#anti wyrm arc

[dark-night-star-light]

I think Bay's poll helped me understand why I think the first arc was peak Spirit Animals.

In short: it has lows. It has plot twists. The stakes feel real. And the character moments are truly outstanding.

In a traditional three-act story, at the end of the second act, the protagonists are supposed to be at their lowest point. And the Spirit Animals authors did something even cooler with this concept. They added in a fourth act.

Think about the end of Against the Tide and Rise and Fall. I adored those two endings so much. If we apply the three-act story to the first series, Against the Tide is clearly a low. So, that's the end of the second act then, right? It can't get any worse, can it?

You expect the protagonists to dust themselves off. To never lose hope and to keep making progress until they finally defeat the big bad for good. And that's how it seems to be going in Rise and Fall. Until the writers pull an absolutely brilliant twist on you and the protagonists hit a low that is somehow lower than the first low that once again ups the stakes. Because now all hope is entirely lost. The situation has never looked so completely bleak.

So this would actually be more of a four-act story. We have the first two books (the first act): relatively innocent, adventurous, kind of formulaic. Then Conor (and then Meilin) makes a decision at the end of Hunted that makes you go. Oh. This is real. They aren't just going to spend the rest of the series collecting silly little trinkets, one per book. Now it's more than just a silly little quest story.

Then comes the second act. The stakes rise through books three, four and five, as the protagonists go through some truly earth (erdas?) shattering things. They seem to be making progress, and that's when they hit the low at the end of Against the Tide.

You expect that to be the low. For the protagonists to pick themselves up and never fall back down from there. But, no, you see, the next act is only one book. Just Rise and Fall. And this is where the writers show you how truly abysmal the protagonists' situation can get. It was bad, but it can get worse. Now they have to fix it, once and for all.

And then of course, there's the final act, also one book, The Evertree. The rallying, the fight, the climax, and the defeat. All is well, and the evil is defeated, even though they hit not just one, but two major lows.

But the Wyrm arc has nothing like that. There's a plot twist, sure, but it doesn't have any impact on the plot. Shane is the leader of the Redcloaks, sure, but what does that mean? It doesn't up the stakes. It doesn't contribute to any lows or highs or anything at all. In terms of plot, it hardly changes anything. Same thing with Kirat being Tarik's nephew. Sure, it's a cool little Easter egg, but what impact does that have on the plot? Honestly? Nothing. Think about the plot twists in the first series. There are two major ones: Meilin having drunk the Bile and Shane being the real Devourer. What do you notice about these two? Well, they both directly impact the plot, and both of them also directly contribute to the two major lows I pointed out. The Wyrm arc has nothing like that absolute brilliance.

As a result, each book just feels like a repetition of the previous one. Quest, fight, quest, fight, quest, fight, quest, done. Yes, Abeke loses Uraza, a definite low. But that's Abeke's low, not all of their lows. There are four protagonists. Yes, Greenhaven falls, a definite low. But what personal impact does that have on our main characters? Not really anything. All the people affected are random side characters. Tragic, but we as the audience don't really feel it, the way we feel Abeke and Meilin getting captured or the talismans getting stolen. And it makes the Wyrm arc feel flat and boring.

Okay, so the plot twists are boring and don't do anything to increase the stakes. Fine. Plot isn't everything, ever. What does the Wyrm arc do for our characters? Well, one in particular is presented to be a completely different person than in the first series after appearing as a mysterious figure for the majority of the arc. Are we going to do anything with that? Oh, what's that? He's dead before any interesting dynamics can be formed between him and the main characters? Okay, that's unfortunate, but what about the others? Oh, the spoiled brat that's related to Tarik does a complete 180 in the span of a handful of pages because of an amulet? Uh, okay. Well. That, that doesn't mean this arc is irredeemable! What about the girl from the historically oppressed nation that tried to colonize the entire world summoning the symbol of hope and peace for said nation? What might we do with that? Give her a stereotypical girlboss arc instead of exploring the ins and outs of the immense pressure she canonically faces from the entire country's populace? Oh. Oh. Okay, but there's that kid that breaks traditional gender roles and is scorned for it, similar to one of our own protagonists? Surely that will be an interesting thing to wri- Oh, he's tossed aside the moment his spirit animal is taken from him and that's the end of that? Hm.

This is very different from our first arc. Rollan, Meilin, Conor, and Abeke are each given likable qualities and flaws that directly relate to their upbringings and dictate their decisions very well. Over the course of the story, they form an incredibly heartwarming bond that you genuinely want to see more of. As an extra layer of genius, they even mirror each other in terms of flaws and arcs. At the end, when they all act like kids and race each other and poke fun at each other, you feel like it's earned. Like you truly watched them become what they are. It's incredible character writing and I adore it. But it was not replicated well in the Wyrm arc.

Add in all the nuance and gray morality, outstanding worldbuilding, and a couple of other things, and the first arc stands out as some of the best story-telling I've ever seen. In a children's series. The Wyrm arc is a long way to fall from that standard, and it really, really shows.

[ae-neon]

Feyre vs Nesta (not really)

I just think that (narratively) the easy going warrior character who liked training and playing Illyrian dress up should have been the one to become a Valkyrie and compete in the Bloodrite or whatever. Should be the one running around doing her McGuffin missions and grabbing Lucien and Vassa and Jurian to go kick ass on the Continent. She befriended a damn Suriel but now she has no friends outside of her husband's middle aged gang.

And I think that the smart and strategic character who didn't want to be a warrior should be the one behind a desk, using her mind [that recovered a fortune through investments and calculated the amount of boats needed to evacuate a small country] to help at least one court if not the whole of Prythian.

I think that if a character is gonna sit there and dictate to other HL's what they should do it should be the one with the power to literally kill them all if need be. Not that I'm advocating for violence or anything🤷🏻‍♀️ and I won't have to because at the end of the day the super scary sister that everyone treats like a venomous snake - never actually wants to do stuff like that? She's actually quite the pacifist

It's about what was promised and what wasn't delivered. (In my opinion)

The liberator of Prythian is now loitering around Velaris, while the first real liaison between humans and fae is swinging a sword instead of a pen...

Edit: this is definitely not anti Feyre btw. She defeated the Middengard Wyrm through strategic thinking. She caught the Suriel. Nesta wouldn't have been able to do those things.

They are different people who just do things differently. And this is my personal preference for their character arcs.

[ravendruidreads]

House of Flame and Shadow - Review

Author: Sarah J. Maas Saga: Crescent City (#3) Date Read: January 31, 2024 - February 3, 2024 Format: Physical Pages: 838

Characters: 8/10 Atmosphere: 8/10 Writing: 6/10 Plot: 7/10 Intrigue: 8/10 Logic: 6/10 Enjoyment: 7/10 Rating: 7.1/10 (4 stars) Spice Level: 4/5

I'm not really sure how to start this review, because I forgot to write it when the book was still fresh in my mind, but I will do my best.

The review is hidden below due to spoilers.

Let's start with the characters!

ACOTAR is not my favorite series in the Maasverse, but it was my first, and, like many people, it opened the door to Romantasy. Because of this, I was very excited about Bryce's Arc in Prythian, and SJM did not disappoint. It was interesting to see things from a different perspective. Rhys, who we know wants nothing more than to protect his people, being seen as a potential bad guy from Bryce's eyes was emotionally conflicting. I loved every moment of it, except when Bryce left Nesta and Az to fight the Middengard Wyrm alone (I could kill Bryce for that).

Moving back to Midgard, and onto our MMC. My opinion about Hunt has not changed with this book (I'm sorry to disappoint, but I'm not a Hunt girlie). In a universe with Rhys and Rowan, Hunt is lacking badly, and not even the fact that he's a lightning wielder (which is my soft spot) makes up for it. I think the most interesting characteristic that he has is that he was literally made by the prices of Hel for Bryce. Not gonna lie, that's kind of romantic (I'm choosing to ignore the red flags of this).

Hypaxia, baby, thank you for breaking up with Celestina for snitching on your friends. Hypaxia is one of the MVPs in this story because she ticks off all my bingo slots: she is hot, she is smart, she is a necromancer and Queen of the Dead.

Another MVP is Jesiba. I knew there was something big about her, but I never imagined she was one of the priestesses of Parthos. Saying that I cried and smiled and fell completely in love with Jesiba is an understatement.

Do you know who is not a MVP? Ithan and Tharion. Once again, boring. I could not care less about their plot and POVs, and, unfortunately, I have a feeling that CC4 will be an Ithan and Tharion based book.

I've been avoiding talking about Bryce, but I'm running out of characters. I know she's the main character, but she was annoying as fuck in this book and I lost count at how many times I rolled my eyes at her. I was especially displeased with her behavior toward Hunt's PTSD and feelings in general.

This story would have been so much better if the main characters were Lidia and Rhun. Lidia is such a badass and her plot twist made her even better. She reminds me a lot of Aelin (duh) with all the fire inside of her (literal and figuratively). Her backstory tore my heart apart. Her and Rhun's relationship is everything to me and so, so much better than Quinlan. The only reason I gave this book a 4/5 spice level is because of Lidia and Rhun. They carried not only the spice, but also the entire book on their backs.

Let's move on to plot and writing!

The plot was kind of predictable, at least the end was. Some parts felt rushed, others felt too dragged on and everything related to the wolves and Tharion was just unnecessary to the story. I feel like SJM could have easily avoided using their POVs and subplots in these three books to create a spin-off with just them.

The battle with the Asteri was very disappointing and anti-climatic. There was a big hype for it but it was over before it even started and I never felt truly concerned about any of the characters (not even when it was obvious that Bryce was dying because I knew she would be brought back to life. SJM refuses to have a melodramatic end for her main characters-even though I'd prefer that in this story). Another thing that was disappointing about the battle was all the concern for the antidote and trying to get it to Bryce and Hunt to unleash their ultimate powers, only for Bryce not to have taken it until after the story was over. Like... what the fuck? What was the point of it, then?

Speaking of POVs, there were too many POVs to keep count of and too many abrupt changes within the same chapter. I felt lost at times. However, thankfully, for this book there was a physical demarcation of POV change (I think my previous issues were due to reading a digital copy).

A good thing about the plot was all the lore we got about the Daglan/Asteri. Learning more about the story of Prythian and Midgard was very fun, especially when comparing the truth to what we had been told in previous books. Although there were a few moments during all this lore dump that felt a bit too real with real life, and I didn't need that identity crisis, thank you very much. I read to escape reality, not to be confronted with the harsh truths of my existence.

I think overall I enjoyed reading this book. I read 300 pages on the first day, because I couldn't set it aside, which is an improvement from the previous CC books. I definitely think my rating could (and will) be lowered to three stars with a re-read since it's on the cusp (for those who don't know, in the CAWPILE rating system, 3 stars is an interval score of 4.6 to 6.9, and 4 stars starts at a score of 7).

Honorable mention:

With that, she pulled Nesta to her in a tight embrace, and Bryce could have sworn something like pain and longing crossed Nesta's expression. Like she hadn't experienced a mom-hug for a long, long time.

Ember and Nesta's goodbye had me in tears. As someone who has lost her mother, I definitely relate to this.

A quote Quotes that stayed (don't ask me to pick one):

I love you. I fell in love with you in the depths of my soul, and it's my soul that will find yours again in the next life.

A world where people loved and valued books and learning so much that they were willing to die for them. Can you imagine what such a civilization was like?

[bambeptin]

the map of infinity was wild as hell: an analysis

ok, let's get this out of the way first: there's no reason why Professor Paradox had to make the Map of Infinity other than "for fun".

which makes sense! he’s immortal, he’s been travelling for a while, and he’s likely very, very, very bored. anything he does is probably to chase new stimuli. his sense of morality is off, from human standards.

it's the complete space-time map of 17 different dimensions, which Paradox doesn't technically need, since he has the Chrononavigator and his own innate time powers. he doesn't even need it to reach the Forge of Creation, since he can literally just like, walk there whenever. Paradox was the person that made the barrier between the Forge and the rest of the Universe in the first place. was it even always outside of the universe? did he send it out there? I imagine it sort of went like this:

"boy, am I bored today!"

"let's see if I can make an in-depth map of a bunch of different dimensions"

fought Celestialsapiens when he reached the Forge of Creation, K6BD-style. they can't kill him (his powerset matches up well against theirs) and he can't kill them all (and they’re starting to mess with his time plans), so eventually they agree to a treaty. he found the war sorta fun

bored again

"what do I do with this map I made? destroy it? no, that would be pointless..."

"oh! I know!"

"split it into 4 parts, 2 of which are keystones to a world and 2 of which are in death trap temples, because that would be 1. fun to make and 2. could lead to fun situations in the future"

let's go over them all!

Map Piece 1. Mykdl'dy

gesundheit. if you don’t remember this planet, it’s the half hot/half cold one that Paradox made a death trap temple on, which is now guarded by Necrofriggian cultists.

"welcome to my crib....... I enjoyed creating brutalism-inspired shapes of dark grey prisms against the ever-changing backdrop of ice and fire. in front are two statues of a mysterious person in robes, because I thought it would look cool. within are some dastardly traps that I designed myself, so watch out! the Necrofriggian colonists making a religion out of it wasn't my intention though. it's just a coincidence that they're the same species as the statues! I felt like the high point of this temple is dragon-wyrm that I created! the acid is a fantastic extra touch.”

“dungeon design is my passion.”

it seems like he decorated the inner parts the most, lovingly, with his shade of blue, used a bunch of magical spells (presumably; elaborated on later) for that part too, then realized that it would be a bit of a pain decorating the rest of the place and made the rest plainer. I wonder if he made it all himself, or like, hired some dudes

Map Piece 2. Piscciss

it’s hidden as the anti-gravity multiplier that holds Piscciss together.

“huh?” you might ask. “why would that piece have that power?”

I don’t know, maybe they all had that power or something. maybe if Aggregor just took one and started blasting everyone with anti-gravity the arc would be over way faster. maybe it’s magic. maybe Paradox is fucking with you.

“wait???” you might ask next. “it’s hidden as WHAT????”

that’s right! this is the little thing that keeps Piscciss a planet and not a bunch of water filled with dead fish floating around in space. “haha yeah this works perfectly... trust me it's not a macguffin that will be stolen and break your planet apart and someone in the future will have to sacrifice an alien to replace it lol...” - Paradox handing the anti-gravity multiplier to the Piscciss Volann when they were making an artificial water planet for them to live on

either that or the Piscciss Volann stumbled on the piece in an unseen other death trap temple, found its powers, and decided to use it, which sort of goes against the whole “Paradox hid all the pieces” thing if he simply never checked up on them

Map Piece 3. Perplexahedron

I know they went to Ledgerdomain third but that is saved for the end because it’s fucking mental. so we’re gonna talk about the Perplaxahedron. it’s the cube from Cube (1997).

if you don’t know what that is, it’s an absolutely huge artificial planet/building that’s entirely made of death traps. each new room is an exciting and fresh way to die. invigorating! while it does have a simple design, it’s efficient at what it does, and the clinical nature adds to the theme of being an unknowable deadly object. that’s what he probably describes it as anyways. again, did he build all of that himself? can I make a “Paradox construction squad” OC?

maybe Paradox made these dudes to help build the place, and kept them around as guards, because that’s efficiency.

this dude’s sole purpose in life is to wait there and hand over the Map of Infinity piece to whoever’s smart enough to get inside. I assume Paradox made him, because he disappears from reality like ten minutes after he hands it out, but Paradox has hired people to be guards in his temples before. the pay must be really good. maybe their culture is like that. maybe he didn’t disappear and actually it was an actor to squeeze the most drama out of the universe.

anyways, if he was real, Ben basically ruined his life before he died by tossing out the very important piece of the Map to Aggregor for basically no reason. oops!

Map Piece 4. Ledgerdomain

“he can reach the Forge of Creation. so obviously he can reach Ledgerdomain, a dimension of pure mana. what’s the problem?” well, there’s really no problem. it’s quite cool! no, what’s wild is that nobody really thinks about the ramifications of this piece of the Map of Infinity. for a refresher, this is what it’s hidden as:

“It is an object as old as time itself, through which all magic flows. It is the keeper of the true name of [Ledgerdomain]; source of ultimate power! And it is mine!“ - Charmcaster

the secret true name of magic. if you have it, you have power over magic itself.  it can revive the dead or instantly kill people. that power corrupts its wielder easily. also, if it’s removed from Ledgerdomain, the realm loses all natural entry/exit points, destabilizes, and begins the crumble. that’s right! it’s the Alpha Rune.

Paradox is confirmed to have actually made the Alpha Rune, not just hidden a piece as the Rune. I implore you to think about what that entails.

he knows magic (3-page minicomic I made about that topic). he doesn’t just know magic, he knows the secret name of magic, automatically making him a disgustingly powerful mage. either that or it’s possible to get the secret name of magic without knowing magic, which is fine too, but just being around the Alpha Rune makes you able to cast spells. he probably ripped the Alpha Rune from the Omniverse and bound it to his will because he had nothing else better to do that day. could he make even more Alpha Runes (even if they’re weaker copies), since it knows it already? did making it into Rune form rip it from his own mind? I like to think that the reason why he can’t lie is because if he does, his latent magical abilities will automatically attempt to cast a spell to make it real.

here are three ways you can interpret “Paradox made the Alpha Rune”.

he found the secret name of magic and made the Alpha Rune out of it

he literally made the secret name of magic. i.e. he made magic itself. that would be wild as hell.

the writers didn’t really think about the ramifications of any part of the Map of Infinity past “cool artifact”, which, to be honest, fair enough.

he probably finds all the magic really useful, since it helps streamline all of his temples and stuff. all of the bright blue lines connected to Paradox’s creations might even be magic! or his time powers.

by the way, he pulls the same split-something-into-pieces-and-hide-them-with-death-traps stunt with Maltruant, so I think this is his hobby.

[oh-atlas]

29 and/or 68!

Full Name:  Enya (No last name F this is actually my first dnd oc that’s gone through several revisions and changes lmao) Gender and Sexuality: Lesbian Pronouns: She/Her Ethnicity/Species: Fire Genasi Birthplace and Birthdate: Peylos, Yawhena, and I’d say her star sign is gunna be the uhhh Crown probably maybe Wyrm if i’m feeling spicy Guilty Pleasures: dude i have no idea lmao Phobias: also no What They Would Be Famous For: Being the missing godkiller of well, Enya.  What They Would Get Arrested For: arson?  OC You Ship Them With: no one atm! Favorite Movie/Book Genre: probably adventures Least Favorite Movie/Book Cliche: /shrug/ Talents and/or Powers: I think a rogue/sorcerer mix ?? was the last mechanics? but to be fair i haven’t thought about her in a long time or what to do w/ her in my current setting and her current version much besides her relations to the other Enyas Why Someone Might Love Them: Cool Fire Lesbian Why Someone Might Hate Them: Cool Fire Lesbian :-( How They Change: /shrug/ Why You Love Them: Cool Fire Lesbian and my first dnd oc so sentimental value

and

Full Name: Maxarra (and i’m not confident enought that I remember her surname alkshglahg)  Gender and Sexuality: Lesbian Pronouns: She/Her Ethnicity/Species: Human Birthplace and Birthdate: the Valley of Siedalur in Llianos, and her star sign is probs going to be the Fangs or the Wyrm Guilty Pleasures: Alcohol and opiods (rip) Phobias: Death, Isolation What They Would Be Famous For: Being the Champion of the Kas Hela tribe What They Would Get Arrested For: Murder OC You Ship Them With: Levka! Favorite Movie/Book Genre: Superheros and like. long strung out crime dramas like Bones and Criminal Minds Least Favorite Movie/Book Cliche: Misrepresentation of information in media Talents and/or Powers: Berserker Barbarian, super physically strong and high high high constitution. Was supposed to be a healer of sorts and has a background with medicinal herbs but then uh. Shit Happened. Why Someone Might Love Them: Super strong, super badass, complex not specifically antagonist but sort of. Anti-hero for a campaign who has a Lot Of Issues but a lot of ways to Grow Why Someone Might Hate Them: Stronk Mean Lady Crushes People’s Heads How They Change: After the inevitable fall from Glory and being freed from the influence of her physical abuser, Max’s arc generally centers around fighting through addiction and coming out on the other side. I’m also just particularly fond of Max in her early fourties with a proper cane and treating little kids injuries with her wife watching fondly. Why You Love Them: I love her because she’s one of the coolest foils to a character I’ve ever made and I am entitled to love her with my full heart after I went Super Extra Dark on her backstory rip 

[aion-rsa]

Riverdale Needs To Solve Its Villain Problem

https://ift.tt/eA8V8J

This Riverdale review contains spoilers.

Riverdale Season 5 Episode 19

“So, Riverdale lives to fight another day…”

With an episode title like “Riverdale R.I.P.,” it would be understandable if you went into this season finale expecting some massive game-changing event to occur that would cause Riverdale to completely reinvent itself.

No such luck.

For there was no “we have to go back” mindfuck, no exploding Gus Fring, just more of the same wheel-spinning in which characters behaved the way they always do. Friends, it’s really getting exhausting.

Over the course of five seasons to date, the series has proven that it works great on an episodic level but falls apart when analyzed as a whole entity. Indeed, fans coming off of last week’s stellar musical episode came into the finale expecting chaos ranging from Pop’s being decimated to Cheryl being burned at the stake for her religious dabbling. To be fair both of these events occurred, sorta. Pop’s was burnt up, but not badly enough that Jug couldn’t make a hamburger for Tabitha (and the basement level Whyte Wyrm bar apparently had no damage whatsoever). Blame the power of a misleading promo, one that did the actual largely anti-climactic reveals of this episode no favors.

A much bigger reveal was the story of Abigail Blossom, who was murdered by the ancestors of Archie, Betty and Jughead back in 1819 — and whose spirit, conveniently, is reborn in a fashion in each generation’s subsequent Blossom woman. As cool as this is, it’s also a bit of a shrug logistically. How exactly this works as Abigail was apparently childless at the time of her death is a mystery, although it’s safe to assume their were other Blossoms around at the time of her murder? Is this why Nana Blossom is so wacky? But perhaps as always it is best to remember Veronica’s immortal words of “forget it Jughead, it’s Riverdale” and not ponder the contrivances here too much. The larger point being that by the time the credits roll on this episode, Cheryl has revived her ancestor’s curse, invoked Satan and literally caused an ill wind to sweep through Riverdale.

Never mind that the past few weeks have seen Cheryl’s character undergo a transformation from mentally struggling to finding inner peace and wanting to act as a mentor for Britta Beach. Since the story demands it, “crazy” Cheryl is back, and there’s nothing viewers can do but sit back and enjoy the chaos. As frustrating as it may be.

The problem is, we have seen it all before.

Riverdale has an ongoing problem of playing narrative ping pong with its characters. Cheryl and Hiram Lodge suffer the most because of this infuriating creative decision. Due to the over-the-top nature of Cheryl in general, combined with her getting at least one killer bon mot per episode and Madelaine Petsch’s always compelling performance, her character is able to swiftly recover from these jarring transitions.

The same can’t be said for Mark Consuelos’ Hiram Lodge. Although you can see Consuelos trying his best to breathe some vigor into Hiram, the writers just seem to have no idea how to handle the character. This was most evident in the last half of this season, where Hiram was portrayed as an ineffectual joke (getting called a “little bitch” twice in the process). Suddenly after watching his emasculation for weeks, viewers are again supposed to view him as the ultimate threat, powerful enough to sneak back into a town where everyone is um, gunning for him to blow up Archie.

(Riverdale’s other current big bad is the Trash Bag Killer, a character who popped up in a brief scene to remind you that, oh yeah, he is still a plot point that the series needs to deal with at some point).

These kind of contrivances border on being contemptuous towards the audience. Riverdale can do better. It must do better. The inconsistency of characters is inexcusable, and a much bigger problem than the transparent — and almost certainly temporary — new “ships” on the show that are causing Twitter to implode as you read these very words. But these aren’t issues that can be solved easily.

Cheryl is too lovable of a character for her to permanently go “full dark no stars” and Hiram, well, does anyone really even remotely give a shit about this character anymore? It is a testament to Mark Consuelos’ enduring charisma that the dull void that is Hiram has any life left in him. When we last see the character he is driving away from Riverdale. For the show’s sake, it will hopefully be awhile before he returns. Perhaps by then the series’ will have figured out how to write its antagonists in a way that is both consistent and entertaining.

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Riverdale Rundown

Ship breakdown: Veronica is now with Reggie, Betty is with Archie, Jughead is with Tabitha, Toni is with Fangs. Plus there’s the rebirth of Falice as Alice and Frank have something brewing.

Does anyone believe for a second Archie and Betty are in danger? They weren’t shown in the promo during the credits, but c’mon. Archie’s abs can absorb the power of that bomb.

Eric Jackson has left Riverdale. Fare thee well, unimportant secondary character.

Am I crazy or was The Lodge Ledger never even mentioned before this episode? I remember Alice working for the Riverdale Register, but that was prior to the seven-year time jump.

Can we just take a minute to appreciate Alvin Sanders as Pop Tate? His scene with Erinn Westbrook as Tabitha tonight was my favorite moment in the show. A nice understated moment amidst all the chaos. Welcome back Pop, we dig your retirement look!

So where did all the water from the fire department go if it didn’t ruin the Whyte Wyrm?

Is Jughead, a man who less than a month ago turned in someone else’s novel as his own, a good choice to be teaching kids about journalistic ethics?

In a nice touch, the Ghoulie ingested some Jingle Jangle right before torching Pop’s.

Pop’s demise was the most upsetting fire involving a TV diner hangout since Chachi accidentally burned down Arnold’s on Happy Days.

Riverdale’s new logo declaring itself to be “The Town with Pop’s” made the heart of this longtime Archie comics reader soar.

Twin Peaks was a massive influence on this show’s creation, and now Riverdale has its own Agent Cooper.

So who you do think the Trash Bag Killer really is?

As for the FBI having a Riverdale Field Office, I totally buy this due to the sheer amount of bad shit that happens there. “God knows there’s enough crime here to last me several lifetimes,” Betty wisely declares.

The opening credits being shown over the smoke from the Pop’s fire really had me convinced that the show was doing away with one of its primary locations. Nice fakeout.

Given the licensing issues with Netflix, it’s not surprising that Chilling Adventures of Sabrina hasn’t been mentioned on Riverdale. That said, a main character is now a witch who has invoked Satan, so at least throw us a bone and give Greendale a shout out?

Someone should tell Fangs that the Serpents have been a joke since, umm, forever.

Pearls and Posh is now a front for a secret casino run by Reggie and Veronica. How will this cause friction with their friends who are trying to legitimize the post-Hiram town?

Kevin is heading to New York City to pursue his Broadway dreams. How will the show keep him in town?

We won’t have to wait long to see the aftermath of Abigail/Cheryl’s vow to “torment and destroy,” as the series returns on November 16th with a five-part story arc (apparently called Rivervale if the promo is to be trusted) that promises Midsommar-esque horror flourishes.

What are your thoughts on this season as a whole? My gut feeling is that it was the weakest to date, with the characters of Cheryl, Hiram, Kevin and, as always, Archie suffering some major disservices. However, it also had the Josie and the Pussycats backdoor pilot and the Next to Normal episodes, two of its strongest outings ever. Oh Riverdale, you frustrate me and I love you. We’ll be back here next month when the show returns.

The post Riverdale Needs To Solve Its Villain Problem appeared first on Den of Geek.

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[nirvanaballad]

SOFT

Across, then crossed -- appetite of streaming zero-time., pass through the wells that sunk deep into the passing vale; chipped and down thrust the passage of the Sails. [Being begin]

 Chosen are the trails that react like simmying in pathway drent. Covered copse in the ulder rent -- taut like bassage of unenvying pride,; debugged in acrid news.paper olden coordinate told. Corse in the tubeing; the alliance caught longing in the drifting sunbeam bedlam joint. Up in the elevated levels of the sky are the bashèd belongings of the underkeeper, the dread novel that rotates in skyward shallow knell. Collapsing benities of the core kept deft in paralysed left -- truthfuls of the actual kel: purposeful in the crown drept pally prow.

Cud like brow in upended city of bells. Beckoning brown in restive reflex found. Bound brother to the action of the deepening sound. Drawn out and up in clamour of reeds refrownd. Now is the telling and listen do the ears that send with impulses static silence: caused to flight and then dirge rite,; listen to the doctors evacuate our worth with analysed nascence drowned.

 Dark are the years that lay behind -- once peace intrigued and the discovery of who they are, then struggle for breath and absence of fear’s leash holder. The queen who every tree does now bare; borne out in windfall neutrality like company cold creep, the young dazzled like birds on a ceiling. Death of the believing.

 Bleach concealing drawn like ice in a pulling of raw ripe reasoning. Cast in the shadow of the empty, loss like a trigger; posit in exempt pushed into backward season -- brain retold every story recalled. Something left within for you to find to understand the years before -- times of life that vapour in images seen dreamt, caller of death, then diving while sat; writing uncapped, pulped at the underside of the dealing dunes. Sea waves show moons.

 Caught light in fire holes trial torn in moisture vacuum. Compassed in prefecture profound; possibilities pre-rendered in pull of the pacified. Prolong the passing, recreate in shadows of returning.

 Exacting resonance in the penning of the possible -- back drafts unreasoned in the ripping of the path. Roots torn from earth like the world is ending with the displaced positioning -- up and on, the gravity tuned in switchbox confusion. Instant falling from on high, or the dreadful imploding: a skillset of the undone.

 Questions in the mouths of millions.

                                                           *

Taciturn old flocks that have swum the distance of age long aching. The esoteric in the greening. The Sails cut through and continue the endless migration but for the stations. Trains of Sails,; trails unconscious. Anti-pulse at the elision, the speedways fast bought in the privatized passing. The Sails wrap around, and blind the man who would steal their science.

Angry in the approach of the under reactive motor processes -- cause to glance in indirection,; the purpose of the apparel reed. Smoking in the reeds, unprepared for the extent storm, colourless and invoking somatic senses,- the bodies’ lost grace gravity repents.

Look to the undisclosed retort -- the action in the photographic vial, flipped and respun. Known in the upturned howling song, known to glimpse. The apparition of the never closed instinct. The Sails close in: the rod, close curve. The smells of the drenched, End of day.

 Underscape in movement. It is aged in its context, like crushed rock in endless rotation,; every grain the laying stones of a house, cartridge plucked in deep dream preamble. Apparent in the strength of nascence re-greened. Uktive uponed in the visual trapset, let the forlorn re-turn/. spun in the captive eight to restore rehabilitated in darkness ghastly. Filled black with the ghosts of materialist things. Dying in the retort. The passage is now flooded.

> 

Reproached by the silence of the latent guard, the nakedness dyed in excellent causality.. the tremble of the context.. the complexity of the object. Simulacra’d misowned. Serenjectivity like an infinite rainbow,-- bound to the rumours of the deep. With no measurement of the depth, the sinking of the swimmer takes up the ease of the smoothest chutes,:sunken in places of appropriation.

 Under the rule of challenging hues, the dark of the sunlit night pulls at the threads of the ending of the call,; the motion the retort in the accusation of the double’; and the triple. Cast over and over in gestures wide of nuance.

 > 

You like the dust feathers; the version relation that extrapolates the effervescence uncoiled in the calling of the greatest, the strongest! Wise in its swiftness. The lesser known, in a town of gold disintegration [disintegration] - the pull of the musical,. knwn in the twypes that wallwalk in streets paved with passages rent. Cast are the types that revert in recoiled rememberance. The xtide of the somnvoyant,;: body watchers whose eyes feel rather than see.

 You are the watcher -- but overlooked are the dances that seeth in the structured recorse that permeates the messages. Like calculated void. Her body was like the sun in its blinding.

 Exvert belongings that replicate in bags that magic had. In the swelling of the tubules in the deepest parts of the forest of rain -- new lords take up the call of everant synapse collision. In the program of the nation,. the maxi hard like nubling charge. The unuttered trail; the loose and captive fail . Like nuances in a stream of cards. Knights with enchanted swords, the ego in the night. Collate the opening, like pretence of cold shine. The parabola ignited. The chance rings taught hard against the driving snow. Lox in tremble fierce; the parents of the sorter drift, like dancing revolves so multiples retold. The bringings that suffocate intention like the slither of captive tongues. Disguise the sound, let it be experienced but hardly ever heard.

 In problems like wyrm, collapsing realms that have old been heard -- the maxims of the troubadour, trying at the edges of the perceptive girl; the dread test dead. Gods in wrest like true hoards scavence blessed. Gods in outer sphere, the quandaries of the apparent worn. Known is thy caste, the bell seller weaves. The progaps sendarie eleven place to heal.

 Courtizans in the extraperfective crossiron wood foray. In the stream of the anointed tumble -- capture the expert indistinct. Akin to washing away, in light of sea -- the turning of the casual wheel. Puzzle in moonlight contained. Upward shift like molten ring rain. Episode in hyperlight,; true in version modification. Uttering fleeting moments like the turmoil of the under court,, the deep dragging of the explosive slowed -- trying at the edges of frayed contraption. Killing the dust that rushes inward,: into mouth and into lungs,. death in the extremities of sleep’s fashion. Death in the uttering. Drawn in the writing of the adjacent member -- followers of the stillness motioned to road,; deft in her worship. Kill the cleansing for in the mention of the direction is the vocality of the marauder.

 In motions like great washes, sea sound overdubbed in crevice of mind/conscious of the gap between the land and the distance of the station. Water where rails once were -- jet-skis the major mode of transport. Once there were gondolas, but now the induction propulsion of the jet-ski: minute in the memory of that which has no faculty. A planet not a populous.

 Gravity reigns in the astrological significance. Established! Cast in greens and blues and yellows; true depth like that once written. Death in the creating.

 Under casual lift, the wind raises the crew. They wear nothing but their robes that signify the heaviness of their religion. Health.

> 

Cooperative in its flavour, the crossing of the true knight passive, untold response in the colours of the deep. Counteract like fire, the possible in the context with all that is conflict in its presence. Love in an outer location; the lakes of the pressing the untu of complete existence. Anywhere and whenever -- the cost of fulfilment, life in its absolute state. Carry the waves in water of nascence,; the calculus of the end. The trembling like dice in a cube of plastic glass -- we saw the new in the eyes and breath of the most high. A containment that is resonant in the expulsion of pure wave. Niceties in collaboration of the forward, apace with the space of the unfinished. Rules of ether, message of time,; temporal tests in arcing experiments. Bring them to a coordinate of deep reason. Let them know what they are, and what words are within them.

 Love is the pathway, the course of second or third least resistance. Parameters that increase freedom -- interpretive reaction as open as heaven is possible.

 Caught in the catalyst,: the feasible a profit in its agrarian state. Upended columns pull us to the walls, ring rocked in resurgence; caste assuaged in danger of swaying rhythm -- rip-tied in the tolerance of problematic extremes. Danger in the leaving;, danger made clean.

 Rolling of hills long sunk. Running on waters of gravity. Resemblance of pinions in the caves of the sky. Realizations of exit -- pull of the subordinate call. Canny response to the messages’ bombardment. Death in breath, breathing of deceiving. The brevity that extends to valence. Control of kingdoms questioning in the cards of remaining. [Terminate terminal.]

In the brave presence of tendrilling concrete. Expressive to the non-night like capillaries that have left the bodies irrespectful of their owners. Conquering the ignominy of  a sort of presidential buoyance. Asking the questions that invoke repetitious response. Again the mark cuts down on the focus of the abilities locked inside. Consider resignation in the face of misconduct. Then consider the rawness that energy exacts against the gravity that pulls us ever down, but in the light of plight:, know the zenvy that conducts and channels the messages of the heart. Purpose is found in the trembling winds that carries the spors in the darkest years of the world. Discard.

 Errant discord in the longing of the underscore. Cut down are the branches that once held the delicacy of infinite memory, now an extreme displeasure. Artifice in moulds of the oceanic.

 Survey of streams in a personage that recollects the flow as a juxtaposition. A rolling of thought that resurfaces at the times where there is only an experience of one. One and around the company that all feel the passage. Ghouls of the terminal.

 Corneas at absolute dilation -- the quandary in the rising of the sun. Supreme knowledge like a vestige to a deity. Camped in cameras,; callouses of the callous -- contruda in a movement of the actual dissident. Continue in the attention paid to the edges of the shape. A simple square. The profillment rotates in dances of emptiness filled, the collecting of energies that once belonged to ancient ancestors. In the filling of the temple, the wave is reset.

 Filament of tangled possible tetrian inclusion. Confinement a song stung in gravities of new true makeup cast. Comma transpiration. Young in its flow, rules bent in shimmering collusion, now in the sticking place of eternity entire.

 Grass grown in the awareness of the trundle erasure. Unique in its passage, movements like the untamed spiral. Cue entry past the wavering rude. Hoods up, spells cast,; removal of the goddess worshiped. Meet her in her palace of fog.  

Night broadcast to the infinities of a culture. Built up and on, over and over in ringing coherence that respects its boundaries. Sound itself ricocheting in a galaxy whose astrological significance is the afore-mentioned.

 Grabbing ritual in an event that will turn the tide of opinion. Decisions presented and selected. Choice a challenger but never a tyrant.

 Goodness reveals the fountain of circles. Diving into the vast wells of the ruined city. She divulges much; but to hear it? it would remove the hopes of the appointed. Prudence prescriptions of lifestyle hidden in the royalty of sunlit clouds. Clod of rod -- pressing in on the downward, college of the inclement. Enclosure in a wordplay that reorganizes the deft roar, rules of contention in the children’s’ shore. Upward retort in realist reaction. Unknown in defta incleptron vanished. Gyzed in borrowed extentions. Graft in over errality.

 Because the hills shear at the unpoint view of the artist locale, the heading is a morali -- a mountain near clarity’s basecamp.

 In the truth of capsized clump, thicket and clutch,, the wrongs of return ensue to room that which is within the energetic loom.

 Grown in a stasis of the viewtiful, closing in are the chapters that would respin the governing of penance, guideguard compulled in steady farslight. The worklings fall at the speed of the overseers -- seers in the fabric, sight contained in the millions.

 Arc of threads crossed in. The crew contails the enevering of gilded capsules. Gas in a tube that has seen many roads but will never burn.

 This is the set of the Sails.

 Sails that weave and contort in the energy interlay. The crossing that remains like a person in trembling coil. Cool in its overlap, the types that know and row in lines that might never be perceived. Collapse in process, new in the living is the profession that quanta recedes -- of the alapin is the greatness that endures the show of ignominious raft. Rasp in rude coverage. Tents like offices of the dramatic straight-downed.

 Seeding of the dark grey sunpushed meadows, the tailors knew the goods were washed, in merry ecumen she received this post. Parasailed in perfect light. The bony pointary of the climate’s southern rush. Ruin in the possive pole of flight and aggregate colour. Crushed are the dancing sellers -- magic in their unbevelled depth the undoing of a vast year’s push.

 Cattle moving in the streams of the regulatory dismissive. The pour of the control -- cardwright in realms of agora. Paths of the rise. Passage of profane integrity.

 Under the call of the newly lit program. Pause in the feeling of valour,; intra versed in paradise gleam. Came did the destroyed in humble movement of voice and in their stead the beacon breathes in ever empty anti-streams.

 Before the fall of the straight walled;,the pull of the undone, wrecked in havens of poverty Sails. In the interest of the people as a whole, the grandeur of the treasured wall. The writing that creates the trule. Action in electric taste. The powder that cascades in granary agrown. Clear are the choosings of the mighty spun -- now the algorythms of the central dust like fire in a waterlogged tower, from basement to canopy, the reasons of the flock divulge in parameters of eager newing. Never endings predicted past scope.

 Caused to set Sails to flight; the nebula is the travelling, like huge upturned mountainous realms, of the clouds from above & the strongness of the kite.

 The exposive,; intergrated in magnatized infinitum. Provess ripped and procured like the institute that assembles concrete plates -- intraversital compassion, integrative nuance, depth in poverty like xion beings; Sails learn of the treachery of the undergrown.

 Transfixed in indigo clad moments -- positron row, reading wronged in positions of inclement causality. Now in the tow of a deep rowan redoubt, casting shade in repixelated reminiscing. Drowned in reactor water -- coolant coursing, running;, streams of incredible consort,, clever colours that rotate under the black light of the macroscope. dream-dread.

 In its activity, the nuance of the extreme allows for little levels: buoyant in the measure; passage of the indisputable,; drawn in lines of blue, yellow fixation rounding on the unparalleled perplexed. Gasp in the quarter that gives way to the deep pipe-filled trench, on for miles and miles…deeper and deeper, while the xion grows. Sails pass through like shadows cats. Falling between ceilings and floors. Double destiny,.

 Collapsing in gravity’s ruin. Roar in ten. Meet oxygen.

 *

Clever in their absolve, solve, dissolve -- revolved. Under the pen of the dialectic -- linguist in charged zone. wi-pow predicted. Knowing the passing of the breathing, the sending to a beyond where voices might be heard, but faces rarely seen. Cast our nets in seas of the holographic, register once more the appropriation of the traveller’s time -- eyes at once in register with what their host’s most like. Drop and retort. The opening of the highest windows in the most elaborate palaces. Dreams of design. Wells within adobe.

 Cause of extremity, illness in the whirling tubers,; cast in sirical sight -- grand operation in the rollings of enmity, castles caught in propellers, the crossing of the seas of jade.

 In the indeseminate profields, eyes are distracted. And levels recalled, retreating in gaseous water walls. Untrue in the incredulity of enemy volumes, increasing in travesty;: topiary that convalesces in gardens grown to treat the sick and saddened of the floral kingdom.

 Ghast in grip. Tolia drinks in the edifice of manifest root,; every soil a staging point for egress ripple..

 Drown in the school, the questions smothered in radial throw. Deafened in the opulence of endings. Draught like the ink in the bath -- filled brim a coast in the territorial furrows, ilk of nebidead,: hailing the arrangers of the extortion. Draw a wheel of tumbling tales -- art of a zealot, inches of gunge as nominal as in an equation of love.

 Reparations long for the time that is forward in its associative capture. The rapture of the extreme eaity the feed, forward flask in extreme. B’lean.

 Reels of the unreal.

 Deeds set in cast plastic integration of the blown -- flown in extraversion extorts in breaths of brimming flow. Blasted in its seas of shoe sown wandering, like the eaves of dark vessels in the cloves of crownèd kings.

 Browned in the absolute -- calculations of the depth, deep in the fast play restocking. Calls of the wild in mews of defference, like positions in a galaxy. spun in seals of treen. Creeping in extraversion,; pull of the minute, gravity a form of power. The planets spin - travellers that mock the moon. Creeds of negative green. R plus seven recalls the goodness, and the rest renew their clad.

 Heavenly waves burn the skin, and are put down by Sol, our dearest, oldest friend.

 Caught in the grip of the variety, ayes of the trouble that engage that which has been seen,. anew are the friendships that have always been. One day I will know you again. Sinking in manifest…Oh, there is nothing there to block the way. Calling your name, sure in the passages of the parenthesis that was our last existence. Sat among those who have always been known -- thrown the page like sculptures throw clay. Little illustrations and tiny mentions that explicate the endlessness of love.

The only ways I can tell what is happening to me. Returning home too..

 Recking ships in pens that contain the sea, our stream flinches;:wasted rounded in vestibules of ever increasing margin limit. Reoil’d describing in blood.

 Constant stone remade.

Taper in hypervision of para-recollection. Huge entireties that differ in maximal dissatisfaction . Cause for the latter -- extremes in scarce.

Enter the revel, patrons of the never ending. Sails on the mending.

 Under weaving, waves retort in lashing causality. Karma rips in sevens. Wreathed in the acute.

 Removal of focus, captivated in biochem -- halls of reflection collapse in heated exchange; guides of the strange and re-estranged.  

 Escalation and repensation -- key cards to the underpassages and vaults containing the most modern of magi-technology. Crews pass unseen and in vacuums clean instigated parameters that mean in modes of infinite green.

 Clear are the opposites, ended in attempts at the furthering of life as human glass creates in its endless foray the purposes of gravity in plastic obtained. Gone are the measurements and in their certain turmoil, winds of rushing grasp up the foothills, fall of debris in instants of bitter relief.

 Clear the halls! The repshord shouts, pieces of trap replacing the gallery at the moment of prime numbers. Gushes of off-white ignite the reem,, classes intake a shower of credible dream.

 In the ignorance of the passing flower, a new turbulence ensued in porthole teeming, the gleaning of the precious sunlight treasures of the dead. In the exiting., a verse retained in mode of perplexed pour -- core of silence, the pattern of never-ending dominion. Ghost in the tracks -- sea of roaring air react,;gulp of potions ending fear, purpose of the push in the program of the night. Gush of credit in composition capsule; perfect signs in the lowest sky.

 Tremendous captured in the ink of syphony, grand reactor the memory; and a hold on economic masts -- radio narrowcast, in clear due water of the virtual finding fixing aching mask.

 Entailed in the westward wind, the flow of the streaming heart,; the innocence of the trailing path. Paths pulsate in maximum moon. Mark of greatness on the region’s tomb. Pockmarked management like motivation severedflent gall of promises never found, the arches of the makeup moving down. Cast like fingers at the eyes of norm, the truth is bent as light in the morn.

 Harps in the streams, the water sound clean. Rapture of music that mentioned in the prophesies of gods would reclaim the creation of incidental chords that chimed in mists and equal climes of the magnificence in the enty of the untold.

 of edgeward measure the pulling in black sand sinking.

  Rumas reunion -- post-perfect presence in a theodyte that shifts in rotative relapse. Cast by shadows infinite and cracked.

 Concrete in its pertinences, yet fluxuating at the sign of our rap. Grasp at the threads that windworm their way into the future, depth of sound hacked and reclad like buildings in cities of cerebral crap.

Ask in the future -- futures of prevalence in organisms of reaction, reinterplay and superrisk.

 Reasonable in its containment, truth chewed in its collective connectedness  

 collapse.

 Inimitable flow, paralyzed in progression. The endings of the road. Increase in funds to the enterprize interpreted a lifetime ago. Secret accounts with £££. Engage in the enablement of the post-established,; intro regress like the further polished, egret in semblance. Accords restructured, the possibilities involved, dialectic in their draining,, dreams drowned in the ethernet, ambience revolves. Kites in flight in streams in the sky; skyrivers z. pull pushed in the patterns of neversaul -- phones in water, casting messages sent throughout the carriages of the intervention. introversion torn ,rightrubbed. Rings of frictional removal; passed in passages pitch darkened. Posit polite in the marks of redoubt, gum like comely,;bone balanced in the pages of extreme retraction,memories renewed through process chemical, like the dark roomand tomb.

 Gravity is clearer, collapsed in the rhythms of the vertical past, eyes of birds the reachers into the measure of the year, the moment; the infinite concealed.

 Call us now, the Sails that have sunk -- flown in bounty of elision re-fummed.

April ‘17