#The Tale of Ivan the Tsarevich the Firebird and the Gray Wolf

[vintage-russia]

Postcard with Illustration to "The Tale of Ivan the Tsarevich,the Firebird and the Gray Wolf" (1899)

Ivan Bilibin (1876-1942)

[ormspryde]

Today beat my ass (helping a family member move) and so I finished it with a nice relaxing hot bath and reading...uh Russian fairy tales on my phone. Y'know, like a completely normal human person.

[russianfolklore]

Palekh painting on a small box with illustration of "Tsarevich Ivan, the Firebird and the Gray Wolf" tale.

Palekh miniature is a Russian folk handicraft of a miniature painting, which is done with tempera paints on varnished articles made of papier-mâché (including the creation of small boxes, cigarette cases, and powder cases).

[oristian]

i know theres speculation about narben in the fandom and i think koschei is probably going to find it in someway. a death god and a death sword, it only makes sense. do you have a theory on what’ll happen to narben?

I try to stray away from posting theories on my pages for a few reasons—namely, because I do not want to seem like I am thinking too deeply into a book of the same caliber as ACOTAR. However, I have been thinking about Narben and about the folklore surrounding Koschei the Deathless. If SJM truly is planning on following as close as possible to his mythology, here are my thoughts —

I believe that Narben will be found as it was spoken about more than once. Another Made death sword, connected to the Dread Trove? Seemingly lost at sea due to Amarantha? Considering that SJM is consistent with using similar number patterns across her series—three, four, seven, et cetera—collecting Narben would equate to three Made swords: Ataraxia, Gwydion, and Narben. I personally would be curious as to how those swords would sing to one another, especially used in proximity in battle.

I want to touch on a little folklore about Koschei the Deathless before I touch on Narben. Previously, my thoughts had been on Gwyn wielding Narben, as it had been thrown into the sea and there have been connections to her being half-nymph. After reading HOFAS, my new conclusion will be that Gwyn wields Gwydion, Nesta wields Ataraxia, and Jurian wields Narben.

Koschei the Deathless is an ancient wizard carved from dark magic who is neither alive, nor dead. His immortality is locked within an egg, that is locked within something larger, and so forth—essentially, a Russian nest doll. He is cunning and is known to steal beautiful women and trap them within his palace. In the case of ACOTAR, Koschei is a Death God, brother to the Bone Carver and The Weaver (Stryga), and entraps beautiful women in his lake on the mortal continent. In folklore, he is bested by a man named Ivan Tsarevich.

I have heard the tale of Koschei being used consistently to support the idea of three brothers and three sisters, however I believe that Koschei the Deathless supports the tale of Jurian and Vassa—The Gray Wolf and the Firebird.

Ivan’s fate had been very similar to Jurian in that they were both cut up and were revived by the “water of life.” In the original tale, Ivan’s wife, Marya Morevna, had been captured by Koschei and Ivan had followed behind—the following confrontation is what had led to Ivan being cut up. This reads very similar to Jurian’s fate after Clythia. Ivan had three wives, one being named Vasillia the Wise—the Firebird. Giving the language associated with Jurian and Vassa currently, it appears that SJM is taking a romantic route for their relationship.

On to why I believe Jurian may wield Narben. In the folktale, Ivan Tsarevich wielded a blade called Sword Kladenets.

Sword Kladenets is said to have been a “hidden sword,” and was powerful enough to destroy the enemy with a single swipe—similarly to how Ataraxia worked against Lanthys and the Asteri. Now, if SJM is going down the route where she is pulling bits and pieces from Koschei’s actual lore, this would be the most fitting piece, especially if she plans on bringing Narben into the story again.

I have always seen Vassa being taken by Koschei again and Jurian going to rescue her. I have also always seen Elain and Lucien on a journey to find Koschei’s box that holds his immortality, which, according to lore, is scattered in different places. Elain’s visions have already allowed her to see the onyx box that holds his fate.

Could Koschei have Narben? I do not believe that he has it at this current moment. In the case that he does come into possession of such a sword, I see that being a major plot point in one of the next books—possibly even being the reason why he is freed from his lake and able to come and retrieve Vassa. There could very well be a possibility that Narben being in the sea could ultimately connect to his lake in some capacity—especially in ACOSF when Nesta released her power and it drew back the water.

At the end of the day, everything is up to SJM. I personally love diving into lore and theories, because I am so interested in seeing how others perceive the same things that I do.

[foundtherightwords]

The Firebird - Chapter 1

Pairing: Prince Paul (Catherine the Great) x OFC, fairytale AU

Summary: When Paul, a spoiled young prince, spots a strange bird in the forest near his palace, he impulsively chases after it, hoping to both escape from and prove himself to his disapproving mother. Thus he is plunged into an exhilarating adventure across a magical realm populated by enchanted princesses, dangerous monsters, and powerful wizards, an adventure that may change him more than he can ever imagine.

Chapter warning: none

Chapter word count: 3.5k

A/N: The real Paul I of Russia was kind of a jerk and came to such a sticky end (assassinated by his own officers) that I couldn't think of something realistic or historically accurate for him, so I had to put him into an AU. Plus, I've always loved Slavic fairy tales/folk tales, and it's been really fun working them into a fic. This is mostly based on Prince Ivan, the Firebird and the Gray Wolf, but there are elements from other tales as well.

I include a few Russian words for authenticity's sake. In case the meaning isn't clear from the text itself, there will be a translation at the bottom of the chapter.

Chapter 1

Once upon a time...

That is how these things often start, isn't it? Very well, then that is how we shall begin our tale.

Once upon a time, across thrice-nine lands, in a thrice-tenth kingdom, there lived a prince named Paul, a tsarevich, as sons of emperors and empresses of that land were called. Paul was the sole heir to a vast and powerful empire, but to own the truth, unlike the princes of the old stories, Paul himself was not noble or heroic, both in appearance and temperament. He could have been quite handsome if he had let his natural features shine instead of hiding them under the fashionable rouge and powder of those days. He could have been quite charming if his behaviors and expressions were a little more agreeable. He wished to rule but didn't know how or care to learn. He simply assumed that respect and power were owed him, and turned sulky and surly when he didn't get them, which was all the time.

Well, who could blame him? He was caught between two powerful and ambitious women—his father's aunt, the Empress Elizabeth, who had brought him up, and his mother, the Empress Catherine. Catherine, who had taken the throne from Paul's father, Emperor Peter, was a tenacious and ruthless ruler, and she loathed having to share her power. She kept Paul away from all matters of court and country, insisting that his sole and most important duty was to make an advantageous marriage and produce an heir for her. Perhaps she wished to raise this heir as she had not been allowed to raise Paul, and pass the throne directly onto him without having to go through her son, the son who reminded her so much of her feeble-minded husband.

Paul didn't remember his father. He was overthrown when Paul was just a boy, and died soon after—some said murdered by his own wife. He existed in Paul's mind less as a father and more as an abstract idea, an act of defiance against his mother.

And so Paul grew up from a sullen boy into a sullen young man, smothered by his grandmother, unloved and unwanted by his mother, and barely tolerated by the servants, for all that they waited on him hand and foot.

Yet for all his flaws, no evil thought resided in Paul's mind, no harmful desire coursed through his veins. He merely longed for his mother's affection, or, failing that, her acceptance. He longed, like any young man did, to prove his worth. But what was his worth? And how could he prove it, if he didn't know what it was?

As I've said, the empire to which Paul was heir is a vast one. Just how vast, nobody quite knows. It stretches from East to West, from ocean to ocean, and contains the loftiest, iciest mountains and the flattest, most arid steppes, the densest forests and the widest rivers. Though countless attempts had been made by cartographers and explorers to conquer its farthest reaches, many remained uncharted. Yet there are parts of the empire that very few know exist, and even fewer have seen. They stand just above the tall peaks or below the deep lakes, their entrances hidden behind a lightning-struck tree or inside a dark cavern. Look for them, and you'll never find them. During those times when the earth meets the sky, right before daybreak, on moonlit nights, or as dusk is falling, you may spy their denizens just out of the corner of your eyes, dancing in the water or flying on a magic horse, or moving about in their chicken-legged hut. But turn around to look more closely and you'll realize it's nothing but a branch breaking, a flock of birds suddenly taking flight, or a hare jumping back into its burrow.

Every child of the land knows the tales of those strange, hidden corners and their inhabitants, of Koschei the Deathless and Baba Yaga, of Ivan Tsarevich and Vasilisa the Beautiful. Paul, too, grew up with them, as told to him by an old, sad Fool dressed in motley clothes who hung about his mother's court. But as he grew older, he saw those tales as nonsense. There were always rules in the tales, but those rules never made sense. Why was it always the third prince or the youngest daughter who succeeded in their quests? Why was the orphan always aided by a wise old man or an enchanted doll or a talking horse? Well, he was an orphan of sorts—his father was dead and his mother barely even looked at him—so where was his magical helper? Then, as he grew older still, those tales were replaced by reports of conquests of foreign parts, lessons of history and politics, and whispers of how his mother had staged a coup and killed his father for the throne, of the illegitimate children she had hidden away. And so Paul had forgotten the fairy tales, dismissing them as absurd, fanciful yarn designed to fool only children. He was no longer a child; he was close to reaching his majority and must focus his attention on more serious matters.  

That was until the day he saw the firebird.

It was an early summer day in Tsarskoye Selo, the Tsar's Village. The court had recently moved to the Summer Palace there, and the Empress Catherine was spending half of her time mooning over that brainless oaf Potemkin who, blessed be the Saints, was away at war, and the other half of her time carrying it on with the even more brainless oaf Vasilchikov, in what Paul thought was a disgusting display of wantonness, unsuitable for any woman of her age, let alone an Empress. To make matters worse, Paul had turned eighteen over six months ago, yet she showed no sign of wanting to grant him more responsibility. Despite constant hints from his governor Panin and Paul himself, the Empress only gave noncommittal answers, telling Paul that he was going to inherit the throne, probably, one day, answers that meant to assure and only did the opposite. And she had taken to finding him a bride. Day after day, instead of attending the council or other court functions, he was forced to shift through miniatures after miniatures of all the major and minor princesses of Europe, searching for one that may catch his eye. In truth, none of them caught his eyes. They all looked the same, with their vacant gazes and simpering smiles, their powdered wigs and rouged cheeks. They all looked as though they were mocking him.

To escape the endless barrage of potential brides, Paul went to the barrack and gathered up his soldiers for drilling. This brigade, given to him by the Empress as a birthday present, was the one bright spot in Paul's days, but now he began to suspect, like the matter of finding a bride, it was just another way his mother sought to distract him. But at least it gave him something to do, and as he roared at the soldiers and reveled in the way they obeyed his commands, he dreamed of a day his mother may allow him to take them to war, or better yet, when she may be threatened by a coup—not a serious one, like the one that deposed his father, but a coup nonetheless, which he knew was a possibility, as many believed the empire shouldn't be ruled by a woman—and he would sweep in with his soldiers to save the day.

"My father was the father of his people," he shouted. This had been drilled into his head by his grandmother and his tutors until Paul no longer knew if it was what he truly believed or what he should believe. Both had blended into one in his mind. "And one day I will fulfill the duties and responsibilities of that role. I will lead a disciplined army of soldiers to make his dream for this great country come true!"

So perhaps it was unfortunate that his mother caught him just then.

By the thunderous look on her face as she called him into her private study, Paul knew he was in for another dressing down. His knees shook, and he hated himself for it, hated his mother for making him feel like a child. There was nothing else to do but to face her. Perhaps he could convince her and show how much he could be of use to her.

That hope disappeared the moment his mother spoke. "Are you planning your own little coup?" she barked, her sharp voice lashing at him like a whip. Paul almost cowered. He knew cowering would only bring on harsher words from his mother, so he forced himself to stand up straight. It was no use. She was relentless. "Is that what this is all about? Well you won't succeed, young man. The army is loyal to me. And the peasants will do as they are told. That is the truth." Paul was going to point out that there were talks of a peasant revolt, but his mother cut him off before he could utter a word. "It would be a terrible mistake to go against me," she snarled. "Because I know more about politics than you ever will. You would not last two minutes as a ruler!"

And whose fault is that? Paul wanted to scream. Whose fault was it that he didn't know what to do, what was expected of him? This was what his mother did, depriving him of power and agency and then admonishing him for rebelling against it. His blood boiled with the injustice of it all.

"And all your drilling with your little toy soldiers will get you nowhere at all. You see, power—power is a balancing act," she said. The gloating in her voice was more than he could bear, and he turned away again, gripping the pommel of his ceremonial sword until it dug painfully into his palm. "You have to learn how to walk the line. I would remind you always to remember from where your power, if you are ever to have any, which I doubt, will derive."

Those last few words made him pause. Did she just threaten to exclude him from succession? So she had been planning it all along, hadn't she? For all her talk about how Paul would rule one day, she had never truly wanted to share her power. He whirled around to face her, his face white with barely concealed rage.

"What do you mean, if I'm ever to have any power?" he said, biting out every word. "I shall rule! It is my birthright! You cannot deny me my birthright!"

"This is my country, you stupid boy!" Judging by her shout, it seemed his mother had realized her blunder and was trying to cover it up with a show of authority, as she always did. "Look for a bride! Get me an heir!"

"What am I to you, a breeding bull?" Paul snapped and had the brief satisfaction of seeing his mother flinch. He stormed off before she could think of a way to further punish him.

He went into his room, but the silk-covered walls and the gilded furniture felt like a cage closing in on him, making it hard to breathe. Tears of anger and frustration stung his eyes, and they fuelled the flame of his rage even more. He was a prince, and old enough to be Emperor, for God's sake, yet here he was, crying like a little boy being scolded by his mama! He stumbled outside, made his way to the stables, and shouted at the grooms to saddle a horse for him. He needed to get away from the palace, away from the court and its scheming, sycophantic courtiers, away from his mother and the chain she put around him. He urged the horse into a gallop and headed toward the woods that surrounded Tsarskoye Selo.

Paul didn't know how long or how far he'd ridden, when he suddenly became aware of the quietness of his surroundings. The birches, oaks, and lindens formed a green, whispering dome over his head, while thick growth underfoot muffled even the sound of the horse's hooves. He slowed the horse to a walk and took a deep breath, trying to calm himself. Even in this tranquil forest, his rage refused to subside.

If only she would die! Women her age and even younger were dropping dead every day. Why, even the Empress Elizabeth had died when she was not much older than his mother, yet his mother insisted on staying alive and being in the best of health, as though to spite him. When Paul was younger, he would have been ashamed and frightened of having such violent, vitriolic thoughts about his own mother, but now, he no longer bothered to keep them in check and even took a grim satisfaction from them.

A rustling sound, louder and more erratic than the swishing of the leaves, momentarily distracted him from those dark thoughts. He went around a thick grove of lindens and saw what was making the noise.

It was a bird, stuck in a bramble bush. It wasn't very big, about the size of a magpie, and appeared to be injured. One of its wings hung stiffly by its side, and it kept trying to lift itself out of the tangle of vines and thorns, to no avail.

But the bird's plight wasn't what drew Paul's attention—it was its plumage, the strangest and most magnificent he had ever seen, all shades of iridescent red and gold, glowing like a fireball in the last rays of the sun that speared through the trees. Its graceful tail feathers fluttered behind it like tongues of flame every time it made yet another futile leap over the bush. Yet, oddly enough, other than the flapping of its wings, the bird made no sound. There was none of the distressed twittering or cries that an animal would make in the same circumstances.

An unearthly feeling settled over Paul as he watched that ethereal bird. Half-forgotten memories of his childhood came trickling back, those long winter nights when he couldn't sleep and left his nursery—he didn't exactly have to sneak out, since none of his nurses and governesses paid any attention to him anyway—in search of the old Fool, who could always be found wandering the corridors of the palace at all hours. The Fool was the only one who treated Paul as a child and not a prince. "Well, what do you want, boy?" he would ask upon seeing Paul's forlorn face peeping out from behind a marble column.

"A story," Paul would reply.

"A story? Let's see now... Did I ever tell you about Little Bear's Son?"

And Paul would let himself get lost in the story until he fell asleep somewhere. He'd never gotten reprimanded for leaving his bed at night, because once the servants found out what he had been doing, they simply locked the door to the nursery. No more midnight fairy tales. No more fairy tales altogether.

Now, looking at the bird, Paul felt the same way he had while listening to the old Fool's stories. His anger and worries about his mother and the throne melted like ice under the sun, leaving only a childlike desire to capture that beauty, not to possess it, but only to hold it for a moment, to convince himself that it was real.

Cautious not to make any sudden movement or sound, he climbed down from the saddle and approached the bramble bush, thankful that the luxuriant summer grass and fallen leaves of many winters past were rendering his tread noiseless on the forest floor. The bird, still desperate to escape its thorny prison, seemed to take no notice of him. This close, Paul realized it was indeed injured—blood was still dripping from a wound on its wing, staining the gold feathers red, though it was from the thorns or something else, he did not know. Slowly, slowly, not daring to even breathe, he reached out, pulling the brambles back with one hand. The thorns were so sharp he could feel them through his kid gloves, but he ignored them. Gently pushing the brambles out of the way, he grabbed for the bird with his other hand.

There!

His hand closed around the feathered body, which was surprisingly hot to the touch, a fire that seeped through his glove, all the way to his bones. Bewildered, Paul looked more closely at his catch and noticed that its eyes, instead of being small and beady like most birds', were rather large and human-looking, except they were golden, like an eagle's. Before he could contemplate this oddity, however, the bird screeched—a horribly humanlike sound it was too—and the fire from its body was no longer warming but scorching. With a startled yelp, Paul loosened his fingers, and the bird, now free of the brambles, dove straight into his face, its good wing hitting him in the eye, blinding him, and, with a wriggle, freed itself from his hand, leaving behind only a tail feather.

When Paul's eyes cleared, he saw that the bird was a mere flash of gold amongst the trees, almost disappearing into the sunset. The feather in his hand gleamed and shimmered like gold, its heat still palpable even through his glove. There were some scorch marks on the glove where the bird had burned him, and a few drops of blood as well.

Tucking the feather into an inner pocket of his coat, he jumped back on the saddle and spurred the horse forward. Like a child who would happily sustain scratches and bruises while climbing over rocks and wading through streams to run after a beautiful butterfly, there was no thought in his mind but the chase. Far from deterring him, those scorch marks only made him long to feel that strange fire in his palm again. He couldn't explain why that yearning was so strong; he didn't even stop to think about it. He simply gave chase.

Through trees and bushes, heedless of the branches that stung as they snapped across his face, heedless of the violent bumping and jostling of the gallop, over shallow brooks and swamps that sucked at the horse's hooves, Paul kept after the firebird. The bird flew with astonishing speed, and only the injured wing kept it within Paul's sight, as it flitted, mockingly, through the green vault that surrounded him, always ahead but only just, always a finger's tip out of his reach.

A grove of silver birches rose before him, rows after rows of ruler-straight, snow-white columns, new leaves turning darker green in the gathering dusk. The bird flew through two birches growing close together, their crooked trunks twisting away from each other while their branches met overhead, forming an arch. The flash of gold winked in and out as the bird faltered and dipped, and Paul bent down until his face was almost pressed into the horse's neck, his heels dug into its flanks, his arm outstretched. Almost—almost—

The horse reared up with a frightened whinny, throwing Paul off the saddle.

The leaf-strewn forest floor softened his fall, but it did nothing for his temper. "Stupid beast!" he snarled, not noticing how the horse was nervously pawing the air in front of the crooked trees with its front legs, refusing to go through. He only saw that the bird was disappearing.

Without a look back, he leaped through the opening between the birches and ran after his quarry.

The bird seemed to be tiring. It dipped behind a thicket of saplings that grew on the edge of the grove, their roots covered by ferns and other undergrowth, and didn't come back up. Paul grinned. He got it cornered now.

The trees were thinner here. As he approached the thicket, he could glimpse a meadow just beyond, and hear the murmur of a nearby stream. The red glow at the edge of the world was fading into soft pink, turning the sky a bluish gray and throwing the forest into a shadowy twilight.

A brief glow seemed to emanate from the thicket and was gone in an instant, which Paul chalked up to a trick of the dying light. The bush rustled. The weary bird must have thought it could hide in there until it was safe to come out again. For a moment, Paul felt rather sorry for the poor creature, but his curiosity was stronger.

He leaned down and spread the foliage apart.

His jaw dropped.

There was no sign of the bird. Lying there, amongst the ferns and tall grass, was a girl.

Her long, red hair covered most of her body. Between the wavy tresses, he could glimpse a delicate shoulder blade, an arm bearing an angry wound that was still weeping blood, and bare legs curled up in exhaustion.

At the sound of his gasp, she lifted her head slightly and regarded him with a sullen eye. 

"What?" she said. "Have you never seen an undressed woman before?"

Chapter 2

A/N: I have no idea what "thrice-nine lands" and "thrice-ten kingdoms" mean. That's just how every Russian fairy tale begins.

The exchange between Empress Catherine and Paul was taken almost verbatim from Episode 2 of the show.

Taglist: @ali-r3n

[rosenbraut]

Hey Marie!

How are you? Are you enjoying Tumblr more?

So I have started revolutionary girl utena (the way i known it could have changed the trajectory of my entire life if i had seen it at eight) and I am in love with the concepts, the themes, the architectures, everything.

Do you have similar books/movies to recommend? Any other media?

Hi!! 🌹🍓

I’m trying! :)

And I’m so, so happy you enjoyed Utena!!! Ever since I first came into contact with the phenomenon that is revolutionary girl Utena, I’ve been trying to find something that evokes a similar emotion. So far, I haven’t found anything that combines elements in a similar way — as you mentioned, there are so many aspects of it, themes, art, music, architecture. I feel like maybe we’ll have to accept that it is a completely unique piece of fiction. However, we can still read!

What I think might be a fun endeavour is to make a list of the references they make and compile a reading list out of that. Astronomy, psychoanalysis, myths, art history, there’s a LOT to dig into and I feel like enriching our own inner lives will prolong our enjoyment of Utena and deepen our enjoyment of the other material it’s referencing (if that makes sense). In the meantime, while I compile that list, here are some other things:

fairy tales (eastern European and German especially) for their interwoven morals and thoughts on death and agency. Reread sleeping beauty and savour every word (bones wrapped in rose vines), dig into Tsarevich Ivan, the Firebird and the Gray Wolf and think about fate and rebirth.

Demian by Herman Hesse. It seems that not many people know that the show (not the film or manga) directly quote Hesse every single episode — or both go back to the same source, I’m not sure which. Either way: Demian comes close in many aspects. Not telling you which ones <3 (I read it without knowing anything about it because I saw that quote and I think it was the best possible way to come into contact with that book, so I’ll let you enjoy it the same way)

The Marriage of Cadmus and Harmony by Roberto Calasso analyses and compares Greek myths, weaves them together and summarises them in ways you might not have thought about before.

The God of Small Things by Arundhati Roy for thoughts on trauma and beauty, history and sibling relationships.

Nabokov in general for various thoughts on language, isolation, beauty. Invitation to a Beheading for that doomed isolation. Ada or Ardor if you were intrigued by the highly mannerist incest (it’s more carnal in Nabokov, but still extremely gorgeous and soaked with that same old blood elitism and high profile intellectualism)

Apart from that, I feel like SKU is a child of its time. If you look at other manga from the time just before the new millennium, there are a lot of reoccurring themes. Sailor Moon, X (which I never finished, so this is just a first impression), etc all feature themes like the end of the world, other universes, secret societies and glittering architecture in dark voids. I’m always on the lookout for more manga from around that time because the strange future nostalgia is so fascinating to me.

[olibheare]

What's your blog header? It's pretty

Ivan Bilibin's Illustration for the Fairy Tale of Ivan Tsarevich, the Firebird, and the Gray Wolf, by Alexander Afanasyev in 1902.

[franticbindings]

The Volkovs

(Illustration for the Fairy Tale of Ivan Tsarevich, the Firebird, and the Gray Wolf, 1902, Ivan Yakovlevich Bilibin)

There is a traditional tale about a prince who sought a firebird for his father, and the shapeshifting wolf who helped him in his task. The version I am familiar with ends after the prince is wed to a princess and his wicked brothers are punished for their crimes. The Volkov family tells a similar story, and the story of what happened after; the wolf took a man’s shape to stay by the prince’s side when he became king, used his magic to help him rule, and in time began a family of his own - some say with the king that he loved, and some say with a courtier. They say that when the king died and it seemed the people would turn against the wolf and his children, he led his family across the water to settle in Town, where they would not be considered so strange.

I don’t know if they’re descended from the wolf from the story I know, but the Volkovs bear the marks of a similar heritage in their features and their magic. Most of them only have a touch of the wolf in their appearance - something like yellow eyes, sharp teeth, elongated ears or fur on some of their body; occasionally one has all of those and more, or is even born as a wolf and needs magic to take a human shape. Unlike the Tenko, many people find their features fearsome or intimidating rather than cute or aesthetic. They’ve got their admirer’s though.

You can find them out in the Walking Fields where there’s room to run, and you can hear them howling on clear nights. If you meet them you might be intimidated at first - they’re big, a little wild, and standoffish around strangers; but they’re the kind to offer more help than you’d expect, especially if you’ve a noble heart or a fool’s nature. If you have both of those, don’t be surprised if you end up with one or more Volkovs interested in you, romantically or otherwise. Many of them are proficient with the shape changing magic of their ancestor, and can be seen roaming in groups on two legs or four. More rarely, some of them have an uncanny sense of timing and the knack of foreseeing danger; people in the Walking Fields say that if a Volkov gives you advice or a warning you should listen. Their word is gospel when it comes to when to plant and when to harvest; since they came to Town, the Walking Fields has almost never lost a crop that could have been saved by planting later or harvesting earlier. They keep records about what they’ve divined about the future - not so much a list of prophecies as a catalog of opportunities; perfect moments for a task that one of them thought was worth doing.

They’ve taken it upon themselves to oppose the Riders who come to hunt and kill in the Walking Fields, whenever they can. Their magic means that they’ve got a knack for only getting involved when they’ve got a chance at winning, so they do better than you might think against such terrible foes. If you find yourself running from the Great Hunt and you see a wolf - follow it! 

(Superior) Wolfkin

The Volkov’s connection to their wolven heritage extends to the flesh and blood of them, and this skill covers the ways they are like wolves.

Wolfkin 0: You are not even a little wolflike. 

Wolfkin 1: You are touched by your heritage in subtle but noticeable ways. You have a wolf-like physical feature such as yellow eyes, sharper teeth, pointed ears, the ability to make canine vocalization or fur on some of your body. Your hearing and sense of smell are sharper than a human’s. 

Wolfkin 2: The mark of the wolf is blatant upon you. You likely have most of the features described in Wolfkin 1 and might even have a tail, blunt claws instead of fingernails or a posture that can run on all fours without discomfort. You’re enough stronger and faster than a human that this skill is worth 1 edge when that matters. Your hearing range extends high enough that you can listen to Fortitude Rats talk secretly amongst themselves and sensitive enough you can hear things a mile away. Your sense of smell is 25 times stronger than a human’s.

Wolfkin 3: You have the body and senses of a wolf. Your hearing range extends even higher and further, out to 6 miles in a forest or further without obstructions. Your sense of smell is 100 times stronger than a human’s, enough to track something across a forest, or smell something miles away when the wind is in your favor. You’re not capable of human speech, and have paws instead of hands. 

I’m not sure what Wolfkin 4 or 5 looks like!

This skill also serves as a mundane skill for doing wolflike things like running, hunting, smelling and listening. It can sometimes grant part of its edge when doing things in concert with other people with this skill; Wolfkin working together to hunt something probably get their full edge; playing a team sport probably tops out at 1.

Hunter's Magic

Almost all of the Volkovs I know have a little bit of their magic, and being more proficient isn’t uncommon. They’re usually more skilled in one of the two different branches; the more common one is the ability to take on other shapes, most typically that of a wolf (or a human, if they’re normally a wolf) but they can take other shapes as well. Some of them are more proficient with their gift for foresight, which doesn’t tell them what will happen but when to try something and what to watch out for. 

Non-Magical Techniques [Obstacle 0] Understand canine body language. [Obstacle 0+] Communicate without words.  [Obstacle 1] Recognize nobility.

Transformation Magic [Obstacle 1] Make yourself more intimidating, impressive or commanding. [Obstacle 1] Sharpen your senses. [Obstacle 1] Speak with a human voice while in a form that normally can’t. [Obstacle 2] Take the shape of a wolf or change back to your human shape. [Obstacle 3] Take other human or animal shapes.

Planning Magic [Obstacle 1] Learn if it is an auspicious hour for a specific task. [Obstacle 1] Learn if there is some unknown danger facing a specific task. [Obstacle 2] Learn in a general sense when the next good time for a specific task is. [Obstacle 2] Gain a useful hint about an unknown danger that faces a specific task. [Obstacle 3] Learn the best time for a specific task, and why.

Bonds

If I’ve wronged you, I’ll move heaven and earth to make it right. I’m drawn to the foolish and the noble. My senses are sharp.* I’m stronger than you.* I’m faster than you.* Sometimes I forget what shape I’m in. I wear as little clothing as I can get away with. I avoid speaking if at all possible. My dinner has to include something I caught myself. I put off doing things until the perfect moment. I can’t use my magic to learn about things I’m going to do myself. I worry excessively about the future. I like to give piggy back rides.

Afflictions

I give really good advice. I don’t make empty threats. I turn into a wolf at night. I turn into a wolf if I get too scared or angry. I heal very quickly.* My fur protects me from the power of the outside.

Credit to Jenna Moran for the starred bonds/afflictions, which I borrowed from the Vampire writeup in the Fortitude book.

[dreamingofmaidensandmonsters]

Ivan Tsarevich Riding the Grey Wolf by Viktor Vasnetsov.

[vintage-russia]

Illustration for "The Tale of Ivan the Tsarevich,the Firebird and the Gray Wolf" (1899)

Ivan Bilibin (1876-1942)

[listentothepages]

5, 8, 44, 55?

5. do you prefer to drink soda from soda cans, soda bottles, plastic cups or glass cups? cans, if i’m not on the go! they’re kind of nostalgic. :’) 8. movies or tv shows? tv shows! i like it when there’s more time to explore characters and ideas and let things develop, as well as include some fun filler stuff. 44. favorite scent for soap? honestly, anything. i like switching it up! rn i'm using a sea buckthorn soap bar that i got as a gift. 55. favorite fairy tale? i was really into fairytales and folktales as a kid, and a lot of my favourites are those classic european/nordic ones that have a million different names and versions. but from ones i can name, i remember liking the little mermaid and some version of the slavic fairy tale tsarevich ivan, the firebird and the gray wolf! 💞

[thetinderboxprojectbyvic]

Before the second tutorial I wrote a vague plot, that could be some kind of a rough start.

The message of the story:

Making a fairytale come true for kids as well as presenting Russian traditional characters to them.

Making people interested more in Russian folklore.

‘Tinder box’ idea with invocation of the Dogs - in my case evoking the heroes of Russian fairy tales

Does the fire fall into the hands of a small child?

What’s the story behind that?

What happens next?

A child finds himself in a frozen pond on Christmas night, where he sees fairy-tale characters

Possible words, that could contribute to the title of the story later:

Miracle, Christmas, Dream, Wish, Memories, Family, Sorrow, Fairytale

The story itself:

Big house. Out of town. It's winter, it's snowing outside the window. The child is left alone for the day: urgent matters for parents who have fled somewhere. The girl (maybe she also has a younger brother?) Is bored, she wanders around the house and stumbles upon an old box. The box contains (what ????) and this item evokes Russian folk heroes. The item is a gift from my grandfather, who bequeathed to play the instrument in the saddest moments. Each new sound ?or maybe it's the number of sounds? summons a new hero of fairy tales. Each of the heroes can teach the child certain things, spend time with him in a special way. The child summons all the heroes and spends the whole day with them. In the evening when the children or the girl hears the turn of the keys in the door, she freezes in place. All the heroes disappear, and the girl herself does not understand how. At the dinner, the family sits all together, and the heroes look like spirits from different angles and smile.

Possible characters, who could appear in my story:

Merman, Ivan Tsarevich and the gray wolf, Baba Yaga, Firebird, Koschey the Immortal, Humpbacked Horse

[dianakhoang]

1.1. Ivan and the Gray Wolf: Stages of creating the first illustration

The first fairy-tale is “Ivan Tsarevich and the Gray Wolf”. Four illustrations will be devoted to this story.

There are digital sketches of the first drawing for FMP. Also, I usually printed and folded all the stages, but here you can see the mock-up of the last one. I tried to put more and more details and work without color for now. When I did 5-colored sketch, I understood that I will have to use 5x12=60 stencils for riso, it would be too expensive. Thus, I made it more graphic, using negative space. Then, I just tried a new concept using contemporary elements of our world (fence). However, every modern element I want to use will have sense. For example, here the garden with apple trees is protected (as it is King’s garden) according to fairy-tale, but somebody (Firebird) steals them: this was a reason why I drew a fence.

I like that I could use the structure of the calendar, it creates the illusion of 3 dimensions. It is visible how apples and Ivan lay on the ground, how the fence stands.

I haven’t decided with colors yet, I like how it looks b&w, I think I will solve this later. I am thinking about just using colored paper, as it really looks good without gradients and colors (I checked it, 1-2 additional colors do not suit).

[upyricaart]

“Well, if you had just come and asked me, I would have given the horse to you! But now how will it look when I tell the whole kingdom what you’ve done? However, to get your honor back, there is something that you can do for me. Go to the Thrice Tenth Kingdom and bring back the princess Elena the Fair. I want her, but I have not found a way to get her here. If you do this, I will pardon you and will give you the golden bridle.” - The Tale of Ivan Tsarevich, the Firebird, and the Gray Wolf

[dontsaythreehundred-blog]

Russian Fairy Tales (Part 1)

I love russian fairy tales so much, they are awesome. So, i decided to tell you about some popular fairy tales and baze literature theory of fairy tales. If you dont want to read the materiel - scroll down to the first bold header.

In general, fairy tales are divided into: fairy tales about animals, magical fairy tales, everyday tales.

Tales of animals stand out in a special group by the nature of the characters. They are subdivided into types of animals. The fairy tales about plants, inanimate nature (frost, sun, wind), objects.

Human in fairy tales about animals:                                                                      1) plays a secondary role.                                                                                    2) occupies a position equivalent to an animal

Classification of tales of animals:

 A cumulative tale about animals.

 The fairy tale about animals

 Fable (apologist)

 The satirical tale

Magic fairy tales have a specific poetics and are built on traditional cliches:

1. Fantastic formulas.

"Once upon a time, there were" (жили-были /zhiyly-biyly/); "In a certain kingdom, in a certain state" (В некотором царстве, в некотором государстве /v nekotorom tcarstve, v nekotorom gosudarstve)

"Soon the tale affects, but not soon things are done" (Скоро сказка сказывается, да не скоро дело делается /skoro skazka skasyvaetsya, da ne skoro delo delayetsya/)

"I was there, I drank honey-beer, my mustache flowed, but I did not get into my mouth" (Я там был, мед пиво пил, по усам текло, а в рот не попало /ya tam byl, myod-pivo peel, po usam teklo, a v rot ne popalo/)

2. Common for all the tales of the place. (The same episodes that occur in all fairy tales):

The arrival of Ivan Tsarevich to Baba Yaga.

A cliched description of the portrait of Baba Yaga - "Baba Yaga - Bony leg" (Баба Яга - костяная нога /Baba Yaga - costyannaya noga/)

The cliched formula questions-answers - "Where do you go?" (Куда путь дорогу держишь? /Kuda puyt dorogu derzhish?/)

Constant epithets - "girl-beauty” (красна девица /krasna devitca/)

Also in all fairy tales there are magical items, threefold narrative, retardation.

A characteristic feature of everyday fairy tales is the reproduction of everyday life in them. The conflict of everyday fairy tales often consists in the fact that decency, honesty, nobility under the guise of simplicity and naivety are opposed to those qualities of personality that always aroused sharp rejection of the people (greed, anger, envy).

In most fairy tales there are clearly distributed functions (donor, antagonist, assistant, princess, hero).These functions are shared between the characters.

And now the most interesting. I'm afraid I can not translate the full text of fairy tales (you can google it yourself). But I'll briefly talk about the plot. Lets go!

Tsarevna-lyagushka (The Frog Princess)

The king had three sons. And the time has come for them to marry. The king ordered his sons to shoot an arrow and find a bride where the arrow would fall. The eldest son had an arrow in the boyar courtyard, at the middle in the merchant's house, and at the younger one in the swamp where the frog lived. Ivan Tsarevich became sad, but he took the frog as his wife.

 On the next day after the wedding, the king ordered his sons' wives to bake a loaf. Ivan Tsarevich became sad, because how the frog bakes a loaf? The Frog princess laid the prince to bed and threw off the frog skin and turned Vasilissa the Wise. By the morning she baked a loaf and, turning back to the frog, gave it to Ivan Tsarevich. The king approved the loaf and gave the following order: sew the carpet. Ivan Tsarevich became sad, because a frog can make a carpet? The Frog princess laid the prince to bed and threw off the frog skin and turned Vasilissa the Wise. By the morning she made a carpet and, turning back to the frog, gave it to Ivan Tsarevich.The king approved the carpet and gave the following order: to bring the wives to a feast to see which one is better at dancing. Ivan Tsarevich became sad, because how can a frog dance? The frog laid the tsarevitch to bed, and in the morning ordered him to go to the palace first. Ivan Tsarevich went to the feast. His brothers laughed at him, why he did not take his wife. Soon the carriage drove up to the palace and out of it came Vasilissa the Wise. At the feast the Princess danced better than anyone.Toward the end of the feast Ivan Tsarevich seized a moment and ran home to burn a frog skin. When the Princess returned from the feast and did not find a frog skin, she said: "Ah, Ivan Tsarevich, what have you done? If you had waited three more days, I would be your forever." Now, farewell, look for me from Koshchei the Immortal. You wear out a pair of iron boots, like you'll eat out three iron loaves - only then will you find me” Said, turned white swan and flew out the window.

 Ivan Tsarevich went to seek his wife. On the way, he met an old man who gave him a ball of thread that would lead Ivan Tsarevich to Koshchei. On the way he met a bear, a duck, a hare, a pike, which he wants to kill, but he pities them. Next, Ivan Tsarevich meets Baba Yaga, who tells Ivan how to kill the Koshchei. A bear, a duck, a hare, a pike help Ivan get a needle in which the death of Koshey is concluded. Ivan Tsarevich breaks this needle and releases Vasilissa the Wise.

Teremok (The House)

Events develop around a small fairy tale house - a tower, standing in the field. Different animals, running past the house, are interested, and whose it is, and gradually populated. The first inhabitant of home was the mouse-norushka, nicknamed so for the fact that she used to live in a burrow. The second inhabitant is a frog-cuckoo, which received a nickname for constantly croaking. The third resident is a rabbit-pobegaychik. This trio - kind and friendly animals. Then they are joined by predators - in the beginning, the fox-sister, and then the wolf.

A predatory couple - a wolf and a fox - are much larger in size than a mouse, a frog and a hare, but they get to be neighbors, and even sing songs. But then the bearded bear remarks for himself, and can not resist. He also wants to join its inhabitants, but can not get inside - he is the biggest. Having made a heroic decision to live not inside, but outside - on the roof - the bear tumbles down the house. Other animals manage to jump out, and remain alive. And then they decide to build a new house, bigger than the previous house, capable of accommodating all.

Repka (Turnip)

Grandfather grew turnips. Turnip grown large. Independently he could not pull it out. He called for help grandmother. Together pulled the turnip - nothing happened. Grandmother called her granddaughter. They tried to pull the three of them together - again nothing happened. Granddaughter called the Zhuchka. The four of us could not pull out the turnip. She called the cat. And five of us could not pull out the turnip. The cat called the mouse. Only six could pull out the turnip. Only together, the whole family and all the pets, were able to pull out the turnip.

Gusi-Lebedi ( Geese-Swans )

Parents leave for work, telling their daughter not to walk from the yard and take care of the younger brother. But the girl puts her brother under the window, and she runs to the street. Geese-swans meanwhile take the brother away on the wings. Sister runs after the geese-swans. On the way she meets the stove, the apple tree, the milk river - the jelly banks. At them the girl asks about her brother, but the stove asks her to eat the pirozhok, apple tree - an apple, the river- kiselka with milk. The picky girl does not agree. She meets a hedgehog, who points her way. He comes to the hut on his chicken legs, looks in there - and there Baba Yaga and brother. The girl takes away the brother, and the geese-swans fly after her in pursuit.

The girl asks the river to hide it and agrees to eat a kissel. Then she hides the apple tree, and the girl has to eat a wood apple, then she hides in the oven and eats a rye pie. Geese do not see it and fly away with nothing.

A girl and a brother come running home, and then just the father and mother come.

The Tale of Ivan Tsarevich, Firebird and the Gray Wolf

The king Vyslav Andronovich has three sons: Dmitry, Vasily and Ivan. Every night a fever bird flies into the royal garden and bites golden apples on the Tsar's beloved apple tree. Tsar Vyslav promises the heir to the kingdom to make that of the sons who catch the firebird. First goes to the garden to watch her Dmitry Tsarevich, but falls asleep at his post. The same happens with Vasily-Tsarevich. And Ivan Tsarevich lies in wait for the fire-bird, grabs, but it escapes, leaving only a feather in his hands.

The king orders his children to find and bring him a firebird. The older brothers go separately from the younger. Ivan Tsarevich comes to the post on which it is written: the one who will go straight will be hungry and cold, to the right - he will be alive, but he will lose the horse, to the left - he will lose his life, and the horse will live. The prince goes to the right. He meets a gray wolf who kills his horse, but agrees to serve Ivan Tsarevich and takes him to King Dolmat, who has a cage with a firebird in the garden. The wolf advises the bird to take, but does not touch the cage. But the prince takes a cage, there comes a thud and thunder, the watchman catches him and leads him to the king. King Dolmat agrees to forgive the prince and give him a firebird, if he leads him a golden-haired horse. Then the wolf carries Ivan Tsarevich to King Afron - he has a sturdy horse in his stables. The wolf convinces not to touch the bridle, but the prince does not obey him. Again, Ivan Tsarevich is caught, and the king promises to give him the horse, if the prince brings in return Helena the Beautiful. Then the wolf kidnaps Elena the Fair, rushes her and Ivan Tsarevich to King Afron. But the prince felt sorry for giving the princess Afrona. The wolf assumes the form of Elena, and King Afron gladly gives the prince a horse for the imaginary princess.

And the wolf escapes from King Afron and overtakes Ivan Tsarevich.

After that, he takes the form of a golden horse, and the prince takes him to King Dolmat. He, in turn, gives the firebird to the prince. And the wolf again takes on his appearance and resorts to Ivan Tsarevich. The wolf carries Ivan Tsarevich to the place where his horse was torn, and bids farewell to him. The prince and the royal go on. They stop to rest and fall asleep. Dmitry Tsarevich and Vasily-Tsarevich find them sleeping, they kill their brother, they take away the horse and the fire-bird. The princess, on pain of death, orders everyone to remain silent and take her with her. Dmitry Tsarevich is going to marry her.

A gray wolf finds the body of Ivan the Tsarevich. He waits for the ravens to appear and grabs the corn. The raven-father promises to bring dead and living water if the wolf does not touch his offspring. The crows fulfill their promise, the wolf sprinkles the body dead, and then with live water. The prince comes to life, and the wolf carries him to the kingdom of King Vyslav. Ivan Tsarevich is at the wedding of his brother with Elena the Beautiful. At the sight of it, Elena the Beautiful decides to tell the whole truth. And then the king puts the eldest sons in prison, and Ivan Tsarevich marries Elena the Beautiful.

Sivka-Burka

The old man, dying, asks for his three sons, so that they alternately spend one night at his grave. The elder brother does not want to spend the night on the grave, but asks the younger, Ivan the fool, to spend the night here. Ivan agrees. At midnight, the father comes out of the grave. He summons the bogatyr horse a Sivka-Burka and tells him to serve his son. The middle brother acts the same way as the elder brother. Again Ivan lies at the grave, and at midnight the same thing happens. On the third night, when Ivan's turn comes, everything repeats itself.

The king throws a cry: who will tear the portrait of the princess, on the fly (that is, on a towel) painted, with a high house, then the princess will marry. The older and middle brothers are going to watch the portrait being torn off. A fool begs for them, the brothers give him a three-legged mare, and they themselves leave. Ivan also calls for a gray-haired burka, he climbs in one ear, climbs into another and becomes a good man. He goes to get a portrait.

The horse jumps high, but does not reach the portrait for only three logs. The brothers see this. Returning home, they tell their wives about the young man, but do not know that this is their brother. The next day, the same thing happens - Ivan again just does not get enough. The third time he tears off the portrait.

The king invites people of all classes to feast. Ivan the fool also comes and sits behind the stove. The princess treats the guests and looks: who gets tired of the fly with the portrait? But she does not see Ivan. Feast goes on the next day, but the princess again does not find the condemned. For the third time she discovers a fool Ivan with a portrait and happily leads to his father. The brothers of Ivan are amazed.

They are playing a wedding. Ivan, having dressed and cleaned up, becomes a brave man: "not Ivan the fool, and Ivan is the royal son-in-law".

Tsarevna-Nesmeyana

Nesmeyana-Tsarevna lives in the royal chambers and never smiles, does not laugh. The king promises to marry Nesmeyana to the one who will be able to cheer her up. Everyone tries to do it, but nobody succeeds.

And on the other end of the kingdom lives an employee. His master is a kind man. At the end of the year he puts a bag of money in front of the employee: "Take as much as you want!" And he takes only one money, and that one drops into the well. He works for the master for another year. At the end of the year, the same thing happens, and again the poor worker drops his money into the water. And in the third year he takes a coin, comes to the well and sees: the two previous money have surfaced. He takes them and decides to see the white light. A mouse, a bug, and a catfish with a big mustache are begging him for money. Remains the employee again with nothing. He comes to the city, sees Nesmeyanu-the princess in the window and falls into the mud before her eyes. At once are the mouse, the bug and the catfish: they help, the dress is removed, the boots are cleaned. The princess, laughing at their services, laughs. The king asks who causes the laughter. The princess points to the worker. And then the king gives Nesmeyanu for the employee to marry.

[boarsnsmores-blog]

The good folk over at @sqsupernova are doing a spotlight this week on my disasterpiece and asked for some of my thoughts on it, so here they are. There are spoilers so read at your own peril.

I planned exactly one line:

And so Regina, who did not want to die but could no more bear the thought of Rocinante dying, chose the middle path. Cold and hungry were surely better things to be than dead.

Which proceeded to sit in my ideas file for half a year before I rummaged it out for this shindig

It is inspired by “Ivan Tsarevich, the Firebird, and the Gray Wolf” because Ivan is consistently useless and I felt for the poor wolf who had to save Ivan at literally every juncture

I am sure Ivan represents some kind of Russian folk hero, but I sort of probably mangled that when I wrote Regina as Ivan. Sorry.

I really thought this was going to be a straight retelling of the Firebird until I got to the Emma in a tower scene, at which point I realized:

Emma as the princess would be a disservice to her as a character

Emma in canon was technically some kind of abberation to the reality and had no Heroes & Villains alterego

???

Panic???

Emma’s Aladdin, basically, but follows the plot of this firebird variant

Sometime between chapter iii/iv, I spent a night looking for one of my favorite childhood fairy tales instead of writing because I couldn’t remember it and that irritaed me

You haven’t lived until you’ve tried to google a fairy tale with word vomit like “Jinn spear throw cave”

It was “The Magic Carpet” in the Reader’s Digest - The World’s Best Fairy Tales, if you were curious

I needed a sword and the Jabberwocky from Once Upon a Time in Wonderland conveniently had one available

All the angst was a nice bonus too

At around the 25k mark (of what was supposed to be a, at most, 15k fic), we had not yet overthrown the monarchy

I seriously considered writing an entirely different fic because when the hell was this story going to end

But @heartofamethyst-studios had signed up for a fairy tale rendering, not a weird Tattooist-Florist/Soulmates/Hipster AU that no one would ever ask for

Three days later we finally overthrew the monarchy and I could have wept

My friend spent those three days offended because she thought I wanted to overthrow Queen Elizabeth

For the record, I do not

I didn’t know how to come back from Emma dying like I did not think this through at all

so I made large parts of it up

If you were wondering when I knew who the Jinn was and what Rumpel’s scheme was

literally when I started the chapter

If you were wondering when I thought up of anything, the answer is most likely ‘literally when I started the chapter’

Anyway, if you thought this was a well-planned and calculated fic, well, it’s not. I’m sorry to ruin the illusion but behind the curtain there is no machine, only me, panicking while reading the manual to a completely unrelated machine.

For posterity, so that we can all laugh at my naivety, here is the outline I wrote apparently sometime while I was writing the Emma in a tower scene:

gtfo

no regina we are not jumping

okay i guess we are jumping

that is a wolf

why is it sniffing at me stop that

do not eat me stop it

no i do not taste like magic what does that even mean how is this wolf talking

regina: k lily we’re off

emma: yes lily that is me

regina: …that is not you

emma: no no it’s not

red: wow you’re really useless aren’t you

regina: shut up if you’re not lily then who the fuck is lily

dragon in the distance

ah

well this is unfortunate

procure lily, bring her back to maleficient

great, dragon lady here’s your dragon spawn give us the horse

wtf do you mean you can’t ride bareback

wtf do you mean you can’t ride this horse without its bridle

fk we gotta go steal the bridle now gdi

shenaniganssssss

k got the horse we gotta go get the firebird now

wtf do you mean you want to keep the horse

just give the fucking horse up regina

no cruella is going to eat it or something you’ve seen her coat that shit ain’t fake fur that’s for sure

(this is at a tavern) red: hello friends

red wtf we thought you were a wolf

no guys i’m a guardiant that means i’m a shapeshifter

emma: guys I have a brilliant idea

red: wow this is a dumb idea

emma: no no it’ll totally work don’t worry

get chased by a lot of angry dalmatians

return to the path

red: bye friends i am gone the forest has fulfilled its part of the bargain; you’ve come back regina

regina: :(

shenanigansssss

what do you mean we have to overthrow the monarchy

I am but a simple thief

You are but a shitty bandit

meet Granny

yes go overthrow the monarchy

so when you say ‘overthrow’ do you mean ‘peacefully take the crown’ or…?

murder i mean murder

oh okay just making sure

dramatic showdown between regina and snow

can’t do it

emma: well that’s okay we can just go back to being a thief and a bandit

emma: hey I have an idea let’s go steal shit with other people too

Merry Women!

All things considered, 10/10, would cry and do again. Thanks for reading and remember to thank our organizers, friends.