#he literally called himself a cruel capricious god

[waywardtrenchcoats]

rewatching “the monster at the end of this book” is so fucking insane after chuck being revealed as god, the whole episode was very meta to begin with but throw in the fact that chuck was orchestrating the entire thing? beacuse he wasn’t just a prophet of the lord he was the fucking lord???? just him “writing himself into the story” has such an deep new meaning

it hurt my head to watch honestly

on a better note castiel telling dean that prophets are protected by an archangel and that’s why he definitely can’t help him, not at all, but it would be a shame if dean used this information to help himself. dean winchester had cas soooo incredibly whipped so fast

[mittensmorgul]

Hello. Is there a chance that you know when the decision about Chuck beeing the villain of the entire show was made? And more specifically was season 9 written with this point of view?

Hi there! I’m sorry this has been sitting in my inbox for a few days, but I’ve been turning it over and over in my head trying to figure out how to actually answer. Because I don’t think this is something that was like the writers just suddenly decided, and began plotting everything else in the story around that fact, you know? And while it might be interesting to puzzle over, it doesn’t affect how I personally engage with the show.

I’ve written many times about the difference between a Watsonian Reading of a text versus a Doylist Reading of a text, and why sometimes understanding the Doylist might inform the watsonian read you’re willing to accept, so I can understand the interest in wondering if there was a moment in the writing room where it was declared that Chuck Was Not A Good Guy, and that the entire story should be told with that underlying assumption. For me, personally, it’s been clear since 4.18 that Chuck was not really a good guy, long before it was revealed that he was really God.

Was this always the intent of the writers? We just don’t know. I don’t think it matters. He always came across to me (ESPECIALLY in 5.22) as a self-important dick... but I know a lot of people really love his monologue on everything, and have always had rather warm feelings about it. So was their intent to make him seem smugly self-satisfied from the start, or is that an angle that later showrunners and writers seized upon and played up? Does it even matter when the story has made it clear now that Chuck has been the villain of the entire show from the start?

I understand how my personal opinion from the start here has probably made it easier for me to roll with the more recent canon revelations about Chuck than it would be for folks who have always believed that Chuck was a Good Guy from the start, that God would ultimately be on their side, or that if God wasn’t actively helping them, it was only because he was testing them or having them prove themselves to themselves or whatever. I understand people have clung to the notion that he was essentially still a good guy, even through all the shadiness. I just... could never see him that way.

ESPECIALLY after s11. I don’t think Chuck’s characterization has really changed since then. It’s just been... unmasked for what it really is. I think everything Chuck The Prophet was saying back in 4.18 about being a cruel and capricious god was... pretty on the nose. Then again, I’m fairly sure that Andrew Dabb took over the showrunning duties in mid-s11, and began setting up what he knew would eventually become the series endgame run, with Chuck as the final big bad. So that run up to the end of s11... was Dabb’s doing...

I don’t really know how much Chuck’s character (his fictional being, in addition to just... his personality, like how we’d talk about the character of real people, the quality of his essential being or whatever) played a part in the writing from 5.22 when he “vanished” through 10.05 when he appeared to tell Marie “not bad” at the end of her musical, and then again from that point until he dragged Metatron to the bar at the end of the universe in 11.20. I’m fairly certain that as soon as they began writing s11 and determined that Amara would be “God’s sister” that they knew that Chuck would have to make an appearance eventually. And the entire storyline of the MoC having been derailed and repurposed in mid s10 likely facilitated the escalation of the story. But again... I’ve written heckloads of stuff about s10, the accordion plot, how Carver had been writing toward a series finale in 10 until they got word they’d be renewed and wanted to keep going, and jerked the whole story onto a completely different narrative track in the back half of s10. As a seasonal arc, s10 will forever be my least favorite, because it’s just... a mess. Yes, even s6 comes across more coherent than s10, just looking at the overarching narrative structure. Episode wise, s10 probably wins for a few stellar entries, but yeeeeeesh, it’s a structural disaster overall.

But I have a tag for that, and lots and lots of posts, and Carver himself saying that this was exactly what happened there, so... I think it’s probably valid to say that the writers really hadn’t even thought much about Chuck until the MoC became about the Darkness in 10.23, and then they had to invent a whole mythology to bring in this super-powerful God-level power to the story, and “God’s sister!” sounded like a solid plan...

So I’d say that Chuck was being set up at that point to have to answer for his “original crime” of locking up the Darkness, you know? Though I don’t know how much of how it played out by the end of s11 was Carver’s doing, or Dabb’s. I am fairly certain that from the moment Dabb took over (quietly mid-s11, and possibly knowing he’d be tapped to take over before then and beginning to lay down tracks toward his eventual story plan, and then completely by 11.23) that what we’re seeing play out in s15 was always his intent.

But in s9? I don’t think Chuck was really even on any of the writers’ radar, at all. Even if they all were working from the perspective that he was God in the Supernatural universe. I just don’t think it affected what they were writing, you know?

Well, I mean, there’s earlier episodes where God was referenced... I mean 5.16 Dark Side of the Moon (hey, written by Dabb!) where we learned that God knew all about their problems, but he didn’t think it was HIS problem... I mean from that moment on, it’s really difficult to think of God as a charcacter who’s on their side, you know? And the end of the story he’d been content with was Sam in Hell for eternity, and Dean miserable in suburbia for eternity, and Cas probably being subjugated by Heaven and the Apocalypse starting again anyway... I mean... ew...

Or in 6.20, when Cas prayed to God, begging for a sign, begging for help, to do the right thing, he got NOTHING in return, zip, zilch. He did the only thing he could, and in retrospect, wasn’t releasing the leviathans something Chuck was probably deliriously happy about? More monsters and mayhem! A beloved hero character becoming the villain in the process! I mean, in s9 when Metatron was “Playing God” and trying to write his own story of the universe, isn’t this exactly the story he wanted to create too? Kinda on the nose there, even if they weren’t actively portraying Chuck himself as the bad guy here. They were explicitly telling us that Metatron was literally rewriting God’s playbook as self-insert fanfic.

So even if they weren’t actively writing Chuck as the big bad, they used Metatron-- the scribe of God-- to fulfill that function. In 11.20, when Chuck talks with Metatron about his turn playing God:

CHUCK: You know, you really are a terrific editor, Metatron.METATRON: (Chuckles.) Well, I was a terrible writer. A worse god. It's good I've got something going for me.CHUCK: (Takes off his glasses and stops typing.) Yeah, you know, I have to say, I didn't see the whole evil-turn thing coming.METATRON: Mm-hmm.

CHUCK: (Chuckling.) Why did you try to be me?METATRON: That was just a sad, pathetic cry for attention.CHUCK: (Chuckling.) Who's attention were you trying to get?METATRON: Yours.

He takes all of this and tries to turn it around, to deflect blame from himself as if he hadn’t literally done everything Metatron did, and more.

METATRON: It wasn't just the saps who were praying to you. The angels prayed, too. And so did I – every day.CHUCK: I know.METATRON: You want to sell the best-selling autobiography of all time? You explain to me – Tell me why you abandoned me. Us.CHUCK: Because you disappointed me. You all disappointed me.METATRON: (Stands up and looks at CHUCK with wet eyes.) No, look. I know I'm a disappointment, but you're wrong about humanity. They are your greatest creation because they're better than you are.(CHUCK starts to look more guilty as he looks at METATRON.)METATRON: Yeah, sure, they're weak and they cheat and steal and... destroy and disappoint. But they also give and create and they sing and dance and love. And above all, they never give up! But, you do!

But even after Metatron’s sacrifice, even after everything nearly falls apart, Chuck STILL tries to weasel out of responsibility for anything, still tries to deflect and minimize, even blames Amara for why he had to lock her away in the first place. And that hasn’t changed about him one whit, from the start right through the present. It’s always been an essential part of his character, and he’s been called out on it repeatedly in s15 by Becky, by Amara, by Sam, by Dean... probably by Michael, too. Like... this is how he’s always been, it’s how he’s always been written, even if the intent had never been to explicitly unmask him as the ultimate big bad of the entire series until the end of s11.

Like Amara accused him in 11.22:

Chuck: I'm sorry. For this, for everything.Amara: An apology at last. What's sorry to me? I spent millions of years crammed in that cage... alone... and afraid, wishing -- begging for death, because of you! And what was my crime, brother?!Chuck: The world needed to be born! And you wouldn't let me! Amara, you give me no choice.Amara: That's your story. Not mine. The real reason you banished me, why I couldn't be allowed to exist... you couldn't stand it. No, we were equals. We weren't great or powerful, because we stood only in relation to each other. You think you made the archangels to bring light? No. You made them to create lesser beings, to make you large, to make you Lord. It was ego! You wanted to be big!

and he admitted to Becky in 15.04:

CHUCK: Things were said. Uh… Now I’ve found msyself low on, um… resources. I went to ask my sister for help, and she rejected me. ‘Cause she sucks. And now I’m just… stuck. So, I thought I’d come see you, my number-one fan. And, I don’t know, see if you can help make me feel big again.BECKY: So, you want me to… fluff you?CHUCK: I mean, no.BECKY: You do. You thought you could just come back to me, your pathetic ex, your number-one fan, and get what you’ve always gotten from me… a nice big crank on your ego.

Meanwhile, in 11.22, Amara had asked him if he wouldn’t change, why should she? Yet... she DID change, beginning in 11.23 when she reconciled with Chuck. Only... he never did change at all.

So... to finally circle back to your question again... I don’t know if it’s relevant what the writers were thinking about Chuck and any random potential for him to return to the story in any capacity, let alone as God, let alone as the eventual Ultimate Series Big Bad back when they were writing s9. I don’t even think God/Chuck was on their radar at all, because I don’t think the entire MoC storyline was crafted with the end result that it would be the key to the Darkness’s prison. At least not way back in s9 when the MoC was dreamed up. It only ever evolved into that because of the narrative disaster of the s10 plot accordion. Which is why, while I fucking HATE s10 for it, I can’t be all that mad about what it unwittingly brought about, either.

Heck I hope any of this makes any sense whatsoever. This is one of those subjects that’s just like “insert key, wind mittens up, watch her go” :’D

[coldalbion]

Do what extent do you feel Odin loves the people closest to him? (Wife, sons, etc.)

Well, love is an oddly reductionist word in English, given the breadth and depth of emotional feeling it can be applied to. There’s a reason many cultures had or have multiple words to express the nuances and complexities of the feelings involved. Further, I’m not entirely sure that human emotional contexts map onto those of gods in a 1:1 fashion, to say nothing of cultural difference, and temporal - when your lifespan can be measured in thousands of years, I’d imagine things get complex.Sticking to textual evidence as per the Eddas et al - I suspect that there is something we might call love between him and Frigga, though its exact nature and quality is perhaps up for debate. Similarly, the same thing applies to his sons. It must be said that proper ideas of filial and paternal affection can vary by culture, but I do think there’s affection there - there is certainly an implication of affection (at the very least) between him and Loki at some point.His treatment of heroes/devotees? That’s a bit…stickier (and I speak as an Odinsman here.) Textually speaking, heroes don’t have a particularly pleasant life, and pretty much all die in grim (pun intended) fashion. He can be kind, and also cruel and seemingly capricious. In my opinion, that’s why we can call him Old Bastard - it’s what he is. He often doesn’t treat folks the way they ‘should’ be treated according to social context, but in the way that makes them more completely themselves, because bluntly, people are more useful to him that way.He’s an embodiment of inevitable inescapable Necessity. I believe, on a personal level, that he can and does (with all the caveats I have outlined) love those close to him. He loves them as he loves the world, as Mysteries to be Known. So, as the Tim Kreider quote much beloved by memesters goes: “If we want the rewards of being loved we have to submit to the mortifying ordeal of being known,“The funny thing is? That mortification is the key thing here, where the Old Man is concerned:mortify (v.)late 14c., mortifien, "to kill, destroy the life of,” from Old French mortefiier “destroy, overwhelm, punish,” from Late Latin mortificare “cause death, kill, put to death,” literally “make dead,” from mortificus “producing death,” from Latin mors (genitive mortis) “death” (from PIE root *mer-“to rub away, harm,” also “to die” and forming words referring to death and to beings subject to death) + combining form of facere “to make, to do” (from PIE root *dhe- “to set, put”).Religious sense of “subdue the flesh by abstinence and discipline” is attested from early 15c. Sense of “humiliate, chagrin, vex” is recorded by 1690s (compare mortification). Related: Mortified; mortifying.mortification (n.)late 14c., mortificacioun, “mortifying of the flesh, act of subduing the passions and appetites, suppression of bodily desires,” from Late Latin mortificationem (nominative mortificatio) “a killing, putting to death,” from past-participle stem of mortificare (see mortify). Meaning “death of one part of the body while the rest is still alive” is from early 15c. Sense of “feeling of humiliation” is recorded by 1640s.Rather than a subduing or suppression, the Master of Fury tends towards manipulation - manipulation of circumstance, personality, shape, form, and consciousness. Everything and everyone has something you can learn from, a gnosis which goes beyond simple intellectual knowledge.There’s a phrase popular amongst writers: “Kill your darlings.” It means that the favourite bits writers have sometimes need to go, in order to create a better narrative. This does not mean you can’t have favourite bits. It means that you should look at everything you’ve written, and if a scene or character or phrase doesn’t fit, or it warps the narrative in a way you’re not prepared to work with? You take that bit out, and file it away for another time or place. If killing that favourite character off serves the story, you should at least thinking about doing it. If you’re not prepared to do that, be prepared for the narrative to change in a way you might not want. Sometimes that’s OK. Sometimes not.The point I am making here is that the mortification makes sense for Odin - he’s the doomdealer, the Terrible One, lord of the hanged and restless dead. He sacrificed himself to himself, in an act of supreme self-mortification for nine nights on a windswept tree, to deepen his own self-gnosis and, in doing so, took up the runes.

Whatever one may think of the Ragnarok narrative, the fact remains that in the texts we have, Baldr dies, but is able to return because he was in Helheim during that battle. We know the Old Man whispered something to Baldr on his pyre. What was it? Only 3 know - the volva, Odin, and Baldr - and as the saying goes, “3 can keep a secret if 2 of them are dead.”

Odin has favourites. That’s there textually. Has he killed his darlings? Definitively, and repeatedly. I wear the symbol we call the Valknutr -  a thing that  some say is risky because it marks you out as his, subject to being taken at any time. I always shrug at this - whether or not it’s the case, we’re all subject to that. That’s mortality, inevitability. Do I think he cared about say, Sigurd, or any of the other heroes? As far as it goes, aye. Does that care preclude them meeting bloody, violent, or grim ends? Probably not, and precisely because that’s absolutely, inevitably who they were. Did he love them? I’d lean towards yes, loving them for who and what they were, and could be. I think that’s how he loves, with an awe-inspiring endless furious ferocity that can be just as gentle when he needs to be. There’s a peace beneath the wings of a carrion god, a joy in the spastic dance of the hanged, a bloody exultation in the face of agony, a screaming ecstasy in defiance. Are any of these nice, particularly pleasant, or civilised? 

Not. At. All. And urbane as he may seem at times? Neither is he. 

[starspatter]

Heroes and Thieves, Ch. 11

Title: Heroes and Thieves Fandom/Universe: BTAS, pre/post-RotJ flashback

Summary: A story about second chances, healing, and having hope.

Rating: PG-13, for references to character death, child psychological torture and trauma.

Genre: Romance/Family/Friendship/Hurt/Comfort

Word Count: 4,380 Previous Chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10

Also on ff.net and AO3.

There was a time when I was alone Nowhere to go and no place to call home My only friend was the man in the moon And even sometimes he would go away, too

-Ruth B, "Lost Boy"

————————–

Before.

“Batman, wait!”

Robin was too late; Batman had already charged ahead by ruthlessly breaking down the door to the house with the sole of his boot.  A low-key villain calling himself “Cluemaster” (whom Robin had incidentally never heard much of until now compared to the likes of Riddler or Joker, having supposedly gone “straight” for a couple years – at least according to Batman) had led them on a lengthy chase, and they ended up pursuing him all the way out to a small neighborhood in the suburbs.  As they infiltrated the dwelling, Robin hastily checked around to make sure no homeowners were present who could be caught in the fray – or worse, taken as collateral.

Fortunately the room was empty, aside from their glaringly orange-clad target in the middle of it, reaching for one of the plasti-glass pellets attached to the front of his costume. Batman had already anticipated the move though and launched forward faster than the other, lurching a blurred glove into his opponent’s throat, which caused him to drop the canister as his body was slammed hard against the wall.

“You’re under arrest for multiple counts of grand larceny, Cluemaster.  Or should I say, Arthur Brown?”

With his other hand, he grasped at the bandana covering the lower half of the man’s face, which had already come loose from the force of impact.  He jerked the rest of the kerchief off to expose a snarl under the guise, the owner evidently infuriated by the idea his identity had been so easily discovered.

“Now, where’s the money you stole?”

Arthur sneered.

“Why don’t I give you a clue to its whereabouts, and you can figure it out yourself, since you’re so smart?”

Batman growled as he grabbed his foe’s collar, lifting high into the air, letting free-dangling feet flail frantically.

“I don’t have time for these games.  Either you tell me voluntarily, or I’ll make you confess.”

Robin was getting anxious by the aggressiveness in Batman’s tone; making threats of violence wasn’t anything out of the ordinary, but he’d been out of sorts all night, acting excessively and extremely hostile, leaping into enemy territory with heedless disregard to danger – to himself or those around him.  Sans his usual sangfroid.  He was starting to sound like that time Scarecrow dosed him with a gas that took away all his fear, resulting in Batman almost taking a henchman’s life.  It had taken all of Robin’s strength to haul him back up after Batman cut the line…

The current captive seemed to be getting panicky too, as he quickly changed his attitude, appealing to sympathy instead.

“Listen, I’ve got a wife and kid.  They’re asleep upstairs.  I just needed the cash to help support them.  We’re in a bit of a financial jam, y’see…”

Robin’s conscience wavered, recalling the time they had to prevent a penniless man from holding up a drugstore in order to obtain medicine for his daughter, who was simply sick with a high fever.  Of course this was theft on a much greater scale, but he still couldn’t help having some lingering empathy – especially based on his own past experiences dealing with poverty.

“That's one of the hardest things about this job, Robin.  Sometimes we have to stop someone from doing the wrong thing for the right reason.”

“…Daddy?”

As if on cue, all three revolved towards the top of the staircase, where a young girl with golden curls – probably about his age – was standing in bare feet and violet nightgown, beholding the scene before her with baffled eyes, big and blue and broad.

“Darling, why don’t you go back to bed?”  Arthur choked out, his own eyes bulging as cheeks turned indigo as well.  “You’re just having a bad dream.”

“Arthur?  What’s going on here?  I heard a loud noise…”

Robin swallowed as a woman emerged from behind the adolescent, gripping the girl’s shoulders as she drew her daughter in protectively, eyeing the pair of home intruders with fear and suspicion.  The situation was steadily turning from bad to worse.  He hurriedly bounded up the steps, trying to block at least the shorter one’s view with his arms and cape, acting as both shield and shroud.

“Both of you should stay back…”

Batman’s prey put on a pleading, pathetic look.

“Now now, you wouldn’t hit a guy in front of his family, would you?”

While his quivering lips pouted, his pupils seemed to flash triumphant.  Robin felt a sick chill in his stomach.  Had he set this up just to take advantage of innocent citizens – and his provider status for them – as an alibi?

Whatever the reason, Batman wasn’t falling for it.  While he slowly lowered his fist, he continued to glower viciously at his victim.

“I’m still taking you in. The police will be here soon, they can interrogate you.  And if you don’t admit to them, well…”  He leaned in close, crescent slivers narrowing.  Intimidating.  “They’ll just have to call me.”

With that, he twisted his prisoner around, pressing head harshly against partition again as he slapped a pair of handcuffs on.  Robin sensed the two frightened females peering over his shoulders, crying and clinging to each other as sirens started to wail outside, and the junior one almost looked like she was about to join them.   He thought about reaching out to try and comfort her, but a cold bark from Batman halted him.

“Let’s go, Robin.”

“But Batman-”

“Now.”

He was already halfway out the side exit when he said this, and, after a moment’s hesitation, Robin bit his lip and vaulted over the railing to race after him, cloak whisking out of sight just as officers began filing in.  As they headed back towards the Batmobile parked in the shadows close by, Robin hissed his irritation.

“You know, there were a million other ways you could’ve handled that.”

“I did what was necessary in order to get him to talk.  The police should have an easier time of it now.”

“Yeah, but did you have to do it while his wife and child were watching?  This is exactly the reason Nightwing left you, remember?”

Batman blatantly ignored the bold declaration of disapproval as his pager began to beep: a message from Batgirl, requesting backup.

“Armed robbery in progress, escalated to a hostage situation over on the north side.  We’re needed.”

“Did you even hear what I just said?”

Batman brusquely cut him off.

“We’ll discuss this later, at home.  Now get in the car.”

Robin grumbled, but grudgingly obeyed.

They never did discuss it though.  Concurring collectively, both Batman and Batgirl determined there were too many hired guns in the building, deeming it far too “risky” to bring Robin – the “kid” – along. …Plus it was a school night.  So Batman swung swiftly by the manor on the way, dropping Robin – Tim – off unceremoniously at the front gate despite loud and adamant protests, where Alfred was waiting to pick him up and march him straight on inside to get changed and ready for dinner.

“And ‘don’t forget to do your homework’,’” Tim mimicked Bruce’s reprimanding voice with a querulous whine as the vehicle sped off, leaving him in the dust.  “God, he still treats me like such a child.”

The butler patted his charge’s back consolingly, ushering within.

“Come along, Master Timothy. There are cookies and cocoa waiting for you inside – after you finish with your studies, that is.  We wouldn’t want to spoil your appetite, now would we?”

Tim shot an exasperated expression at the patronizing statement, but acquiesced.  Upon entering, he immediately tore off the mask and tossed it on the table in frustrated anger, flopping sullenly onto the couch without even bothering to remove the rest of the suit.  Alfred tutted, but made no remark as he disappeared into the kitchen, promising food would be served shortly.

As Tim gazed at the fireplace, he stewed over Batman’s earlier reckless – not to mention downright rude – behavior.  How could he even be so cruel and insensitive?  It wasn’t just the bossing around that bugged him, but he was genuinely rather troubled by Bruce’s mental state.  …Truth be told, he had a guess as to the cause for callousness.  He’d noticed a common trend in increasing indiscretion (and intractability) after their latest visit to Arkham, when they stopped by Two-Face’s cell following another escape – and subsequent suicide attempt.  Ever since he’d developed a third personality who judged himself guilty and sentenced to death for his sins, his condition had been gradually worsening.  It was to the point he – and his coin – had to be kept under constant watch and isolated lockdown.

Tim was never really sure how to feel about Two-Face (in the same way his chest was always confused and ached a little whenever he faced Clayface).  The man murdered his father; Tim supposed he should hate him for that. In addition, he’d even once mercilessly electrocuted Nightwing with a wire taser, forcing the senior superhero’s heart to completely stop.  …Had he not promptly administered CPR and literally brought his brother back from the brink of death, he might have lost another family member that day.

But, according to Dick, Bruce and Harvey had been good friends once – which explained why his guardian always bore a grieved semblance whenever they went up against Dent.  …Tim tried to imagine what it must be like, to watch one’s once close companion fight a losing battle against himself.  Clearly it was taking a capricious toll on the old man’s emotional and psychological well-being as well, making him far more mercurial and volatile – prone to violent vagaries.

Yet, even Tim recognized that didn’t excuse him taking it out on others, especially when it interfered with their work.  (Frankly that didn’t seem to be the only thing distracting recently either, given Batman and Batgirl had been ditching him more and more often as of late, citing his “immaturity” as pretense.  …But he didn’t really want to think about that right now.)  He was concerned about that girl as well.  Screw Batman, he should’ve stayed to try and talk to her.  At least give her some reassurance after witnessing such a harrowing event.

Making up his mind, he snatched his domino from the counter and was out the door (cautiously evading the security cameras he knew were watching overhead) just as Alfred came to call him for dinner.  Upon finding the parlor empty, and after exhausting all other options of where the lad might have gone to within the mansion (including underground area), the caretaker finally murmured in alarm.

“…Oh dear.”

…

It took Robin longer to get back by grapple alone, but eventually he made it to his destination. Descending on the rooftop from a nearby tree, he tiptoed towards a single annexed dormer window which jutted prominently from the tiles.  Testing the lucarne’s latch, it luckily wasn’t locked and slid open with relative ease. Silently slipping in, he was greeted almost instantly by an unpredicted punch to the face.

As he was thrown flat onto the bed, survival instinct triggered to roll over and try to fight back, but his own fists arrested when he saw his assailant was the same girl from before, glaring at him with mistrust.

“Who are you?!  Some kind of creepazoid stalker?”

“Whoa, whoa!  It’s me, Robin.  You know, from before?”

She stared at him, realization dawning.

“Oh.  …Sorry.  I didn’t know it was you.”

The way she said it, she still didn’t seem very impressed.

“…I’d hate to be someone you were expecting,” Robin muttered, rubbing at his sore jaw.

She folded her arms firmly.

“So?  What the heck are you doing here?  Again?”

“I- I just wanted to check and see if you were okay, after… all that.”

An eyebrow raised.

“And you thought coming in through the window was the best way to go about it?”

“…In hindsight that might not have been the best plan,” he acknowledged, repentant.  “Sorry.  Being with him tends to rub off on you.  I apologize if he scared you earlier.  He’s really not a bad guy.”

She exhaled, letting her limbs down.

“No, my father is, right? …It’s okay.  I know who and what my dad is.  He deserves to go to jail.”

Robin cocked in confusion at this unanticipated acceptance.

“But… He’s still your dad.”

“Yeah, and I hate him.” Her knuckles clenched, tightening. “He just wanted to use Mom and me to get away with his crimes.  We’re basically just tools, a means to an end for him.  He’s a total class-A jerk.”

Robin blinked, unsure how to respond to that.  He certainly hadn’t been prepared for this outcome.  An uncomfortable hush filled the chamber, which he idly noted details of as he glanced around nervously.  He’d never actually been in a girl’s room before, so he wasn’t sure what to expect.  He supposed the piles of stuffed animals and boy band posters were probably typical, though he was surprised to see some large prints of Superman lining the walls, and a bulletin board covered with newspaper clippings of Batman and Robin – mostly his predecessor – busting the Cluemaster’s previous petty heists.  She apparently wasn’t kidding when she said she had it in for her father.  (…The image felt almost eerily familiar, reminding of the days when he kept a similar chronicle in a corner of his own pops’ apartment, much to the old man’s displeasure.)

“…You’ve got weird taste for a girl,” he mused aloud.

“And you’ve got weird fashion sense for a boy,” she retorted, nose wrinkling.

“Hey, I didn’t design the suit,” he huffed defensively.

“And who did?  Your mom?”

Robin winced a bit, but bit his tongue.  “…Would you believe me if I said Batman?”

She sniffed.  “I mean seriously, what’s with that getup anyway? It’s so bright, it makes you look like a clown.”

Fed up with her criticism, he started to skulk back towards the outlet again.

“Look, I didn’t come here just to be insulted.”

A hand reached out to clasp his wrist, and he rotated to see her regarding him sincerely.

“Sorry, I was just joking. …You don’t have to leave.”

He gulped, blushing a little at the light touch.  The last time a girl held his hand like this for so long, she’d followed with a…

“Um, okay.”  He rubbed the back of his neck uneasily, growing tense as she inclined forward and grinned – before passing him by to hop onto the sill instead, sticking out her tongue at him.

“Ladies first.”

He whirled around in shock as she stepped out over the ledge.

“Hey, what do you think you’re doing?  That’s dangerous, get back here.”

“Relax, I do this all the time.  Besides, you jump around rooftops every night, don’t you?”

He impulsively climbed after her, keeping a careful eye on her footing, hovering close behind in case she fell.  But, true to her word, she did seem to have practiced this pattern many times before, effortlessly picking her way over the slates to the top, where she plopped down and petted the spot next to her.  Indicating invitation.  Tentatively, he took it and traced her wondering sightline to the stars above.

“…You know, I used to dream I’d see the Batman someday.  Drifting across the moon, dark against the night sky…”  She hugged her knees to her breast.  “This is the first time I’ve actually seen him in person.  For a second, I almost thought he was a monster.”

Robin remained quiet as she continued.

“But, my dad’s the real monster.  I know he’s hurt a lot of people – myself and Mom included.  He doesn’t care about us at all.”

“How come she doesn’t just divorce him?”

“She can’t afford a lawyer to kick him out.  He still owns the mortgage on the house.”

She smiled bitterly, drawing circles on the shingles.

“As a kid, I used to think about running away.  Getting on a plane and going somewhere far, far away from here.  Someplace exotic, where no one knows who I am or where I come from – like Africa.  …But, I could never do that to my Mom.  She’d be lonely if I left.  Even though she has some… ‘difficulties’, I still love her.”

She looked at Robin, who was still listening attentively.  Patiently.

“Sorry,” she mumbled in a slightly sheepish manner.  “I’m just making you sit through my random rambling.  I don’t usually get a chance to talk to anyone about this, let alone someone my age.  Having a lame, insane supercriminal for a dad isn’t exactly something I can tell all my friends at school.”

“It’s all right.  I wish there was more I could do to help…”

He replied, feeling as utterly useless – hopeless – as when he came across a bunch of homeless youths in his hunt for Annie after they’d gotten separated, the ragtag group of street rats sleeping together on a filthy mattress in an abandoned shelter; huddled under each other for warmth, sharing but one thin, dingy blanket between them.  (…The kind of neglected kid he could’ve easily ended up as had he not happened to be so lucky, to be “chosen” – caught before he slipped through the cracks into faded obscurity and was overlooked – forgotten – by society.)  There were some things punches and kicks just couldn’t fix.

“You’ve already done more than enough, thanks.  I’m grateful to you both for putting a stop to him.  …Even if it’s probably only temporary.”

“There has to be something that can be done though.”

“Really, you don’t have to go out of your way or anything.  Besides, why do you care so much anyway?”

He shrugged, surveying the distance.  “Maybe it’s because you kinda remind me of someone.”

She scanned his wistful countenance, scrutinizing closely.

“…Was she cute?”

“What- no.  I mean yes.  I mean, uh-” Robin stammered, flushing red as he was abruptly taken aback by the unexpected inquiry.  She giggled in snorting amusement at his oh-so-obvious reaction.

“Relax, Boy Wonder, I’m just teasing you.”

He coughed, regaining composure.

“To be honest, that’s not the only reason.  My dad wasn’t much of a prize either.  …Although he can’t compete with yours.”

“Ehhh?”  She gaped at him in astonished awe.  “But he’s so cool!”

“Huh?”  He puzzled for a beat, then it clicked what she was talking about.  “Oh, you think that Batman’s- no, he’s not my real dad.  I’m not even sure I would even go so far as to call him much of a ‘father figure’ actually.  He’s more like a… mentor?”

It was her turn to listen as he ruminated, reflecting.

“He saved me though. Took me in when I had no place else to go.  Gave me a second chance.  I’ve… done things I’m not exactly proud of either.  If he hadn’t found me, I’d likely be dead or in jail myself right now.”

Sensing a buzzing interruption from his waist – a warning summons from the butler no doubt – he consulted the timestamp in the corner of the display, and cringed upon calculating how much interval had elapsed in his absence.

“…Speaking of which, I should probably get back soon.  Batman’s gonna kill me once he finds out I’m gone without letting anyone know.”

Her forehead creased with contriteness.

“You didn’t have to go that far for me…”

“Hey, don’t sweat it. It’s the least I could do.”

She looked reluctant to end the conversation though.  He wondered if he was the first person she’d ever been this open to about her feelings. …After some thought, he fished around in a pocket and pulled out another spare backup communicator.

“Listen, don’t tell anyone about this; Batman doesn’t like me lending out tech.  But if you ever need anything, you can get in touch with me on this.  I’ll come as soon as I can.  …Only if it’s an emergency though.  He’ll really give me an earful if he finds out I’m using our gadgets for personal stuff.”

She looked down at the device in trepidation.

“Is it really okay for me to have this?”

“Yeah.  It’s no problem, don’t worry.  I know how to keep a secret.  And I’ll definitely stop by again sometime, so we can hang out some more if you want.  Whaddya say?”

Her eyes lit up, and- without warning, she flung her arms around him in an appreciative hug (that very nearly knocked him off balance).

“…Thanks, Robin.”

His hue embarrassed again, but he gently reciprocated the gesture.

“Hey, what are heroes for?”

After an awkwardly long minute, she propelled back from the embrace with a self-conscious laugh.  Once the rapid beating in both their ribs had calmed down (and she’d surreptitiously wiped some tears from her face), she afforded him a somewhat odd look.

“…What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, it’s just… Calling you ‘Robin’ feels kinda weird.  It’s like a girl’s name.”

“Hey, it can be a boy’s name too,” he sulked in indignation.  “Besides, at least it is a name.”

She shook her head, concentrating intently on him as she contemplated.  After a bit, she brightened with sudden brilliance.

“I know!  I’ll call you ‘Peter’ – since you came in through the window.  …And ‘cuz of the tights.”

Robin blanched as she pointed playfully at his leggings.

“…I think I’d rather be called ‘Robin’.”

“Nope,” she cheerfully announced.  “You’re ‘Peter’ to me now.”

Robin sighed, but didn’t object further to the nickname.  It wasn’t like he could tell her his real title.

“Fine.  ‘Peter’ it is then.  …Does that make you ‘Wendy’?”

She smirked with a wink.

“If you want me to be.”

He blinked, clearing his throat as he stood up, almost stumbling over his heels as he backed up in haste.

“Right.  Well then.  Wendy.  …Guess I’ll see you around?”

“Yeah.  See ya.”

“…’Kay, bye.”

“’Kay, bye.”

He waved as he fired his grapple into the branches and swung away, and she merrily returned the motion. Elated, Robin’s spirit soared over heightening city structures back to the estate, performing as many flips and tricks as he could on the way.  …Although come to think of it, he had failed to ask for her actual name.  …Oh, well. There was always next time.

Rather than directly approach the porch or cave entrance, Robin thought about endeavoring to sneak back in through the second-story opening to his own bedroom, so he could pretend he’d been there all along.  …Unfortunately, as soon as he’d made it inside and detached his façade, he bumped straight into a severely stern-looking Bruce towering over him.

“Where the devil have you been?  We’ve been trying to contact you for the past hour.  Barbara’s out there searching all over for you right now.  Meanwhile I’ve had to help Alfred double-check every secret room and passage in the manor.  Do you know how long that takes?”

Tim merely shrugged.

“I went out for a stroll. Is that a crime?”

“In this house, it is. Do I need to start putting a tracer on your utility belt again?”

“No, sir,” he squeaked meekly.

Bruce heaved a grunt.

“Just hurry up and go get changed, young man.  Your dinner’s cold already.  Alfred made soup.  Make sure you apologize to him too, he’s been worried sick.”

“Yeah yeah, I hear ya, old man.”

“And did you finish your homework?”

Tim flinched.  He knew there was something else he’d forgotten.

“You had better get to it if you want to come patrolling with us tomorrow night.”

“I will.”

Before he vanished into the privacy of his enormous closet (which, in his own private opinion, was way too overly spacious – though no one would certainly hear him complain), Tim paused, calling softly back over his shoulder.

“Bruce.”

“What?”

“Thanks… for caring.”

…

About a month later, a couple men dressed in black arrived at the Brown residence, carrying grim, serious auras and stiff briefcases containing various important-looking official documents.  An obstinate Stephanie insisted on sitting down alongside her mother on the sofa as they discreetly disclosed the news she never once conceived she’d get to hear like this:

Her dad was dead.

Apparently he’d cut a deal while in prison, and became a part of something clandestinely known by a select few outside those in power as a “Suicide Squad”.  He’d perished while on a covert mission for the government, and – according to these strange men’s confidential report – he’d died a “heroic sacrifice”.

Stephanie didn’t know how to react.  What to feel. …How she was supposed to feel.

As she sat in her room, trying to write in her diary but coming up blank, her observation shifted to the window still left ajar each evening, through which a mild breeze blew. Opening her desk drawer, she retrieved the hidden miniature handset from the far back, tucked neatly behind all sorts of stationery.  She had avoided using it up to now, afraid of coming off as an annoyance.  …But she hadn’t seen Robin at all since then.  No one had.  Based on what she’d gathered from growing gossip, he’d been fully MIA over the course of the past few weeks, and rumors were starting to spread.  It was like his existence had been entirely erased, simply evaporated off the surface of the earth.  …She was worried about him too.

She pushed the button, hands shaking in mounting apprehension as she elevated to her ear.

There was a long, low hum of crackling static, before someone (presumably) picked up at last.

“…”

“Hello?”

“…Who is this?  How did you get access to this comm line?”

“I’m… a friend of Pet- Robin’s.  Is… he there?”

An extensive gap stretched.

“There is no more Robin.”

The pronouncement was deep. Disturbing.  Definite.

“Do not contact here again.”

With a final click, the other end hung up.

She tried, repeatedly – desperately – to dial back – but the machine seemed to have been remotely disconnected.  Slumping forward in defeat as she let go the last potential link – lifeline – she buried her face in her sleeves, and burst into sobs.

At length, she dried her sniffles and rose, dragging her feet to the wide frame.  Casting one last look of longing out at the pitch gloom, she shut the pane.  …Shutting out pain, and all the brief memories associated with it.

…

She never saw Robin again.

————————–

He sprinkled me in pixie dust and told me to believe Believe in him and believe in me Together we will fly away in a cloud of green To your beautiful destiny As we soared above the town that never loved me I realized I finally had a family

[miragerules]

I suppose it is a both good and bad that Tumblr had so many fandoms and Shippers on its site. People find other people who love a show, character or a couple as much as they do, and then they can talk, share fan art/fanfiction, and support one another. That is the good part of Tumblr.

However the unfortunate bad part of Tumblr is this rabbid fandom sometimes leads to blind hate if thing don't go your way on a show or in a film. I am not going to get in all the ways fandoms can be bad. You can just look around on Facebook, Twitter and here on Tumblr.

One way upset fandoms try to destroy a show when a show or ship does not govthe way you want is to blame the writers saying the writing is terrible even though the writing was really good, and has been good if not excellent for 8 seasons. That is apparently what is happening inside the Game of Thrones fandom with fans of certain characters or ships. I am a fan and a shipper. I do ship or have shipped Root/Shaw (Person of Interest), Jason/Elizabeth (General Hospital), Katniss/Peeta (Hunger Games), Geralt/Triss (Witcher games), Bruce/Natasha or Matt Murdock/Natasha (Marvel Films/Marvel Comics) to name a few and I love tones of characters like Tyrion, Jamie, Davros, Arya, and Jon on Game of Thrones.

However I don't let that love of a ship or character ruin my love of a show or film just because said film or series does not go the way I want it to especially if show or film is still good if not excellent like Game of Thrones. One example is Bruce/Nat. Bruce and especially Nats story arcs throughout the Marvel films were not handled that well, but that disappointment does not blind me to how pretty good to great Endgame was and the Marvel films were. As for the Game of Thrones fandom I guess people have not truly read the books or have really watched deeply into each episode of Game of Thrones or cetain Game of Thrones fans would not be complaining nearly as much. Of course I am not happy with everything on Game of Thrones. Many times in season 7 and 8 the writing felt rushed like the writers decided how can they end the show as quickly as possible. HBO could have drawn the series out for a 9th or 10th season to make itva fuller fleshed out experience to reach the point we are, but that complaint does not change the fact the producers, directors, and writers still have consistently done a good job with the series. Do not let you fandom and shipper disappointment blind you to that fact.

Wow I talked for a long time when all I wanted to do was share a link/review by the A.V. Club that does an excellent job of getting into last nights episode of Game of Thrones. Still it felt good venting a little bit.

Any way below is the full review of "The Bells" I copy and pasted from the link above. Hopefully the fans who are blindly bashing last nights episode will have a better understanding of the episode and series in general.

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Westeros faces a disastrous final battle on the penultimate Game of Thrones

By Alex McLevy

Yesterday 9:20pm

Well, this all seems...horrible. 

It’s not that Tyrion’s plan worked, exactly. Jaime didn’t make it to Cersei in time, didn’t give the order to ring the bells and surrender the city. But his hopes nevertheless came to fruition; the soldiers of King’s Landing surrendered, throwing down their swords, the bells rang out, and all was won. Or so it seemed. Immediately thereafter, Daenerys Targaryen ignored the sound of supplication and laid waste to the city, burning innocents by the thousands, bringing half the buildings crumbling to the ground, all while Grey Worm led a bloodthirsty slaughter of the populace, far beyond the soldiers forced to abruptly pick their swords back up and defend themselves. It was cruel, capricious, and wholly avoidable. Varys, sad to say, was right.

GAME OF THRONES SEASON 8

A-

"The Bells"

EPISODE

“Ask not for whom the bell tolls,” goes the famous paraphrasing of John Donne’s sermon. “It tolls for thee.” The bitter truth of this aphorism—that the loss of any life is a loss for all—gets a brutal workout in the aptly named “The Bells,” arguably the best representation of George R.R. Martin’s deconstruction of fantasy tropes we’ve seen in several seasons. The bells of King’s Landing, it turns out, don’t toll for the loss of Cersei’s authority. They toll for the loss of everyone in the city, quite literally. This story began as a way to invert the cliched stereotypes of the hero’s journey, to twist the traditional narrative of swords and sorcery in a radical way and rethink how such epics are delivered. This episode brings that philosophy home. There are no good wars; any battle that begins with hearty cheering should end with somber melancholy; it doesn’t matter who the good guys and bad guys are in the face of death; nobody wants to die; the chaos of war makes villains and victims of us all.

The simplest rejoinder to all of Daenerys’ justifications is that this bloodshed could have been avoided. She was given a moment to choose, and she chose blind vengeance, the kind that eliminates any benevolence she hoped to bring to the seven kingdoms by burning it right out of the minds of anyone who saw her astride Drogon, mowing down men, women, and children with abandon. It gives the lie to her name for this fight, “The Last War.” There will be another, of course—maybe it will be led by the child who watched as her mother’s throat was cut in the streets by the so-called liberators of King’s Landing. Violence begets violence, and the only people still remaining will do the very thing that the living were fighting to preserve during the battle against the Night King: They’ll remember, and keep the memory of this bloodbath alive.

The progression from exhilarating hope to tragic denouement was skillfully executed by director Miguel Sapochnik, demonstrating a much better command of large-scale choreography here than we got to see in “The Long Night.” Honestly, the pivot from “fuck yeah!” (Daenerys laying waste to the Iron Fleet, then blasting the front gate of the city open from the inside, demolishing the lion’s share of the Golden Company in the process) to “Oh, dear god, no” (Dany and Grey Worm laying waste to everything after) was as solid a rug pull as could be hoped for. The build-up to Daenerys’ heel-turn this season hasn’t been as effective as it should have been given the way its foundation was laid during the mess in Meereen in previous seasons, and it was a bit simplistic to see her pin her sole hopes for optimism on the idea that Jon Snow still wanted to get it on with her (really? “Fear it is, then” because your nephew doesn’t have sex with you any more?), but Emilia Clarke sells the desperation. The younger Targaryen feels as though she’s lost any intimacy that tethered her to compassion and humanity, and so all that remains is the imperious need to rule that has driven her all these years, now bereft of the warmth that previously tempered her. When she hands Grey Worm Missandei’s old collar and he tosses it into the fire, Dany’s last thread of empathy burns as well, snuffed out even before Jon rejects her and ends her last-ditch plea for affection.

Varys would hate to have been proven right, but probably not as much as Tyrion hates himself right about now. After the Master Of Whisperers starts composing his written testimony about Jon being the rightful heir to the throne, Tyrion turns on his old friend and offers him up to Dany. It’s unsettling to see the presumable queen’s first assumption be that someone has betrayed her, but it’s even more telling that her first guess as to the betrayer’s identity is Jon. Varys even leans on Jon to assume the Iron Throne, which means he very well knew he wasn’t going to be around much longer, if he’s openly advocating others commit treason as well. But Tyrion can’t let Varys die thinking it was anything but their conversation, admitting to the spymaster that he turned him in. The moment when Tyrion firmly grabs his friend’s arm just before Dany utters the cue for Drogon to burn the eunuch alive is affecting, because it conveys both how much Tyrion cares for his friend, and also how much this is costing him. He’s pinning everything on his new queen, in hopes she’ll do exactly the opposite of what she does. (“I hope I deserve this, I truly do,” Varys even offers.) Whoops. The best of intentions, and all that.

Instead, Tyrion’s last genuine connection turns out to be his final conversation with his brother. Peter Dinklage and Nicolaj Coster-Waldeau have always had good chemistry, and Tyrion springing his brother free in what turns out to be a futile hope of preventing bloodshed and saving his sibling’s life is affecting in a way that Dany and Jon’s exchange lacks. “Cersei once called me the stupidest Lannister,” Jaime admits, and his world-weary resignation pairs well with Tyrion’s frantic hope for keeping his older brother alive. Commanding Jaime to try and escape with Cersei through the underground tunnels in order to escape to Pentos and start a new life—while ringing the bells of surrender on their way out, of course—gives the two one final chance to embrace. Tyrion’s tears contain the symbolic weight of his whole life; he wouldn’t be here if not for Jaime, as he admits, and his last hope is to give the man who risked everything to help him survive the same chance. Tyrion knows it’s a death sentence from Daenerys to betray her in this way, but he no longer cares.

And Jamie’s arc takes him from the heart of our heroes’ campaign to the arms of Cersei Lannister, with a brief stop along the way to put an end to Euron Greyjoy. The gleefully sadistic killer pushes Jaime into a fight, telling him that he slept with Cersei, and after a protracted struggle, even sinks his blade into Jaime’s side. But it turns out that a metal hand can be valuable in battle, after all, and Jaime uses it to help sink his own sword into Euron’s stomach. The irony of the manic Greyjoy’s final thoughts—“I’m the man who killed Jaime Lannister”—isn’t just that no one is around to bear witness. It’s that Jaime doesn’t die by his hand, but rather the crumbling bricks of the Red Keep.

Those final minutes with Cersei and Jaime are strong, mostly for how they upend the expected revelry of seeing one of the show’s true villains get her comeuppance. Stripped of all bravado, Cersei breaks, and shows the very scared, vulnerable woman who has kept her emotions at bay. “I don’t want to die,” she whimpers, “Not like this.” It’s all the more moving for coming from a character who built her identity on steely resolve and contempt for such hoary conceits as fear. The staging of their reunion is superb: Cersei standing on the map she created of Westeros, reeling as the citadel comes falling down around her, while the one man who actually still cares for her helps her sink beneath the surface of the city for a few moments of closeness before death. The odds were never good she was going to survive, but in being buried under the rubble of her failed ambition, she achieves a kind of pathetic grace in her downfall.

But enough pathos. On the opposite end of the emotional spectrum: CLEGANEBOWL! It’s the match the show has been teasing almost from the beginning, and overall, it didn’t disappoint. The Mountain versus the Hound played out entertainingly, with the elder Clegane still outmatching his younger brother pound for pound and blow for blow. Being turned into a walking zombie of sorts didn’t just amplify his strength; it essentially obviated the need to parry blows, as even Sandor sinking his sword deep into his undead brother didn’t seem to slow him down in the slightest. There’s a tense, horrifying moment when it looks like we’re going to get a replay of the Viper’s fate, as the Mountain starts to push his thumbs into Sandor’s eyes, and I cringed, awaiting the head crunch. But Sandor shoves his knife through his brother’s head, and when that doesn’t stop him, he sacrifices himself to kill his sibling, knocking them from the tower and plunging into the blazing fire below. R.I.P., Sandor Clegane and your malevolent brother.

Better still, all that time spent with Arya and Sandor Clegane pays off in an unexpected manner, as the Hound warns the youngest Stark off her single-minded devotion to her kill list. Rather than heading up to kill Cersei, he brings Arya up short with a pointed question: “Do you want to be like me?” In that moment, he reminds her of everything she still has that he doesn’t: Family. Friends. A purpose beyond murderous retribution. He brings her back to a moment akin to her disavowal of the House Of Black And White (“A girl is Arya Stark of Winterfell, and I’m going home.”), pushing her to realize she still has reason to live. It’s in keeping with her character: Arya has always been the one to learn lessons where others might stubbornly plunge ahead (and she paid a serious price when she didn’t), employing boldness and caution in equal measure. Clegane gives her one last gift: Cersei is going to die regardless. No reason Arya should die with her.

Besides, Arya had one more, vital role to serve this episode. She becomes the audience stand-in to bear witness to the horrors of war. For those of us who haven’t read A Song Of Ice And Fire, this nonetheless feels like the most vivid display of the philosophy Martin has been playing with since the start. Death, in the early seasons, was always harsh and brutal and often unfair. For the first time in a long time, it was again. Everywhere she turns, Arya sees scared families, dying in awful ways. The woman who helps her survive, pulling her to her feet, dies screaming, holding her daughter as Dany burns them alive. A more evocative demonstration of the cost of the North’s fealty couldn’t be imagined.

Jon, watching the chaos unfold, is in shock. A Stark in spirit if not blood, he comes to the aid of a woman before she’s raped by a fellow soldier, but mostly, he’s struck dumb by the needless violence playing out around him, eventually able to do little more than exhort everyone to fall back and flee the city. Arya, conversely, springs into action on a smaller scale, as she always has. She tries to save people, even if it’s just those who helped her. As the show nicely mirrors the beats of Sandor and Arya’s struggles, cutting between them as if one body, the difference comes in Arya’s moment of aid: the woman’s hand reaching out to pull her up. Arya Stark is saved by a random woman who then dies horribly at the hand of the woman to whom her brother has pledged allegiance.

As she rides a horse out of the city, Game Of Thrones only has one episode remaining, but the hopes of the future ride away with Arya as well. Daenerys has become the person it was believed she wouldn’t be, and both Jon and Arya observe the terrible results of that transformation. By the end, Arya, half-blind and coughing up the dust of the city’s remains (and the remains of the bodies all around her), gets a front row seat to the carnage wrought by Daenerys Targaryen. Riding her dragon and leveling fire at friend and foe alike, regardless of intent, the Mother of Dragons comes across for all the world like a vengeful deity, a god of death reigning down fire upon the world. And what does Arya Stark say to the god of death?

Stray observations

R.I.P. Qyburn. The most loyal confidante of Cersei Lannister receives the ignoble death of being thrown headfirst into rubble by a grouchy Mountain, annoyed at being told to obey his queen.

It’s a gorgeous shot of Tyron entering the city, the camera registering a static image from behind him as he stands in the blown-out rubble of the city wall, watching the devastation unfold.

Again, Sapochnik’s direction was so much more assured and elegant here. His depiction of the spatial geography of King’s Landing was excellent, ably showing the massive distance between where Jon, Davos, and Grey Worm confronted the surrendering soldiers and the Red Keep far in the distance. Touches like that help to convey the scale and layout of the conflict in a more emotionally satisfying manner.

I quite liked Jaime being denied entrance to the Keep as Arya and Sandor passed through just ahead. Forcing him to go all the way around, essentially missing everything and receiving a mortal blow by coincidence from the unexpected appearance of Euron, helped keep a sense of frustrated expectations to the goings-on—sometimes, things just don’t go your way.

Dany’s words to Tyrion turn out to be far too prophetic: “It doesn’t matter now.”

What do you think the favor was that Tyrion asked for from Davos? My first guess was the orchestration of men sneaking into the city to ring the bells, but I’m far from confident about that.

I’m very pleased to report that I have very little clue what’s going to happen in next week’s series finale. I have some guesses about what could happen, but this episode was a refreshing tonic to the sometimes conservative mode of traditional heroics Benioff and Weiss have been dishing up this season.