#he’s the spark in my eyes. my little haunting the narrative boy

[starzonez]

the way amanda knew adam and how adam knew nothing about her yet he was still kind to her when she was already aware that she had to capture him… and and and the fact that his goal was to make her smile and how he did just that and how amanda probably felt like she didn’t even earn that from him and conflicted about whether he deserved to be in that game at all.. well you see ummmm it makes me want to d

[yostresswritinggirl]

hi! ik sojourner's already ended but i have an(other?) idea in case u ever pick it up since i love ur albedo 😳😳 ok so

what abt a reader who is rlly excited abt alchemy, but they avoid talking abt it bc they start rambling and stuttering and stumbling over their words bc they're so excited? they get assigned/asked to go w/ albedo bc they're rlly good at alchemy too, but they end up fidgeting a lot, muttering and stopping just a few words in before their volume rises and giving short answers when w/ him bc they're afraid of rambling (since they do it to think better when alone, sometimes insulting and arguing w the objects when they don't get the expected result) & being seen as annoying or unprofessional?? i'd like to see how he reacts to these and what he'd think!! and how or when he discovers the reason reader is acting like that

it's kinda (a lot, rlly skowkskdk i always have ideas but never write them) specific, but i rlly like the idea!! i'd love to see what u do w/ it if u ever pick it up in the future :D hope you're staying hydrated and well🥺🥰 -🌌

What do you mean Sojourner's already ended, Sojourner is eternal, Sojourner is forever-

Kidding aside, this is too cute to pass up, even if it's quite a lot! Cute Albedo brainrot moments always please. It might be too much sometimes but I hope you enjoy my interpretation of it! Scenarios format! Starry night, oh I'm always hydrated, thank you and I hope you're well!

For the Record

Albedo working with a Reader that's highly enthusiastic about alchemy but insecure about rambling... (masterlist)

You dealt with Alchemy a year before the Kreideprinz entered Mondstadt, your attunement to the mystic arts baffling and intriguing you every time. During that period, you're not really sure of what art you're doing but in the end, you kept doing great that the people had acknowledged your talents.

Through your own effort and self-study even if unnamed, you managed to put your talent into this art of Alchemy and created discoveries regarding powders and mineral-focused ingredients. It was a shame there was no one to share it to, and when you talk to scholars/practitioners alike, you end up rambling so much to the point that on their end you barely make sense. Whether this was caused by your eaten words or lax and personalized vocabulary over the matter, you're not sure.

Their confused and judgmental stare haunts you, leaving you alone with your raging thoughts and overworking mind when you just want to learn and expand your discoveries to other people without driving them away. Your enthusiasm is great and all, but it's not enough to make others understand.

So when the Chalk Prince entered Mondstadt, blessing the city with his scholarly knowledge and boundless creations, he easily made a name for himself and in extension the city itself.

Before Sucrose and Timaeus, you were called upon by the Grand Master Varka to accompany Albedo and be his temporary assistant seeing as his field in the division is still quite new and you were the only other 'Alchemist' in town besides him. You're both giddy and nervous, like really, really nervous.

You've heard of Albedo and maybe a caught a glimpse or two, but you've never actually interacted enough to know exactly what he looks like or how he is as a person. All you know is that he's a very, very attractive person overall.

"Good-looking, carries this aura of wisdom around him, he's just really charming," were the words that rang through your mind as you pointedly watched your steps, following the carpets leading to Ordo Favonius' laboratory while Lisa's words rang through your head.

Is he really that kind of person? You've heard that he's quite stoic too, but if he's really that distracting, you're scared that it would be harder for you to focus and help out. Honestly how would you even deal with him when your fields of Alchemy are so different from each other?

You have no idea how long you've been thinking, standing in contemplation in front of the set of double doors that leads to the workshop with nothing but doubt in your mind. But upon realizing the teal gaze of another person silently waiting instead of wooden doors, you figured it was far too long.

"Ah, I'm sorry! I was in my head, I wasn't expecting you to-!" You flailed your hands around comically before abruptly stopping, noticing the now confused stare of Albedo of which are distracted by your hands. Clearing your throat, you extended a hand towards him to shake, trying to stare anywhere but his face. "I'm (Y/N), I'll be your assistant until you're well settled in the city. It's nice to meet you, Ma-"

His hand finds yours in a firm grip, a firm shake so sudden you bit your tongue back, "Albedo, Kreideprinz of the Art of Kemia, but just Albedo is fine, I'll be under your care."

Albedo finds it intriguing and surprisingly not that distracting whenever you talk to yourself or to the ingredients whenever you so much as feel the slightest frustration. "Ugh, this Zinc powder is so stubborn, clingy," you angrily mumbled under your breath as you washed off the blue powder that spilled at your hand, "So, so clingy." Since you're facing the sink, you couldn't see the way he was holding himself from laughing audibly at your amusing antics.

You seemed lively and open, is what Albedo thought when he first met you. But this observation soon shattered when he kept getting hanged upon your abrupt stops when delving into your field, something he was really irked about the first few times. Your art of Alchemy is much different from his and he's wishing that you'd clarify and expound all your learnings to him, but in the end, you somehow step back everytime your words became lengthy.

Are you hiding something? Did you not want him to learn the same arts as yours? If those were the case, he couldn't bring himself to ask a simple question such ad why. Every time it crosses his mind, it brings a purse of a pout to his lips and furrowed eyebrows.

Every response you gave always hints even tiny bits of trivias and tips he's never heard, Albedo always takes note of your spills that always cuts before reaching its climax. "-sorry, yes, this is activated charcoal Geo and Pyro slimes reaction." He lets out an audible sigh upon your retreat, your frustrated mind too occupied to notice.

"Please," his desperation drips in his word when he looks at you with eyes filled with raw emotion you'd never know he'd be able to pull off. Your tightly locked lips only pressed on further at his puppy eyes, "Please continue, I wish to know more about your Alchemy, if you would be so kind."

"It's not really- I'm not really the best at explaining it..." You're almost fidgeting, cheeks aching from tensing and warmth. But he regarded you with a blank stare, forcing you to fill the silence, "If I- If I start, my ramblings may not uhm they're not easy to comprehend... or something."

Albedo had been watching more than he'd like to admit, and he's come to relieved (yet still confused) realization that your treatment with him wasn't his alone. You always step back before things get lengthy, words then cutting short and concise with a steeled expression. Lips caught between teeth.

"I digress," his hand motions to yourself to emphasize his next clause. "As your field and sole practitioner of this art, like my own condition, your word of mouth is the best ground of knowledge."

If he was irritated, he's doing a very good job in hiding it. And even with the respectable yet close distance in between you still felt cornered. This is still your master and it's not professional to refuse a scholarly talk, "The electro crystals when charged... ionized? create sparks, while also producing the same result when smacking- mining!"

The scribbles of his pen against his clipboard as he nods in attention urges you on, realizing his focus and sincere interest on the topic, "So when you put the little tidbits or even powdered version in a beaker thingy, depending on the material, they interact with the spark. Honestly, I'm unsure yet how lethal it is but if you put the sparks under fire too, they make like those makeshift gunpowder as well as additional reactions such as-!"

The lilt and proceeding high pitch in your voice usually signifies the approach of your insecurity as well as the climax of your enthusiasm. At this point, you pull your hand up to shut your mouth forcefully, and when Albedo really detests the abrupt end of the conversation his hand would shoot forward to grasp your own.

He'd intertwine your fingers to distract, before urging you to continue with a challenging stare, as if daring you to use your other hand to pull that off again. This whole scene felt oddly scandalous, but oh boy does it send your mind into a bambling, overloaded mess. A heated head forces your lips open even if they sometimes come out in a jumbled string, he learns to decipher them.

The more you get used to or feel more comfortable, Albedo uses that fondness skillfully whenever he wants. "Can you tell me more about the scarlet chunks from Dragonspine?" He throws it so casually in the silence as you two work back to back in your stations, without a beat as your mind is partially preoccupied, you answered into a narrative of trivia. It almost feels like you're talking to the flames of the bunsen while you wait, but Albedo smiles at the now filled silence as he listens with divided attention.

He really likes your voice, and the word of wonders you bring along with you.

"For the record, I don't mind it at all," his breath hovers on your lips, cold and prickly, "Whatever comes out of these lips, I want to hear it all."

That last part eheh

Woah, this went long. Like reader babbling hahaha. I said I'm gonna speedrun, not freaking write this long smh

@zelos-simp @legionqueensav @snackgod @rxsalinee @cala-ran @wind-wheel @lilydewi22 @yellowflowre @traveler-lumine @nonniechan @creation-magician @hanniejji @gojos-baby @just-some-stars @volleybloop @tartuu @moaa @dandelion-dreams @witchsungie @lehra @albaedhoe @xiaophilia @heisenwurst @childe-simp-exe

[boredindminor]

Icarus- A Darkling Oneshot

‼️Ruin&Rising spoilers

A/N: Takes place during Ruin and Rising, so be mindful of spoilers. Slight Darkling x OC(the narrator). This is just a quick oneshot that popped into my head and it doesn’t have any solid backstory, so feel free to make up your own assumptions. (Or I’m just lazy af). It’s basically a Darkling sob story, because Baghra’s death made me sad.

It had been years since I’d last felt him. Eons, most likely. His presence was gnawing at the back of my head, a familiar sensation now weighted with unfamiliar sentiment. He wasn’t simply calling, this time. We were connected with a rope at which he was now tugging desperately, no matter the years and the miles separating us. I had almost forgot that Ravka even existed, a country forgotten by god, fallen in the arms of devils.

The specific devil that was now interrupting me insisted to the point of giving me a headache. I had always been curious, so I answered.

I wasn’t standing in the Little Palace, as I was expecting and hoping to be. Instead, I found him in a pathetic ditch right underneath a steep cliff. He was sitting into the dirt, his beautiful kefta stained with it, as he wordlessly clutched a toneless mass in his arms. It hit me then. A grief so ancient, so inconceivably inhuman, it knocked me to my knees, but still I refused to speak. What happened to the old god? Did he fall from heaven?

Overcome with a pain I couldn’t understand, I sighed at an attempt to ease the clenching of my chest. This feeling was only a pale reflection of what he felt and it scared me to recognise it, to see it replace the power and safety I always felt with him.

“What happened?” I finally rasped and crawled to him, noticing the soil before him was fresh.

I waited. Still he didn’t talk or look to me, only stretched a weak hand and handed me the pile of cloth from his lap. I unfolded it and recognised its symbols soon enough; a sun in eclipse, discreetly embroidered on the inner hem of an old, black kefta. The secret, unwavering loyalty of a mother to her child.

“I’m sorry.”

The child didn’t reply. His grey eyes remained fixed on the pale hands resting on his lap. How I missed his beautiful grey eyes. He was weak, or at least, weakened; his hands had never been particularly manly, they were an artist’s hands, but now they had become thin and pale, the redness of his palms contrasting morbidly with the veins running through the marble skin.

“Aleksander,” I whispered. Because it had been Aleksander who had summoned me, not the Darkling. The boy lost through eternity, not the Heretic.

At the mention of his true name, he turned to me, his hollow cheeks creating dark shadows that suited his haunted eyes. Where were the eyes that cut through steel?

“You came,” I would remember those words for the centuries to come. Not a whisper, but not strong enough to be his voice.

“What happened?” I took his hand in mine and he didn’t move, though he didn’t pull away either. I had suppressed my power for many years and the amplifier in his bones made it spark back to life. His face fell, resuming the familiar cool façade he always wore. I forced his eyes on mine, “Lean on me.”

And so he did, both literally and figuratively. As I stroked his raven hair, he recounted the tale of the Sun Summoner and the Shadow King. He had done great, terrible things. Sins I could not forgive, terrors too horrible to name. I understood Baghra’s sacrifice and grieved for her. I had felt the sting of her cane on my hands, too, after all. She should have stopped him when he could still be stopped. Before he’d disrupted the natural order of the world and plunged himself into the abyss.

“Don’t act on your despair, Aleksander. You have to be clever now.”

His voice throughout the narrative was calm, as if it were a fairytale, not the horror of reality.

“I know your disgust,” he admitted, “I can feel it. I am not sorry. What I did, I did for Ravka. For the oath I took.”

We were curled together on the ground by now, knowing no one would bother us. “I took an oath, too. But my conscience is clean.”

He snarled at that, but pressed his forehead against mine. “You always did share my mother’s quaint ideas.”

It was my turn to pull away and had it been any other moment, I could have hit him. “I shared something more than her ideas when it came to you, Aleksander.”

He didn’t reply. What bound us was too old to be brought up in conversation. It wasn’t a thing of the modern world.

He was Icarus. A boy who flew too close to the Sun and had yet to feel the scorching fire of her full power. His fall had just begun.

As I turned to leave, I carved his every detail in my mind. I knew I was seeing him for the last time.

[adamarks]

What’s with the scarf: yet another snowbaz meta

aka the long-awaited and much-anticipated knight/dragon dichotomy meta. 

Wanna know that the fuck was up with that scene where simon caught baz’s scarf? Welcome, you’ve found your new home. Let’s go.

Guess who’s back. Back again.

It’s me, bitch. Now here with their 5th goddamn essay on these goddamn books. Somebody stop me I’m a fiend. 

For this one i really do suggest you read my simon is a dragon meta, but if you don’t have time just look at this tweet. 

Now that we have that out of the way. Let’s get started. 

Point One: The Knight

I know what you’re saying, “what? I thought this was about the goddamn scarf? What’s this shit about knights stop.” I tricked you, fucker. The scarf isn’t until the end. (You save the best for last.) 

Simon Snow is the knight in shining armor of the world of mages. He’s given a sword and pointed in a direction and off he marches. He’s the secret weapon. He’s the bomb. He’s the one that came to save us. He’s the one that came to end us all. The poetry of Carry On is that he was the dragon he was meant to slay, and he gave up his “knighthood” (powers) to defeat himself. 

It’s true that Simon gave up his powers, but did he give up his knighthood? In title and in practice, yes, but he still acts the part. Let’s investigate the defining feature of knights: The Code of Chivalry.

To quote this website that words it perfectly: 

“ A Code of Chivalry was documented in an epic poem called 'The Song of Roland'. [...]   Roland was a loyal defender of his liege Lord Charlemagne and his code of conduct became understood as a code of chivalry.”

From The Song of Roland came a listing of chivalrous traits that all knights should strive to have. They are as follows:

To fear God and maintain His Church

To serve the liege lord in valour and faith

To protect the weak and defenceless

To give succour to widows and orphans

To refrain from the wanton giving of offence

To live by honour and for glory

To despise pecuniary reward

To fight for the welfare of all

To obey those placed in authority

To guard the honour of fellow knights

To eschew unfairness, meanness and deceit

To keep faith

At all times to speak the truth

To persevere to the end in any enterprise begun

To respect the honour of women

Never to refuse a challenge from an equal

Never to turn the back upon a foe

This is Simon to such a T that it’s a little bit alarming. Wayward Son is Simon’s struggle to reintroduce himself into civilian life after being a “boy soldier” since he was eleven. He’s a knight whose sword has been taken, armor melted down, and purpose rescinded. 

A knight can’t be a knight when the king’s been killed. Who, then, does he serve? Who, then, does he protect?

Simon has lost his purpose, his meaning. He has these traits that he doesn’t know how to funnel into something else. He’s a chess piece that’s utterly worthless. 

Not only does he feel purposeless, but he also hates an entire side of himself. and that leads us to our next point:

Point Two: The Dragon

Simon Snow was the villain of his own story.

He was his own dragon to his own knight. His own worst enemy. The main conflict of this story is a man vs. himself type. Simon hates an entire part of himself. He doesn’t just hate it, he vehemently denies its existence. 

“I’m not a DRAGON!” (Wayward Son, Chapter 35)

Of course, if you’ve read my wings meta you’ll know that not only is this him denying part of himself, but also his sexuality. And his love for Baz. But Rainbow writes layers upon layers into this delicious parfait, and Simon’s dragon-ness isn’t limited to being his sexuality. This is literature, after all. 

The knight needs to accept the dragon. Simon needs to accept the person that his trauma has turned him into. If you’ve been through any major trauma, you’ll know that you’re different afterwards. You’re still you. All of the most important parts are there- you did make it out alive- but you’re a little bit different. 

You’re more careful. You’re more anxious. You guard your heart just a little more fiercely. You don’t want to let people in quite so easily anymore. 

What is a dragon’s purpose in a narrative? To protect. To guard. To keep out. To keep in. 

The dragon is those behaviors that we learned to protect ourselves in those times of hurt, and while, yes, we need to unlearn some of those behaviors, certain ones may never leave. Once you figure out how to read micro-expressions on an abuser, you can’t just unlearn how to read a face like a book. The issue is figuring out how to manage those habits. How to keep them from hurting others that aren’t going to hurt us. How to... train... our dragons... (I’m sorry it’s my favorite movie.)

So, the dragon is simon’s shadow self and the knight is his light self, yes? Yes. But! Let’s put a magnifying glass up to these two concepts. 

If a dragon’s narrative purpose is to guard, protect, keep out/in, and be defeated, then what’s a knight’s narrative purpose? A knight’s purpose is to guard, protect, save, and defeat. 

These two concepts aren’t wildly different, they’re two sides of the same coin. Simon needs to stop seeing these two sides of him as enemies and instead recognize that they’re good and bad in equal measures. The dragon questions potential dangers; the knight helps all out of the goodness of his heart. The knight obeys blindly; the dragon knows to obey himself first. The knight is selfless in all things; the dragon is selfish and greedy. There are pros and cons to both archetypes. 

But fire and steel? The monster and the hero? How do you reconcile these two concepts? How do they fit into one person?

Well, the answer surprised me too. 

Point Three: Tarot?

I know, I know. Stick with me. I’ll explain. 

In every tarot deck there are the major arcana (unimportant for this meta) and, just like in a regular playing card deck, four suits. Each suit has a king, queen, knight, and page (also like a regular card deck). Each suit relates to an element: pentacles = earth, swords = air, wands = fire, and cups = water. 

We’re going to be looking at the knight of wands. 

He is a knight of fire and passion and spark. He is headstrong, impulsive, and reckless. This card is Simon in his entirety. To drive home my point, let me quote from the guidebook to The Enchanted Tarot by Amy Zerner & Monte Farber:

“The dark [Knight] of Wands rides into view upon his great, plumed charger, carrying a fire-tipped wand. Behind him the gray, dusky clouds swirl like smoke, against which his figure glows like red embers. His journey is carrying him into the unknown but he is a pioneer and filled with energy and excitement. He likes to take risks. An active, unpredictable and competitive disposition drives him forward. He radiates a very masculine energy, full of creativity and passion. His youth, however, sometimes impels him to be quarrelsome or overbearing if he feels his authority and leadership are in question. Somewhat self-centered, he is likely to think he knows a good deal more than he does...”

The knight of wands embodies both that regal nature of a knight and fiery passion of a dragon. Simon needs to stop thinking that these two sides of him are incompatible or that one is lesser. Simon is Simon and he is worthy to be called a knight, even with all of his dragon parts. 

Point Four: Courtly Love 

or maybe not so courtly?

Courtly love was a concept in the knight’s code of chivalry where a knight would pick a fair maiden from a higher status and dedicate all of his great deeds to her honor. Because the catholic church had a tight grip on everyone’s balls, though, this love was not sexualized. Well... it wasn’t supposed to be but we all know how that shit works. 

Agatha was supposed to be the “endgame.” She was Simon’s courtly love. His fair maiden to which he dedicated all of his noble deeds. 

But Agatha didn’t want to be a fair maiden anymore. 

And Simon didn’t love her. 

And then there was Baz’s hankie. 

In most Courtly Love relationships, there was a token bestowed upon the knight by the lady as a symbol of gratitude and affection. This token was, most often, a kerchief. 

I think we alllll remember that goddamn handkerchief. I remember that handkerchief. That handkerchief haunts my dreams.

Simon keeps that goddamn handkerchief in his drawer after he takes it from Agatha. He doesn’t even give it back. He so desperately wants to have this token of Baz’s love. His approval. His friendship. He wants something of Baz’s because he feels like he can’t have Baz himself. Baz is his real unreachable maiden. Baz is the one Simon doesn’t feel like he’s good enough for.

But more importantly, this brings us to the most important point of this meta:

Point Five: The Scarf

“The Mustang sounds like a bat on its way out of hell. And Simon is its getaway driver. Fourth gear on a gravel road, his blue eyes narrowed to slits. My mother’s scarf catches the wind and slips off my head. Snow whips out his hand to rescue it. He glances over at me, for just a second, holding it like a banner.”  (Wayward Son, Chapter 25)

I know I literally screamed the first time i read that. Simon is a knight saving his lady’s favor. 

But it’s not just that the scarf is a favor. Simon always gives it back. You don’t return a lady’s favor. 

“‘Oh, hey,’ he says like he’s just remembered something. He leans back to reach in his pocket, and takes out a wad of blue silk. 

‘That’s my mother’s scarf!’ I reach for it.

He opens his hand. The scarf threads through his fingers as I pull it away. ‘Sorry,’ he says. ‘I forgot it was in my pocket.’

‘I thought I left it in the hotel room.’

‘You did.’

I fold the scarf, gently. Snow watches for a moment, then looks away.”

(Wayward Son, Prologue)

Now, @theflyingpeach (hi bri) pointed out to me that the scarf probably represents Baz’s humanity, what with it being his mother’s and him leaving it at the hotel. And yeah she’s right you can read it as that. (and it’s quite compelling) But that’s another meta for another day.

Today we’re on that good knight shit.

That scarf is Simon’s heart. 

Baz says he always travels with it. He gently uses it to protect himself against the wind. Simon thinks he’s gorgeous when he wears it. Baz keeps thinking he’s lost it...

but he hasn’t. 

He’ll never lose it, as long as Simon’s around.

Go back up and read those excerpts and tell me you don’t want to burst into tears. 

Simon keeps returning his heart to Baz. “I’m broken. I’m bruised,” Simon whispers. “I’m a knight with no sword. I’m a dragon with no hoard. I only have this one last thing to protect, but instead I give it to you. I’d give it to you again, and again, and again. It’s yours forever. Even though I think you don’t want it, it’s yours until you explicitly tell me to take it back. My love is yours for however long you want it, Baz.” 

The handkerchief in Carry On also translates into being Simon’s heart. 

“I go to the drawer where the handkerchief is shoved in with my wand and a few other things, then I wave it in his face. ‘This one.’

Baz pulls the fabric out of my hand, and I pull it back because I don’t want him to have it. I don’t want him to have anything right now.” (Carry On, Chapter 50)

Simon wasn’t ready to give Baz his heart yet in Carry On, but it was still Baz’s. It still had his family crest embroidered right into the material. Simon’s heart has always been Baz’s and Baz’s alone. It’s just that now, he freely gives it. He freely returns it. 

“I’m yours, Baz. I’m yours.”

A knight could not go against his code and cross that barrier to be with his lady. 

But a dragon is selfish. A dragon can ask for what it wants.

And all Simon wants is Baz.

And Baz is just waiting for him to ask.

Thank you for reading yet again! I dedicate this to bri because without her the scarf thing would’ve never dawned on me. Also she kept bitching at me to write this. 

 Check out the mirror meta and food meta while you’re at it.

time for the tagging peeps

@singerofsimplesongs @carryonsimoncarryonbaz @krisrix @pastel-pink-death @lowcalcalzones @godmcfuckindammit @fight-surrender @simonsnoww @rareandbeautifulthing @neck-mole @basic-banshee (i know you’re not super into these but you had an anon about it) @birdybabybird @whitefire17draws @teaandinanity @watfordwallflower @carrybits @slaying-fictional-dragons 

[littlemisssquiggles]

So I have been thinking on the idea that if they do show it Oscar and Whitley could form a sort of friendship given that both sort of have a big thing coming for them (Whitley in running the Dust company and Oscar's chosen one deal) What do you think? Also I feel it'd be cool is Whitley's sembalence was like good stratigic planning he is able to see two moves ahead like in chess and plan for it.

Hello again Crystal. Y’know once upon a time, I would’ve been open to Whitley and Oscar becoming steady friends and having an almost love-hate type of friendship mirroring Ruby and Weiss. I came to appreciate Rich Farmers as a FRIEND-ship which is ironic since before that I wanted Whitley and Oscar to be rivals for Ruby’s affections XD

Oscar and Whitley are my boys and seeing them finally meet and interact would’ve been an interesting sight. But now that I’ve seen nearly half of V7, I’m unsure of whether or not Whit and Oscar will ever get a chance to meet given how the PLOT has been shaping up.

If we’re lucky, Oscar would be attending the election Watch Party up in Atlas with JNR_RWBY and would just so happen to bump into Whit who just so happened to be attending the Watch Party too on behalf of his father just to promote his campaign at the school or something—I dunno. Just a crumb of interaction would’ve sufficed. 

However, as I said, I’m not sure if these two will ever meet at all. At least notfor V7. I’m still waiting to see what either of their roles will be like for this volume.

I have a sinking suspicion that Whitley will be the one to reveal to Weiss about how their mother has been really doing since she departed. Who knows? Perhaps…he might even allow her back into their home to see her while Jacques is away on business (or rendezvousing with Watts). 

I say this since I don’t think Klein is around anymore. I’m starting to wonder if he was unceremoniously let go after it was discovered that he helped Weiss escape. It was odd not seeing him at Schnee Manor, even when Watts came to visit Jacques. Then again the PLOT hasn’t visited the Manor much for this season outside of the end of CH4. I wonder if we will get more on that as we move into the political subplot for the season.

Since Jacques sparked quite an uproar in Mantle, I’m intrigued at how that’s going to be played out next episode. I’d like to imagine that part of the reason our young heroes were ultimately granted a night off was due to them needing one after working possibly double time to deal with all the ruckus bringing forththe Grimm that was caused by the People of Mantle revolting against the General and Atlas after what Jacques caused.

It wouldn’t surprise me if more Grimm start invading the city due to all the risingnegativity at the city in the clouds, thanks to the Ice King himself.

The start of V7 and the narrative that follows afterwards surrounding Jacques, General Ironwood and even Robyn Hill and her Happy Huntresses should be more than fascinating to watch play out. I can’t wait. 

But going back to Whit, I really feel like Whitley’s role for this season will be delegated to outing Jacques on his underhanded cooperation with Watts.

I feel as we’re going to get Whitley snooping around on his father and Watts.

Oh! Do you know what would actually be pretty darn cool?

What if…Whitley allows Weiss back into Schnee Manor when she shows up to visit their mother who, as we remember, was told to not be doing so well since Weiss’ departure. While checking in on her mom, Whitley invites Weiss to show her something and it’s basically a scenario where Whitley reveals to Weiss another secret passageway within Schnee Manor that leads into a hidden area overlooking Jacques’ office where Whitley and Weiss could spy in on their father.

Let’s say…Whit wants to tell Weiss about what his father had been doing to win the elections. However since he’s also aware that his sister might not believe him, he decides a better way to prove himself is by showing her the truth. So basically Weiss and Whitley end up spying in on Jacques just when Arthur Watts pays him another visit. Maybe Tyrian Callows tags along with Watts this time?

Now here’s the thing with this. Weiss doesn’t know who Tyrian is. The only person on Team RWBY aware of Tyrian is Ruby. So as an alternative to this theory of mine, let’s say:

Weiss returns home to see her mother. Ruby tags along with for morale support. Unfortunately the security at Schnee Manor deny Weiss access even if it was to see her mother, thanks to Jacques giving them strict orders to. Fortunately for Weiss, she reunites with good ole Klein who helps her and Ruby sneak into the manor to see Mama Schnee. 

In her mother’s room, Weiss discovers her mother passed out drunk but sleeping more or less soundly. As it turns out her fears were proven right as her mother looks ill and let’s say her room is a mess, littered with empty wine bottles and glasses as a sign of several alcoholic episodes. This upsets Weiss dearly at seeing her mother in such a state. Luckily her best friend Ruby is there to comfort her.

Weiss then goes to wake her mother up to show that she is still there for her. Unfortunately Weiss’ time with her mother is cut short as Klein comes in to warn the girls that they needed to now leave since Jacques had returned home and security was coming down the hallway.

Weiss and Ruby leave just as Mama Schnee opened her eyes to an emptydark room, missing seeing her beloved daughter again by a millisecond.

Similar to how Klein assisted Weiss with the passageway that led straight out of the manor, he attempts to use the same one from V4 to provide Weiss and Ruby a means of escape. However they are forced to make a detour since the room with the passageway is used or something. Klein is then forced to leave the girls on their own when he’s called away by Jacques.

Long story short, Weiss and Ruby Scooby-Doo their way around Schnee Manor, avoiding as much encounters with security and staff as they could. Eventually their hide and seek results in them stumbling upon another hidden passageway that takes them to the secret hiding spot I described before overseeing Jacques’ office.

From here, Ruby and Weiss listen in on Jacques once again scheming with Watts. Tyrian happens to be there as well and Ruby immediately recognizes him; informing Weiss that the Scorpion Faunus was bad news since he was the one who poisoned Qrow and attacked her and JNR back in Mistral. Thus meaning that Weiss’ father was getting himself roped in with people who work for Salem!

While Weiss and Ruby are processing this revelation, let’s say…that they are caught by Whitley who knew about the passageway since he used it to spy in on Jacques. Whitley has an opportunity to rat Weiss and Ruby out to the in-house security or worse Jacques and his associates. But rather than do that, Whitley does the last thing Weiss expected him to do for her—help her.

With Whit’s help, Ruby and Weiss are able to make their way back toKlein and eventually out of Schnee Manor undetected.

One of my Whit-ty headcanons for Whitley is that he will redeem himself, at least in the eyes of Weiss by helping her in some shape or form. 

My rationale for this is because I strongly believe that Whitley will be the Huntsman (ironically) in Weiss’ Snow White story. 

In the original fairy-tale, the Huntsman was sent to kill Snow White by the Wicked Queen but instead the Huntsman took pity on her and allowed her to go free into the forest where she eventually met the Seven Dwarves.

The assumption here in that Whitley is meant to be exactly like Jacques and thus act as an antagonist to Weiss in some way, right? However I still wish to hold out on the concept of Whitley proving himself to be trusted in the eyes of Weiss, finally opening the door for the potential of these two sharing an actual good relationship.

While all the sisterly moments between Weiss and Winter for this season have been nice, it still bothers me how nonchalant Weiss and Winter are with continuing to wholeheartedly support each other while still leaving their little brother in the dark in the hands of their father; the thought of extending that olivebranch to him still crossing neither of their minds even now. Like…really?

Who knows. Maybe if we do get a moment of Whitley helping Weiss, it may spark the thought of her reaching out to Whit. Perhaps…we can finally have some backstory for these two for once. Again, all the stuff between Weiss and Winter is cool and all that jazz. However this squiggle meister is more intrigued to learn what Weiss’ story with her brother is all about, y’know what I mean?

As for Whitley’s semblance, I’m more inclined with the theory that Whitley possesses the same hereditary Glyph semblance that all Schnees possess since he is a Schnee. 

Regardless of how much the PLOT wishes to have me believe that Whit is exactly like his father, I wish to stand by the thought that he is more like his sisters than he realizes. 

Whitley is a Schnee so if he’s to have a semblance, I want it to be Glyphs. I want to see Whit have his own summon and long ago, I pegged Whit’s choice of summon would be a Geist Grimm he accidentally killed after it attacked him and Klein at the Manor.

Then Whit ends up being haunted by said Geist since he couldn’t control it. Whitley awakening his semblance and needing help to control his powers could be a potential way for him to bond with his sisters. 

Imagine Weiss and Winter coming together to help their brother understand what he’s going through with his gift. Imagine Whit becoming conflicted by this since his powers give him a connection to his sisters and an actual good relationship with them (which I still believe is what Whitley wants above anything else) however at the same time, he is torn by his loyalty to their father.

This could’ve been a great subplot to flesh out Whit as a character.Buuuuuuuuuuuut….this is only just me and my headcanons. Whitley’s true purpose in the PLOT; I shall leave that to the CRWBY Writers to reveal. In the meantime. I’ll just have my own ideas.

I do like your idea for Whit’s semblance though, Crystal. Basically your idea is for Whit t have a foresight type of semblance; similar to how Maria’s Reflex semblance operates in a sense, right? 

Either way, I can dig that. However, like I said, my top choice for Whit’s semblance is dem Glyphs. I want my boy to be the Schnee that he is, dagnabbit!  But we shall see how that goes as the volume unfolds.

~LittleMissSquiggles (2019)

[forasecondtherewedwon]

Wait let me try that again - spideychelle + "Angel in the streets, freak in the sheets.”

You’re absolutely right, Anon, so I’m very pleased that you and @itsjacobperalta picked this prompt! I had a lot of fun with it!

Operation Eight-Legged Freak

Pairing: Peter Parker x Michelle Jones (Spideychelle)Rating: M/NSFWWord count: 2396

Summary:

Despite being nice enough to give a select number of interviews after Mysterio blew his identity, Peter Parker is continually hounded for more. When the media discovers he has a girlfriend, they go after her too. Until now, she’s held back. Until now, they’ve been safe.

Michelle Jones grants a single sit-down interview and, boy, it’s a doozy.

31. “Angel in the streets, freak in the sheets.”

Operation Eight-legged Freak is a go, MJ texts Peter. She spies through the glass front of the coffee shop, searching until her gaze lands on the most reporter-looking person in there. Taking a deep breath, MJ centers herself and hauls the door open.

“Ms. Jeffries?” she asks, stopping at the table against the wall where a woman with decoratively oversized glasses is leaning too close to the screen of her laptop.

The woman straightens up and half-rises out of her chair with a hand outstretched.

“Miss Jones! Call me Elsbeth.”

“Michelle.”

As MJ shakes her hand, she focuses on clenching her teeth instead of her grip; the journalist’s gaze is sliding all over her, sizing her up as she probably internally composes some filler for the article she’s writing on Spider-Man’s girlfriend.

MJ wills the potential descriptions of herself out of her head. Peter’s been helping her practice that, reassuring her every time she comes up with a potential physical or character flaw that the press might hone in on. Of course, a significant portion of what he says is bullshit because he refuses to recognize anything about her as less than perfect. Dork.

“I’m just going to grab a drink,” MJ says, pointing towards the short line to the cash register.

“Oh, no, that’s on me. Or, rather, it’s on the paper. What can I get you?”

“Um, just a latte. Thanks.”

The woman gives her a phony smile and gestures for her to sit while she strides over to join the line. MJ takes the chair across from the open laptop and tries to relax into it. While she waits, she mentally goes over her and Peter’s game plan. Texting him might comfort her, but Elsbeth will definitely be watching. Which adjectives will she use to paint her picture of how MJ sits, how she scans her surroundings? She can’t worry about that. This interview is not about the reporter and MJ tells herself that she needs to remember how value she is.

Since the ‘Peter Parker is Spider-Man’ story broke, her boyfriend’s been under a microscope. It didn’t take a hell of a lot of time before the media found out he was dating someone and, though she hasn’t told Peter this, MJ’s planning unholy retribution against whichever little weasel at their school sold her out for a hasty buck. She suspects Brad. The attention now on her is the only thing keeping Brad’s dick un-punched.

Peter’s played nice―nicer than MJ would’ve in his place―in service of the super-persona the city knows and loves. Basically, he doesn’t want to besmirch the good name of Spider-Man. He’s made himself available for a limited number of interviews (decided upon with May’s guidance), in and out of the suit, always patient and smiling. MJ hasn’t been as accessible. As in, she hasn’t done interviews. Any. At all. Between her boyfriend, herself, her parents, Peter’s aunt, and Pepper Potts (who probably finds their exposure problems ridiculously easy to manage after years of wrangling Tony Stark), they determined that the best move was to withhold access to MJ. Now, being seen or used as an object goes against every belief she has, but this is a power move. They’d keep her as the queen among the pawns, the ace up their sleeve.

Turns out MJ isn’t the ace. She’s the joker.

The strategizing just seemed to go on too long and polite requests for Spider-Man interviews turned into microphones jammed in Peter’s face and photographers slipping into Midtown tech pretending to be parents picking up their kids. So MJ and her super-nerd devised their own plan, quickly realizing her time had come to do her part in shaping the Spider-Man narrative.

Half of what the papers and blogs were publishing wasn’t truthful, so MJ wouldn’t be either. She would grant a single interview and fuck with the press so hard that they would see her as an unreliable source of information (and stop asking questions), be made incredibly uncomfortable by her unprintable answers (and stop asking questions), or maybe just confuse them to the point that they couldn’t scrape together an article out of the array of utter shit she would present them with (and stop asking questions). The tabloid they picked out together for MJ’s interview also happens to already be on the other side of credible, which helps with making every word she says to this woman essentially worthless.

Ah, here’s Elsbeth with her latte.

“Do you mind if I record our conversation?” she asks, pulling her phone from her pocket.

“Please,” MJ says. She forces herself not to smile because she’d probably hurdle over polite and go straight to looking maniacal.

The woman taps her screen the second she’s set MJ’s coffee on the crowded tabletop.

“I’d warn you away from drinking coffee so young,” the woman says laughingly as she retakes her own seat, “but I guess you wouldn’t be sorry to stunt your growth.” MJ stares blandly back at her, gently swirling the mug, until she continues. “Because you’re already taller than Peter.”

She shrugs as Elsbeth quietly closes her laptop and slides the phone into place between them, eyes fixed greedily on her interviewee’s face.

“He likes my legs.” Before the instant spark of scandal in Elsbeth’s eye can be transformed into a follow-up question, MJ adds, “I think it’s a spider thing. Some kind of dark fetish as a result of him getting totally fucked by mutation. And you should call him ‘Mr. Parker.’”

Wrong-footed, Elsbeth tilts her head in discomfort at having to apologize.

“Sorry, yes, that was a slip in professionalism―”

“No, because that’s what I call him.” Now she’s just speechless. MJ raises her eyebrows like she’s explaining this to a child. “When we’re fucking.” An unusually mature child. “Should I have said at the start that his fetishes are numerous? My bad, I’ve never been interviewed before.”

It has now occurred to MJ that a liberal sprinkling of profanities through her answers can’t hurt either. Can’t hurt her. This interview’s going to require more redactions than a copy of Fifty Shades of Grey in a children’s library.

“I… I…” Elsbeth covers herself (or thinks she does) with a quick throat clearing and a dainty sip from her own cup of coffee. “No, that’s fine, I just normally like to begin with something more… general.”

MJ sighs.

“I regret to inform you that Mr. Parker’s tastes aren’t really in the realm of general.” She locks eyes with Elsbeth like she’s confessing a big secret. “He’s pretty fucking depraved.” After a second of enjoying the flicker of horror across the woman’s expression, MJ pretends to take pity on her. “Sorry, would you prefer if I call him Peter? You look uncomfortable.”

The journalist is darting her eyes around now, but, as ever, MJ isn’t speaking overly loudly and most of the customers of this place seem to get their drinks to-go; there isn’t anyone sitting at the tables nearest to theirs.

“General questions,” Elsbeth clarifies too late. “I meant general questions, about anything.” Something behind her eyes is beginning to look delightfully haunted and this time, MJ allows herself a grin and nods like she gets it.

“Right. Well, I’ve know that Mr. Parker―sorry, Peter―was Spider-Man since before we started dating.” Elsbeth visibly perks up because MJ knows what’s coming out of her mouth sounds like the first usable information since she walked into this coffee shop.

“That’s fascinating.”

And she does sound fascinated. MJ reminds herself it’s just the greediness behind getting a scoop, not legitimate interest in who Peter is as a human being or his many private sacrifices in the attempt to keep his secret before that dumb fuck Mysterio showed up.

“And,” Elsbeth probes, feeling around in the bag at her feet before extracting a pad and pen for supplemental notes, “what was it that made think your classmate was moonlighting as an Avenger?”

MJ takes a long drink of her latte and glances contemplatively at the nonrepresentational art print hanging on the wall beside them.

“He’s jacked as fuck.”

Elsbeth, who mirrored her by going for a sip when she did, nearly chokes.

“Anything―” She coughs. “―about his personality? That would make you think he’d lead a double life risking life and limb for strangers?”

“Oh sure,” MJ concedes easily. “Peter’s kind of a nerd, but he gets along with everybody. You know, one of those people who can be casual friends with a kid in every social clique? People in the neighbourhood who know him as Peter Parker love him too. He’s very nice.” And then she drops the anvil. “Angel in the streets, freak in the sheets.”

Really, Elsbeth should get into comedy. She’s great at abruptly shifting her expression from relieved to panicked. Jim Carrey made a whole career out of his ‘elastic face.’ This woman should totally find an agent.

“Haven’t you heard that expression?” MJ asks innocently, sliding two fingers through the handle of her mug slowly enough for Elsbeth to notice and potentially take as subliminal messaging.

“I’ve…” The woman trails off, lowering her pen again, and devolves her response into an awkward nod.

MJ laughs as though to herself. When she leans forward conspiratorially, planting her elbows on the table, the journalist flinches. She’d feel bad if the whole pack of media people in this city didn’t suck ass. Peter’s never done an interview with Elsbeth’s paper, and for good reason: one of their photographers followed him around for a week trying to get a shot of him changing in an alley as if he weren’t only seventeen years old. Yeah, today’s interview is more than a little about MJ protecting her boyfriend.

“We do shit you’ve never heard of,” MJ offers without being prompted. It doesn’t look like poor Elsbeth’s up to asking questions anymore. “In Peter’s bed, a missionary’s just a traveling priest and G-O-T stands for Game of Thrones, which we never catch up on because we’re too busy tearing another page out of the Kama Sutra.” She laughs like, isn’t this great? We’re having girl time. “Actually, I shouldn’t imply that G-O-T has never stood for ‘girl on top,’ because Mr. Parker does enjoy me riding his cock from time to time, but if we do that, I’m also wearing nipple clamps or I have my hands tied to a ring in the ceiling or something. That freak fucking loves his accessories.”

She takes a tranquil sip of her coffee. It’s actually pretty good and strong enough to keep her bouncing along through this interview. MJ respects an establishment that doesn’t skimp on the caffeine in favour of a mountainous topping of whipped cream. She might actually come by here again sometime.

“Ok,” Elsbeth says with sudden sternness, face contorted in a smile that hints she’s trying to convince herself that, somehow, everything will be fine. “We’ve covered all my questions―” MJ nearly snorts coffee out her nose at this barefaced perjuring. “―so I’ll just,” she explains, shoveling her things into her bag, “give you a call if I need anything else.”

MJ smiles as the journalist gets to her feet.

“Sure thing. I’d shake your hand,” she says, looking up at Elsbeth from her chair, “but you don’t want to know where mine have been. Or, if you do, that’s something we can cover in that phone call.”

The woman gives a nervous laugh and puts her palms up to ward off a handshake.

“No, that’s… we’re good. We’re all set.”

“‘K, great.”                  

“Thank you for your time.”

The disturbed look mounts Elsbeth’s face before she’s completely turned away from MJ, which just adds to MJ’s delight when she gets to call out to her.

“By the way,” MJ says as the journalist turns, fight or flight likely seconds from kicking in judging by the tension of her stance. “You know I’m a minor, right? So publishing anything I just told you would look pretty bad.”

The woman probably suspected this in the rational part of her brain that MJ’s spent the last half hour scaring into hiding, but she certainly looks irritated by the reminder.

“I guess you’re right,” she acknowledges tersely.

MJ nods to agree that, yes, she is 100% correct, and swallows the last of her coffee.

“Also, because I know you work for the kind of place that likes to share tip-offs with other scummy publications, I’d like you to feel free to spread the word that Spider-Man and his girlfriend are not to be fucked with. And neither is Peter Parker.”

After the woman flees, MJ slumps back, hand shaking as she rotates her mug in its saucer. When the quiet grinding noise breaks through the pounding of the adrenaline-accelerated heartbeat in her ears, she reaches for her phone instead.

Tell me how it goes, Peter texted.

She’s too jittery from confrontation and caffeine to sit any longer, so she pushes away from the table and calls her boyfriend instead, raising the phone to her ear once she’s on the sidewalk with her hood pulled up; it’ll take a little time for the warning to be distributed and, in the meantime, she doesn’t want to be recognized. One interview was enough.

“MJ?” Peter asks from the other end of the line. “How was it? What happened?”

She’s silent long enough to realize she actually isn’t sure how to put it into words.

“I’ll tell you everything when I see you, but there is one thing you should know right away.”

“What is it?”

“I think I made up a sex position.”

The truth―the real truth―is that they’re seventeen, missionary has been a trusted friend, and MJ’s only ever made brief eye contact with a copy of the Kama Sutra from across a display table at a bookstore. She hears her boyfriend inhale sharply before responding with obviously forced coolness.

“Oh yeah?”

“Mhmm. We’re gonna try it.” If her adrenaline’s up, so is her bravado.

Peter fumbles his words, communicating nothing at first, then, “Why was that something I had to know right away?”

“Because,” MJ says, straining to make out the signs above the upcoming storefronts, “I’m planning on stocking up at the sex shop in the next block and I need to know if we’re going to have your apartment to ourselves when I get there.”

[forgenotes-archived]

VERONICA    ROSE    SAWYER    AND    THE    MUSIC    OF    ST    VINCENT    .    

word    count    :        3,006    . trigger    warnings    for    :        child    abuse    /    neglect    ,        depression    ,        self    harm    ,        suicide    ,        murder    .

there    are    a    few    points    that    i    will    be    ignoring    -        namely    ,        clarke’s    music    does    have    a    heavy    focus    on    catholicism    that    ronnie    ,        as    a    jewish    woman    ,        won’t    relate    to    necessarily    on    a    literal    level    .        i    might    purposely    misinterpret    some    of    the    more    catholic    songs    ,        but    for    the    most    part    ,        i’ll    just    .    .    .        skip    over    that    shit    ,        lol    .        

of    course    ,        not    every    song    of    hers    makes    perfect    sense    with    veronica    ,        but    there    are    a    substantial    amount    that    really    hit    home    for    characterization    purposes    .        i’ll    be    pretty    brief    about    them    mostly    due    to    the    fact    that    this    is    going    to    be    long    enough    but    !        

please    enjoy    a    massive    post    about    veronica’s    most    influential    muse    inspiration    ,        st    vincent    ,        and    how    each    song    sparks    a    different    facet    of    her    characterization    ,        personality    ,        and    history    .

  ALBUM    ONE    -        MARRY    ME    .

*** NOW ,  NOW .       this    song    is    one    of    five    songs    that    truly    cuts    to    the    very    core    of    veronica’s    persona    .        it    is    written    as    a    cutting    dismantlement    of    preconceived    notions    ;        and    while    that    in    a    general  �� sense    does    apply    to    her    ,        it    pulls    apart    as    a    particularly    embittered    attack    on    heather    chandler    .        with    the    deconstruction    of    her    worth    to    her    (    i’m    not    your    mother’s    favourite    dog    /    i’m    not    the    carpet    you    walk    on    /    i’m    not    the    feather    at    your    feet    /    i’m    not    the    paw    to    your    king    /    i’m    not    anyone    you’ll    beat    )    ,        it    harkens    to    her    rebellion    and    powerful    nature    that’s    been    crushed    under    heather’s    heel    .        the    chorus    and    final    lines    of    the    song    draw    perfect    parallels    to    her    and    heather’s    fight    at    the    party    ,        and    the    inevitable    death    -        you    don’t    mean    that    ,        say    you’re    sorry    /    i’ll    make    you    sorry    .    this    track    is    desperately    dramatically    perfectly    attached    to    my    interpretation    of    ronnie    .

*** YOUR LIPS ARE RED .        this    goes    along    almost    chronologically    with    above    -        this    song    is    about    murder    ,        explicitly    ;        and    by    god    does    that    ever    track    !        particular    lyrics    of    note    are    :        this    city’s    red    from    riding    us    into    the    ground    /    your    face    is    drawn    from    drawing    words    right    from    my    lips    /    my    hands    are    red    from    sealing    your    red    lips    /    your    skin’s    so    fair    ,        it’s    not    fair    .        the    narrative    of    the    song    leads    towards    a    crime    of    passion    ;        anger    and    hate    towards    someone    with    some    sort    of    power    over    them    ,        and    the    eventual    revenge    for    their    (    perceived    )    mistreatment    .        veronica    doesn’t    feel    as    bad    as    she    should    that    heather’s    gone    ;        a    part    of    her    feels    satisfied    ,        and    that’s    the    part    that    this    song    exemplifies    .

THE APOCALYPSE SONG .        embracing    the    carnal    nature    of    life    and    cutting    away    from    those    who    refuse    to    (    or    are    too    afraid    to    )    join    you    -        in    a    more    subdued    sense    ,        it’s    similar    to    what    veronica    does    in    cutting    loose    from    her    friends    ;        and    further    still    ,        ostracizing    herself    from    her    family    to    build    a    more    spectacular    life    for    herself    and    jason    .        important    lyrics    to    note    :        you’ll    awake    with    the    stitches    over    both    of    your    eyes    ,        and    deny    me    my    body    and    all    earthly    delights    /    i    guess    you    are    afraid    of    what    everyone    is    made    of    /    your    devotion    has    the    look    of    a    lunatic’s    gaze    .

LANDMINES .        in    terms    of    the    tragedy    of    the    beginnings    of    her    and    jason’s    relationship    -        when    he    spirals    into    the    worst    parts    of    his    plans    ,        she    is    desperate    to    try    and    lure    him    back    to    the    better    side    .        it’s    sadness    ,        it’s    hope    without    reason    ,        it’s    painful    .        important    lyrics    to    note    :        i’m    crawling    through    landmines    just    to    know    where    you    are    /    there’s    smoke    in    my    eyes    ,        ‘cause    you’re    burning    the    ground    /    i’m    crawling    through    landmines    -        i    know    ,        ‘cause    i    planted    them    /    under    cover    of    night    ,        i    put    my    heart    in    the    ground    /    where’d    you    go    ?    please    don’t    go    /    i    found    your    glove    with    the    leather    torn    ,        five    fingers    that    i’m    counting    on    ,        smoke    signals    to    call    you    right    here    .

  ALBUM    TWO    -        ACTOR    .

THE STRANGERS .        clarke    said    she’d    written    this    song    about    a    woman    who’s    spoiled    by    decadence    and    leisure    ,        but    is    desperately    sad    by    her    situation    .        which    ,        in    all    honesty    ,        fits    veronica    to    a    t    -        exhausted    by    the    picturesque    garden    ,        and    unwilling    to    continue    being    trimmed    to    fit    in    paradise    .        important    lyrics    to    note    :        lover    ,        i    don’t    play    to    win    ,        but    for    the    thrill    ‘till    i’m    spent    /    you    showed    up    with    a    black    eye    ,        ready    to    go    start    a    fight    /    desperate    don’t    look    good    on    you    ,        neither    does    your    virtue    /    paint    the    black    hole    blacker    .

THE NEIGHBOURS .        the    song    paints    a    picture    of    a    hatred    of    suburban    sedentary    lifestyles    ;        partial    arson    ,        partial    alcoholism    ,        all    very    accurate    to    the    way    ronnie    feels    being    stuck    in    sherwood    ohio    .        important    lyrics    to    note    :        let’s    pour    wine    in    coffee    cups    and    drive    around    the    neighbourhood    /    i    won’t    believe    not    a    word    you    speak    just    make    it    sweet    to    hear    /    these    kids    are    foaming    at    the    mouths    ,        psychotropic    capricorns    /    how    can    monday    be    alright    ,        then    on    tuesday    lose    my    mind    ? 

* BLACK RAINBOW .        this    is    a    portrait    of    one    person    in    their    isolation    of    an    elevated    comprehension    above    the    brainwashed    masses    of    average    american    life    -        the    loneliness    in    their    own    self    -    aggrandizing    thought    processes    ,        but    also    the    pangs    of    hopelessness    when    they    know    that    they’re    still    right    .        veronica    is    allowed    an    understanding    that    her    parents    and    these    remington    assholes    have    chosen    to    ignore    .        important    lyrics    to    note    :        think    i’m    glass    ,        think    i’m    breaking    it    /    let    the    children    act    like    furniture    for    the    ladies    of    the    lawn    /    unkissed    boys    and    girls    of    paradise    lining    up    around    the    block    /    back    pocket    full    of    dynamite    while    the    neighbours    talk    and    talk    /    bird    outside    the    kitchen    ,        fighting    his    reflection    ,        what’s    he    gonna    win    when    he    wins    ?    /    if    you    want    the    neighbours    woke    ,        you’ll    have    to    shout    even    louder    .

* LAUGHING WITH A MOUTH OF BLOOD .        clarke    has    described    this    song    as    a    balancing    act    between    the    pain    of    the    past    and    the    uncertainty    of    the    future    ,        and    the    desperation    that’s    found    when    those    two    roads    meet    .        ronnie’s    got    scars    she’s    healing    from    ,        but    she’s    also    got    no    idea    why    and    how    to    keep    on    living    afterwards    .        important    lyrics    to    note    :        just    like    an    amnesiac    ,        trying    to    get    my    senses    back    /    laughing    with    a    mouth    of    blood    from    a    little    spill    i    took    /    all    my    old    friends    aren’t    so    friendly    ,        and    all    my    old    haunts    are    now    haunting    me    /    i    can’t    see    the    future    but    i    know    it’s    watching    me    .

MARROW .        a    vague    song    ,        but    one    that    resonates    deeper    with    ronnie    than    she    expected    through    its    undertones    of    feeling    as    though    she’s    not    in    control    of    her    body    .        important    lyrics    to    note    :        i    wish    i    had    a    gentle    mind    and    spine    made    up    of    iron    /    mouth    connects    to    the    teeth    and    teeth    to    the    loves    and    the    curses    /    so    i    pretend    there    aren’t    ten    strings    tied    to    all    ten    of    my    fingers    .

THE PARTY .        a    dreamscape    of    a    song    that    touches    on    her    subtle    alcoholism    and    desperation    for    connections    that    never    come    .        veronica’s    coping    mechanisms    lead    her    into    bad    habits    in    order    to    make    connections    ,        but    ultimately    leave    her    completely    floundering    after    everything’s    over    .        important    lyrics    to    note    :        i’d    pay    anything    to    keep    my    conscience    clean    /    there    aren’t    enough    hands    to    point    all    the    fingers    /    i    lick    the    ice    cube    from    your    empty    glass    /    honey    ,        the    party    ,        you    went    away    quickly    /    i’ve    said    much    too    much    and    they’re    trying    to    sweep    up    .

* JUST THE SAME BUT BRAND NEW .        this    song    is    a    floating    heartbreak    ,        following    the    descent    into    depression    st    vincent    falls    into    after    losing    somebody    she    loves    -        did    she    do    something    wrong    ?        where    do    i    go    from    now    ?        how    do    i    fill    this    hole    in    my    heart    ?        veronica    feels    this    on    a    lesser    level    towards    her    friends    ,        however    few    she    may    have    had    ;        but    in    its    fullest    extent    after    jd    ,        because    despite    everything    (    fear    ,        pain    ,        abuse    )    ,        she    still    loves    him    for    what    she    thought    she    had    .        important    lyrics    to    note    :        so    i    walked    away    all    perfumed    ,        felt    just    the    same    but    brand    new    /    and    anything    you    wrote    i    checked    for    codes    and    clues    /    i    changed    my    ‘a’s    and    ‘i’s    to    yours    /    i    do    my    best    impression    of    weightlessness    now    too    /    i    might    be    wrong    ,        i    might    be    wrong    ,        i    might    be    wrong    ,        but    honey    i    believed    i    could    just    float    away    ,        dangling    .

  ALBUM    THREE    -        STRANGE    MERCY    .

* CHEERLEADER .        a    determined    cry    to    reject    the    role    being    forced    upon    her    ;        a    final    stand    to    shed    the    expectations    thrown    over    her    ,        while    also    reminiscing    on    how    these    constraints    have    forced    veronica    to    become    afraid    of    being    vulnerable    .           important    lyrics    to    note    :        i’ve    had    good    times    with    some    bad    guys    /    i’ve    told    whole    lies    with    a    half    smile    /    i    don’t    know    what    good    it    serves    ,        pouring    my    purse    in    the    dirt    /    i’ve    played    dumb    when    i    knew    better    /    i    don’t    know    what    i    deserve    ,        but    your    you    i    could    work    /    i    don’t    wanna    be    a    cheerleader    no    more    ,        i    don’t    wanna    be    a    dirt    eater    no    more    .

DILETTANTE .        a    brutal    cutting    slice    of    her    and    jason    dean’s    relationship    -        a    desire    to    stay    ,        but    a    desperation    to    bring    their    passion    back    down    to    earth    .        partially    a    love    song    ,        trying    to    preserve    their    fire    without    burning    up    ;        partially    a    lament    about    overcoming    the    fear    of    stagnation    .        important    lyrics    to    note    :        nobody’s    winning    ,        the    sharks    are    swimming    in    the    red    /    while    you    are    sleeping    ,        my    mind    goes    creaking    down    the    wall    /    slow    down    dilettante    so    i    can    limp    beside    you    ,        i’m    following    your    houndstooth    /    street    savant    ,        my    bank    in    my    back    pocket    ,        how    far   you    think    it’d    take    us    ?    /     but    let’s    not    forget    why    we    crawled    here    .

  ALBUM    FOUR    -        ST    VINCENT    .

* PRINCE JOHNNY .        this    is    the    second    song    in    a    trilogy    about    an    archetype    of    a    friend    clarke    has    named    “    johnny    ”    -        this    particular    angle    focuses    on    the    helpless    desperation    to    stop    someone    you    care    about    from    falling    down    a    dangerous    ,        self    -    destructive    path    .        in    veronica’s    eyes    ,        jason    is    her    prince    johnny    .        important    lyrics    to    note    :        prince    johnny    ,        you’re    kind    but    you’re    not    simple    ,        by    now    ,        i    think    i    know    the    difference    /    saw    you    pray    to    all    to    make    you    a    real    boy    /    prince    johnny    ,        you’re    kind    ,        but    do    be    careful    /    don’t    mistake    my    affection    for    another    spit    -    and    -    penny    style    redemption    /    i    wanna    mean    more    than    i    mean    to    you    .

DIGITAL WITNESS .        a    cutting    dialogue    on    the    desperation    for    popularity    ;        in    modern    day    ,        it’s    a    critique    of    social    media    and    societal    pressures    ,        but    in    terms    of    veronica’s    timeline    ,        it    doubles    as    a    light    on    westerburg’s    obsession    with    their    queen    bees    .        important    lyrics    to    note    :        i    want    all    of    your    mind    /    if    i    can’t    show    it    ,        if    you    can’t    see    me    ,        what’s    the    point    of    doing    anything    ?    /    this    is    no    time    for    confessing    /    if    you    can’t    see    me    ,        watch    me    jump    right    off    the    london    bridge    /    get    back    to    your    stare    ,        i    care    ,        but    i    don’t    care    /    what’s    the    point    of    even    sleeping    ?        so    i    stop    sleeping    /    won’t    somebody    sell    me    back    to    me    ?

REGRET .        a    self    -    explanatory    song    ,        in    all    reality    ;        you    are    afraid    to    move    ,        and    your    anxiety    keeps    you    away    from    opportunity    -        before    you    even    realize    you’ve    wasted    your    potential    ,        you’re    doomed    .        veronica    is    trapped    in    a    vicious    cycle    that    won’t    allow    her    to    spread    her    wings    ;        fear    begets    fear    ,        and    life    moves    on    without    her    .        important    lyrics    to    note    :        memories    so    bright    i    gotta    squint    just    to    recall    /    regret    the    words    i’ve    bitten    more    than    the    ones    i    ever    said    /    i’m    afraid    of    heaven    because    i    can’t    stand    the    heights    /    i’m    afraid    of    you    because    i    can’t    be    left    behind    /    oh    well    ,        there’s    a    red    moon    rising    /    the    door    slammed    and    it    felt    like    a    cannonball    .

  ALBUM    FIVE    -        MASSEDUCTION    .

SUGARBOY .        a    mashup    of    a    love    song    and    an    ode    to    vicious    bisexuality    ;        a    heart    that    is    sharp    and    easy    to    slice    yourself    open    on    ,        but    a    reciprocal    appreciation    of    the    danger    that    comes    with    falling    for    someone    .        ronnie’s    sugarboy    is    jason    ;        but    she    also    learns    to    acknowledge    that    she    wouldn’t    have    minded    finding    a    sugargirl    ,        either    .    important    lyrics    to    note    :        sugarboy    ,    i    am    weak    ,        got    a    crush    on    tragedy    /    oh    here    i    go    -        a    tragedy    ,        hanging    off    from    the    balcony    /    making    a    scene    ,        oh    here    i    am    ,        your    pain    machine    /    sugargirl    ,        dissolve    in    me    ,        got    a    crush    from    kicked    -    in    teeth    /    pledge    all    your    allegiance    to    me    /    i    am    a    lot    like    you    ,        i    am    alone    like    you    .

* LOS AGELESS .        again    -        a    mashup    of    a    love    song    ,        and    a    loss    of    all    autonomy    .        what    have    you    lost    ;        a    lover    ,        or    your    sense    of    self    ?        veronica’s    lost    both    ,        and    she    doesn’t    know    what    else    to    do    but    fall    into    the    ease    of    her    prison    position    ,        following    the    orders    of    someone    who    claims    to    know    better    than    she    does    .        important    lyrics    to    note    :        burn    the    pages    of    unwritten    memoires    ,        but    i    can    keep    running    /    but    how    can    i    leave    ?        i    just    follow    the    hood    of    my    car    /    how    can    anybody    have    you    and    lose    you    and    not    lose    their    mind    ,        too    ?    /    i    guess    that’s    just    me    ,        honey    -        i    guess    that’s    how    i’m    built    /    i    try    to    tell    you    i    love    you    ,        but    it    comes    out    all    sick    /    i    try    to    write    you    a    love    song    ,        but    it    comes    out    a    lament    .

SLOW DISCO .        finding    yourself    in    the    crowd    of    a    party    ,        but    not    liking    who    you    see    -        a    contrast    between    the    life    you    should    be    living    ,        and    the    life    you’re    actually    living    .        veronica    falls    to    one    side    more    than    the    other    ,        and    by    trying    to    find    herself    in    other    people    ,        she’s    doing    herself    a    grave    disservice    that    leaves    her    feeling    almost    as    if    she’s    a    ghost    .        important    lyrics    to    note    :        am    i    thinking    what    everybody    else    is    thinking    ?        i’m    so    glad    i    came    but    i    can’t    wait    to    leave    /    slip    my    hand    from    your    hand    ,        leave    you    dancing    with    a    ghost    /    there’s    blood    in    my    ears    and    a    fool    in    the    mirror    /    the    bay    of    mistakes    can’t    get    any    clearer    /    don’t    it    beat    a    slow    dance    to    death    ?

* SMOKING SECTION .        self    -    destruction    .        self    harm    .        the    call    of    the    void    .        suicidal    urges    .        it’s    a    song    about    trying    to    overcome    these    feelings    by    giving    them    a    name    ,        and    remembering    that    they’re    thoughts    you    can    work    through    .        veronica’s    felt    them    her    entire    life    .        important    lyrics    to    note    :        sometimes    i    sit    in    the    smoking    section    ,        hoping    one    rogue    spark    will    land    in    my    direction    /    and    when    you    stomp    me    out    i’ll    scream    and    i’ll    shout    “    let    it    happen    ,        let    it    happen    ,        let    it    happen    ”    /    sometimes    i    stand    with    a    pistol    in    hand    /    sometimes    i    stand    on    the    edge    of    my    roof    ,        and    i    think    i’ll    jump    just    to    punish    you    /    and    then    i    think    ,        what    could    be    better    than    love    ?    /    it’s    not    the    end    ,        it’s    not    the    end    ,        it’s    not    the    end    ,        it’s    not    the    end    .

  BONUS    LEVEL    -        LOVE    THIS    GIANT    .

* ICE AGE .        written    as    a    prequel    of    sorts    to    cheerleader    off    her    album    strange    mercy    ,        clarke    has    said    it’s    a    get    it    together    song    of    sorts    .        veronica’s    in    her    own    ice    age    ;        she’s    frozen    over    to    protect    herself    ,        but    in    doing    so    ,        she’s    deprived    herself    of    the    experience    of    living    .        important    lyrics    to    note    :        oh    ,        diamond    ,        it’s    such    a    shame    to    see    you    this    way    ,        your    own    little    ice    age    /    seams    are    showing    ,        and    you’re    freaking    me    out    /    we    don’t    know    how    much    we’ve    lost    until    the    winter    thaws    /    it’s    close    to    your    bones    ,        it’s    far    from    your    shell    /    feel    it    away    ,        reason    it    out    .   

[faunusrights]

OFFAL HUNT REMASTERED LIVEBLOG // CHAPTERS 10 + 11

we had a week of peace and now we’re gonna get annihilated!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! YAY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! i have no clue how long this liveblog may end up but hell and high water i’m combining them both

she tore the jade pendant from her neck and flung it into the darkness.

let’s give a warm welcome, to sadness,

i’m very excited for all-new cinder content hhhhhhh if u havent gathered by now I Love This Bitch and I Love Her Many Problems so im thankful for this gift 😞

Cinder was a ruin, her pride carved and served like slabs of meat.

i can FEEL diesel n kc rly patting themselves on the back for every bit of wet meat they can toss at me!!!!!!!!!! U HEAR THAT I CAN FEEL U!!!!!!!!!!! but also i still love this shit w/ all my heart!!!!!!!!!! IM NEVER GONNA STOP SAYIN IT

She had never looked at Glynda’s files.

im so sorry cinder baby but that whole thing? is still HILARIOUS oh my GOD i cannot believe you fucked up that badly. u shoved yr entire head into a beartrap. u absolutely crapped yr pants on that one. yr gonna be thinking abt that on yr deathbed,

/looks at the chapter title again

hhhhhhhh im. so pumped. its gonna be hard to talk abt most of this w/o doing a million fingerguns a minute but i’m gonna try my best

Cinder approached the mirror and touched its silvered face with black-tipped claws,

I SAID IM GONNA TRY MY BEST!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

She was iron barbs beneath the nail bed, glowing coals underfoot, the singular capacity to do harm. She was a beast, armed with fang and claw and a deep, dark void where her compassion should have laid, and she was dressed for dinner.

HHHHHH god YES THIS IS THE CINDER IM THIRSTY FOR............ i literally cannot say anything that isnt a massive 👈😎👈 but AAAAAAA

like im reading thru this and i cant cherry-pick lines this whole bit? is SO GOOD...  kc n diesel are Yet Again obliterating me w/ their mastery of the narrative style of offal hunt and i just love all of this i rly wish i could explain how offal hunt is EXACTLY MY BRAND!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! F U C K

The final touch on her mastercraft disaster: the four sawed-off horn stumps which grew among her silver-streaked hair.

HOOOO B O I i am. Losin it!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I LOVE HER HORNS.......... CINDR...............

Wretchedly, she wondered: did Glynda even respect her now?

any other villain: my plan didnt work and im mad >:( cinder fall: my plan didnt work and now im mad but also mostly sad :(

CINDER’S TRYING HER BEST GOD.......... i literally hate how the remaster has made her So Soft, Actually... I BELIEVE IN U CINDER!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I LOVE U!!!!!!!!!!!!! DO YR BEST

Every part of her was hot and hollow. She was sick with loathing.

i LOVE HER.... CINDER I HOPE U KNO THAT YR LOVED... god tho i dont like how SAD I AM RN... cinder’s so small and the world is so big and wants 2 Shit On Her blease

honestly like. im rly- LOOK I SAID THIS BEFORE BUT. this is why im rly lovin the new cinder content because in the first version we only got glimpses of her internal machinations and now we’re in full-blown Always Sad territory and everything is suffering :)

She blinked. Her double did not.

‘well’, thought murphy. ‘that’s terrifying.’

she’d only survived thanks to a keen instinct for danger, cultivated during her tenuous teenage years.

i NEED. I NEED. CINDER BACKSTORY. all these lil nuggets dont constitute a meal! I WANT A BIG MAC AND FRIES. WHAT THE HELL WAS THIS BABY DOING!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

also again. the body horror of offal hunt? peak content. Im Lovin It

its getting harder to divine what is and what is not a 👈😎👈 because we got bits sprinkled around and theres only rly a spoiler potential if u glue em all together so im still being extra careful and the answer is blared in everyones faces so this whole kondor scene will go uncommented unless some Bullshit Happens which it will, so,

When she had become so invested in Glynda’s approval? When had a desire to be recognized as something inhuman, something ferocious, something black and terrible and capable of keeping up with Glynda Fucking Goodwitch turned into this?

oh! oh! i have the answer! i do! i know the answer! it’s you a lesbian,

The spectres of her youth haunted this city, owl-eyed children and fox-eared teens. They’d been a second sort of family, the only kind she’d had within these walls, and she’d wondered what had become of them in the past decades, but…

It was too sentimental, and she wasn’t meant to be a creature of sentiment.

oh boy okay wow

okay so actually this bit made me cry??? fuck OFF im losing it!!!!!!!! LET HER BE SENTIMENTAL!!!! LET HER HAVE PPL TO CARE ABT!!!!!!!!!! IM LITERALLY CRYING IM GONNA DIE!!!!!!!!!

She would go barefoot from this point on, her heels clutched at her side. When she left the hotel room to steal into the night, she promised herself not to look back.

im sorry im just. so sad rn. i havent cried over a fic in YEARS and we still have another chapter ago i hate this SO MUCH..............

here comes chapter 11 

if i cry even once more im going to stab!!!!!! im not sure what BUT ILL STAB!!!!!!!!!!!!

Even without his wings, the Manticore would easily have been twice the size of any of the other Grimm, far outstripping them in sheer bulk.

HATI!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! HATI HATI HATI

holy shit we actually get to see him this time!!!!!!!!!!! WE GET TO SEE THIS LEGENDARY BOY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! THIS CHONCC,

also hes a manticore now which is, Radical, may i just say, and just a little bit sexy,

The effortless grace in each move betrayed power most Grimm would not live to achieve. Once he stood, he had to dip his head low to meet her eye to eye. His canines were the length of her forearm.

if u werent here for the remaster? we never even SAW hati but now hes here, hes Big, and rly thats all that matters,

Like a child who’d been allowed to lie and lie until at last they’d strangled themself in the web they’d spun, Cinder couldn’t speak. Could only wait on his verdict.

every single one of cinder’s inherent themes is killing me and this business w/ family? stop. im dying. this is rude

The scant space between them popped and cracked like an sparking flame, warm and effervescent, and this time, Cinder lingered, hugging Hati close.

IF I CRY ONCE MORE!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I MEAN IT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! IF U ASSHOLES MAKE ME CRY ONCE MORE I WILL DOXX YOU,

aaaaaaaaaaaaaah im loving this content i rly dont have words for it dhjfgsdfgjh i just, rly like the words, and the order theyre in, and i honestly keep forgetting to liveblog it cause i just wanna READ EM!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Tempting as it was—as it always had been, ever since she’d left the relative safety of the wastes and learned what happened to scraggly-limbed teens with horns and fangs and gleaming eyes—

with every chapter i desperately have 2 kno more abt baby cinder i HAVE to know i am so. UNBEARABLY CURIOUS... baby cinder what happened... what happened 2 u....

A lantern’s glow warmed her, bleeding into the darkness leeching at them both. It was a gentle gold across her skin, and like an answering signal from a distant outpost, Cinder saw a flush of light through the dark fur lining Hati’s throat, as though flames licked at his insides.

i forgot. that cinder glows like that when she feels Loved or full of pride and you know what i dont like these chapters. they were made to hurt me and i Dont Like That (im mclovin it)

From the safety of Hati’s neck, she found it easier—after all this time, he was still her bastion.

WHEN YOU REALISE? THAT YR ACTIONS HAVE CONSEQUENCES?? STOP,

For a regular person, the machine would be able to draw out short bursts of power, the likes of which no Semblance could ever channel. The taxation would eventually destroy the soul so deeply, so thoroughly, as to leave it empty for good.

For a Witch? For—

the fact. she cut herself off before she could think ‘for glynda’. has me on the FLOOR. this bit is just So Much i dont like it

Glynda Goodwitch would not abandon this hunt. Cinder knew it, had read it from her palms like an open book—Glynda Goodwitch did not know how to stop. If it had been anyone else on Remnant, they might never return, might never pull themselves back into action after today—but Glynda did not have a shred of self-preservation.

me, knocking against cinder’s head: u kno for someone w/ so many schemes in yr brain yr pretty dumb and gay, huh,

firstly let’s talk abt cinder’s “””””””””””””””””””self-preservation””””””””””””””””””” instin-- whats that? not found? yes

[Glynda’s] eyes were empty, hungry, insatiable.

i feel like ive read this line before! lets jump back a chapter--

In [Cinder’s] eyes, there was a subtle, endless hunger.

WAKE UP CINDER SHE’S YR SOULMATE!!!!!!!!!!! THE COFFEE’S READY U CAN SMELL THE BACON FROM HERE WAKE UP!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

With a fluid leap, they were in the air, the ground quickly shrinking beneath them. Pressing her face against his neck to shield herself from the wind, she closed her eyes and prepared herself for what was to come, trusting Hati to deliver her safely.

that said i ADORE my boy hati is literally the best part of offal hunt kc and diesel do not interact,

He was frozen in horrific anticipation, like watching an imminent tragedy and being absolutely helpless to stop it. Like all the tension was mixed with grief and hopeless, futile fear.

when will offal hunt be nice to me. when will any of these characters get to be happy. hello. im full of sadness.

The sound was like a saw working back and forth, but resonating inside her head, rattling every tooth in her jaw, deafening to her ears.

im literally gritting my teeth at this i can hear it in my own head and its Very Bad!!!!!!!!!!!!! GOD AAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

okay god i can barely handle to quote anything more this bit is hurting ME so lets swiftly move on before I Die

Cinder closed her weary eyes, sinking into sleep like a shallow grave.

BE NICE TO HER!!!!!!!!!!!!!! BE NICE TO HER JUST THIS ONCE, PLEASE, IM BEGGING YOU,

They only knew death, only ever sought death; fangs and claws slicked with blood, magic rending meat and marrow apart, and everywhere that choking, scalding heat, spilled blood like magma, like the core of a planet.

hmm... that seems like a 👈😎👈 ~reference~

They were all alert, ears pricked, hackles raised like Hati’s. They all fixed on the same spot, somewhere beyond the darkness of the cave opening, and though she could barely think, she knew:

She was out of time. The Witch was here.

oh no.

okay so THATS CHAPTERS 10 AND 11! i only cried ONCE and u kno what thats. a Victory. these two chapters were VERY GOOD i rly loved em and i can tell new readers r gonna have a blast w/ this shit!!!!!!!!!! meanwhile i, a veteran reader, am full of peril,

terrible.

[dent-de-leon]

Keith (for character meme) cause I love it whenever you talk about him. ͡° ͜ʖ ͡ –

Why I like them: This honestly requires like, five entire essays on it’s own. Keith, to me, is an incredibly well developed, multifaceted character. I was drawn to him from the very first episode, from the moment I saw him charge the garrison eyes blazing, vindictive and vengeful–only for that fire to smother as soon as he laid eyes on Shiro, suddenly soft and vulnerable. From the moment he tried so hard to bond with his Lion. From the moment he said, “It was an honor flying with you boys.” I loved how he came across as harsh and cold to the others, but was so clearly struggling with his emotions and a very withdrawn, albeit passionate–compassionate–person. I love how gentle and nurturing he actually is by nature, how he’s incredibly protective with a fierce believe in fighting for good and defending others.

He’s someone who’s been burned by fate at every turn, who has no family to speak of, who lost his only friend and wondered out into the desert with nothing to lose. I found him incredibly relatable–with his fear of rejection, with how he pushed others away to avoid getting too close. With his passionate and vivid his emotions were, to the point of becoming overwhelmed and requiring a means to cope–“Patience yields focus.” Someone who was a bit touch averse yet still craved comfort–with Shiro especially he becomes particularly tactile. Someone with definitive personal loyalties even at the stake of the mission–see: every time he goes back on an objective in order to prioritize Shiro’s safety. I felt for those aspects of Keith acutely, and his character’s become very close to my heart ever since. 

Ostracized on Earth, only to feel isolated once again in space when he realizes he’s not so human. Someone unable to properly let his walls down and feels a very distinct disconnect from others, who struggled with control of his incredibly volatile emotions but so badly wanted to do “better” and regain control. Someone who so desperately wants to be “good,” who literally says, after finding out he too is galra–“But at the same time, couldn’t some of them be fighting for good?” Despite being logical and analytical, Keith is ultimately ruled by his heart and sense of morality, and it’s a very striking combination to me. That he’d do so much to save the universe that threw him away? It really resonates with me. 

Why I don’t: Antis claiming that Keith is a child and Shiro’s blood brother and also desperately longing after Lance since the garrison–despite, you know, not even knowing Lance’s name. The fact that those fans reduce him to such uncharacteristically base caricatures with little no regard for his feelings and agency. The fact that he’s supposedly “pretty” enough to be Lance’s prize and is little more than award to be given to Lance to show he’s finally “surpassed” Keith and become “superior” to him. The fact that anti’s k/l fanon dominates misinterpretation of him in fandom to the point where he’s completely unrecognizable. The fact that his relationship with Shiro is constantly trivialized, erased, reduced to “brothers” to avoid competition, or flat out edited out in favor of Lance because somehow that’s “better.” Despite, you know, Shiro being the only person that never abandoned Keith. I’m bothered by that same brand of fanon making Keith more promiscuous to suit k/l fanon while still claiming he’s apparently a child. 

Worst of all, I’m completely bothered by this same exact brand of fanon claiming they love Keith, but then hating him whenever he gets significant screen time, plot, background, or development that does not in any way shape or form serve either Lance or k/l. Because there’s this notion in fandom that Keith is meant to be seen and not heard, that he’s pretty and a pining hot mess for Lance and should step aside and let Lance lead in a heartbeat because he doesn’t deserve any narrative or agency beyond that. I’m sick of it. 

Favorite episode (scene if movie): Either Blade Of Marmora, Changing the Guard, Across the Universe, or Code of Honor. Yeah, I like a lot of Keith episodes–and sheith. It’s honestly really just too hard for me to pick at this point. Any episode that really explores Keith’s galra side and his bond with Shiro really speak to me. BOM especially really hit me, and had me tearing up a bit. Same with Changing the Guard. The latter and Code of Honor especially really instill you with this sense of hopelessness, this vivid fear that you can’t save everyone, that no matter how hard Keith tries he’ll keep losing the people close to him. It’s a detriment to his protective instincts, to this natural inclination to throw his own life on the line to shield everyone else. Keith’s such a caring, compassionate person. And it’s so heart wrenching when the narrative claws away at that weakness. 

Favorite season/movie: Season 2 had some prime Keith content, finally making tons of headway with Keith’s identity and backstory. Keith was badly in need of some development up until then–I still remember the show runners saying Keith had the least lines out of all of Team Voltron in season 1, even Coran. Keith’s motivations and background were a complete mystery, and it was so amazing to see those complex aspects of his character finally explored. Seeing how he connected to his galran side and had to learn to accept himself, to realize that things are never quite so black and white–I thought that was all a very interesting take on his character. Especially how resistant he is about eventually leading Voltron. And how that resistance stems from his very haunting fear of losing Shiro. 

But I mean, my heart also really felt for him in season 3. Again, I deeply relate to Keith, and seeing him go through those motions of grief, depressed and longing for this person he lost, trying his best to reach and reconnect, never losing faith–that hit me. Seeing Keith still believing in Shiro and refusing to move on, seeing him connect with Black as his last link to Shiro, watching him try to navigate his new room because of how strongly he believes in Voltron’s cause and Shiro’s last wishes. Seeing him have those grief-laden outbursts, still carrying a torch for Shiro when everyone told him to move on, relentlessly striving to save Shiro because he knew no one else would–it really hit me. Felt very viscerally real. 

Favorite line: Soooo many this is just…really incredibly difficult, oh man. Right now I’m very partial to, “As many times as it takes.” When he says it his voice is just so soft, so heartwarming and unabashed and reassuring, it’s just…the very intimately sweet moment where both his and Kuron’s feelings are laid bare. I love it. 

Favorite outfit: HIS BOM SUIT!! Both suits. But I’m really partial to new one right now cause I’m also loving the mask and hood :’) He looks so good I cry…really badly need the money and ability to cosplay that,, 

OTP: I literally don’t even need to describe this one because I’ve written like who knows how many fucking essays on it but,, sheith. Sheith. Sheith. Sheith. “Shiro and Keith have the closest relationship.” “His guiding light.” “Nothing was worth Shiro’s pain.” Take your pick. They’re in love and intimately connected throughout the narrative and they deserve each other, alright. Unconditional love and support at its finest.

Brotp: Mentioned here in Allura’s post, but Keith and Allura! 

Head Canon: Keith and Shiro used to go out on late ride into the dessert on the red hover bike. They’d stop by the old shack and take a look at the stars and just…stop and appreciate those quiet, precious moments together they have. 

Unpopular opinion: Keith has no romantic interest in Lance and k/l would not only make no sense for the character, it would detract from him. He’s also not an angry, irrational hothead, nor is he by any means dumb or cruel. He doesn’t enjoy clashing heads with Lance, as clearly evident from he’s the one who tries to patch things up first and it was Lance who projected his insecurities onto Keith and sparked a one-side rivalry with unwarranted hostility. 

A wish: When all is said and done, at the end, Keith and Shiro are still together. Whether it’s back at the old shack or stranded on the other side of the universe, no matter what, they still have each other. 

An oh-god-please-dont-ever-happen: Canon k/l because it wouldn’t make any sense and I care about Keith’s feelings, character, and development–all of which would have to be ceded for Lance’s sake and I’d hate every minute of it. 

5 words to best describe them: Loyalty. Protective. Knight. Passionate. Driven.  

My nickname for them: Star Knight ^^ ✨ 

[mermaidsirennikita]

October 2017 Book Roundup

As much as I tried to stick with ~spooky~ books, I found that a lot of the horror novels I looked at (especially those written by men, to be honest) seemed incredibly cliche or just... grimdark.  You have to have a good story, you know?  So I drifted into more familiar territory with fantasy quite often--though I did read one really good horror novel at the end of the month--and threw in a thriller.  But my favorite book of the month was An Enchantment of Ravens by Margaret Rogerson, a darkly whimsical, romantic fairy tale.  Another YA fantasy standout, if you’re looking for diverse reads written by Own Voices authors was Forest of a Thousand Lanterns by Julie C. Dao, the origin story of Snow White’s evil queen with a dose of East Asian mythology.  But all in all, it was a good month, especially after a couple months with rather meh ratings.

An Enchantment of Ravens by Margaret Rogerson.  5/5.  Isobel has built a reputation as a portrait painter of the fair folk.  Fairies from far and wide come to the town of Whimsy to have their portraits done by her, and so it’s no surprise that Rook, the autumn prince, wants the same.  But after Isobel paints mortal sorrow in Rook’s eyes, his authority is questioned and he spirits her away to stand trial for the crime--but their journey is treacherous, and even their attraction toward each other presents a challenge.  For if a fairy and a mortal fall in love, they break the Good Law--and are condemned to death.  Okay, so this is definitely a whimsical “girl gets whisked off to fairy land by hot fairy, romance ensues” story but a) what the fuck is wrong with that and b) I???  Loved???  It???  This is no Sarah J. Maas bullshit.  Rook is not only a bit scary but hilariously inhuman, making him a totally lovable character, not all rapey and weird like most hot dude fairies in recent YA.  His feelings for Isobel seem completely real, and aren’t presented in an over the top way.  The book maintains the sense of a fairy tale, but it’s also funny and Isobel has a sense of practicality that’s juxtaposed to the world she lives in.  If you want to get swept away, this is a book for you.

Hex by Thomas Olde Heuvelt.  1/5.  A small town is haunted by an actual witch (not the ghost of the witch, or at least not from what I could tell) who, after being unjustly executed centuries before, wanders about with her arms bound to her sides and her eyes and mouth sewn shut.  In order to keep everyone safe, the townspeople--who are unable to leave after moving there and encountering the witch--use surveillance systems to monitor the Black Rock Witch.  But, unable to abide by the strict regulations, teenagers make her presence go viral, causing a downward spiral in their society.  Basically, I wanted to read more horror this month and going onward, and this sounded cool...  It isn’t.  It’s basically a rundown of the various ways in which the Black Rock Witch and the other women of the town are lesser than the men, caricatures of themselves, or punching bags.  When teen boys started talking shit about the witch getting “wet” for them, I was... kind of getting over the book.  By the end, I was rolling my eyes.  And it is incredibly slow, so be warned--cool concept, shittiest of executions.

From Here to Eternity by Caitlin Doughty.  4/5.  Progressive mortician and proponent of erasing the fear of death Caitlin Doughty traveled the world “in search of the good death”, observing various rituals surrounding death and grieving.  This is basically her memoir of that time, divided from place to place.  Caitlin also hosts the web series “Ask a Mortician” and wrote the great “Smoke Gets In Your Eyes” about her time as a crematorium employee, and honestly... she seems like a super cool person, and it shows through her writing.  She’s frank without being unsympathetic, and even when she disagrees with people (she doesn’t only discuss cultures of whose practices she approves, which I appreciated) there’s a ton of respect and understanding on her end.  But she also expects respect in return, and is very frank regarding her own views.  The book is part death, part travel, and it’s also incredibly interesting and human.  The only critique I can make is that I wish Caitlin had been able to go to other countries just to cover even more, but I understand the limitations there.

I Let You Go by Clare Mackintosh.  3/5.  Following the hit and run killing of five year old Jacob, Jenna Gray runs off a small Welsh town to hide from the death of her child and everything that preceded it.  As her story unfolds, the parallel narrative of the cops struggling to figure out what happened during that hit and run is detailed.  I was promised Gone Girl fuckery, but while this was a good and entertaining thriller, it wasn’t anywhere near as subversive as Gone Girl.  It’s not paint by numbers either, and is definitely interesting.  But don’t expect something out there.

Uprooted by Naomi Novik.  4/5.  In Agnieszka’s small village home, a girl is chosen every ten years by the Dragon, their wizard protector in the cursed Wood.  Agnieszka is sure that her best friend, the beautiful Kasia, will be the next girl chosen--so imagine her shock when the Dragon selects her.  This is one of those stories that feels very classically fairy tale-ish, with lovely writing and tons of magic.  It gets points for focusing on the friendship between Kasia and Agnieszka and going places I didn’t expect--but I do wish more page-time had been given to the romance.  It didn’t have to be central, but what we got was good and I wanted more.

Forest of A Thousand Lanterns by Julie C. Dao.  4/5.  The beautiful and poor Xifeng lives in a small village, constantly tormented by her controlling aunt Guma while stealing away to meet her lover Wei in secret.  Guma has great plans for Xifeng, seeing the throne of Feng Lu in her future.  But there will also be a price to pay for that throne.  Running away with Wei, Xifeng arrives at the palace, only to find a caring empress--who she believes that she’s destined to replace--and enemies on every side.  This is a reimagining of Snow White’s Evil Queen, drawing from Chinese mythology.  It takes a while to get going, but once it grabbed my attention--specifically, when Xifeng arrived at the palace--I was gripped.  Xifeng is a compelling and ruthless protagonist, who I’d hesitate to call a heroine.  The book doesn’t have a lot of black and white good and evil.  A few characters fell somewhat flat, but as the book went along it became stronger and stronger, and by the end I was dying for the sequel.

Wild Beauty by Anna-Marie McLemore.  3/5.  For generations, the Nomeolvides women have been the caretakers of La Pradera, a famous garden estate.  But they have a secret: if a Nomeolvides woman falls in love, her lover will disappear.  Five girls of the current generation--cousins--are in love with the same girl, and terrified of her disappearing.  But suddenly a boy appears, rather than disappearing, and the girls are thrown into disarray, questioning his origins and what it means for their family.  McLemore is a beautiful writer; I’m so jealous of her ability to craft sentences.  This is a true magical realism book, which makes sense as McLemore is Latina, and the genre was crafted by Latinx writers (and thanks to a certain hugely popular white writer dabbling in magical realism lately, it’s been a hot topic).  I will say that for all that the book was beautifully written, I didn’t connect to the characters as I have with past books, and the plot was a little hard to grasp at times.  But it was still lovely.

The Last Days of Jack Sparks by Jason Arnopp.  4/5.  The book is set up as the final manuscript of Jack Sparks, annoying atheist and shock-value journalist.  The book was meant to be Sparks’s attempt to take down the supernatural, following his previous publishing success/personal disaster, in which he tried “every drug” and ended up with a cocaine addiction.  Sparks’s journey takes on exorcisms and combat magicians, and--as we know from the foreword by his brother--ends in his death.  But as for what happens between then and the beginning--that’s where things get interesting.  The book is creepy; actually, the creepiest parts are that Jack’s an unreliable narrator, and you’re never sure what is real, what his his intentional embellishment, and what is something he literally forgot due to the supernatural events occurring.  Jack is a dick, which is kind of good because the shit that happens to him happening to a good person would be hard to read.  But he’s a good character, and certainly grows and unveils his true self throughout the book.  It’s a super entertaining, sometimes spooky ride through a man’s descent into the paranormal, and maybe madness too.

[wakraya]

Hiveswap Teaser #2 Analysis

So, first of all, HYPE. Although I never stopped being Hyped but. MORE HYPE. Before I start talking at all about the teaser trailer, I gotta say, I’m glad WP are taking their time refining and bug-fixing to make a great game for us to enjoy, and knowing how far along it is and how close the release date might be, we’ll wait to see how it comes out!

Okay so the teaser, first we start with what seems like Joey peeping into the attic of the house through a hole. That already makes me feel we’ll get the little tease of knowing where to go but forbidding us from seeing what’s behind the cool curtain until we find the key that opens the door there.

There are a LOT of guns, some sarcophagus, tons of horse imagery, statues in the background, mirrors, Jake sure loves tossing stuff he finds during his adventures around the house! The multitude of items frame the centerpiece of the portal quite well, and the eerie glow gives-

Wait.

Okay, wait, what the FUCK JAKE.

DO YOU SEE WHAT I’M SEEING?

WHERE THE HELL DID JAKE GET THE CLOCK?!

We start /well/ if this is the kind of shenanigans Hiveswap has prepared for us, oh my god. This means that by this point in the timeline, Jake had access to SBURB stuff, though, so that’s an interesting thing to have in mind.

The camera zooms on the portal, and then Joey appears, reaching over to expose it, before cutting to the title. Hiveswap.

Can I say, I’m really glad about the direction they took with the 2D stuff. Everything looks so good, Joey’s expressions and movement are so sweet. I love her already.

The next scene cuts to Jude using a flare gun (Which we see later in his inventory) likely to warn Joey or to use it as a distraction somewhere else? The pile of leaves right under the window makes me think he’ll have to hop right off the window and into it in the future. There’s also a fountain on the wall that looks like a Lich, further confirming Jake’s already gone hunting to the Medium by this point. Also, the sky, the clouds, the background, looks absolutely GORGEOUS.

Then the flare lands in front of the house, and here we can see a few things. First of all, the statue. Of course. And also, I bet Jude cut the bushes to look like Nessie because he’s a cryptid fan. However, there’s a thing I just realised. I don’t know if this was a detail in the prior trailer or not but...

Doesn’t the house look just... Not taken care of? The previews of the inside, all the stuff just thrown everywhere, I assumed Jake was just kinda like that, messy. But the look of the house on the outside, with the broken pillars and the vegetation growing everywhere. The broken glass is likely from the monsters, but otherwise...

Jake. How long have you left those two poor kids alone? Not to say, wherever ‘Hauntswich’ is, there doesn’t seem to be a soul ANYWHERE in the surrounding area except for their creepy neighbours.

Next, Joey is crawling through the vents, either to get in or escape from some monsters, and while happy, soon the vents shake and her expression shifts. The way her expression dynamically changes like that, I love it, makes me think a lot about some Homestuck panels. That being said, either the vent is shaky, there’s something BIG and lumbering down the halls of the manor, or the damage to the house is more extensive than it appears.

Then, oh boy the UI looks neat! Worried Joey wanders the halls of her basement, I presume. The X at the top-left might be to make the UI disappear, or perhaps a quick quit to the game? Options on the top-right, help... Then, the inventory seems managed with Captcha Cards, of course. Easy to access and drag around to combine with stuff. Then there’s her battle... Stances? Weapons? There’s what seems like a ‘stomp’, her normal shoes. Then ballerina shoes, and her flashlight.

This makes me wonder how the combat system is. Furthermore- Joey seems to have the shoe selected! What’s that for? Maybe to hint that’s what you want to do in a sneak attack? Or is it not the weapons, and just something more like her ‘stance’? But if it was her stance, wouldn’t the flashlight be the one chosen right now? We’ll see how that works.

Of course, more to the right, there’s the character... Selector? Right now we have Joey, and you can talk with your Jude with a Walkie-Talkie. Straight-forward enough.

Also Jake, please.

Jude’s side of things isn’t looking too hot. That mansion looks fucking MASSIVE. It looks more like a village, but everything’s too... Bunched up together for that to be the case. Lumbering shadows, just there. Staring. The view is amazing, but very, very eerie. Here we see he only has a flare gun- Which we see him using earlier. Again, straight-forward enough.

Now is when things start getting interesting.

First of all, the new design of the Cherub Key is amazing. Cherub Teeth are the fangs, with the Calliope-Caliborn spiral in the middle, and the snakes coiling up. But also-

IT’S ALIVE? JESUS THAT’S CREEPY.

Creepiness aside, I like this much, much more. The one preview we had when it was still 3D had Joey actually reaching in to turn it on herself, just out of pure curiosity. In this situation, however? She’s being /dragged/ by the key, forced to open the portal, not by her own volition. This makes much more sense narrative-wise, and also makes me wonder if the key itself is a Juju. The lollipop forced Jane to lick it after all, and Jake has the CLOCK, so a Juju key with a Juju teleporter? Yeah, that fits.

The cherub snake-beams activate and... Okay, while the glow of the energy is red on the Caliborn snake and green on the Calliope one, both the eyes AND the sparks around the energy are green on both sides. Maybe the teleporter uses First Guardian energy in some capacity?

Finally, we switch to the Trolls! Xefros is a cutie, and that’s some RADICAL VIOLET BLOOD riding a... Bronze grub. That sure’s a way to promote the drink. Anyone can decypher what the can says?

Then we have a first GOOD look at Xefros’ Hive! There’s a picture of the Sloth Lusus, Xefros and Dammek. Cute. Also there’s a tree going through the entire top, maybe his hive is like Terezi’s? It could be, his Lusus IS a Sloth, and Joey switches with Dammek, so it’d make sense Dammek is the one with the more urban hive.

We see an Alternian Phone, some videogame, with HEXAGONAL DISCS. I don’t care if it’s more bug-like, that’s so incredibly inconvenient and asinine, Hussie, What Pumpkin. >:V Then of course, theres Trizza broadcasting her memes permanently on the TV, and the first look at Xefros’ weapon of choice! Which seems to be a... Cricket bat? Cool.

Then Xefros slams the can of soda against his forehead to crush it. Nice.

This is a lovely look at the urban look of Alternia. It’s curious, Trolls are nocturnal so I expected to see more activity at night. Then again, Drones have been taking Trolls to cull, so it’d make sense if they’re all hiding.

ALSO DAMMEK’S LUSUS! They’re riding it around :D Likely going from Dammek’s place and towards Xefros’ if he does live in a tree-Hive. The background of the Alternian Landscape is absolutely haunting.

We have a VS Screen! Not only that, but Joey’s reaction to each enemy and situation seems to vary from one to the next. That’s a nice touch.

Joey, you’re being unnecessarily extra. That’s Jude’s pigeon though, and the bat monster seems surprised by Joey’s dramatic entrance!

Okay so, the thing at the bottom seems like it’s maybe the battle system? The right arrow points at Joey, so maybe it’s her turn and when it’s the monster’s it points left. Then the three spikes at the top might expand into something like. Abscond, Abjure, Aggrieve? Again, I have no idea how the system will work. Also, the bat seems confused and bouncing around. It’s hard to tell if this is RIGHT after the Vs Screen, and being surprised made it flip the fuck out, or if Joey did something that confused it and made it bounce around.

The state of the kitchen really drives home the fact Jake has been an absent father for a VERY LONG TIME. Have they just been ordering noodles to eat all this time? I can see some adorable pictures on the fridge.

There she goes. What do you wanna bet that in Hauntswitch Act 1 we get a scene exactly like this but with Dammek’s silhouette going down the red shaft?

Me too, Joey. Me too.

Finally, “The door is nearly open” seems like a reference to the little line on the Hiveswap page: “First thing's first. You need to open the door.”

Conclusion: I NEED THIS GAME NOW. Patiently waiting for it to come out, still very hype.

[delicatefury]

TDPL 500 kudos snippet: Shadow of Vader

As promised, here’s snippet.

Disclaimer: I haven’t… exactly… seen the Mortis arc. I know of it thanks to fic and wookiepedia. I know enough to know what happens to Anakin and that I HATE the implications of the Father, Son, and Daughter and the Chosen One Prophecy (I know I’ve mentioned how much I despise the introduction of this prophecy into the Star Wars mythos before. It’s unnecessary and messy and destroys more of the narrative than it adds).

But after writing about Anakin’s promise to Leia that he’d never become (like) their father, this begged to be written.

As of now this snippet is not canon to TDPL. There’s a lot of stuff that will happen before I get to this point, and Obi-Wan’s unique situation will have to be explored before I touch Mortis with a 29-and-a-half foot pole, and really it should probably not end up anything like the original to be honest and… now I’m rambling. Basically, if everything stays the same between Anakin’s promise to Leia and Mortis (but it won’t, of course it won’t) this is what might happen.

Warning: Angst ahead

“You liar!”

Obi-Wan looks stricken. A dawning horror breaking past his Jedi stoicism as he tries to grab Anakin’s attention back to himself.

Good.

Let Obi-Wan feel the failure for once. Let him fear for the safety of a loved one. Anakin simply grins at his frail old master. The barest threads of focus and will are all that are keeping the man together.

He can feel the Dark snapping at his heels, an acidic presence eager to obey his whims. The Force fully obedient to him. It begs to be allowed at the new plaything standing on the ridge of the hill. Pleads to destroy one of the annoying little lights that took Obi-Wan away from his side.

“That’s what Obi-Wan does, little one. That’s what all the Jedi do. They lie.” He smiles at little Leia Whitesun as she glares down at him. “They lie and they lie and they lie. They say they are compassionate and then judge you when your mother dies. They say they’ll help the galaxy but then frustrate the only one who really wants to save it. They tell you that you’re powerful but then hobble you with their stupid, arbitrary rules!”

Obi-Wan is attempting to stand again, so Anakin knocks him down with a sharp kick to the knee.

“Not him, you sand-gargling Hutt slime!” Leia shrieks. In a distant part of his mind, one drowning in the darkness, suffocating under the weight of the visions he’s been shown, he can’t help but see the echo of Padmé in the girl, in her powerful stance and the righteous fury in her eyes. Though Padmé would never scream insults at him. Not his Angel.

Because of that difference, the rest of him is annoyed.

“You’d do well to remember your place, padawan.”

The Dark begs to crush the life out of the child’s pale throat, to smother the spark out of the defiant eyes. Promises the power to save all he loves, to bind Obi-Wan to his side, mow down Padmé’s enemies, bring Snips back to life, if only he’ll sacrifice this one child.

He brings the Force to heel. He is the master here. He’ll decide who to sacrifice and who to spare. And it would be so much better if Obi-Wan chooses to stay with him of his own will. And the quickest way to a master is through their padawan. And oh, isn’t that anger perfect? All fuming and defiant.

The Force is thick on this planet and it responds to the strong emotions of its children. It kicks up a wind around her feet, pulling at the loose hairs falling from the intricate braids Ahsoka had put them in that morning.

Kark, was it only this morning?

“You are a Force-forsaken liar! You promised! You swore you wouldn’t be like him! You swore to me!”

Her ire perplexes him. Can’t she see he is going to save them all? He’ll end this war. And if either side refuses to see reason, he’ll make them. What promise could stand up to that?

“You said you’d never be like my father!” She hasn’t moved, so he has to come to her, stepping around Obi-Wan to do so. It’s a nice power play, and one he’ll allow to happen. Even with the incline he towers over the tiny padawan, barely a teenager.

So why does he feel like she’s brought him low?

Her father… she thought he was acting like the man who would torture his own daughter, harm his own son, and burn the galaxy behind him.

Instantly that pain turns to anger. “I am nothing like that,” he roars, bringing the full weight of his presence bearing down on her.

“No!” Obi-Wan cries from his place on the ground. Anakin doesn’t even look at him when he flings his pain and anger at the other man. But Leia stands strong, an unmoving column in the face of Anakin’s tremendous rage.

“You are exactly like him,” she grinds out.

No. This isn’t how things are supposed to go. Don’t they understand? He’s doing this, all this, for them! If the stubborn child would just listen-

His arm is up before he can register moving it, hand extended. Leia goes stiff as a board, her widened eyes the only sign of her fear. The Force roars in triumph and Anakin clenches his fist tighter.

“Anakin! Let. Her. Go.” It is all the warning he gets before Obi-Wan’s presence at his back… waivers. Bleeds at the edges then disappears completely. Just as suddenly, the connection between Anakin and his opponent is severed. Leia drops to the ground, rubbing her throat; winded but not too incapacitated to glare at him in disgust.

No… no. Obi-Wan’s not gone. He can’t find Obi-Wan’s presence because there are traces everywhere. Whispers of the man saturate the Force.

“Of course, you coward, you are not like my father at all,” the girl sneers past the raspiness in her voice. “You’d never attack someone weaker than you for having the audacity to disagree with you. What next? Will we be forced to adore you at blaster point? Take away our freedom to ensure our safety? Do your worst, Vader.”

That name, the name she calls him, spat out with the same vehemence with which she says “Father” cuts through him.

Suddenly he can’t breath. His ears are full of the sound that haunted his visions. The one that undercut the screams, the cries for help. That sound of mechanized breathing pervades his existence. It is echoing inside his head again, he can feel it rattle his bones, but this vision, this experience is somehow worse. There’s a pressure on his chest, and a weight on his limbs.

His lungs burn, his skin burns, the light burns but there is no relief. He wants to sob with the pain of it, but he can’t. The air cycles in and out steadily despite his wishes. He goes cold despite the unending fire. That monstrous noise… it’s him. It is his own lungs working. Not of his own volition, but at the whim of some machine.

His vision has gone strangely red, but he can see Leia scramble to escape him, escape from the monster he has become. For the first time since the Son gave him this gift, she is afraid of him. Not of what he can do, but of him. The type of fear that can drive out any care, any compassion, any love. The same fear he had worked so hard to overcome with her.

No, no, no! This isn’t what he wanted at all.

As he reaches for her, trying to calm her, to reassure her, he catches sight of his hands. Both of them are black clad. Both lack the fine sense of touch his flesh hand has. And he is bombarded with another round of visions. Sparring with Leia in the temple. Improving Artoo with Luke. Flying with Ahsoka. Breakfast with his little temple family at the Kenobi-Whitesun rooms. He wants to gasp, wants to sob, but he machine won’t let him and the visions won’t stop. They take a darker turn.

Leia in the temple hall, dressed in regal gowns and not Jedi robes, trembling behind the protective figure of Bail Organa, bowing her head before him, before his Master. Leia full grown, red tinted but dressed neck to toe in white, sneering at him from between two republic guards. Leia screaming at him as some horrific droid closes in on her. Leia snarling disdain despite a collected facade, glaring at him over the barrel of a blaster. Leia collapsing in grief as Han, their Han, is lowered into carbonite.

Then it is Luke he sees. Luke in Tatooian garb, screaming at him with the echo of a snapped bond pulsing through the Force. Luke flooding his senses with grief at the loss of Obi-No- The thought barely starts before he sees Luke standing opposite him in an orange pilot’s suit, Artoo behind him, blaster pointed at Anakin’s heart. Luke wielding a tantalizingly familiar blue 'saber as they clash in the underbelly of a station and Anakin’s… Anakin’s is red. Luke crying in pain as the red saber is flicked like Dooku’s and the boy’s hand is gone. Luke looking at him in denial, in rage, in disgust as he rejects the hand being offered. Disgust mirroring the look on his twin’s face. Then Luke letting go, jumping to his death before accepting help from whatever Anakin has become.

And always the sound of his own breath.

The vision ends and he is still standing on the hill, hand still outstretched to Leia, who still looks at him with abject fear and loathing. He looks down at his black gloved hands, both covered now. He did this. And she rejects his comfort.

But Obi-Wan’s presence wraps around her like a protective shield, and his old master becomes visible to his eyes once more. Blade drawn, aimed down and away, he looks broken but there is a quiet strength, a compassion for the monster who attacked his padawan. And with a steadying breath, Obi-Wan reaches his free hand to his first student, a plea to allow him to help.

And Anakin wants to sob but can’t.

[sovinly]

((Look, if Lup’s in the Umbrastaff, then I am going to give her every opportunity to engage with the narrative that I possibly can. Which means, in this case, Istus confirming that this is Lup’s narrative too, dammit.))

Lup’s grown so used to intangibility, she’s not sure what to make of the weight of a room around her.

She can’t help herself: She wiggles her fingers, shifts her weight on her feet, twitches her head to send her hair shifting. Delight is a familiar well in her chest, but the stretch of a grin across her face is less so – not the bare gape of her still skeleton, but a proper smile, less lazy than the one that often stretches across her brother’s face.

Lup is so caught up in physicality that she doesn’t realize that her umbrella, her brother, and her friends aren’t there at the moment. But given that she’s taking in the sight of a radiant woman with her hands full of needles and yarn, spilling like galaxies across her lap, Lup isn’t too panicked. If they’re in Istus’ temple, this must be Istus – Q.E.D.

It’s honestly more of a shock to be facing the goddess herself, not just peeking over the shoulders of the currently alive.

“Well,” Istus says, a smile blooming over her face, “you’re just in time.”

“First time that’s happened in a while,” Lup says dryly. The richness of the color and fabric Istus works with and is surrounded by sparks a thought, and Lup runs her hands over her thighs and glances down. Her red robes hang comfortably around her, soft and worn and familiar. She drags her attention back, so unused to anyone listening to her, talking to her, interacting with her. “Are you talking to the rest of them too?”

“What’s the point of being a goddess if I can’t talk to all of you at once?” Istus asks, still smiling. “They’re very unique – in all the parallel worlds, of all the variations of people doing so many things, they’re the only three of them doing exactly what the three of them are doing. And you’re the only you who’s doing exactly what you’re doing.”

Humming quietly, Lup considers that. “What I’m doing is mostly haunting an umbrella and setting shit on fire to remind my brother I exist.”

Istus’ eyebrows curve up, as pale and shimmering as her hair. “No, I mean! Your whole life, pretty much, you’ve been preventing things that go against the designs of fate from happening, stopping terrible powers from being misused! Like I’m telling them, that’s my whole jam! And you –”

Her look goes soft, not quite maternal but very like Lup’s aunt, all those eons ago, and Lup’s dead heart stutters in her chest.

“Lup, you’ve had so much taken from you,” she continues, even as her fingers keep twisting the yarn around her needles. “You’ve given so much to do my work, without even knowing you’ve been doing it! And you’ve lost so much because of it, but you’re still doing it. It’s amazing. And one of these days, things are going to come to a head, so I want to ask you to make it official. I want you to become my emissary in this world, too, in exchange for my blessing.”

Lup snorts. “Yeah, uh, if you haven’t noticed, I’m a lich. Pretty sure that’s not fate-approved.”

Belatedly, she claps her hands over her mouth. Muffled, she says, “Oh shit.”

Istus laughs, bright and warm, and it sinks into Lup’s bones the way that the laughter of her loved ones always has. “I mean, that’s what I’m saying! You’re not using it to change fate or, or, or hoard power. You’re using it to help your friends, your family, keep this world from going sideways. That’s all I’m asking you to keep doing – keep fighting the Hunger, keep preventing it from reshaping creation in its image instead of fate’s. You’re as important to the fate of life as your living friends.”

Hell, it’s not like Lup was ever going to do anything different.

“Yeah, okay,” Lup agrees. She draws herself up from her habitual slouch, tilts her chin up, and shoves her hands into her pockets. “I’ll do my best. Are there any, like, benefits? Not that I can really use them, I live in my umbrella.”

“Definitely benefits!” Istus enthuses, but her smile turns a little wry, a little tragic. “Unfortunately, I can’t give you the sorts of things I’m giving the boys, but there’s a little something I can do.”

She weaves a new color into her knitting, and a little pendent, the same as Istus’ holy symbol, hovers in front of Lup.

Lup tentatively reaches out and brushes her fingers over it before taking the necklace in hand. It feels real, feels like the weight of bronze in her hand, a little cool but warming quickly, the grooves of it intense against her fingers. Shakily, Lup wraps the chain around her wrist, wearing it like a bracelet. “Cool, my dude.”

“Very cool,” Istus agrees, her eyes creasing as she smiles again. Her gaze is captivating and Lup can’t look away for more than a few moments. “Depending on how things go, I should be able to make that corporeal, when you have a body again. For now…”

For now, Lup has something new, the first thing in a century. Her fingers trace over the symbol again, her restlessness settling with the motion. It’s not the friendly warmth of her Phoenix Fire Gauntlet, but it feels almost as good, to have a weight around her wrist again. “Thank you.”

Istus is studying her, eyes still soft and fond. “I can’t give you any useful items, I’m sorry, Lup. And I can’t change things, but is there anything I can do for you?”

“Yeah.” Lup’s throat goes dry and she coughs a little to clear it, which, dude, that is a weird-ass feeling after all this time. Her ribs actually shift when she sucks in a heavy breath. “I can’t remember what it feels like anymore. I’ve got my memories, totally rad, really great to be around that Voidfish problem, but it’d uh, it’d be really chill if I could remember what it was like to touch the people I love.”

Istus’ face twists with emotion, and Lup honestly kind of loves her for that. “Oh. Lup, Lup, of course.”

Another new little thread and some of Lup’s memories gain a tangibility that’s faded from them. She can recall the feel of her forehead pressed against Taako’s, the warmth of his fingers twined in hers, the scent of his favored incense. She can recall nudging her shoulder against Lucretia’s, Lucretia’s bony arm pushing back as she shoots Lup a shy smile, the warmth of sitting side by side. She can recall Barry’s arm around her waist, the feel of his hair against her fingers as she locks her hands behind his neck, the softness of his mouth as she leans up to kiss him.

The last almost soothes the pain of hearing his voice break when he saw Taako carrying her umbrella.

Lup’s fingers numbly come up to touch her cheeks. She’s crying. She barely remembers what it’s like to cry, to be able to express her emotions as anything other than a fiery blast.

“Thanks,” she tells Istus, voice raw. The memories wrap themselves like a furnace in the hollow of her ribcage. For the first time since before she died, Lup feels warm.

“You’re so very welcome, Lup,” Istus replies. “But we’re almost out of time, and I have to put you back before I let them go too. You know what’s coming for you all, and no matter what, I’m giving those boys the time to make that very difficult decision. All I need you to do is keep on being yourself.”

She blinks out for a couple of seconds, quick enough that Lup almost questions the gap at all, but then Lup sees the tears welling up in Istus’ eyes, watches her wipe them away. Her eyes are bright as the light of creation.

“You’ve always been wonderful, but you’re going to be amazing,” Istus tells her.

Lup’s whole being trembles with the force of that, thinks tears course even harder down her own face, but then she’s settled back into the usual confines of the Umbrastaff and Istus’ pendent is the echo of a thought.

She exhales, as much as the disembodied afterimage of a soul can exhale.

And then the building comes down, and the world starts over again.

[thefaithlesstheologian]

The Beast in the Cage

I had always wondered what the other side of that old oak tree looked like. Many times did I wonder how many knots emerged promiscuously about its robust bark or how many birds and squirrels pitched their homes amidst its lush branches. I’ve forever longed to feel the embrace of its cool shade whose inky bulbous form scoured the grassy hill with an alluring serenity. Instead, I am trapped here behind my iron veil, forced to bear witness to it at a fixed angle. I have indeed memorized every crag and twist in the distant bark facing me, counted every branch and its offshoots, thirteen in all. I have counted the thousands of leaves never quite knowing their exact amount being privy to only their one half.

In truth I do not remember my crime, for it was all so hopelessly long ago that I was stolen from the place of my nativity that those years had become a fleeting haze. I only remember flashes of the huntsman’s grim face as he tore me from the family I never knew. His nasty, twisting teeth lining his grin as he chuckled to himself in gratification. I remember the haunting, morose tune he hummed as my body, wounded and dazed was dragged out through the snow and loaded onto a cart headed for alien lands.

When we arrived I was imprisoned, a patch of iron-shaded dirt my only comfort. Day in and out the routine became the same, every morning he would march to the cage with the same, stern expression upon his bearded face. He would throw a haunch of meat at me through the bars, all the while humming that dreadful tune to me. Afterwards, he would disappear, not to be seen until the following day.

It was years I lay in that place staring up at the hill upon which the old oak tree sits, rustling calmly in the breeze. Oh, how peaceful it must have been, I thought, to live as that majestic wood, to bristle calmly in a silent state of meditation, growing, ever growing, shedding old skin to leave room for new.

I became weary of the many strangers who would pass me by in my prison. They were curious creatures I must admit, for they are so brutish in their demeanor. They trod as if the Earth quaked under every step and spoke with booming voices in their guttural, vicious language at me, laughing and grinning.

In that ditch, under the roaming eyes of passersby I felt little more than caustic fear and boiling agony as I peered through my metallic window into a world I was never meant to know. How I wished my throat could parse the words to those strangers, for when I spoke these creatures timidly recoiled in fear as my noble voice howled. I begged I pleaded, I snarled, I screamed “Help me! Help me!” and in their terror they stiffly strolled off, guarding their young as they did so.

There was but one who did not. A youth of theirs, who upon observing me, cast a peculiar look. His eyes grew big and his mouth agape. He looked up to his father, eyes shimmering, hungry, for what I could not say. He spoke with a softness that others lacked, a warm breath that made their tongue almost bearable to my ears. His father turned to him and laughed, head back, malicious voice bounding through the hillside gleefully. He would move on, the youth remaining for but a moment. He would murmur quietly to himself then heed the call of his father.

The child visited frequently, almost daily, sometimes with his father, sometimes not. Every day he would grace me with his sad, heartfelt expression, murmuring to me in his quiet voice. I would sit and I would listen, understanding not his words but his tone. His voice filled my vengeful heart with sadness, empathy even though I could not understand his narrative. Although there was one word which I have committed to memory, It is a strange word to me that he would say ad nauseum. “Free” what a strange word, so harsh yet he spoke it in such a blissful manner that to him it must be something positive. Perhaps it was his name, I had thought.

I sat and I moaned with Free. Speaking to him and he understood my reproach only in essence.

He is my only friend.

One day he and the Huntsman met. Their blithering quickly escalated as they spoke. The man laughed in his cackling, guttural manner while the child’s face twisted and turned crimson. The hunter banged on the bars, causing me to flinch and the boy swung at him, screaming so that his voice pierced the very sky itself. He stormed off, and the hunter fed me.

Then the next day, as I waited, heart restless for the youth to return, he did not. I sat watching as muddy strangers meandered by and as the clouds traveled to the other side of Heaven. I watched the sun, three hours till it set, two, one. Then the darkness crept over the land, smothering the hill and its oak tree with its onyx coat. I waited, but he never came.

Dejected, I curled up in one corner of my prison, feeling the dust grate beneath me. I felt heavy, porous and almost drowning. I snorted, trying to vent my disappointment, twisted and flexed in the dust, unable to sleep.

Then, in the midst of the darkness, a disturbance chattered along the road.

I cast my sorrowful eyes into the shadows and saw a figure shift through the moonlight. It moved gently, freely. A small jingle, playing a neurotic anxious song followed and a heavy slam erupted from the iron veil.

Then, in a moment I thought to be most dream-like the veil opened, its bars screaming as they slowly disappeared into the callous night and at its threshold stood the figure of Free who beckoned me to him. An electric jolt shot through my body and I bounded to him, a cloud of dust being left behind me until I passed out from under the burdensome roof of my once domain and into the air of the valley.

A peculiar odor wafted from my friend, it was metallic like that of my prison. Dark splotches appeared across his peach-like skin and a sort of weary look glinted in his eyes palely.

The smells outside were crisper, the air flowed through me like water. The ground was firm and moist. The grass smelled so fresh and then the tree…the Tree! I sprinted up the hill, my friend following at a ragged pace as I trailed towards the tree. I circled it, reading the bark and the leaves. There was a hole in its center and in it a nest! , es a family of sparrows nestled comfortably in its hollowed out hull! And above it, the squirrels, in their knitted home, snored so quietly! A single knot twisted like a mole at its base. For so long I had yearned for that knowledge! For so long…but now that I had it what else was there? I had only ever known the cage and the tree and the boy. What else could there be?

Then my friend pointed down the hill shouting at me. Then, so many trees! Yes, a whole forest lurked just beyond that hill. He spoke that word to me again “free!” he said voice worn by unknown means.

Free? Is that what that word means? Does it mean the woods?

I bounded off towards the “free”, this time he did not follow. I looked back and he waved me on shouting “free!”

I was hesitant at first, seeing the dark shadows of the wood interweave like a basket. Strange chirps and rustling crept from the underbrush and I quivered as the Earth sighed, causing the leafy jowls of the woodlands to quiver. “Free!” he continued to chant, like a war cry.  He waved me on some more and finally, a spark of trust pushed me in.

I slalomed between the many trunks. Some were white, others nearly black! Some skinny, some thicker than the tree on the hill! It was wonderful to see the foliage and all their knots and holes. I could see where worms nested and all sorts of creatures slept. Was this place Free?

No, No it was not. I soon found myself lost. The woods twisted around me, towering covering the night sky in their canopy. It was an alien place, a veil of iron replaced by a veil of bark. The creatures here did not like me, they were all timid, afraid of my voice.

Saddened and disheartened I turned back and found the oak tree again. I sat upon the hill, looking down at the familiar but now desolate cage. I winced at its sight, a part of me desired its dismal embrace yet as the longer I looked the more the air was torn from my lungs.

I began howling at the stars. Crying “Free! Free! Come back Free!” Yet the boy did not return.

Then one night a particular scent tinged the cool air. It was the scent of iron. I followed the winds as it led me through a rustic village, between its peaked homes and it's dirt paths where all the muddy creatures slept. I wandered, the metallic scent growing stronger piercing my nose sharply like a nail.

Then I found him. Free, behind a veil of iron. Excitedly I wandered up to its edge and moaned. He sat quietly in the corner of his own dirt patch and upon hearing my call his head rose slowly. The young man grinned and hobbled over speaking to me softly. Perhaps one day I could unlock his cage.

I visited every night.

[jschaeferreviews]

A Monster Calls (2016)

Haunted by a reoccurring nightmare of losing his mother (Felicity Jones), a young boy, Conor (Lewis MacDougall), finds solace in his wild imagination.  Out his window, across the field, in an old cemetery grows an ancient tree but at 12:07 the tree awakes revealing its true form – that of a Monster (Liam Neeson).  The Monster comes to Conor and makes a deal; he will tell the boy three stories and then Conor will tell the Monster his nightmare.  As Conor’s mother’s condition worsens, the Monster helps Conor cope with the strong emotions he is experiencing through his tales and fables.

“A Monster Calls” is a touching film based off a novel by the same name and carefully directed by J.A. Bayona.  Going in with very little expectations and only the vaguest idea of plot, I can honestly say that this film blew me away with how adeptly it handled the story.  Never did I think that it was exploitative or cheaply trying to play with our emotions; the sad beats were all earned and felt very organic to the progression of the plot and the development of the characters.

The film stars young talent, Lewis MacDougall, who walks the fine line of raging emotions and overacting with surprising precision for an actor of his age and experience.  While much can be attributed to Bayona’s direction, there are sparks of natural talent and understanding by MacDougall who may be well on his way to one of the finer young actors working today.

Opposite MacDougall are the two matriarchs of his family: first, his terminally ill mother and second, his grandmother (Sigourney Weaver) who takes the role of Conor’s caretaker during his mother’s treatment.  While she does not have much screen time, Felicity Jones still manages to set up a strong, loving relationship with MacDougall which is a vital part to making this rather abstract story work.  An artist herself, she is the only one who really seems to understand Conor both in school and at home and though they have minimal interaction, there is no denying the strong bond this mother shares with her son.  

Signourney Weaver plays almost the foil to Conor in one of the great arcs of the film.  Early on, we see the conflict between Conor and his grandmom.  Where Conor holds fast to the belief that the medicine will work and cure his mom, she has no such faith.  It is a classic conflict between a dreamer and a realist but in the pivotal sitting room scene, the two begin to see where the other is coming from.  It is this growing respect for each other that is slowly nurtured through the rest of the film that even furthers my rallying behind MacDougall because not only can he handle the major story line of a dying mother but also the complex dynamic of Conor and his grandmom.  It is also quite a feat for Weaver, too.  As the story is told through Conor’s eyes, she starts off being presented as a cold-hearted witch, but by the end we see she is handling her daughter’s illness in a very different way than Conor but the pain, love, and confusion of the whole situation is shared by both.

The title role of the film is voiced by Liam Neeson.  The Monster’s character design is nothing really to write home about but as far as the rendering goes, it is mostly seamless.  There are some scenes – or rather fleeting moments within larger scenes – where the CGI is not quite up to par with itself, but these are few and far between and never enough to remove us from the film.

The Monster plays an interesting role in the film.  His stories are mostly told through highly stylized sequences.  Think back to “Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows: Part 1” (2010) in The Tales of Beedle the Bard sequence and you would be in the right ball park.  I got a little bit nervous when the Monster said that he will tell Conor three stories that the film would become very episodic flipping between each tale and lesson learned, but the pacing and the actual meaning behind the stories does not really come full circle until the end of the narrative.  The artistic styling of the stories also does not feel like a gimmick and each one is given its own identity.  It is interesting to see because as the stories become more and more relevant to Conor’s life, they become less abstract and more realistic until eventually when the Monster tells his final tale, the action directly overlaps with Conor’s life in real time.

“A Monster Calls” is a very special film.  Touching and powerful, it does not cheat us as an audience when it so easily could have. With a rich dynamic between all the major characters in the film, it was truly a treat to watch.  A lot of care, thought, and passion went in to creating this film and I truly hope it can find an audience because it is a film everyone should see at least once.