piece on "Re-Queering Sappho" as well as Melissa Mueller's 2021 chapter "Sappho and Sexuality" in The Cambridge Companion to Sappho (link here, but probably requires a library subscription) which covers the history of the idea very well and presents a compelling reworking of the idea of Sappho's circle in a way that embraces rather than resists the queerness of Sappho's poetry.

[grandhotelabyss]

In an old interview with Tyler Cowen, Knausgaard called Tlön, Uqbar, Orbis Tertius the greatest story ever written—a sentiment with which Cowen agreed. (Cowen seems to read everything, but there's something about an economist—an orthodox heterodox economist, no less!—making pronouncements on literature that makes me suspicious of the claim. Then again, he once wrote, "Shakespeare is very likely the deepest thinker the human race has produced." No argument there.)

Personally, I might bestow the honour on The Dead, but it's really more of a novella, and I'm admittedly quite the Deadhead. (To be clear, in the high arts a "Deadhead" is the moniker we attribute to readers obsessed with the poetic intensities of swift cessations: Death in Venice, The Death of Ivan Ilyich, the deaths of Sula, Septimus, Billy Budd, and Pierce Inverarity, etc. Indeed, poetic intensities and swift cessations may simply be the novella tout court. On the subject of jam bands—and cheese—I remain mysteriously silent.)

Might Joyce have authored the greatest story, the greatest novel, and the greatest love letters? (Forgive me, sweet Jane, for such futile superlatives against your soul-stirring pen. I am half agony, half cope.) I suppose Borges is more Beethovenian in his revolutionizing of the form, whereas Joyce aimed for a Bach-like perfection as it existed at the time.

Of course, one mustn't forget the dozen or so contenders from Poe, Kafka, and Chekhov, not to mention The Lottery and A Good Man is Hard to Find. What do you think? As always, thank you for your splendid insights! And to the anonymous hundreds reading this, or, at this point in my unsolicited soliloquy, the anonymous dozen skimming, please subscribe to John's serialized novel!

Thank you, David! Yes, I find Cowen dispiritingly, exhaustingly, demoralizingly well-read. Someone I admire on Substack recently gave a list of 10 pieces of advice for undergraduates, and I liked nine of them, but I didn't like the first: everything, he said, is interesting. But everything is not interesting. The undergraduate, the veritable ephebe, is right to be bored by some things. If I found everything interesting, who would I be? I almost cultivate my non-interests. With so many books I do want to read in the world, it's a relief to know there are also many books (books about economics, for example) that I do not want to read. Really, only obsessions matter. The personality, to be a personality, must have its limits, as must the work of art, even if as a novelist, I do aspire in my own way to the "everything and nothing" Borges imputed to Shakespeare, or to the Homeric as against the Virgilian in Mark Van Doren's line that Virgil is a style, Homer a world. Only Borges could be Homeric in a short story, though; for the rest of us—yes, even for Joyce—it takes a novel. A fellow Deadhead, I agree with you that that is a novella in the death-obsessed ranks of the great novellas. I add Heart of Darkness, The Metamorphosis, and Nella Larsen's Quicksand to your fine catalogue.

(Incidentally, when I was in college, a friend dragged me to see a jam band called The String Cheese Incident. They played a theater on the ground floor of Soldiers and Sailors Hall on the University of Pittsburgh campus, upstairs of which the great Gothic scene of Lecter's escape in Silence of the Lambs had been filmed a little less than a decade before. Jam bands don't do it for me; I was heavy bored at that concert, I have to tell you; Chesterton's neglected cheese be damned, poets have their right to silence on some subjects—because, again, everything is not interesting.)

Now to your question. When I think of great short stories, I do not, like George Saunders, think of 19th-century Russians. (19th-century Russians are better at length, when they go on and on and on—even, if you ask me, Chekhov, as I said earlier this year in praise of his novella, The Duel, a great novella not quite belonging to your catalogue inasmuch as it defeats death, more or less.) No, I think of 19th-century Americans. I think of "Ligeia" and "The Fall of the House of Usher" and "The Man of the Crowd," and I think of "Bartleby, the Scrivener" and "The Paradise of Bachelors and the Tartarus of Maids" and "Benito Cereno," and I think of "The Author of Beltraffio" and "The Middle Years" and "The Figure in the Carpet." Above all, I think of Hawthorne, of "Young Goodman Brown" and "The Minister's Black Veil" and "Ethan Brand" and "Wakefield" and "The May-Pole of Merry Mount" and "The Artist of the Beautiful" and "The Birth-Mark" and (my favorite) "Rappaccini's Daughter." A great deal of Borges is already in those stories, these tales or parables or half-allegories—I do agree with both Knausgaard and Cowen that Borges's "Tlön," or maybe "The Aleph," must be the paradigm of the modern story—and a great deal of Kafka, Jackson, and O'Connor, too.

Honorable mention: I am not an expert on the 19th-century French, but "The Unknown Masterpiece" by Balzac is a new favorite, which I read for the first time just this year. A good tale in its own right, but to have anticipated, almost to the point of clairvoyance, the whole future course of art in one short story from the 1830s—!

Caveat: "Rappaccini's Daughter" has 3000 fewer words than The Dead; and "Benito Cereno" is double the length of "Rappaccini's Daughter." Why type some titles in italics and some in quotation marks? The distinction between novella and story must be qualitative rather than quantitative, with the distinction not quite only about death, since all three narratives at least include if they do not dwell upon swift cessations. "Rappaccini's Daughter" and "Benito Cereno" seem to me to be stories because they are about one thing, as opposed to The Dead, which, like The Scarlet Letter, is about several things—and as opposed, of course, to Moby-Dick and to Ulysses, which are, Aleph-wise, about absolutely everything ("[A]ny man unaccustomed to such sights, to have looked over her side that night, would have almost thought the whole round sea was one huge cheese, and those sharks the maggots in it"; "Cheese digests all but itself. Mity cheese"), and make everything as interesting as ever everything can be.