#addendum: the book i got was both not really what i was looking for and short as hell so im back to no books :(

[the-weatherperson]

Biked to the lubrary and not only did they have neither House of Leaves OR This Is How You Lose The Time War, but i also COMPLETELY FORGOT TO PRINT THE PAPER I WENT THERE FOR IN THE FIRST PLACE!!!

[underfaller]

in his house of mind, dead cipher waits dreaming

Chapter 1: On Your Mind Rating: T Synopsis:

You really think you won that day/You packed your bags and sailed away/You think you left your past behind/But trust me/I'm still on your mind

A year has passed since Weirdmaggedon and the Pines family, victorious in the end, are happier than ever. Stan and Ford are adventuring at sea, making up for lost time. Dipper and Mabel are now freshmen and are ready to take on high school-- geometry, bullies, (student eating?) clubs, and all! However, things take a turn for the worst when Dipper and Mabel receive of horrific message from Ford:

Bill is back.

You wrote a page about me in my own book so allow me to make this tiny addendum over your dull ramblings. 

Stanley Pines,

I've been on your mind. 

Are you surprised to see me? You must be confused so allow me to explain, slowly, in small words: 

If memories could return so easily, why couldn’t I? 

You really thought you won that day, huh? It’s painfully pathetic how naive you are. 

Aw, don’t look so distraught! You can’t have your cake and eat it too, Stanley. You may have lied and cheated to get your way for your whole life, but you can’t elude simple logic-- no matter how desperately you try! 

Still there? Of course you are! There’s not much else for me to say and I’ve got a very busy schedule ahead of me so I suppose I’ll end things here. However, before I leave you to the endless void and your growing insanity, I’ll let you in on a little secret-- Don’t ever say I’m not a generous guy!

Here it is: 

I see myself in you.  And that’s not because I’m literally possessing your worthless skin puppet. You and I are quite similar-- always scheming, constantly caught in our own web of lies, conning the world until we can’t tell what’s real and what’s fake anymore. A spectacular guy like myself should be thrilled at our similarities! I mean, the more “me” in the universe, the better, right? 

We should be getting along better than bleach and ammonia! 

…But I’m not thrilled. Far from it. Am I upset? Upset would be an understatement. No, your dimension’s vernacular can’t even begin to describe my resentment of you. 

I hate you, Stanley. I detest you. I despise you.

I can still see through the eyes of everyone I’ve ever possessed. I’ve seen your past, your present, and your very near end. You’ve spent your whole life screwing up and you will die no differently. You’re a loser. A blight on this already tedious world. A waste of space. You shouldn’t exist. 

So how? 

So how could you have beaten me? How could a lowlife, fat-headed, braindead, absolute failure of an existence possibly beat me? 

…And how do you have everything that I don’t have? 

Your dimension is safe, drifting peacefully in chaotic, infinite chaos while mine has been obliterated, erased from existence as we know it. Even the last atoms of my universe are gone-- decimated by your brother during our little Weirdmageddon spat. 

You’ve done nothing to contribute to your world and yet, when I only wanted them to see the stars, I was met with ultimate destruction. 

How is that fair? 

Your brother adores you. Your brother once adored me too. Has he ever looked upon you with pure, unadulterated hatred? We both ruined his life but only one of us is forgiven.  

And your mother. Your mother still thinks of you. She keeps your photo on her bedside table. She looks at them every night. She misses you. 

My mother is dead. 

How is that fair? 

Now I am you and you are me but why do only you are rewarded. Why is it that I get nothing? What makes you so special? 

I am the only one who sees you for what you are and I hate you. I hate every molecule of your being. I hate everything you have that I don’t. I hate, hate, HATE you, Stanley Pines. 

You don’t deserve what you were given. You aren’t worth even a sliver of it. 

So I’m going to take it all away-- Take what’s rightfully mine. There’s nothing you can do. No more cheap tricks, no more cons, no more last minute plans-- your luck has run out. Your time in the spotlight is over-- Time to show you how a real star performs. 

Better luck next time, bootleg Sixer.

When you awake, you will find yourself in utter, pitch black darkness. You will soon realize that your arms and legs paralyzed, unable to even struggle. You’ll be suspended in a limbo where you are neither awake nor asleep. 

Can you fathom my pain after you erased me? Can you imagine the torture? Your smooth brain would implode on itself if you even tried to grasp it-- And now you will experience it yourself. 

How do you like that, huh? 

HOW DO YOU LIKE THAT? 

You enjoyed your little victory but in the end, it’s me who won. 

Ha! Ha! Ha! 

Goodbye, Stanley Pines, and good riddance. Your pitiful existence will not be missed. 

Don’t worry too much, I’ll take good care of your family. 

It seems like an eternity since we've returned to sea but the Stan-o-War II is back. We left Portland at 21:00 and headed to Point Nemo. My research has led me to believe that the pole of inaccessibility is a magnet for weirdness, much like Gravity Falls-- There may even be ruins of a long lost civilization in its underwater bowels. I would like to test my hypothesis. Stan is fine with our expedition as long as there are “hot Atlantis chicks” to flirt with. I will keep his sentiment in mind. 

We’ve grown closer this year than we have in three decades. It’s… nice to be back with him. 

Despite my excitement for our adventures, I enjoyed our short break in Gravity Falls. It's always a delight when the children come to visit. Everytime I see Mabel, I swear she's grown at least an inch taller. At this rate, she'll be towering over me! Dipper is growing into a bright, young man-- it is impossible for me not to notice our similarities when I was his age. He recently mentioned that he plans to take honors geometry next year. I replied that if he ever needs tutoring then his ol’ Grunkle Ford is more than happy to help. 

It's been almost a full year since Weirdmageddon yet I still occasionally think of Bill. I am prone to anxiety and occasionally find myself irrationally fearing his return. That's impossible, though. I remind myself of that more times than I care to admit. Bill is gone and the moss covered statue in the forest proves it. We erased him. He can't hurt me anymore-- and he certainly cannot hurt my family. 

Stanford closes his journal, before blowing out a flickering candle and standing up, yawning. He looks at his watch. 3:33 AM. Old habits die hard and Ford still finds himself procrastinating on sleep, slightly fearing what will happen when he loses consciousness. He sighs, pushing past memories from his weary mind.. He'll need at least two cups of black coffee tomorrow morning if he has any hope of getting up on time. 

As Ford lays in his rickety cot, the Stan-o-War II shudders and creaks as it rocks against rolling waves. Usually, the familiar sounds of the boat lull Ford to sleep, but tonight, they keep him up, tossing and turning, each noise seeming to echo ten times over. 

It is one of those nights. 

Ford looks up at the ceiling, frowning. He used to have fantastic, imaginative dreams. After Weirdmageddon, however, his resting mind is always empty, dark like the ocean during a new moon. He misses dreaming. 

Though, Ford should be grateful-- there are much worse alternatives to a dreamless sleep. 

In the distance, Ford hears the rumblings of thunder. A summer storm isn't uncommon and it certainly isn't the ship's first experience with unsavory weather but for some reason, Ford feels uneasy. Perhaps he should sleep in the bridge tonight, just in case something goes awry. 

Ford’s thoughts are interrupted when his cabin door creaks open slightly. Ford grins, aware of his twin’s antics. 

“Very funny Stan. Aren’t you a little too old to be afraid of thunderstorms?” 

Familiar, cackling laughter rings across the room. 

“Oh Sixer, I’m not the one scared right now!” 

It can't be. 

Time stops. Stanford violently sits up, scanning the seemingly empty room. 

Click. 

Lightning cracks. Stan is sitting atop his brother, shotgun pressed against Ford's chin. Ford looks up in horror seeing Stan’s eyes bright yellow and glowing in the darkness. 

“Not so fast, unless you want your pretty brains all over the headboard,” Bill teases. He examines the shotgun in his hands. “Can you believe the old guy sleeps with this thing? Talk about a safety hazard!”

Ford freezes, his blood turning to ice. He can hear his heartbeat racing in his ears. His usually rapid firing mind has slowed to a complete standstill in his terror. His mouth is dry as he struggles to speak. 

He must have fallen asleep. He’s sleeping, he’s sleeping, he’s sleeping-

“This is a dream,” Ford stammers. “You’re not real; you’re dead-” 

Stanford Pines does not dream.

Bill howls with laughter. As he does, Stan's mouth contorts into an unnaturally large grin. 

“Oh Sixer! You can’t kill an idea or a god and certainly not both!” Bill replies. He giggles. “Did you miss me?”

Ford tries to answer but Bill cuts him off. 

“Oh, I already know your answer-- of course you missed me!” Bill chatters on. “And now that your inferior twin is outta the way we can head back to Gravity Falls and finish what we started!”

“Why did you come back?” Ford says through grit teeth. “Your henchmen are gone, the rift is sealed-- there’s nothing left for you here, Bill.” 

“Nothing left for me, hahaha!” Bill shakes his head, smirking. “Man, that idiot's stupidity is rubbing off on you! Have you forgotten?” 

Ford doesn’t answer. Bill leans closer, lowering his voice to a drawl. 

“We made a deal, you and I. You’re my partner from now till the end of time.”

Ford looks into his brother’s yellow eyes and is filled with fury. Seeing Bill using his twin like this while having the audacity to expect him to continue their partnership-- it’s laughably, outrageously, enraging. Ford can’t help but give a low chuckle before glaring at the demon. 

“Go fuck yourself, Bill.” 

Lightning flashes once more, illuminating the two adversaries. Bill sighs, clicking his tongue. 

“For some reason, I knew you’d say that.” 

Bill grips the shotgun and shoves the barrel down Ford's throat. Ford’s eyes widen, threatening to pop out of his skull, and he gags, tasting metal and sulfur. Bill grins, obviously amused by Ford’s discomfort. 

“Well, if you’re not going to be of use then you can join the rest of your family in the afterlife.” 

The kids. He’s going to come for the kids. 

Bill pulls the trigger. 

Click. 

Silence.

“Seriously? Who keeps an unloaded gun by their side!” Bill shouts. 

It seems his luck hasn’t completely run out. Now, it’s Ford’s turn to slightly grin. He looks up at Bill.

“Alright, my turn.” 

Sorry Bro. 

Stanford lifts his right leg up and kicks Bill in the balls. Hard. Bill cries out in pain and keels over, clutching between his legs. 

“Goddamnit! Curse human body weaknesses!” He yells.

Ford roughly pushes Bill off him and races out of the room, making a break for the bridge. The storm is much closer than he initially thought, violently rocking the tiny vessel against angry waters. 

I have to warn Dipper and Mabel before it’s too late. 

Ford whips around the corner, jumping into the bridge. He quickly locks the metal latch behind him and barricades the door with a piece of wood lying to the side. That’ll stall Bill just enough. He rips open drawer after drawer until he finds a small handgun. This one is certainly loaded-- Stanford always made sure his weapons were. He hesitates at the thought of potentially wounding his brother. 

Anything to stop Bill. 

Stanford checks the ship’s communication radio, flipping switches and dialing to station 618. 

“Transmitting from S-O-W- 0-2. S-O-W- 0-2. This is Stanford Pines.” 

Before they’d left, Stanford gifted the twins a radio and scanner to communicate with them while they were out at sea. With a few tweaks and some borrowed alien tech, Ford had made sure that its frequency range would reach wherever they were in the world. He imagined it would be used to regale the children of their fantastical adventures. Never would Ford have thought he’d use it for this. 

But even if they were near the radio, the kids are likely fast asleep at this hour. Still, he speaks into the mic. 

“Bill is-” 

There’s a thunderous boom and the ship suddenly lurches to the left. Stanford stumbles, gripping onto the edge of the table to keep himself from falling. The light bulb above him swings violently above him, threatening to fly right off its wire. Stanford steadies himself.

“Bill is back. Do not engage. Do not answer.” Ford hesitates before adding, “We love you two. Please keep safe-” 

Ford is knocked to the ground. His gun skitters across the slippery floor. For a moment, he can only see stars. He groans, his face radiating red hot pain and ears ringing from the blow to the side of his face. Bill holds the empty shotgun like a bat, grinning like a madman. 

“Who were you talking to?” 

Bill looks at the radio, slapping his forehead and cackling. 

“Aww… Don’t tell me you were talking to ol’ Pine Tree and Shooting Star! You’re so impatient-- I’ll get to them soon!” 

“No, don’t you dare. Don’t you fucking dare-” 

Bill strikes him again with the butt of the shotgun. Ford tries to crawl towards his gun but Bill steps on it, kicking it even further before kicking Ford in the stomach. The air is instantly extinguished from his lungs and Ford gasps in pain. Bill looks down at him in disgust. 

“Shut the fuck up, IQ. You’re in no position to tell me what to do. I’ve given you chances over and over but since you’ve obviously got a death wish, you’re gonna die like a dog just like your brother,” Bill narrows his eyes, pursing his lips. “I used to think you were different, Stanford. Special . But now I see. You’re trash just like every other member of your damned family. You’re pathetic. ” 

Suddenly, Bill starts laughing as he kicks him again. Over and over. 

“C’mon, Fordsy!” Bill spits. “Aren’t you gonna play the hero? Where’s all that fight in you gone? Or are you too scared to hurt me in this body?” 

Bile rises in Ford’s throat as he is repeatedly assaulted. Pain numbs his mind and his body curls up, mind desperately trying not to black out. Bill’s foot strikes his face and Ford hears his nose crack, blood filling his nostrils. 

Then Bill abruptly stops, bored that his attacks aren’t getting a rise from his former partner. He clicks his tongue, standing over Ford, watching him writhe, gasping for air. Bill shrugs. 

“Well, if you’ve already spoiled the surprise, allow me to say a few choice words.” 

The demon bounds for the radio, grabbing the microphone, twirling the cord in his fingers as he speaks. 

“Hey Shooting Star! Hey Pine Tree! This is your Grunkle Stan! I’m about to paint these walls red with my brother’s guts and turn this shitty tin can around back to the mainland! Don’t be too upset though guys! You’ll be joining him VERY soon! OVER!”

Bill rips the microphone from its wires, throwing it across the floor. 

“As I was saying-” 

Ford grabs Bill’s leg and violently pulls him down. Bill yelps in surprise and falls to the ground. The two wrestle, punching, kicking, scratching at each other like mad men, vying for dominance. Ford spies his handgun, dangerously close, and lunges at it, grabbing the weapon. 

The gun goes off. Bill jumps away like a rabid animal before straightening up. He gently touches his cheek, looking at the blood smeared against his fingers. He chuckles.  

“Wow Sixer, real gutsy pointing that thing at me but we all know you love this meat puppet way too much to actually kill me.”

Ford narrows his eyes, once again pointing the gun at Bill. His hands are trembling. 

Stanley wouldn’t want to be used like this. He wouldn’t want to hurt me. He wouldn’t want to hurt the kids. It’s because of that, that I- “You’re wrong Bill,” Ford says, quietly. “It’s because I love him that I will.” 

Bill’s body shudders. He convulses, gagging before he shakes and closes his eyes. When he reopens them, they aren’t yellow. Stanford lowers his gun slightly. 

“Stanley?” 

Stanley stands in front of him, wide-eyed and terrified. 

“Stanford?” 

His body spasms once more. The yellow eyes return and Bill lunches at Stanford. There is one last crack of lightning. 

The gun goes off.

[2screamingpears]

A not-complete list of wonderful changes, translation and localization I noticed when I went to see Book of Mormon in Madrid!

Hey! So I went to see The Book of Mormon last month in Madrid, and since I had watched (bootlegged) and listened to the original production, I was able to enjoy some changes they made so it could be enjoyed by spanish audiences!

First off, I should say that it wasn’t a replica production (and I think I much prefer this one!). The choreography was amazing, and definitely more elaborate than on broadway ! Here, have a look: https://youtu.be/NZ5UxjN2MPs?si=UErYQUODo5Qs-EMC

Some of the first changes I wondered how they were going to make was the opening number: both Hello and Hola have the same syllables but hola cannot be used, since the accent falls on the first syllable in hola and the second in hello….. so spanish mormons just end up saying how are you (¿qué tal?) 😂

Second change comes during the second number, two by two: one of the jokes is weirdly untranslatable, which is the addendum at the end of the phrase “we are the soldiers of the church of jesus christ (of latter day saints)”. Since in spanish “of la-tter day saints” (5 syllables) would be “de los úl-ti-mos dí-as” (7 syllables), they changed it to “yo-soy-mor-món” (i am a mormon) which fits! There is a joke lost, but mormonism isn’t as widespread as it is on the US, so it’s hardly noticeable.

This one is mostly to update the content, but during two by two when the trip to japan gets announced, the mormons are excited about soy sauce and godzilla (instead of mothra)

Next comes a change i also wondered about: how do you make a joke out of Elder Price’s wish to go to Orlando, of all things? In the English version, Elder Price would like to go to orlando because of Sea World, Disney and putt-putt golfing: spaniards have no cultural knowledge of what Orlando is, so the translated line is “Orlando! Disney me espera, soy fan de Frozen” (Orlando! Disney is waiting for me, I’m a Frozen fan) which really drives home the ridiculousness of choosing that place as your mission trip. Also, if you watch the video i linked, the joke is super amplified through choreography, which is part of why i love this production so much.

Hasa diga eebowai gets one change Very right: instead of saying fuck you god, they say “me cago en dios” (i shit on god) which is a very common way of cursing about things in spain: you can shit on the milk (me cago en la leche), on your mother (me cago en tu madre) and indeed, you can shit on god!

One fun localization comes in at the end of All-American prophet, a song that’s basically a sales pitch or infomercial : the fun little gag at the end where Elder Cunningham says “if you order now, we’ll also throw a seat of steak knives” gets changed to “if you order now, we’ll throw in a thermomix for free” For people who don’t know, a thermomix is The Product everyone gets from infomercials/ through independent sellers: it’s a chopper/blender/cooker/scale/kitchen robot, very convenient! My mother has one :) one of the ugandan ladies asks Cunningham about the thermomix inmediatly after finishing the number and he excitedly begins explaining the whole shtick every middle aged spanish lady has heard before, that got a big laugh :)

In the sequence before spooky mormon hell dream, when Elder Price’s so happy that he finally reaches Orlando, he throws in another elsa joke, saying that he’s blonde like her, so thats why she likes her😂

During Spooky mormon hell dream, one change that got Such a big laugh was seeing the four people that are in hell according to Elder Price: Genghis Khan, Hitler, Jeffrey Dahmer and, instead of Jonnie Cochran (idk even who he is) we got Silvio Berlusconi, politician and founder of communications company Mediaset, which runs a thrash tv channel called Telecinco (and that’s what he’s in hell for, according to the song)

The thing elder cunningham always says “tomorrow’s a latter day” gets changed to a saying a lot of catholic old people say, “mañana dios dirá” which both fits in the metric and localizes it, since mormonism isn’t that well known.

And that’s it! It was such a wonderful performance, and a testament to the beauty of translation: even if i know I understand English fairly well, seeing the jokes on my native language made everything 100x times funnier! Strongly recommend!

[peoplesrazor]

The personality test? Right? Are you sure, really sure, you didn't mistype boomers? You'd still be wrong and othering, but I could at least understand the accusation.

Not going to lie, since I heard Lily says something like, "I know the urge to say "well actually" is strong in some people..." I've been waiting for something like this.

Anyway, for those that care to know why this is definitely not a new trend, here is some well actuallyizinging for you:

So, there's this personality test, based on research by a woman, Katharine Cook Briggs, in the early 1900s, refined when she began working with a second woman, Isabel Briggs Myers (her daughter) and revised further once Carl Jung's book was translated into English. Over the years, their ideas about personality were further developed and studied by others until the 1960s when a manual was published. A second edition was published in 1980 and a third came in 1998.

Briggs also published her first book on the subject in the 1920s. Further, during WW2, she studied women entering the workforce and recommended jobs to them based on results of her personality test. She published these findings in a second book in the 1940s.

That's how old this thing is.

Note: Jung's ideas of personality and it's duality are different then that of Briggs and Myers in many ways. They just based some of their research on his.

For years, it's been dismissed as pseudoscience by the scientific community. Despite this, it's always been popular both as a tool and as a fad. The test has been taken an estimated 50 million times, was adopted by the Educational Testing Service in 1962 and is used by 10,000 businesses,  2,500 colleges and universities, and 200 government agencies.

That's how widespread this thing's use is.

I personally recall it being a recommended activity in both the early days of the internet and again later when social media took hold. This was considered a harmless and fun activity, without most people taking it seriously. Still, I very much doubt, many people my age haven't taken the test at some point. Some probably even remember what personality type they got.

Also, because of incorporating some of Jung's ideas, this test is one of the first places many people learn the terms introvert and extrovert. No, he didn't coin the terms; I believe introvert, at least, comes from the 1600s. He just brought the terms into wider use in his time.

That's how many lives have somehow been influenced by this thing in the century since Briggs first began her research.

But sure, Lily, let's make this about the next generation.

Honestly, I could have let this go, but I feel like this is another instance of othering. I have to admit, I'm a little surprised at her target. Considering things she's said about other Asian countries, you think she would have said "for people from Korea and China." Taking the test became a popular activity in those countries during covid.

Cause, you know, the racism.

Addendum: I don't have my pysch and history books texts atm and didn't feel this required any deeper research. In other words, yes, those links go to Wikipedia. If you want to see their entry for the test itself here is that link. Just a heads-up, there are a lot of citations needed.

I also understand if you want to skip all this history and pysch stuff. Here's a fun fact to make up for it. Briggs first started researching personalities because one day she was looking at her son-in-law and basically thought he was weird.

Edit: Made my language more clear and cleaned up a few errors. Also, finally remembered to mention that Myers was Briggs' daughter.

[kingedmundsroyalmurder]

Addendum to the chapter 1 post that I thought of later:

“Not this afternoon—haven’t got time. I must mosey up to the North End to see a man who has got a lovely throat. Nobody can find out what is the matter. He has puzzled all the doctors. He has puzzled me, but I’ll find out what is wrong with him if he’ll only live long enough.” This is Eric's best friend, a well known doctor, cosplaying as, like, 1900s Dr. House. No concern for the patient's well being, just a Mystery that must be solved. No wonder Eric has such a low opinion of doctors!

(Sidenote: those of you who Anne, what is Gilbert like as a doctor? Because TBC didn't have a great opinion of them, and this book is not shaping up to be too complimentary either. Did LMM just have a fairly poor opinion of doctors in general that colors her work?)

On to chapter two, and we meet an actually sympathetic character! Larry West seems like a lovely young man, and I hope he recovers fully and that he and Agnes Campion are blissfully happy together. Unlike either Eric or David, Larry actually seems to care about the people under his charge, i.e. his students. I already want him to be our protagonist instead.

"The former looked more like a benevolent old clergyman or philanthropist than the keen, shrewd, somewhat hard, although just and honest, man of business that he really was." Kilmeny of the Orchard, sponsored by the Better Business Bureau! There is absolutely an interesting thread to tease out across LMM's life and work that connects Eric Marshall to Barney Snaith, but I want to read more of this book before I make further commentary on that. But it does appear that Maud's opinions on rags-to-riches businessmen, uh, Evolved over the years.

Actually never mind, I'm gonna girl who's only ever read The Blue Castle this book a tiny bit more. Compare:

"And then those girls were as pretty as pinks, now weren’t they? Agnes was the finest-looking of the lot in my opinion. I hope it’s true that you’re courting her, Eric?”

and

“Prettiest girl in Montreal,” said Dr. Redfern. “Oh, she was a looker, all right. Eh? Gold hair—shiny as silk—great, big, soft, black eyes—skin like milk and roses. Don’t wonder Bernie fell for her. And brains as well. She wasn’t a bit of fluff. B. A. from McGill. A thoroughbred, too. One of the best families."

Women aren't really people, they are trophies and objects to be collected and revered. Barney grows out of this mentality through his travels. Eric... well it remains to be seen about Eric, doesn't it?

"Perhaps I am. When a man has had a mother like mine his standard of womanly sweetness is apt to be pitched pretty high." So we're getting the standards by which Eric judges a future wife and the role she will be expected to play. He wants a society hostess, a woman who can step seamlessly into his mother's shoes. He wants her to be sweet and serene and, presumably, beautiful and delicate like his mother in her portrait. David and Mr. Marshall both basically want him to marry Ethel Taverse -- beautiful, well brought up, good lineage, of the Right Sort. Eric... honestly Eric has such fantasy standards for a woman that in a different book the resolution would be that he realizes that he's gay. He's doing that doesn't-realize-they're-queer-yet thing of, "it's not that I don't like [expected other gender], it's just that I haven't found anyone yet with [vague laundry list of impossible qualities]." I know that doesn't always translate into queerness, but it's an experience that definitely rings true to my baby ace teenage years before I had the words or knowledge to accurately describe my experiences.

"In all likelihood the worst thing that will happen to you over there will be that some misguided woman will put you to sleep in a spare room bed. And if that does happen may the Lord have mercy on your soul!” Go to PEI, but don't consort with the locals! The Wrong Kind of Woman might tempt you! This book is a great primer on how classism and eugenics go hand in hand, isn't it?

So our plot has been set up for us. Eric, a young man in possession of a good fortune, is off to Prince Edward Island, where he will soon find himself in want of a woman to be his wife. She will either be a commoner, whom his family and friends think isn't good enough for him but whom he loves and will stand up for, or she will be a secret aristocrat, whom he will pluck out of her shabby surroundings and return to her birthright in high society. I want this book to go with option a, because it's more interesting, but from what I know of it it veers closer to option b instead.

(What he needs is an Anne Shirley to whack him upside the head with a slate and tell him to stop being such a jerk, but I'm not holding out hope.)

[the-consortium]

Reaction to a book where you and Cawl nerd off?

I can't answer that in character very well, since I am not really looking forward to it.

But I made a post about it on my mainblog. 😊

Addendum: I think this subject has great potential to be interesting. But I don't think they've got the right author to do it justice for both protagonists.

I'm happy to be proven wrong and will of course read the book as soon as it comes out - but … I have my doubts.

Cawl is simply not an interesting character for me. I am more "Team Biology" than "Team Mechanicum" (to put it mildly).

For me, the topic of "humanity in the machine and what's left when you take too much away" has already been covered enough in more philosophically complex surroundings than Warhammer, so Cawl is just regurgitating old ideas there for me. In the grimdark future, I want to focus on what humanity means in other contexts.

Fabius is the magnifying glass that can focus me on this topic - he is constantly exploring these boundaries and just as constantly despairing of them. He has a very ambivalent relationship with his own biology, and his quibbling with all things spiritual in a trans-religious world is exactly what captivates me about reading material.

Cawl seems to have a big following though, as often as I get Ask posts about him. In that respect, a book on the subject is of course smart on Games Workshop's part.

In this respect, I am simply not representative.

I'll see if they don't just misuse my good doctor as a stooge and sinister villain. He really doesn't deserve that.

I hope for the best and expect the worst!

Please, Mr. Haley, make me eat my words! And I mean this totally unironically.

[megamuscle885-blog]

depends on the candidates I guess? and who's to say they even bothered voting? but speculative alternate history is one of my hobbies so lets dive in.

Scion is credited as 'the first parahuman' and was discovered floating above the atlantic on the 20th of May, 1982. Earth Bet 'begins' a little earlier at 1978, during Jimmy Carter's term, but it isn't until Scion that Parahumans start showing up with regularity, since everyone thinks he's the first. So our point of divergence is about halfway through Ronald Reagan's first term. I'm australian, so you'll have to bear with me here on the details, but I'm fairly certain Ronald Reagan was one of the more goofy presidents. Something about star wars, and a psychic wife? He might be all about the comic book superheroes coming to life. Also he's apparently halfway through implementing 'Reaganomics' (again the details are unclear to me) which wikipedia describes as 'economic deregulation' and cuts to both taxes and government spending. I imagine this could be what eventually creates that NEPEA-5 bill that freezes rogues out of the economy and further criminalizes non-hero parahuman activity in north america, likely as a response to those same rogues/the elite taking advantage of Reagan's deregulations?

On the 18th of January, 1993, the Protectorate (the team consisting of Alexandria, Hero, Eidolon and Legend) are sworn in under President James D. Griffin (who was the Mayor of Buffalo, NY from 1973-93, but lets assume he left that position before 1993 to become President). Now this one's a little interesting because the earliest a President can start actually running the country would be the 20th if I'm not mistaken? So either President James Griffin was elected after Reagan (assuming Reagan served his second term, which is rather likely) and one of his last acts before the President-Elect is sworn in is to swear in the Protectorate, or, and correct me if I'm wrong here and you just don't do that in the USA, but instead President-Elect James Griffin is asked to fulfill his duties here two days early. I don't think that's usually done, but it might be possible. (Addendum here because I realized a bit late, but James could've been going on his second term here instead. It's possible.)

This means no George Bush Senior (and likely no Junior either without his dad to pull the strings) in the former case, and no Bill Clinton in the latter case.

There's maybe some interesting political science to go through here. President James Griffin is most likely a democrat as he was in OTL, and if he was a democrat, he'd fit right into the spot Bill Clinton would be occupying following twelve years of the republican party under Reagan and Bush Sr. If instead the former, we've got a democrat shake-up after Reagan. George Bush Sr was Vice-President with Reagan going through both terms, which probably had a factor in his popularity going into the 1988 elections. Lets look how OTL voted, and we'll see that Bush wins with 53.4% of the popular vote with 426 to 111 in the electoral collage.

That's a daunting place for a democrat to win in Worm's timeline. I think the easiest explanation is the existence of parahumans. Comparatively, Clinton's 1992 election will show 370-168 in his favor. I suppose that George Bush Senior's popularity might have taken a credible dive during his presidency, with the growth of the parahuman crisis and the Slaughterhouse Nine growing into an S-Class threat after Jack killed King in 1987. What really nails this home, though, is Vikare's death in 1989 during the stadium riot. Wildbow wrote that this is would be considered the end of the 'Golden Age', which suits Ronald Reagan's delusional political period perfectly.

So, operating off that, lets say that James Griffin replaces Bush, and one of his last actions is to swear in the Protectorate and form the PRT as we know it.

Wildbow mentions a President Bradley and his/hers? preservation act in response to the Endbringers and he guesses 8-9 attacks in America in 20 years. Okay lets figure this out a little. Behemoth, 19th December 1992. 3rd appearance, attacks New York 26th March 1994. The Preservation Act is passed likely to give international victims a helping hand. I remember reading, but can't find a link for it, that the USA initially had big hopes when they rebuilt New York, but that as time goes on and the Endbringers become more numerous and more frequent in their attacks, less cities in the USA can be rebuilt like Manhattan was. So now we have President Bradley, who might have been elected in 1992 following James Griffin, unless Griffin secured his second term. If President Griffin managed to win his second term, then President Bradley is likely to have won the 1996 election as a Republican, since political data shows that democrats rarely get more than 8 years, and almost never get more than 12, with the last example of that being JFK and LBJ, and JFK got shot.

According to Migration 17.3, there's a President Gillen in 2009. Assuming President Bradley won the 1996 election and replaced Bill Clinton and then won his second term to the 2000s election, I reckon President Gillen is our George Bush Junior stand-in. In the context to which he's revealed, the Travellers and Madison and a cut-off newspaper headline, I reckon he's getting his version of 9/11 here in 2009 after also winning his second term, with this being the first time the Simurgh has attacked in the USA. It's taking place in December, so he might be getting ready to pass over to the President-Elect, and it might explain why he's willing to order the extreme measures we see in the Traveller's interlude; it's his second term, he's handing the reins over to the next President, he can afford to take a hit here to ensure a massive national security threat is handled. If President Bradley is a republican, President Gillen might be a democrat. Bill Clinton and George Bush junior both got their second terms, I could see it happening here too.

So now that we've got a loose idea of who's whom, we come to the final question: Who is President in 2011 and what party are they from? If we're following the pattern, then instead of Obama's 'Change' campaign with the Democrats, we've got a Republican President in 2009, who will probably be running for re-election in the 2012 election. Considering that the world, and North America, is in a considerable state of turmoil in recent years; the second-latest Endbringer attack hit Brockton Bay, Cauldron outed and the PRT is being purged, Alexandria's death, I'd say that this republican president is unlikely to be able to win his second term. So Democrats get to see the USA through Gold Morning.

Phew... oh, what was the main conceit for this post? OH! Right. As for who votes for whom; Brian who is the world's youngest 40 year old man is very proud of going to the voting booth this year. He will be voting Democrat because Brockton Bay's local politics have been saturated with Neo-Nazis over the last couple decades and the death of the E88 has resulted in a sudden lack of funding for much of the republican nominees across New England. He's eager to do his part.

Lisa is voting Democrat because she's the one who set her local Senator up in the first place, after the Mayoral election went back on schedule after Coil's death. The Undersiders are a considerable influence on the state's senators, owing to their relevance around inter-reality trade.

I wonder which way Brian and Lisa voted in the 2012 election. Pretty sure they both would've been old enough at that point, and neither of them were convicted felons, so...

[reanimatedcourier]

How to Write Indigenous Characters Without Looking like a Jackass:

Update as of December 26th, 2020: I have added a couple new sections about naming and legal terms, as well as a bit of reading on the Cherokee Princess phenomenon.

Boozhoo (hello) Fallout fandom! I'm a card-carrying Anishinaabe delivering this rough guide about writing Indigenous characters because wow, do I see a lot of shit.

Let's get something out of the way first: Fallout's portrayal of Indigenous people is racist. From a vague definition of "tribal" to the claims of them being "savage" and "uncivilized" mirror real-world stereotypes used to dehumanize us. Fallout New Vegas' narrated intro has Ron Perlman saying Mr. House "rehabilitated" tribals to create New Vegas' Three Families. You know. Rehabilitate. As if we are animals. Top it off with an erasure of Indigenous people in the American Southwest and no real tribe names, and you've got some pretty shitty representation. The absence of Native American as a race option in the GECK isn't too great, given that two Native characters are marked "Caucasian" despite being brown. Butch Deloria is a pretty well-known example of this effect. (Addendum: Indigenous people can have any mix of dominant and recessive traits, as well as present different phenotypes. What bothers me is it doesn't accommodate us or mixed people, which is another post entirely.)

As a precautionary warning: this post and the sources linked will discuss racism and genocide. There will also be discussion of multiple kinds of abuse.

Now, your best approach will be to pick a nation or tribe and research them. However, what follows will be general references.

Terms that may come up in your research include Aboriginal/Native Canadian, American Indian/Native American, Inuit, Métis, and Mestizo. The latter two refer to cultural groups created after the discovery of the so-called New World. (Addendum made September 5th, 2020: Mestizo has negative connotations and originally meant "half breed" so stick with referring to your mixed Latine and Indigenous characters as mixed Indigenous or simply by the name of their people [Maya, Nahua].)

As a note, not every mixed person is Métis or Mestizo. If you are, say, Serbian and Anishinaabe, you would be mixed, but not Métis (the big M is important here, as it refers to a specific culture). Even the most liberal definition caps off at French and British ancestry alongside Indigenous (some say Scottish and English). Mestizo works the same, since it refers to descendants of Spanish conquistadors/settlers and Indigenous people.

Trouble figuring out whose land is where? No problem, check out this map.

Drawing

Don't draw us with red skin. It's offensive and stereotypical.

Tutorial for Native Skintones

Tutorial for Mixed Native Skintones

Why Many Natives Have Long Hair (this would technically fit better under another category, but give your Native men long hair!)

If You're Including Traditional Wear, Research! It's Out There

Languages

Remember, there are a variety of languages spoken by Indigenous people today. No two tribes will speak the same language, though there are some that are close and may have loan words from each other (Cree and Anishinaabemowin come to mind). Make sure your Diné (you may know them as Navajo) character doesn't start dropping Cree words.

Here's a Site With a Map and Voice Clips

Here's an Extensive List of Amerindian Languages

Keep in mind there are some sounds that have no direct English equivalents. But while we're at it, remember a lot of us speak English, French, Spanish, or Portuguese. The languages of the countries that colonized us.

Words in Amerindian languages tend to be longer than English ones and are in the format of prefix + verb + suffix to get concepts across. Gaawiin miskwaasinoon is a complete sentence in Anishinaabemowin, for example (it is not red).

Names

Surprisingly, we don't have names like Passing Dawn or Two-Bears-High-Fiving in real life. A lot of us have, for lack of better phrasing, white people names. We may have family traditions of passing a name down from generation to generation (I am the fourth person in my maternal line to have my middle name), but not everyone is going to do that. If you do opt for a name from a specific tribe, make sure you haven't chosen a last name from another tribe.

Baby name sites aren't reliable, because most of the names on there will be made up by people who aren't Indigenous. That site does list some notable exceptions and debunks misconceptions.

Here's a list of last names from the American census.

Indian Names

You may also hear "spirit names" because that's what they are for. You know the sort of mystical nature-related name getting slapped on an Indigenous character? Let's dive into that for a moment.

The concept of a spirit name seems to have gotten mistranslated at some point in time. It is the name Creator calls you throughout all your time both here and in the spirit world. These names are given (note the word usage) to you in a ceremony performed by an elder. This is not done lightly.

A lot of imitations of this end up sounding strange because they don't follow traditional guidelines. (I realize this has spread out of the original circle, but Fallout fans may recall other characters in Honest Hearts and mods that do this. They have really weird and racist results.)

If you're not Indigenous: don't try this. You will be wrong.

Legal Terms

Now, sometimes the legal term (or terms) for a tribe may not be what they refer to themselves as. A really great example of this would be the Oceti Sakowin and "Sioux". How did that happen, you might be wondering. Smoky Mountain News has an article about this word and others, including the history of these terms.

For the most accurate information, you are best off having your character refer to themselves by the name their nation uses outside of legislation. A band name would be pretty good for this (Oglala Lakota, for example). I personally refer to myself by my band.

Cowboys

And something the Fallout New Vegas fans might be interested in, cowboys! Here's a link to a post with several books about Black and Indigenous cowboys in the Wild West.

Representation: Stereotypes and Critical Thought

Now, you'll need to think critically about why you want to write your Indigenous character a certain way. Here is a comprehensive post about stereotypes versus nuance.

Familiarize yourself with tropes. The Magical Indian is a pretty prominent one, with lots of shaman-type characters in movies and television shows. This post touches on its sister tropes (The Magical Asian and The Magical Negro), but is primarily about the latter.

Say you want to write an Indigenous woman. Awesome! Characters I love to see. Just make sure you're aware of the stereotypes surrounding her and other Women of Color.

Word to the wise: do not make your Indigenous character an alcoholic. "What, so they can't even drink?" You might be asking. That is not what I'm saying. There is a pervasive stereotype about Drunk Indians, painting a reaction to trauma as an inherent genetic failing, as stated in this piece about Indigenous social worker Jessica Elm's research. The same goes for drugs. Ellen Deloria is an example of this stereotype.

Familiarize yourself with and avoid the Noble Savage trope. This was used to dehumanize us and paint us as "childlike" for the sake of a plot device. It unfortunately persists today.

Casinos are one of the few ways for tribes to make money so they can build homes and maintain roads. However, some are planning on diversifying into other business ventures.

There's a stereotype where we all live off government handouts. Buddy, some of these long-term boil water advisories have been in place for over twenty years. The funding allocated to us as a percentage is 0.39%: less than half a percent to fight the coronavirus. They don't give us money.

"But what about people claiming to be descended from a Cherokee princess?" Cherokee don't and never had anything resembling princesses. White southerners made that up prior to the Civil War. As the article mentions, they fancied themselves "defending their lands as the Indians did".

Also, don't make your Indigenous character a cannibal. Cannibalism is a serious taboo in a lot of our cultures, particularly northern ones.

Our lands are not cursed. We don't have a litany of curses to cast on white people in found footage films. Seriously. We have better things to be doing. Why on earth would our ancestors be haunting you when they could be with their families? Very egotistical assumption.

Indigenous Ties and Blood Quantum

Blood quantum is a colonial system that was initially designed to "breed out the Indian" in people. To dilute our bloodlines until we assimilated properly into white society. NPR has an article on it here.

However, this isn't how a vast majority of us define our identities. What makes us Indigenous is our connections (or reconnection) to our families, tribes, bands, clans, and communities.

Blood quantum has also historically been used to exclude Black Natives from tribal enrollment, given that it was first based on appearance. So, if you looked Black and not the image of "Indian" the white census taker had in his brain, you were excluded and so were your descendants.

Here are two tumblrs that talk about Black Indigenous issues and their perspectives. They also talk about Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people of Australia.

However, if you aren't Indigenous, don't bring up blood quantum. Don't. This is an issue you should not be speaking about.

Cherokee Princess Myth

"Princess" was not a real position in any tribe. The European idea of monarchy did not suddenly manifest somewhere else. The closest probable approximation may have been the daughter of a chief or other politically prominent person. But princess? No.

Here is an article talking about possible origins of this myth. Several things are of note here: women from other tribes may have bee shoved under this label and the idea of a "Cherokee Princess" had been brought up to explain the sudden appearance of a brown-skinned (read: half Black) family member.

For a somewhat more in depth discussion of why, specifically, this myth gets touted around so often, Timeline has this piece.

Religion

Our religions are closed. We are not going to tell you how we worship. Mostly because every little bit we choose to share gets appropriated. Smudging is the most recent example. If you aren't Indigenous, that's smoke cleansing. Smudging is done in a specific way with ceremonies and prayers.

Now, a lot of us were forcibly converted. Every residential school was run by Christians. So plenty of us are Catholic, Baptist, Anglican, Lutheran, etc. Catholicism in Latin America also has influence from the Indigenous religions in that region.

Having your Indigenous character pray or carry rosaries wouldn't be a bad thing, if that religion was important to them. Even if they are atheist, if they lived outside of a reserve or other Indigenous communities, they might have Christian influences due to its domination of the Western world.

Settler Colonialism and the White Savior Trope

Now we've come to our most painful section yet. Fallout unintentionally has an excellent agent of settler-colonialism, in particular the Western Christian European variety, in Caesar's Legion and Joshua Graham.

(Addendum: Honest Hearts is extremely offensive in its portrayal of Indigenous people, and egregiously shows a white man needing to "civilize" tribals and having to teach them basic skills. These skills include cooking, finding safe water, and defending themselves from other tribes.)

Before we dive in, here is a post explaining the concept of cultural Christianity, if you are unfamiliar with it.

We also need to familiarize ourselves with The White Man's Burden. While the poem was written regarding the American-Philippine war, it still captures the attitudes toward Indigenous folks all over the world at the time.

As this article in Teen Vogue points out, white people like to believe they need to save People of Color. You don't need to. People of Color can save themselves.

Now, cultural Christianity isn't alone on this side of the pond. Writer Teju Cole authored a piece on the White Savior Industrial Complex to describe mission trips undertaken by white missionaries to Africa to feed their egos.

Colonialism has always been about the acquisition of wealth. To share a quote from this paper about the ongoing genocide of Indigenous peoples: "Negatively, [settler colonialism] strives for the dissolution of native societies. Positively, it erects a new colonial society on the expropriated land base—as I put it, settler colonizers come to stay: invasion is a structure not an event. In its positive aspect, elimination is an organizing principal of settler-colonial society rather than a one-off (and superseded) occurrence. The positive outcomes of the logic of elimination can include officially encouraged miscegenation, the breaking-down of native title into alienable individual freeholds, native citizenship, child abduction, religious conversion, resocialization in total institutions such as missions or boarding schools, and a whole range of cognate biocultural assimilations. All these strategies, including frontier homicide, are characteristic of settler colonialism. Some of them are more controversial in genocide studies than others." (Positive, here, is referring to "benefits" for the colonizers. Indigenous people don't consider colonization beneficial.)

An example of a non-benefit, the Church Rock disaster had Diné children playing in radioactive water so the company involved could avoid bad publicity.

Moving on, don't sterilize your Indigenous people. Sterilization, particularly when it is done without consent, has long been used as a tool by the white system to prevent "undesirables" (read, People of Color and disabled people) from having children. Somehow, as of 2018, it wasn't officially considered a crime.

The goal of colonization was to eliminate us entirely. Millions died because of exposure to European diseases. Settlers used to and still do separate our children from us for reasons so small as having a dirty dish in the sink. You read that right, a single dirty dish in your kitchen sink was enough to get your children taken and adopted out to white families. This information was told to me by an Indigenous social work student whose name I will keep anonymous.

It wasn't until recently they made amendments to the Indian Act that wouldn't automatically render Indigenous women non-status if they married someone not Indigenous. It also took much too long for Indigenous families to take priority in child placement over white ones. Canada used to adopt Indigenous out to white American families. The source for that statement is further down, but adoption has been used as a tool to destroy cultures.

I am also begging you to cast aside whatever colonialist systems have told you about us. We are alive. People with a past, not people of the past, which was wonderfully said here by Frank Waln.

Topics to Avoid if You Aren't Indigenous

Child Separation. Just don't. We deserve to remain with our families and our communities. Let us stay together and be happy that way.

Assimilation schools. Do not bring up a tool for cultural genocide that has left lasting trauma in our communities.

W/ndigos. I don't care that they're in Fallout 76. They shouldn't be. Besides, you never get them right anyway.

Sk/nwalkers. Absolutely do not. Diné stories are not your playthings either.

I've already talked about drugs and alcohol. Do your research with compassion and empathy in mind. Indigenous people have a lot of pain and generational trauma. You will need to be extremely careful having your Indigenous characters use drugs and alcohol. If your character can be reduced to their (possible) substance abuse issues, you need to step back and rework it. As mentioned in Jessica Elm's research, remember that it isn't inherent to us.

For our final note: remember that we're complex, autonomous human beings. Don't use our deaths to further the stories of your white characters. Don't reduce us to some childlike thing that needs to be raised and civilized by white characters. We interact with society a little differently than you do, but we interact nonetheless.

Meegwetch (thank you) for reading! Remember to do your research and portray us well, but also back off when you are told by an Indigenous person.

This may be updated in the future, it depends on what information I come across or, if other Indigenous people are so inclined, what is added to this post.

[ryoalouette]

KHR!xTolkien AU coz why not

The other day in @cywscross Discord, a certain someone (@tiredfictiongate ) had said: I want Tsuna as a Tolkien elf

Alouette (me), being one of the few Tolkien nuts (tho am certainly not an expert) active in Cross’ Discord be like: Challenge Accepted.

So lo! I have a few versions of Sawada Tsunayoshi being a Tolkien Elf!

1) Nana is a Tolkien elf isekai’d to KHR! World. 

- Name could be anything, but it’s certainly not Nana (Sindarin: mom). Iemitsu probably heard her name very wrongly or has incompetency issues with his ears, who even knows. But her only record of her existing is possibly from the wedding certificate with Iemitsu.

Addendum: Reborn thought that Tsuna was very impolite in calling his mother with her name, but both Tsuna and Nana (who just uses that name as a nickname at this point, probably) just told him point blank that Nana means mom in her native language.

Addendum 2: 

Reborn: Where’s your mom from?

Tsuna: oh, she came from (insert elven city name like Ost-in-Edhil)

Reborn, who has basically traveled the world due to his hitman occupation: where the fucketh is that.

Addendum 3: If Mammon is around, then they will recognize the name. They’re a fantasy nerd. Note that it’s really not the same as Verde who’s a science nerd.

Addendum 4: Tsuna and Reborn travelling: Reborn probably couldn’t sit on Tsuna’s shoulder or head due to Tsuna’s smol size. Hey, bebey walking side by side!

- Tsuna is a Peredhel (half-elven). Everyone possibly would accept Tsuna as he is, bullying notwithstanding. The teachers from elementary school up to high school would think that he got genetic disorder due to how slow he grows. Possibly would have a mother-name, but who even knows with his mom’s lineage. I’m under the impression that father-name/mother-name thing is of the Noldor culture, since I never read the Laws and Custom of the Eldar due to the book not existing physically in my nearby book store. Got to search online when I got the time/money...

Addendum: He’s now Hibari’s emotional support animal, er, child sorry. Congratulations(?)

Addendum 2: Fon (Hibari’s probably relative tho unknown from which side of fam) is aware of Tsuna due to his proximity to Hibari, possibly know enough that Tsuna is a possible heir to the bloody Vongola throne, but not much about Nana to know that he’s a half-elf. To be fair, Fon really didn’t focus on fantasy realm like Mammon does; he’s a martial artist, know more than 100 styles and more than half is possibly so obscure - what does he need of fantasies in the first place? Or well, there’s not even a possibility of an elf from another world isekai’ing to his world??

Addendum 3: What are the chances his enemies (read: Mukuro, Xanxus, etc) thinking like: Oh God I’m going to possess/kill/etc a child? M: I’m no better than the Famiglia I’m from!/X: A BEBEY AS MY RIVAL? U KIDDING? etc- Oh man the possibility of sheer chaos his (seemingly apparent) age will bring to his enemies. 

- He’d be an actual minor when he’s a mafia boss. Upon 50 years old (of which a Tolkien elf majority; D&D is 100 years old - and him being half-elven, prolly less than 50 but more than 18/21 tbh), he’d be the youngest looking aside from possibly Chrome; his other Guardian possibly would look like they’re old enough to be his parent(s).

Addendum: 

Nana, seeing Iemitsu telling Tsuna that this or that girl is pretty: Nana: Tsu-kun, I expect you to marry after you're 500 years old. You're too young to marry now.

Someone who hears what Nana said: ???????

Addendum 2: 

Rando A: omfg Decimo is surely a demigod

Rando B: ??? Why do you think that?

Rando A: he doesn’t age and it’s been 50 years since he stepped up as Decimo

Rando B: omfg u rite

- Bonus: Skull and/or Bermuda are also elves. Skull being Maglor and Bermuda is somehow twice-cursed being his appearance and the Arcobaleno they both got. Tho who Bermuda is, it’s basically anyone’s guess. Imagine if the elves found each other, then it’s basically that one spiderman meme.

Addendum: No one would believe Skull can sing. Especially not as “the best singer of their people”. Look at how he whines and everything.

Addendum 2: So imagine if the Man in Iron Hat knowing this fact and just gives an “impossible mission” to find the “one with voice that can cleave gold”. Skull of course knows that the jerk is referring to him (to those who don't know, his mother name Makalaurë means "Gold-Cleaver", as a nod to his voice). But him being a showman/stuntman, would just act ignorant as usual. There comes a time of which the team comes near him when singing tho..

Lal: !!! I heard a voice in this area!

Reborn: I also heard it-

(goes to the area and find Skull/Maglor)

Lal & Reborn:

Lal & Reborn: prolly not this guy, we're wasting our time

Skull: Oi!

Addendum 3: If Nana knows Skull is Maglor be like.

Nana: Skull? Oh, you mean Maglor?

Everyone: whomst

Nana: I swear he's a performer at heart. Do you know he's known as the best singer of all Noldor?

Everyone: whomst??? what?? ????

Nana: He just got a slight change of occupation from what I see so far

Everyone: ?????????????????

2) Tsuna get reincarnated to a random elf. Probably the shortest points I get in this realm of Tsuna-possibilities.

- Kinda depends if he still have his HI or Dying Will Flames comes with him

- Nevertheless, he’s most probably getting out of the way of fighting; he likes living thankyouverymuch. Maybe takes up cooking or farming or smth as a craft. But if his friends are out there fighting, he’ll probably be famous as the only elf to punch orcs instead of. You know, use elven knifes or arrows and whatnot. Medieval elven things. But apparently not. Many people think he got high af pain tolerance or some sort of super power, but it’s really nothing like that. He just knows weak points of some armors ok.

- Somehow goes up the ranks coz his HI tells him what to do to make a sad situation into his advantage (every single time) and very famous for his HIEE’s.

- Very possibly to be thought of as a pyromaniac (somehow his fists always seems to be on fire? Is it some sort of enchanted gauntlet ala Istari?), enough that some other elves wonder if he’s related to the Soul of Fire also known as Fëanor AKA that one elf that makes Silmarils as the title of that one book.

3) Tsuna get reincarnated as a descendant of Finwe, most probably Gil-Galad, Son of effing Plothole. 

- I think we can all agree that no matter who his dad is (coz his paternal line always changes according to Tolkien), it’s still a better dad than Iemitsu.

- Elrond and Círdan are very definite Guardians. Tho what Flames the two have is up to debate. Possible Guardian candidates: Celebrimbor, Galadriel, whoever the heck is in his court.

- Possibly in deep despair that he can’t escape the demon known as paperwork even in his second life.

- Got forcibly trained with shield, helmet, and spear (AKA Aeglos) out of deep fear from the other elves that: oh Eru, our prospective/possible/new High King is suicidal enuff to try hand-to-hand combat with the Enemy?? No no, better use a spear. And a shield. And a helmet. Surely with range and defense like that he won’t die. Right? Right??

Note: If he got his HI, then he probably won’t die, spear or no spear.

- Thank Eru that black and white is somewhat clearly defined rather than the mess called Mafia in his past life?? Mafia clearly messed up his moral compass

- Tho still, he thinks he got some bone against the Valar: do they really need to sit on their dais for literal centuries before actually think to help the people who aren’t in Valinor? Really? Is it laziness or what? You got the biggest, meannest, baddest of the Valar (or not; however you call Morgoth, really) in this side of Middle Earth (of which you just let him go from your prison in the first place) and y’all just rest your butts in “paradise” without even thinking to help us? Is it spite to Fëanor or something? How effing petty of you all: there’s more of Elves in Middle Earth aside from Fëanor and his lot??

- WHY WOULD YOU LET SAURON FREE-

[winterscaptain]

figure it out.

Aaron Hotchner x Gender Neutral Reader a joyful future fic

a/n: this has been in my wips for literal months as i’ve done my best to get it just right for yall. i hope you enjoy it, and tell me what you think! There’s an addendum to this one, and i’m already working on it, but we’ll see a few more things before that’s ready :)

words: 3.5k warnings: sex mention, sex implication, language

summary: “love is like a backache. it doesn’t show up on an x-ray, but you know it’s there.” - george burns. au!january 2012. 

masterlist | a joyful future masterlist | ajf faq | requests closed!

You roll over in bed when your alarm goes off, but you don’t get very far. Aaron throws an arm over you and pulls you back to him with a grumble. 

You huff a laugh and wiggle up against him. It’s all a tease and you both know it - there isn’t any time to get up to anything fun before work, but it’s far too entertaining to rile him up.

“Don’t start something you can’t finish.” His voice escapes his lips between your shoulder blades and you can feel his smile. 

“Oh, trust me, babe. I can finish.” 

He hums, his smile breaking out into something real. “I noticed.” 

+++

When the two of you finally make it out of bed (surprisingly still on time), you grab one of Aaron’s scarves and a hat on your way out. It’s your turn to drop Jack at school today on your way into the office, and the task serves two purposes. 

The first? It’s nice to spend time with Jack, just the two of you, when it’s your turn and you’re not on a case. It’s the same for Aaron, who always leaves a little earlier so he and Jack can sit down somewhere and have breakfast together.

The second is pure logistics. You two can’t show up to work in the same car at the same time, so a convenient excuse to separate and stagger your arrivals is welcome. 

“Really?” 

Aaron’s question stops you at the threshold and you look over your shoulder “What?” 

“My hat? My scarf?” 

It’s almost too tempting to cave when he’s looking at you like that - his tie hanging around his neck, shirt untucked, arms crossed, and playful frown hiding a smile. 

“Yeah. It’s warm and it’s here and we’re late.” 

Jack squints up at you and says, “We’re not late.”

“You’re not late.”

The observations come within split seconds of each other and you laugh. 

“Fine. Not late, but warm. And you have more hats.” You scamper back into the house to plant a kiss on his lips, smoothing the hair at his temples. 

Jack’s laughter is the underscore to your next quip. “You’re very handsome and I’m sure you’re very smart so you can figure it out.” 

“Yeah, Dad,” Jack chirps. “Figure it out.”

He has nothing to say to your retreating forms as he catches a glimpse of your smile through the crack in the closing door.

+++

Emily and Spencer are away at a conference-book-signing thing, so it’s just the five of you and Penelope this morning. You’d normally figure that would be Rossi’s purview, but apparently - 

“My book-signing days have been put on hold indefinitely in favor of -”

“ - He’s back.” Garcia interrupts, tossing case files at all of you. The conversation is cut short and you suppress a smile. “The Marin headlands last night.” 

You can see Aaron’s lips pull as well. 

It’s the little things. 

Penelope gestures with the notes and crime scene photos appear on the screen. “David Atley and Nicole Puli, both 24, both grad students at Berkeley, shot multiple times in their vehicle-- wait for it--” She clicks again and a familiar sigil appears. 

“The Zodiac?” Morgan’s shock is almost sardonic in its delivery. 

Rossi snorts. “No way.”

“Come on,” Derek says, amused, while JJ chimes in as well. 

 “It's gotta be the 2.0 version.”

While neither of you speak, you share a glance with Aaron. You’re kidding. 

He only raises his eyebrows for a split second and shrugs. 

There’s some part of you a little paranoid that you’re the most obvious couple to exist in the history of the universe. Sure, the team has been teasing you about your friendship for years, the will-the-won’t-they of it all, but now that it’s real you’re almost terrified that they know everything. 

Thus, the overcompensation has been wretched. You and Aaron barely look at each other in the field if you can help it (which you usually can’t) and he tends to put you with Derek more often than not. 

In truth, the others have noticed, but are far too interested in the spectacle to say anything. Emily’s almost certain the two of you have slept together, and Dave may or may not have suggested the possibility of a secret marriage during your period of suspension. 

However far-fetched and ridiculous their theories, they know you two well enough to know that something happened. The tension is gone. 

Derek almost finds himself missing the tension. There hasn’t been much to tease you about lately in its absence. 

“Yeah, you would think so, except for the crazy similarities in the MO.” Penelope clicks through the photos as she talks. 

“I'm talking same victimology, same geography. And,” she adds. “Two souvenirs were left at the crime scene.” She clicks once more and stands back for the full effect. 

“He left a photo?” Rossi asks.

She hums in the affirmative. “Local police say that is Marcia Miller. She was found near Napa in 1971. Strongly suspected that she was a victim of the Zodiac, but police never confirmed it and they didn't publicize the case.” 

Morgan’s still squinting at the screen. “So the Zodiac took this photo at the killing and then saved it all these years?”

“The Zodiac's last confirmed victim was the cabdriver Paul Stine,” Dave notes devolving into a conversation about The Zodiac, his timeline, his signature. 

It’s nothing new - The Zodiac Killer’s case details are common knowledge in your line of work, nevermind the sheer number of copycats that try their hand at the highly-ritualistic murders before inevitably getting arrested. 

There’s a reason this guy hasn’t been caught in forty years. 

After a few minutes of bouncing between you all, Hotch pushes back from the table and stands. “Have Reid and Prentiss meet us in San Francisco. Wheels up in 30.”

He heads straight to his office to collect his things and you swing in by the tips of your fingers for just a second. “You wanna call Jess or do you want me to?” 

In the middle of throwing files in his briefcase, he doesn’t look up when he answers. “Can you, please? I was supposed to meet with Strauss this afternoon and need to stop by her office before wheels up.” 

You smile at him, tapping the door frame twice. “You got it.” 

+++

It’s boots on the ground right away when you land in San Francisco. You drive to the crime scene with Aaron in the passenger seat beside you and JJ in the back. The radio’s on, and you sing under your breath, tapping your fingers on the steering wheel as you make your way up to the crime scene. 

Before you get to the local FBI agents, JJ catches you by the sleeve. “It’s nice to have music in the car again.” 

You just smile at her. Aaron looks a little puzzled. 

The three of you wipe the looks off your faces by the time you get to Agent Lynn. 

+++

“What did JJ mean?” Aaron asks you. 

The two of you are alone for the time being, posted up in the conference room with the old Zodiac case files. You look up. “Hmm?” 

“What did she mean when she mentioned the music earlier?” 

“Oh.” A little flush of embarrassment shoots down your gut. “Derek pointed out to me last summer that I didn’t play any music in the car.” 

...while you were gone is the thing you don’t say, but he knows that’s what you mean. 

“I didn’t really notice.” You shrug to cover your fib. “I guess I’ve reacquainted myself with the radio in the last couple of weeks.” 

Aaron hums, returning to his work. Something’s off, but you’re sure it’ll come up later. 

+++

“You don’t think it’s really him, do you?” You ask, unbuttoning your shirt and throwing your pajamas on. 

Surprisingly, this case seems to be one of those that allows for sleep at regular hours. For that, you’re grateful. It’s much harder to find time to wind down with Aaron at the end of the day when you’re all forced to sleep in shifts. 

Aaron shakes his head, “No, I think Reid’s right. We’re looking at a particularly sophisticated copycat.” 

“Isn’t that kind of worse?” Hopping up on your bed, you curl up and look at him over your nose - a clear invitation to join you. 

With a huff down his nose and a little smile, he flops down beside you and props his chin on his arms over your belly. “Could be. Luckily, we have Reid.” 

You almost think he’s going to say something else, but he gets that pensive look on his face again. 

“What?” 

With a sigh, he says, “I’m just thinking about what JJ said.” 

“Oh, Aaron -” 

He doesn’t let you finish. It’s probably a good thing. You didn’t know what you wanted to say anyway. 

“I knew how hard it was on me, but I’m realizing more and more how hard it was on you, too.” He shakes his head. “I feel ...I don’t know. I feel like I should have known better… or something.” 

Winding your fingers in his hair, you sit in silence for a moment. He doesn’t have anything more to say and eventually he crawls up your body and settles in under your arm, his head on your chest and legs wound between yours.

Sometimes, you’ve found, he likes to feel small.  

“You’re safe and you’re home. That’s what matters.” You kiss the top of his head. “And I love you.” 

He hums, arcing into your touch and wrapping an arm around your waist. “I love you.” 

+++

You spend much of the next day chasing Spencer around the city, keeping notes handy (for yourself, not for him - he doesn't need them) and reporting back on his discoveries to the team like some kind of overwrought and hyper-trained secretary. 

Stepping off to the side, you answer a call from Aaron. 

“Hit your limit yet?” 

You look over at Spencer, who’s flipping through a newspaper like a man on a mission. “It’s actually kind of entertaining.” 

And that’s actually true. Watching Spencer push the limits of his intelligence is always a treat - it happens so rarely you almost forget how much you enjoy it every time. 

He huffs into the phone. “Hang in there. We’ll all meet back at the precinct once Reid’s done -”

“Doing magic?” 

“Exactly. Keep me posted.” There’s a pause. It’s an odd little habit you two developed in the field to leave space for the words you can’t say in front of the others. 

I love you.

“Me too.” 

+++

You’re almost asleep when a sliver of yellow light shoots across your room, promptly disappearing as the door to the hallway closes. 

He pads across the room and slips under the covers. “Hi.” 

A little smile crosses your face as you roll over to face him. “Hi.”

Before you can say anything else, his hands are on you and he’s half on top of you as he captures your lips. 

Needless to say, the lack of sleep is worth it. 

+++

Emily, long after she and Aaron are the only ones left in the precinct conference room, squints as she notices something right under his collar. 

He’s already loosened his tie and unbuttoned the top button of his dress shirt, no longer standing on ceremony now that all the local police have retired and the rest of the team gone up to their hotel rooms. There’s not much to do, but the compulsion to get ahead for tomorrow is one neither one of them can shake. 

What Aaron failed to remember when executing his wardrobe adjustment was the rather...spirited romp in your room the night prior. The little purple swatches painted on his skin just under the line of his collar stood out stark against the crisp lines of his dress shirt. 

Fortunately for you, there was no way in hell the rest of the team would find anything he left on you last night. 

Emily reaches into her purse and pulls out a tube of concealer and a powder compact. Though he’s more olive-toned than she is, it’ll be good enough in a pinch. “Hey, Hotch.” 

He looks at her over his nose, his eyes tired. 

“You might want this for tomorrow morning.” She pushes the crisis control kit across the table to him, but he only frowns and deepens his squint. 

By way of explanation, she reaches across the table and presses the tip of her finger into one of the visible bruises in the hollow of his throat. He flinches, freezes, and then immediately drops his head into his hands. 

It’s easy to say Emily is amused in the extreme. “Those look...really fresh.” 

He shakes his head, insisting as he picks up a file at random, “They’re from before we left.” 

It’s only because it’s Emily that he’s even humoring this conversation. 

“No they’re not.” She sticks her tongue firmly in her cheek. “These ones are though.” She points at yellowing marks on his collarbone and he smacks her hands away. 

“And I know what fresh hickies look like, Hotch. Those are fresh fresh. Like, last night fresh. And we’ve been here for four days.” She frowns, tracking back through the day. “When on earth would you have time to -” 

A series of images flash through her head, random wayward connections flashing together in an alarmingly clear picture.

You, avoiding her at the office back in September with quickly-covered marks painted across your neck.

You, flirting with Sean and having way too much fun doing it, looking over his shoulder at ...someone else.

Hotch, in a perpetually good mood (for him, anyway, and despite looking ill-slept) for the last five months. 

The way the mistletoe kiss at Dave’s Christmas party looked way too easy, too familiar. 

And now, the obvious indicators that Hotch is not only getting it, he’s getting it good. 

If he got those last night…

Wait. 

Their hotel rooms are right next to …

Oh my God. 

Hotch watches the realization flash across Emily’s face, and he knows you’re both busted. Instead of losing her shit like he expected, Emily just leans back in her chair - smug. 

“So. Are you still Not the Boyfriend, or has there been an update?”

He sighs. 

The corner of her mouth tips up. “How long?”

“For which part? The not-boyfriend part, the boyfriend part, or this part?” He gestures vaguely to the space behind his tie, and Emily snorts. 

“Just spill it.” 

Holding up a finger, he pulls his phone out of his pocket, dialing the first number on his speed dial. 

You’re hardly asleep, sitting up in bed waiting for him with a case file in your lap, when you get the call. You’re not sure who’s listening, so a “Hey, Hotch. What’s up?” will have to do. 

“Emily knows.” 

You straighten. “How?”

“Doesn’t matter. She knows.” 

There’s a scramble, and suddenly Emily’s on the other end of the phone. “He’s got very questionable and very fresh bruises just under his collar. Care to explain?”

There’s another shuffle. 

“Ignore her,” Aaron says. With a hand pressed to your forehead, you understand the question implicit in his phone call. 

“Just tell her. It’s basically her fault, anyways. If she hadn’t ditched it then we’d have our heads up our asses for another five years.”

“Alright,” then, after a second of realizing you don’t sound sleepy at all, “Go to bed.”

“I’m in bed.” 

He rolls his eyes. Emily can only look on with amusement, gleeful in the extreme. “You know that’s not what I mean. Go to sleep.”

“Alright, alright. Fine.” You reluctantly close the casefile and put him on speaker so he can hear the light click off. “I’m going to sleep.” Then, “I love you. Come up soon.”

“Okay.” He shoots a glance at Emily. Because he’ll never hear the end of it anyway, more ammo won’t hurt at this point. “I love you too. Now, really. Go to slee -”

You hang up on him. He double-takes at his phone for a moment before shoving it back in his pocket. 

He’s met with Emily’s surprisingly moved eyes. “You’re...okay.”

What she means is, You’re happy. 

He knows. 

He nods. “I’m okay.”

She puts her files down and leans forward, resting her elbows on the table and lacing her fingers. “Tell me.” 

So, he does. 

He tells her about the way you stuck to him like glue through the divorce, the way you wiggled your way into Haley’s heart, captured the love of his son, and earned the trust of his entire family. 

He tells her what Haley said in the hospital, the tenacious care you showed his unyielding and unwilling ass when he was healing, the way your grief soothed his in the wake of Haley’s loss. 

He tells her about the moments of euphoria in the years of want and doubt and fear. 

He tells Emily about the day she died, how there was nothing more painful than that necessary lie. He tells her how easy it was to lie to the others, how it ripped him in half to lie to you. 

He tells her about the day he left for Pakistan, about the fight the night before, the kiss he pressed to your cheek on the tarmac, the endless, wretched nights missing you in the desert. 

He tells her about the fight when he finally came home, skims over the following days, jumps and meanders around to Christmas, to moving in, to the bliss that now seems to follow him wherever he goes. 

Emily watches the smile that plays at his mouth when he talks about you, the softness in his eyes as recalls the look on your face and the words you said and the way you are with Jack. There’s a kind of peace in him that she’s never really seen before. 

Maybe, she imagines, it was there before she met him (the second time). Maybe this peace existed with Haley. Maybe this is the most she’s ever heard him speak at once. Maybe it makes her smile. 

Maybe this peace is what his love looks like. 

If that’s the case, she thinks, you are very lucky indeed. 

It could have been hours, it could have been minutes, but at some point he stops talking. 

“Hotch?” 

He looks over at her, the softness lingering in his eyes. 

“I’m really happy for you.” 

His lips twitch. “Thanks.” 

“And you know it’s my God-given right to tell everyone else once this case is over, right?”

+++

You actually are asleep by the time Aaron gets back to the hotel. He leans against the wall in the dark with his hands in his pockets, enjoying the peace before the inevitable shitshow. 

He crosses the room and crouches at your side, running the back of his fingers over your cheek. You stir, sleepy noises leaving your throat as your eyes crack open. 

“Aaron?”

“Yeah. Just me.” 

You smile a little and close your eyes again. “How’d she take it?”

“Remarkably well.” He kisses your forehead. “Get some sleep. I’ll see you in the morning.” 

“No,” you whine, drawn-out and slurred. “Don’t leave. Stay. I set an alarm.”

With a resigned sigh, he strips and slides into bed behind you, wrapping you in his arms and holding you close. 

+++

You and Aaron sit on proverbial pins and needles for the rest of the case, but Emily keeps her word. The only indication of her knowledge came the morning after her chat with Aaron, when she pulled you to her and hugged you so tight you could hardly breathe. 

She seizes her moment on the plane, about halfway home. 

“Derek, you owe me fifty bucks.” 

She hardly looks up from her book as she speaks. 

He takes off his headphones and wrinkles his brow. “What?”

She repeats herself, slower, as if she was speaking to a child. “You. Owe. Me. Fifty. Bucks.”

“...Why?” 

Emily finally looks up from her book to pointedly stare at you and Aaron, seated next to each other and sharing a bag of Goldfish you stole from Jack’s snack drawer. You’re both reading from the same file, absently reaching for crackers as you go along. 

Derek’s confusion continues to smother his face until it finally clicks in. 

He steals a page from Reid’s notebook and balls it up, tossing it across the plane and breaking your concentration. You look up, only a little startled, to find a face-splitting grin blinding you across the cabin.

Derek’s small ruckus has drawn the attention of the rest of the team - well, all except JJ, who’s fast asleep on the couch. 

There seems to be a collective sigh of relief as money exchanges hands. You’re not quite sure what the bet was, but Emily seems to have won handily. 

Aaron takes your hand under the table, waiting for the other shoe to drop. 

It doesn’t. 

Everyone simply returns to their tasks, little smiles on their faces. 

+++

tagging: @quillvine @agenthotchner @hurricanejjareau @rousethemouse @criminalsmarts @genevievedarcygrangerwriting @ssaic-jareau @davidrossi-ismydad @angelsbabey @hotchsflower @hotchslatte @risenfox @mrs-dr-reid @captain-christopher-pike @dwellingsofrosie @pan-pride-12 @sunshine-em @word-scribbless @jdougl-love @sageellsworth05 @dreila03 @forgottenword @aaronhotchnerr @ssa-morgan @tegggeeee @abschaffer2 @ellyhotchner @lotties-journey-abroad @mrs-joel-pimentel-23-25 @laneygthememequeen @mooneylupinblack @ssareidbby @violet-amxthyst @bwbatta @roses-and-grasses @lcvischmitt @capricorngf @missdowntonabbey @averyhotchner @mandylove1000 @cevanswhre @qvid-pro-qvo @jeor @spencers-hoodrat @infinity1321 @zizzlekwum @popped-weasels @evee87 @nuvoleincielo @this-broken-band-girl @reidtomestyles @hotch-meeeeeuppppp @winqhster @arthurmorrgans @the-falling-in-the-danger @softbibxtch @iconicc @mangoberry43 @andreasworlsboring101 @kerrswriting @mac99martin @itsalwaysb33nyou @baumarvel @kerrswriting @messyhairday-me @ssworldofsw @deagibs @crazyshannonigans @moonshinerbynight @jhiddles03 @teamhappyme @mendesmelodies @starsandasteroids @unicorn-bitch @ambicaos

[olreid]

Hi Ej! Sorry if this is Super vague but I've just finished the book I've been reading for multiple months and was interested in reading the name of the rose now - but I do tend to take a long time to get through a book so I like really knowing what I'm in for. I was wondering if you had any particular thoughts abt approaching it/ what it's like to read?? Thx!!

hi sophie <3 yes i can talk a bit about it ! putting it under a read more bc it got a little long lol

first of all even tho i read it in a couple days i think this is a good book to take your time with and i honestly wish i'd slowed down a bit when reading it. in the postscript, eco says that "in narrative, the breathing is derived not from the sentences but from broader units, from the scansion of events. some novels breathe like gazelles, others like whales or elephants. harmony lies not in the length of the breath but in its regularity. ” the name of the rose is def a whale/elephant book, but even tho it's long, it has an extremely regular structure . the novel is split into seven days, and each day is split into the different times of day as the monks would have distinguished them - prime, terce, matins, etc. and these are given as the headings of each chapter so you always sort of know where you are in the day and the week, and as a result where you are in the story.

this makes the novel sound really clear-cut but i think it's more that the rigid structure provides a solid container for all of the labyrinths that are within - both the literal labyrinth in the abbey's library but also the confusing discussions of theology, the pages-long descriptions of art and architecture, and the emotional development of our teenage narrator. it is a book where it feels safe to be confused because you can feel that everything, while chaotic, remains contained; everything that happens takes place within the walls of the abbey and you can sense that the seemingly senseless events of the plot are slowly but surely heading towards an ultimate conclusion . above all, i would say it helps to keep in mind that while the name of the rose is many things, at the end of the day it's a thriller and a detective story. if you forget the particulars of the theology or miss some of the allusions, it doesn't really matter as long as you're developing and testing theories about what is going on in the abbey and why . which you will naturally be doing as you read !

as a note re: the latin, eco says this: “latin was and still is fundamental in giving the story its monastic flavor and providing evidence that certain references to ideas of the time are reliable and authentic; there again i am always anxious to submit my reader to a little punishing discipline. but i was disturbed when several people told me they felt obliged to go to a latin dictionary to look up certain phrases. that was too much, they were losing the flow of the story. i wasn’t worried then—nor am I now—whether the latin references are understood, especially when they are simply the titles of books; they are there to give the feeling of historical distance." this made me feel a lot better about not looking up stuff i didn't understand, which obv you can and should do if you want, but you can also rest assured that if you really need to know something it will rephrased in english.

i will also say as an addendum that several people have said good things to me about the audiobook so that could also be an option or a good supplement to reading a paper copy ! i think i might go back and listen now that i've read it once through to get a better handle on the story.

[reioka-reads]

“Joan Crawford & Bette Davis: The Famous Feud” I mean personally they were both fucking insufferable. I guess if I had to choose between them I’d choose Bette tho.

I can’t believe there was no feud before What Ever Happened to Baby Jane but somehow I’m not surprised. I can absolutely believe that Joan Crawford started it tho. I never liked her. Gave me the willies.

“Even if they were never going to be good friends, there is something quite sad about the idea of Joan doing alone from a heart attack, and Bette Davis using the opportunity to make one last quip about her.” NO IT ISN’T. JOAN CRAWFORD WAS NOT A GOOD PERSON. I’m not saying Bette didn’t have her faults but this didn’t even touch on the Mommy Dearest allegations. Joan Crawford died alone because no one wanted to be around her and that’s on her. Bette can say anything she wants as a personal victim of Joan’s cruelty.

I’m glad we’re moving immediately to Jane Fonda. I like her. Oh Jesus we’re coming in hot tho okay. Yikes my dude. Henry definitely should have been the one to tell them about how their mother died and not a magazine. But who is surprised that her shit dad is ✨continuing to be a shit dad✨

I’m glad she didn’t let that first failure get her down. I’m still not watching Barbarella. Also I knew the Hanoi Jane thing was coming but oof 😬 Yeah Jane that was pretty foolish. But at least you got your dad the Oscar he wanted and got the catharsis off working with him before he died.

Looks like women could really only break in to film with indie movies huh. Makes sense even if it’s frustrating as hell.

Oh this section is on Pam Grier. I’ve heard about her and all the blaxploitation films. 👀 Shame the studios could only see black stories as dollar signs. Not that the blaxploitation films don’t have their moment in history, but like. Black purple existed before then. They would have also liked to have stories told about them. Oh I could have gone my whole life never hearing Tarantino’s name again 😠 Hate that guy.

Now we’re into modern Hollywood! Aaaaand I can’t believe it took until Titanic for studios to realize hey, women watch films too. I want to lie down and never get up. I was six then. Goodbye.

OH FUCKING RONALD REAGAN SWINGING IN TO RUIN SHIT FOR WOMEN IN FILM AGAIN. YOU WERE A FUCKING ACTOR, RON! YOU HAD NO BUSINESS TRYING TO RUN A COUNTRY!!! MIND YOUR FUCKING BUSINESS!!!!!!!!!

“Sherry had been a model, but it feels unnecessary to mention it in a headline about a history-making job.” The media will do anything to take away from women’s accomplishments so who is surprised.

Oh shit Meryl Streep’s chunk is huge compared to all the other blurbs in here. I wonder how much of it I know already.

“In 1989, the year Meryl turned forty, she was offered three roles as witches.” Addendum: Hollywood is stupid and I don’t respect it. Oh! She’s using her own money to create a screenwriting lab which focuses on developing scripts written by women screenwriters over the age of forty! Actually I just checked and this book was written in 2017 so maybe she’s already done that 👀👀👀 I should check that out.

Well, I changed my bookmarks around a little bit because I was reading extra today. Meryl Streep’s entry rounds out Part One of the book, and tomorrow I’ll be starting Part Two. I wonder what that has in store for me considering the absolute multitude of information in part one that both inspired and infuriated me.

[antihero-writings]

Undead Memory (Ch1)

Fandom: Castlevania (Netflix) (Season 2)

Character Focus: Alucard

Summary: What happened during that month in which Alucard was alone in the castle?

Alucard dealing with the aftermath of S2, and trying to cope with the death—or, more accurately, the ghosts—of his parents.

Notes: First of all, spoilers for season 2!

Another Alucard-centric fic, but actually about the show this time!! Whoo!! I'm excited to finally start posting this one. 

Believe it or not, I started this idea a while before S3 started, wanting to write something for the time after S2 of Alucard being alone in the castle. Then after S3 I wanted to write it both more and less XD The idea of Alucard seeing ghosts brought up at the end of S2 is an interesting one, and one I thought deserved more exploration. As well as just that month where he's alone being something interesting to write about. 

This is one of those fics I wanted to post as a long one-shot, but ultimately got stuck and decided it would be better to break it up into chapters to make it more manageable for both reading and writing. I said it'd be 4 chapters above, but I'm not quite sure exactly how many it'll be. It just helps me to jot down a manageable ballpark number.

That being said, one of the reasons I hesitate to break things up into chapters, is because if people don't seem interested it severely inhibits my desire to keep writing that fic. So, it really does help my motivation a LOT when you comment and say you want to read more!! So just know that when you comment, you're helping more of this fic get written!!

Shoutout to @it-burns-when-i-pee for giving me the clock idea!

Chapter 1: Reminders

There were no graves. Dracula and Lisa didn’t get graves. The rest of the world would have said they didn’t deserve to rest in peace.

Antigone would say Polynices deserved to sing in Olympus all the same.

The only grave they got was a castle. And many would say it was better than most—that they’d take a castle over a headstone, a mausoleum, or the ground any day. They’d say a castle was a hell of a lot better than being dumped down the sewage grate.

And all that’s fair, but perhaps the bigger problem was this: there were no remains.

They both burned. One in holy fire, one in hell. (And who could say where they truly ended up, if there was a heaven and hell after all?)

All that was left of Lisa Tepes was a pile of charcoal on an altar to a priests own pride.

And all that was left of Vlad Tepes was a ring, and a soot stain on the carpet.

Most would say they got what they deserved; to die without chance at Olympus.

Adrian doesn’t know where to put his flowers.

Most children bury their parents eventually, but usually this is when they have children of their own to keep them company, and their parents have been bouncing grandchildren on their knees for at least a year or two, with white hair and crinkled smiles, barely able to walk, or see: sick and ready to greet the gods.

Adrian may look old enough to settle down, but he’s younger than most would surmise. And while he can certainly handle himself, he was not prepared for his parents to die within a year of each other…especially considering that the parent who was meant to be immortal died by his own hand.

He would have liked to have some respite in his own home.

But perhaps, more important than where to put flowers, there was most unfortunate side effect of the lack of remains, and the castle grave:

Ghosts.

And this isn’t the pearly white wraiths wandering around saying ‘boo’, or skulls that float about the head gnashing their teeth. Not even a chained apparition to remind one of their sins.

This is something much worse. Worse because they belong to the house’s owner. Worse because their true grave is his head.

—(And that place never rested)—

Their ghosts wander the castle, not just a graveyard. This castle seems to have an affinity for the undead.

Maybe not everyone could see them. He tries not to indulge the thought that maybe there’s nothing there at all, and they’re nothing more than undead memory.

Alucard has been seeing ghosts since the moment he was left alone in this place.

He’d rather have a grave to mourn them at, and converse with the memories, than watch their ghosts keep him up at night, unable to touch, or to talk to them.

He should remind himself to look up the definition of ‘torment’ later.

At first it was his father’s steps when he walked up the stairs. His mother’s smiles, his own young laughter when he sat in the study. When he sat at the table to eat, he watched the vampire king tossing a young boy into the air, both laughing like fairy wing beats, as Lisa watched on from the table. Alucard tried not to lose his appetite.

Then they were given voice: it was Father’s lessons when he looked for a book in the library. Mother’s stories as he sat reading, making him incapable of concentrating to his own book all the while. Baking cookies together in the kitchen. Father allowing him his first drink—(of wine or blood? Take a guess. He only needed one of them, after all)—as he walked through the cellar. Mother decorating the castle, making it look a little nicer, a little more alive. Not all of them were positive. Their arguing voices down the hallway. His own tears.

Father’s claws against his chest.

And he wouldn’t dare get close to that room. Because whenever he walks past the door, he can still hear his father speak to him like he did when he was still a child dressed in sunlight, and there was nothing but love.

Mother, father and…himself. As if he died long ago with them. As if the happy child he was within them is gone. As if he’s no longer the Adrian who sat with his parents, read with them, baked cookies, and laughed with them…but the Alucard who killed them.

And, well, maybe he didn’t kill his mother, but sometimes he didn’t know what else to think but to blame himself for the thought that he could have saved her.

And he did kill his father.

He still feels that stake in his hand when he walks by that room—(But it wasn’t a stake was it? It was the bedpost of his childhood bed, as if ripping his childhood at the seams and denying everything he was born as). He still feels its splinters in his fingers, the smell of pine, the feeling of it piercing his father’s chest, the way his heartbeat refused to stop—(he rested his head on his chest once, the constancy of the rhythm was comforting then). The warmth of his father’s blood draining over his fingers. The sound of his father’s ripping voice. The unearthly, ungodly howling of the souls trapped inside him—(was he really so bad?). He could still smell his flesh burning.

He still wakes up in the middle of the night with the image of his fathers face melting off its bones as it came closer to him, reaching out as if to to caress his son’s cheek, seared onto his eyes—(is this how Victor Frankenstein felt when the creature smiled at his window?)

But when the morning came, he took that ring and he wore it on a chain around his neck all the same, to remind him of a few things:

One: that love is one of those things that is free, but comes at a high price. If you take it lightly, it will leave you heavily.

Two, an addendum to one: that love is not soft. Love is not flowery words, or even the insatiable desires the romance novels say it is. Love is an insidious fire, when you have it, it rages, and you know what warmth is. When the fireplace is empty it aches, and when your heart breaks your chest gets cut on all the pieces. And underestimating it, calling it weakness, will always be your undoing.

Three—(one that was beginning to weigh heaviest): that living and immortality are not the same thing. Vlad may have been immortal, but he was only ever alive with Lisa.

Four: to always know where he came from…and where he didn’t want to end up.

Five, and final: that though he had saved lives, though it was noble, and the stories and songs would say he was brave, and though Trevor and Sypha would say it was for the greater good…he would always be the son who loved his father…and the son who drove the stake into his father’s heart.

All for love.

He can find respite from the memories sometimes. He finds himself spending too much time down in the Belmont hold, reading, organizing, putting away ancestors—(ancestors not of his, ones that didn’t come back). Learning, pursing his lip in disapproval, or laughing to himself at the thought of some of the things Trevor’s relatives did (making a mental note to use the story against Trevor when he next saw him). Thinking of his friends…and trying not to think of them, lest they become ghosts too.

He likes going out into the woods to get food, and water, and fresh air. He wavers there at times, wondering if maybe he could just… leave. He spends more time out there than is strictly necessary.

Sometimes he runs out into the woods—well, more precisely padding, cantering on paws—and other times flies—trying to make sure his tongue can taste freedom, and his wings can snare sunlight, before he turns back.

But he always has to return. Return to the stuffy, putrefied remains of the castle. The air where he hears his parents whisper sweet words that are gone, where memory reconstructed from fairy castles sweet worlds he’s ripped away.

Would it be so hard to just leave?

Surely we can let the poor wandering souls in the woods find refuge. It was a grave after all. Just let the lost rest against the headstones, though they know not whose skeletons lie beneath them.

He leans against Trevor’s tree, and sees a young boy playing on the branches—laughing, free—and smiles…before it becomes gasp and grimace, and he shakes his head, returning to the castle.

Not them too.

He thought he could take it. The grief. The ghosts. The wrath of the gods

But he can’t stay.

Not forever. That is to say, he can’t leave for long. Just to visit town, to see another person or two, to get out of his head, and pray the specters won’t follow him.

He slings his bag over his shoulder, along with the coat he always wore—the one that smells like the campfires he sat at with Trevor and Sypha—and sighs as he walks out the door.

He has another grave to visit.

[sylsoddsandends]

My Unabridged Thoughts On Through The Looking Glass Ruins

Spoilers ahead folks! I'm also trying bolding phrases intermittently as I hear that does wonders for readability

First things first, I really found it interesting and refreshing that Luz wasn't in the A plot, and Eda and King didn't really factor at all. We needed some more Gus time, and we got it.

It was interesting seeing more of Gus's insecure side. If I thought of Plants as the English major of the Boiling Isles, then Illusions is the art student. It also makes me wonder how Edric and Emira got into the track. Doesn't seem like something Odalia and Alador would approve of. Might make a separate post about this.

In the end, we really got to see just why Gus was worthy of jumping up two grades. I'm super proud of him for making a whole illusion scene, that must have taken a lot of effort, even with the guardian's help.

We also got a better look at construction magic (seems like it's not just strength, but actually allows you to form things out of various materials!), more information on the other schools (I don't want to go to Glandus), and Matt redeeming himself a little! People who ship Gus and Matt are probably rejoicing, but I still find Matt a bit too annoying for that, sorry...

Of course, we also got... LOTS OF LUMITY!

Every scene with them was super sweet and helps show just how much they've ended up caring about each other. Both of them went the extra mile to help each other, Amity risking her job to get Luz the diary and Luz... probably risking her life again to get Amity un-fired. Really, Luz, I worry for you.

Amity decided to dye her hair purple and it looks adorable, and I am very proud of her for sticking it to her mom. I'm also happy that the twins supported her, even if Edric was a little preoccupied with his (possibly nonbinary?) date! In the end, she takes the big leap of kissing Luz on the cheek, and Luz is pretty obviously a fan of that. Normally this kind of stuff doesn't happen until the end of the show, so I'm really pleasantly surprised for it to be smack in the middle.

We also got our first look at the human who was here before Luz, and it seems he made the portal Eda went on to own! I wonder what happened to him, and if the diary will contain instructions for making a portal. Also I'm a fan of the echo mouse. Skully boye,,,

Well, I think that's a wrap! I hope you all enjoyed the episode as much as I did ^^

---

Addendum: my one issue with the episode is... why didn't Amity just ask the head librarian for the book? If he's her friend he probably would have understood if she'd given him a proper explanation

[aelaer]

Re: Blood in Your Veins

Hey so uh.

As anyone who’s been following me for a while knows, I started the serial “The Blood In Your Veins” about this time last year (it used to be ‘my veins’ but retitled it on its move to AO3 because execution of prompt had changed a bit over writing). It’s a prompt that I couldn’t stop thinking about and just dabbled in slowly to see where it went. Then 2020 fully hit and my writing came to almost a complete stop until about October, which is when I began again on Illuminating the Shadows, which was finished and posted in December.

Anyway, I’ve been poking and prodding fairly continuously at The Blood in Your Veins. The first four parts that I posted originally here on tumblr are now all on AO3, and once part 5′s up I’ll link it here and link everyone who wanted alerts to the updates then so they can see the new part. Then all future parts will be linked here as well.

(Cut because why the *hell* did I write this much about this?)

I’ve been slow in posting because I, against better judgement but why not, decided to post it as a WIP. But that means I keep on making edits to older parts because I think of something new that should be addressed earlier in the story. Like uh, when I was writing part 9, I realized I needed to go back to part 5 and add an addendum. When I was writing part 12, I realized I totally forgot a part that I ended up adding in part 8, because I needed it for a future connection. This happens all the time in my writing and makes posting WIPs almost dangerous because my thinking is rarely linear if the story takes place over a course of more than a couple days. Thus the very slow posting.

So this silly little prompt thing that I was just prodding and poking at to see where it went? The farking doc passed 50k words tonight. Yup.

Granted, like 10k of that is probably outlining, personal notes, and A/Ns filled to the brim with meta, medical science, fake science, and technical/computer engineering because I love talking about it and giving people info to access easily for their own knowledge. I figure I can’t be the only one who finds this stuff super fascinating and fanfic makes it unique in that it’s not a book where the research is irrelevant, you can show off all the interesting stuff right here and talk about it with people! I love that about fanfic, so much. Sometimes the A/Ns are just as interesting as the story in some stories.

So it’s gonna be a bit slow for however long, but I finished 11 parts (with 10 betaed), have the 12th largely written out (though I’m not 100% sure about it yet so I want to poke at it more), and parts uh, 13 to 17ish outlined. But considering I was like “yeah this is 8 parts at most” like, at the beginning of this, that number is bound to change because characters keep saying things and doing things (including the supporting OCs, who are demanding to be fully fleshed out within the bounds of supporting character roles).

And yeah, this is just a ramble of what I’ve been mostly doing as I haven’t been super active on tumblr this month as this has consumed most of my free time. I haven’t read a lot of works either, and once this is completed I hope to remedy that, before I go into my next two big projects (which were meant to be what I was working on *now*, but then this took over and what will you do. I’m not sure if I’ll be able to complete three novel-length fics in the course of the year, but I’ll see what I can do. I really want to tell these stories).

Uh, this was really long. Sorry, I’m super verbose and don’t know how to be like, succinct. My old boss, two bosses ago now, used to quote Twain about brevity being a sign of wit, but if it is, call me 100% unwitty because I like to ramble. And then I always feel a little bit guilty for writing *so much* about my bullshit, so I feel like if you read this far, you 100% deserve to read a preview of an upcoming section. Especially since you pressed the Read More button! So here you go, thanks for reading my rambles. This is a section from the longest part so far, part 8. It’s a long little bit!

---

"How high's the toxicity now?" Tony asked as he stepped off the scale.

"Yesterday's blood sample came back at 0.45 milligrams per kilogram of your weight," Stephen replied. He snapped on a pair of latex gloves.

Tony offered his arm for the blood draw. "And if 3 milligrams is the magic number for fatality, that'd put my current blood toxicity at 15%."

Stephen inserted the needle at the crook of Tony's elbow and watched the tube fill up. "That's not quite how it works."

"It makes sense to me."

"That's still not how it works." He removed the needle and capped the tube, and as he put everything away, explained, "Saying that your blood toxicity is at 15% implies that you're talking about the whole volume of blood in your body. You're probably at about 5,500 milliliters with your weight, and with the density of blood equaling about 1.06 grams per milliliter, it is like you're saying—"

"That 874.5 grams of my blood is toxic, yeah, yeah, I know," Tony interrupted. By now he was setting up the table for their breakfast.

"I was getting there."

"You were going too slow," he shot back easily. Stephen gave the engineer a look at the comment, but Tony ignored it. "Yeah, I know it's not my whole body's blood volume. Obviously. But putting a percentage on how long until I reach the point that I'm dead makes sense to me. I'm not measuring the whole volume of my blood, I'm measuring how much more can I handle until I'm dead."

Stephen shot him a frown. "It doesn't make sense to call it 'blood toxicity' then."

"Maybe not to you, but it does to me. And I'd design such a measuring tool for me."

The statement caught him off guard. "Design?" He finished packing up the kit and joined Tony at the table.

"Well, if I wasn't stuck in here, I'd design something to automatically read a blood sample, like how glucose meters read blood sugar levels. Wouldn't be hard to engineer something like that. And I'd have it give me the amount of toxicity as a percentage relating to how far along it was until the amount was lethal. Sure, I could memorize the numbers, but the percentage would be more concrete in my head."

Stephen smeared butter over a piece of bread as he listened. He shook his head at the end of Tony's explanation. "Wouldn't work for the consumer market; there's too much room for interpretation as to what the percentage means."

Tony huffed. "Well, like I said, it'd be for me. Not the consumer market."

His brow furrowed. "You're telling me that you can make a blood test as simple as the one used for testing blood sugar levels for something as rare as palladium poisoning?"

He narrowed his eyes. "... yes…"

"You can make it portable like the glucose meters?"

"Yeah, of course."

"And affordable to most hospitals?"

Tony looked up in thought. "I don't usually factor in the costs of materials and manufacturing in personal projects, and others do the number crunching to see if my ideas are viable for production in company projects. If they aren't, but I really want them to be, I'll tinker a bit more, sure."

Stephen couldn't believe what he was hearing. "Do you realize the amount of money you could save for both hospitals and patients across the country with such technology? Specialized blood tests—like for many metal poisonings, for instance—aren't offered at every hospital. It may not be available even in every state. Those types of lab results can take weeks to get back to a doctor and the patient. And you're saying that you can not only potentially create this type of technology, but that you may be able to make it affordable if you really want them to be?"

"Well yeah, sure. I've done it a few times with other things. I could probably do that with a blood meter thing. I doubt the tech's that complicated."

His mouth was partially hanging open, Stephen realized this, but he couldn't bother at the moment. He was flabbergasted. The first thought that came to mind went to his mouth, unfiltered. "And you spent the last two decades building weapons."

"Don't." The word was sharp and filled with an overabundance of emotion.

Stephen fell silent. He crossed a boundary he had yet to see before now, and he was not so callous as to push against it. Instead he turned to his meal and focused on eating. He avoided looking at the other man.

A couple minutes later, Tony spoke again. It was low, pensive. Thoughtful. "There was a good reason I shut down weapons manufacturing after I got back from Afghanistan, you know. If the department ever comes back, it will be with major restrictions and modifications. Likely more defensive than offensive. More shields, less missiles. But in the meantime I've been restructuring. Expanded in commercial aerospace and industry. We entered the energy market properly. Consumer products is coming soon—end of the year, probably." A pause. "Don't see why we can't look into medical tech, either. Certainly wouldn't hurt to try."

He could only nod and say, "It certainly wouldn't."

[watchathon]

Avatar: The Last Airbender, Series Finale: Sozin’s Comet

In case you’re finding this post just by browsing the tags I’ve used for this post, this is the Watchathon, a blog where I’m hoping to watch an episode of a TV show every weekday, with a short blog post where I write down my thoughts as I watch. Each new thought starts with a hyphen and a bolded first word.

- Like so. Now that the introductions are over with, it’s time to break that one-episode-a-day rule and finish off Avatar: The Last Airbender with the climactic grand finale, Sozin’s Comet:

PART 1: THE PHOENIX KING

- Okay, so, Katara in the intro is still saying “He has a lot to learn before he���s ready to save anyone.” I could’ve sworn they removed that part by this point... Maybe that was just something for the DVD?

- I like that the “Previously on” segment is so long. It really emphasizes how much buildup there was to this. How much the Gaang has been through to get here.

- I gotta say, I was not expecting a beach party in this episode.

- Somehow, for reasons I can’t explain because I don’t understand them myself, this ambush from Zuko made the audio of Nicolas Cage saying “Surprise attack!” in Into the Spider-Verse play in my head.

- Zuko’s really lucky that he earned Katara’s forgiveness before this violent pop quiz, seeing as just a half season ago... “You take one step backwards... one slip up... give me one reason to think you might hurt Aang - and you won't have to worry about your destiny anymore. Because I'll make sure your destiny ends right then and there. Permanently.”

- It never occurred to me that we didn’t get details on the war meeting before now.

- I’d bet hearing about this plan is the thing that tipped the scales and fully convinced Zuko to join the Gaang, and prevent the genocide of the Earth Kingdom.

- It’s so nice to see Zuko being welcomed into the group hugs. Especially when it’s Katara who invites him.

- I like that Zuko is teaching Aang to redirect lightning, the same way Iroh taught him.

- Even before it’s made explicit, you can tell that Aang’s uneasy about the idea of killing.

- Toph is just delighting in her role as Melon Lord, isn’t she?

- Someone out there has definitely written an AU fanfic where someone gets killed during this training and it’s Toph’s origin story as the malicious Melon Lord. If not, then I will write it myself, and it shall be the crackiest crack fic that ever cracked.

- Y’know what, I wish Toph could’ve actually gone on a life-changing field trip with Zuko too! Everyone else got one...

- This scene of Sokka climbing into Appa’s mouth is even more uncomfortable once you’ve... well, once you’ve grown up and... Okay, I tried to put it subtly, but I just can’t: Once you’ve been cursed with the knowledge of what vore is.

- Well, there’s a bait-and-switch if I’ve ever seen one: “Azula, you’re the new Fire Lord!” “=)” “But I am now the Phoenix King and still your superior who you will answer to.” “=O”

- Nice to see June and her Shirshu make a comeback.

- Does this mean Aang wasn’t running away on purpose? I honestly thought he was just going to that island to get some alone time, maybe meditate or contact the previous Avatars’ spirits.

PART 2: THE OLD MASTERS

- I’m not sure if this is something I forgot from June’s first appearance, or if it’s actually just never been brought up before, but I didn’t know her Shirshu had a name.

- It’s sweet that Zuko is seeking out Iroh’s help. Even if the method of finding him is, ah, well... unorthodox.

- Even Avatar Roku doesn’t know where Aang is. And here I thought it was some Avatar thing that had never been brought up before.

- It’s nice to see these people make a comeback. Bumi, Piandao, even Jeong Jeong and Master Pakku are here for the finale.

- I am surprised that we didn’t get an interaction between Toph and Bumi, though. The man Aang wanted to teach him Earthbending, the girl who ended up doing it... But I guess there’s only so much time, and I don’t think there’s any scenes that could be deleted to make room for it.

- It seems like Aang is just searching for confirmation of his beliefs, rather than actually seeking wisdom.

- I like that we get to see Bumi taking full advantage of the eclipse to take back Omashu from the Fire Nation, instead of just being told about it.

- It’s nice to see so many past Avatars beyond just Roku and Kyoshi, Avatars that we never heard of before, but now we hear their stories. But all of these past Avatars echo the same sentiment that Aang should kill Ozai, even an Air Nomad Avatar.

- What can I say about this scene of Zuko and Iroh reuniting? Forgive me for echoing a post I made on my main blog, but this is a scene that’s both sweet and sad.

Sad, because Zuko’s abuse at the hands of Fire Lord Ozai left him anxiously expecting furious punishment for crimes much less than what he did to Iroh. He can’t even comprehend the idea that Iroh would forgive him. His expression while apologizing to Iroh clearly shows he’s expecting the worst.

Sweet, because Iroh still loves Zuko like his own son, and doesn’t even need to forgive him because he never felt anger at Zuko’s betrayal: Only sadness and a worry that Zuko had lost his way, truly lost his honor. And Iroh is so clearly happy to see that Zuko has found his destiny, and joined the fight against the Fire Nation.

I could go on and on about this scene... It’s my absolute favorite scene in the whole series and it brings me to tears every single time I see it.

Gosh... it’s gonna be so awkward going back to the jokes and little mundane thoughts after this, isn’t it?

- Okay, I have officially given up on the idea of finding out what the heck this island is.

- I like the smile on Katara’s face, when she’s asked to team up with Zuko and fight Azula.

- It’s nice to know that Iroh will get the opportunity to run that tea shop, even if Zuko won’t be there to work with him.

- Okay, okay, so the island was actually a lion turtle. Frankly, I’ve still got a lot of questions. Even some new ones.

- It’s nice to see that the Netlix subtitles aren’t ALLCAPS anymore.

PART 3: INTO THE INFERNO

- Gotta hand it to the music, it can make even a scene of Azula making a fuss over a non-pitted cherry rather unnerving.

- Azula’s... Azula-ness has gone straight up to eleven with her newfound role. Hasn’t it? What with all the banishments, even banishing the entire Dai Li.

- Sokka, Suki and Toph are the real dream team. 

- And we get a great final blind joke!

- I like that we get to see everyone doing their part in this final battle. All the members of the Gaang, even the White Lotus, get their moments to shine.

- The hallucination of Ursa shows that Azula, on some level, has an idea of what’s wrong with her. You can tell that they were thinking of a redemption arc for Azula come Book 4, though I am glad that didn’t happen.

- It’s chilling to see Ozai razing the forests of the Earth Kingdom like it’s nothing. And then to realize that this is what Aang will have to face.

- At first I wasn’t sure what Sokka’s plan was, but now that I see it in action, it’s really creative.

- I like the idea of a final one-on-one Zuko vs Azula duel(...a). It’s been a rivalry since Book 2, and it’s nice to finally see it get settled, even if I can’t imagine it’ll end up that easy: Otherwise, what would Katara do?

- It’s so cool to see Aang showing his prowess in all bending techniques, using them all in this final showdown.

- The background music during Zuko and Azula’s Agni Kai really sells it. It makes it sound almost tragic, and it is: two siblings pitted against each other, no choice but to fight to determine the future of the world.

- Azula might be slipping, but she’s still Azula, all too willing to cheat in what’s supposed to be a one-on-one duel.

PART 4: AVATAR AANG

- Netflix isn’t showing the intro for the individual parts, but I’ve gotta say... There’s no way that Katara’s still saying Aang’s “got a lot to learn before he’s ready to save anyone.” Right?

- I like that we get to see one last use of Metalbending from Toph in the finale.

- Dang, I hope this isn’t really the end for Sokka’s sword, or his boomerang. Especially when the sword was so cool, and one could say meaningful.

- I honestly wasn’t sure the Avatar State would ever be a factor again. But if there was ever a time, this is it. (ADDENDUM: This is probably the best time to clarify that I find and add the images at the start after writing the rest of the post.)

- And it’s so epic to see Aang bending all four elements at once.

- I like that Iroh got to burn down the Fire Nation flag.

- Since Zuko’s down for the count, I guess this means a battle between Katara and Azula, the latter powered up by Sozin’s Comet.

- To be honest, I could barely make out what Azula just said. “kjsdbksrbfkjvf family position to look after, kdcbkfh”?

- Katara may not be stronger than Sozin’s Comet-powered Azula, but she’s much more clever than Azula is right now as she loses her marbles.

- This is just the perfect kind of defeat for Azula. There’s no grace to it, no dignity, just writhing around, screaming and spewing fire as Zuko and Katara look on with pity.

- There’s probably a great practical reason someone could find for Spiritbending being a thing, but here’s why I’m glad it exists: Aang gets a happy ending. He gets to take down the Fire Lord, and hold true to his beliefs. If it weren’t for Spiritbending, if Aang killed Ozai, then he would be conflicted to the end.

And I don’t want that. I want Aang to get an unambiguously, undoubtedly happy ending, where the world is saved and that’s all there is to it.

Plus, Spiritbending is quite the spectacle.

- I’m guessing Sokka’s space sword and boomerang really are done for. But hey, there’s always headcanon. Maybe Sokka searched the forest and eventually found them.

- Weird to think that Ty Lee’s gonna be a Kyoshi Warrior.

- Again, I can’t believe Zukaang’s not the most popular Zuko ship in the fandom. Not a ship I’ll go to bat for, but it’s got all the hallmarks of a fan-preferred couple.

- It’s so nice to see Zuko’s coronation, and the official end to the war. It’s a happy ending for the whole world, the start of an era of peace.

- “Love and peace,” huh...? Now that’s funny to hear in the finale to this show, considering the next show I’m covering, come 2021...

- I like that we get to see one last confrontation between Zuko and Ozai. Even if Zuko’s question of where Ursa is doesn’t go anywhere (in the show, I know they touch on that in the comics), it’s nice to see the newly-crowned Fire Lord Zuko having evolved past a need for Ozai’s attention, or a fear of Ozai’s wrath.

- It’s nice to see the whole Gaang having fun at Iroh’s tea shop, in the end. And I stand corrected, this is where we get the final blind joke.

FINAL THOUGHTS

I’m lucky in that most of my childhood cartoons hold up as an adult. I watched Kim Possible, Phineas and Ferb, Code Lyoko, Courage the Cowardly Dog...

Still, there’s something special about Avatar: The Last Airbender. It had a unique aesthetic and world that no other show was quite like. It had a story that was like nothing I’d ever seen as a kid.

And it doesn’t just hold up, it’s even better.

When I was a kid, it was as simple as rooting for the good guys to win, and for the Firebenders to lose, except for Zuko once he turned good.

Now, as an adult (but mostly as someone with a DVD player/Netflix account so I’m not just watching whatever reruns I can catch) I can appreciate the character development, the arcs, the entire story.

I can appreciate how Aang grew from a little boy who does indeed have a lot to learn before he’s ready to save anyone, into a hero who could save the world.

I can appreciate how Zuko was an abuse victim who did what all abused children wish they could do and left his abuser.

I can appreciate... Gosh, Iroh’s entire character and dynamic with Zuko.

Some people say that Avatar “starts off as a kids show, then turns serious”, but I’d disagree. Avatar is a show where our heroes change, where they learn lessons, where they come of age and become the kind of heroes who can end a war that’s been going on for over a century.

As relieved as I am to be (mostly) done with these posts for the rest of the year, I am still oh-so-glad that I’ve rewatched Avatar yet again, and I know that I will be whenever I rewatch it in the future.

Now, with all that said... Farewell! Until the Christmas special, at least...