#i need to go back and edit the archaic speech now that I have a better grasp on it

[magpie-come-east]

A Tarnished enters into the service of a begrudging Morgott the Grace-Given whilst forming a slow and equally begrudging friendship with the king's Omen ally, Margit. AKA, in which the Veiled Monarch has a secret he's not very good at keeping.

A deeply self-indulgent Morgott/OC vehicle for exploring the painful dichotomy of a human-passing King Morgott and the shunned but useful Omen Margit.

My completed Morgott/Tarnished longfic!

[nicknederson]

you know what i want?

a nancy drew reboot of the old mysteries with a modern take similar to the first person perspective of the nancy drew diaries

so anyway i wrote the first chapter of secret of the old clock (edit: chapter two; chapter three; chapter four)

"Can you wash cashmere?"

“Nancy Drew.”

“Don’t yell at me. It was a joke, Bess Marvin.” Not a very good one, I’d admit. But lately, Bess was on edge about her cousin’s upcoming wedding. I could have cracked the best joke of the century and she would have told me she didn’t have time for humor because she had to focus on flower arrangements. I seriously couldn’t even remember what cousin was getting married. But I was being a good friend. Which is why I was here. At the department store. Picking out our rehearsal dinner outfits.

“Nancy, I cannot deal with this right now,” Bess said with enough dramatic flair to star in a school play. That was one of her new favorite words- cannot. I guess can't just wasn't cutting it anymore. "I have a bridesmaid dress fitting in about ten minutes and I'm pretty sure I gained about ten pounds so they're going to be making even more alterations to it!"

"Maybe stop eating your weight in chocolate-covered strawberries," I tried.

"Oh, what do you know?" Bess complained. "Just buy whatever off the rack and you can return it if I don't like it."

"Yeah, I can return it," I said about as dryly as I could manage. "Because I clearly don't have anything else to do with my life." I really didn't. “But Bess, I think you’re taking this a little too seriously. Laura-“

“Lily.”

“Lily probably doesn’t want you stressing this much about the wedding,” I said. “I mean, you’re a bridesmaid. Not the maid of honor.” I had more of my speech. All about how weddings were archaic and really just a means to trap women in a cycle of impossible standards and unnecessary self-punishment.

“Yeah, that’s great, Nancy. Get me something blue. It’ll match my eyes.” And then she hung up. Well, so much for my speech. It was a good one, too. George Fayne- Bess’s cousin who wasn’t the Lily side of the family and my other best friend- would have liked it. Unfortunately, George was up in the mountain for a summer sports camp and could be reached by pigeon more reliably than cell phone. And here I was- shopping for clothes at our sleepy town of River Heights’s only department store right back at home. No big summer plans or schemes of grandeur before school started again.

That said, I couldn't really complain. Summer was supposed to be the best thing in the world when you were sixteen and didn’t have much to do. Plus, I did need to do some shopping for new clothes, anyway. And I had the benefit of my dad being nice and footing the bill for me. I was originally supposed to get a job this summer- something underpaid, underappreciated, and with a silly uniform presumably in the form of a hat shaped like a hot dog-, but that didn’t happen. Simply put, I forgot. There were probably applications buried somewhere in my room.

I would pay my dad back, don’t get me wrong. But for the time being, I preferred the term ‘appreciated’ to ‘spoiled rotten’. Though that term could easily be applied to two girls I happened to spot talking to a sales associate one aisle over. The place that I picked to shop at wasn't exactly high-end, but it obviously wanted to be. And that was also a fitting description for the two girls.

"This is abhorrent," one of them was snarling at the poor sales rep. Both of them looked to be about my age, but this one just looked older. Maybe it was her greasy hair, maybe it was her major overbite- personally, I thought it was both. She was short, stout, and angry in contrast to the rather vapid-looking girl standing next to her with her eyes sort of glazed over. She was rail thin and sort of pretty if you looked at her from exactly the right angle. Potentially on a full moon with the planets properly aligned and an eyepatch over one eye to make her seem further away from you than she was. "Do you know who we are?"

I'll admit it- I was curious. I have this natural inclination to be nosy and it's gotten me into a few weird situations. But I love drama as much as I love intrigue so I was all ears for this conversation. Pretending to peruse a rack of ugly skirts nearby, I expertly eavesdropped on the conversation. "My apologies, Miss Topham," the sales rep sputtered out. "But I was helping someone else until just now and-"

"My sister and I are about to be very rich!" the stout girl spat. I don't think the tall skinny one knew how to use her mouth to form words. "And we will remember how awful your service is when that happens, do you hear me?"

I will also admit to another weakness of mine- I hate watching people get treated unfairly. It was what made me stick up for kids getting picked on on the playground since I could first walk two steps in front of me. And what was happening a few feet away from me definitely looked like bullying. So when the shorter sister sent the sales rep scurrying off to find something for her, I continued to pretend like the ugly skirts were actually the best thing I'd ever seen just to make sure they didn't do something else awful to the poor sales lady. It didn't take very long for them to do exactly that. "What is that?" the short one harped when the sales rep presented her with a dress. "Isabel, have you ever seen something more hideous?"

The dress wasn't bad. It was a cute powder blue slip that had tulle design near the top of it. It was something Bess might like- especially because it was blue. Still, the taller girl- Isabel- nodded fervently to her sister's claim. Keeping an amicable expression was clearly the sales rep's greatest achievement for the day. "Oh, but this is just in off the designers from Paris. It's haute couture." I wasn’t much of a fashion plate, but I could tell that probably wasn’t true. I wasn't going to fault her for trying. She probably made commission.

Still, the stout sister stuck her nose up at it like it were covered in dog poo. "I don't know what that means, but it certainly doesn't mean 'even mildly fashionable'," she threw out before snatching the dress away from the sales rep. "Go find us something else that doesn't make our eyes hurt."

I could tell by the sales rep momentary slip in composure that that was not her usual job. She practically slunk off to do the girl's bidding and didn't look too happy about it in the process. Meanwhile, Isabel peered at the dress with her big, dewy eyes while her sister held it up and sneered at it. "It's not too bad," she whispered, just loud enough for me to hear it from where I was lingering near the ugly cardigans. I don't know why they thought putting them next to the ugly skirts was a good arrangement. "Mama would like it." Isabel's voice was worse than her face- a high, reedy voice that sounded sort of like a kazoo that someone had left in the sandbox.

Her sister checked the price tag on the supposedly 'ugly dress' and scoffed. "It's too expensive. Daddy would throw a fit if we started spending all of old Crowley's money before we even got it." Now that was an interesting sentence. "But we can just make an adjustment." An even more interesting sentence. Coupled with the fact that she reached up one grubby hand to rip some of the tulle on the dress right off had me nearly drop my jaw in shock. "There," the squatter sister cooed, seemingly pleased with herself. She switched back to sour-faced a second later when the sales rep returned with an arm full of dresses. "We've changed our minds. We'll take this one." She pointed to the blue dress in her hands. "But we will not pay full price."

The sales rep looked like she'd just been punched. "But that's one of a kind!" she said, clearly flustered. "It's the only one in the store."

"Well, it's damaged," snapped the stout sister. Isabel just stood by blank-faced. I realized she kind of looked like a ferret. Her sister, on the other hand, was just a plain rat. "We want 25% off."

"But-" the sales rep couldn't even finish her sentence. I couldn't blame her.

"Where is your manager?" the stout sister trilled. "I demand to speak with him."

At that exact moment, a balding man walking by reeled around on his heel- face serious. "I'm the manager," he announced. "What seems to be the problem here?"

The sales rep went pale as the shorter girl peered at the bald man. "Your associate here just tried to sell us a damaged dress at full price," she insisted.

"No, I didn't!" the sales rep yelped. She snapped her mouth shut the moment her manager levelled her with a look. The 'how dare you be rude to this customer' look that every retail worker feared.

"I'm very sorry, miss," the manager said with a bow of his head. "We'll give you a discount if you'd still like the item. And we'll even pay for the damage to be repaired by a top quality seamstress."

From the looks of the dress, it didn't even deserve that much. But while Isabel had a rather self-satisfied look on her face, her sister didn't look like she was done. "One more thing," she said sweetly. Granted, her attempt at 'sweet' reminded me of black licorice that melted on a dirty sidewalk. "You should take the fee for the repair out of her salary." She pointed at the sales rep and the woman visibly looked ready to faint. "It's only fair."

The manager hesitated for a second before he nodded. "Of course-"

I'd had enough. With a funny little hop, I was over to the group in seconds. "Excuse me," I called out. I flashed a smile- hopefully not looking super awkward. "Yeah, hi, I was just over there and saw the whole thing. She-" I pointed to the sales rep, "Did not try to sell them a damaged dress. They-" I pointed to the two sisters who were giving me the evil eye. "Ripped it when she wasn't looking to try and get a discount."

I could tell I was the sales rep's new best friend. And that I was the Topham sisters' new worst enemy. "She's lying!" the short sister shouted. "I would never do something like that."

Figuring she'd say that, I grabbed her wrist- turning it to reveal some small blue strings of fabric on her palm. "You have some fabric on the hand you ripped it with," I provided fluidly. "And you'll see that there is also some on the floor by your feet. Not anywhere else on the floor- meaning that the dress was only ripped and losing threads right around here."

The girl jerked her hand back as her face went bright red. Her sister looked ready to bolt straight out the door. "I don't know who you think you are-"

"Given the evidence," the manager coughed, interrupting them. "I'm going to have to ask you pay for the full price of the dress you damaged."

The short sister looked like her face was going to explode. "I don't want it!" she shouted. Some other shoppers were starting to linger around the spectacle she was making the same way I had. And of course, the manager was quick to notice.

"I'm sorry, but you damaged the dress so you must buy it," he insisted. "And then I have to ask you to never set foot in my store again."

It seemed a little rash, but the short sister's reaction was worse. She straight up threw the dress onto the ground. "I won't buy that! You can't make me!" Then she stormed off- her sister trailing in her angry wake all the way to the door.

Once they were gone, the sales rep gave a sigh of relief. "I can't thank you enough," she told me. "The repair for that would have cut my pay more than half!"

I just stuck with smiling. "It's no problem," I assured her. "If anyone had been around to see how awful they were to you, they'd have done the same thing." That didn't seem to stop the sales rep from looking at me like I’d accessorized with a halo and matching wings that morning.

"Regardless," the manager spoke up, clearing his throat again. "We're still going to have to do something about this dress."

"Wait-" I reached forward a took a hold of the dress to take a look at the tab. "I'll take it."

The manager looked just as shocked as the sales rep did. "But it's damaged," the manager had to remind me.

"It's not too bad," I assured him. I touched some of the ruffles that the shorter Topham had ripped. "I could probably fix it myself."

"Well," the manager huffed. "At least let me give you a complimentary discount. Both for your help in exposing those two young ladies as crooks and for helping Loralei here."

I didn't argue. I just considered it a bonus. As Loralei rung me up with the 50% discount, I couldn't help, but poke my nose even further into other people's business. You know, as I'm wont to do. "Who were those girls anyway?" I asked. "I mean, did you know them?" I’d never seen them in school before over at River Heights High. After that display, I really didn’t want to.

I could tell by Loralei's face that she did. I could also tell she didn't really want to reveal that information. But I just waited patiently until she caved. Despite everything that had just happened, Loralei was still a sales rep- they loved to gossip about customers. "Those were the Tophams. They've been in here before. Ada and Isabel." Knowing that Isabel was the skinny one, I assumed Ada had to be the stout one. It was fitting because I had never heard of someone with a more unfortunate name. Very invocative of covered wagons and long trips overland with plenty of dysentery. "Don't get me wrong, they spend money when they're here so they're technically good customers. But what you just saw was pretty much the standard fare for dealing with those two."

I just nodded along like this was all news to me and I was a completely impartial party. "I think I heard them mention something about an... old man Crowley?" I had, in fact, heard that, but Loralei didn't need to know that.

At the mention of the name, her eyes went wide. "Oh, you're from around here, are you?" I nodded. "I’m from a town over- in Hayworth. It’s been the subject of debate around there for the last few months!" She paused to look around for other customers before leaning across the counter to elaborate. "See, Josiah Crowley was this eccentric old man who lived around here. He never really had a home- always stayed with relatives no matter how distant- but he was supposedly loaded up to the eyeballs. Well, the last family who got stuck with him was the Tophams- Richard and his wife Cora. And when Crowley passed away, they came forward with a will that gave all his properties, money, and stocks to them!" I made the appropriate face so that she knew I found this just as shocking as she did. "Normally, who cares about those sorts of things, but the Crowley will just struck so many people as strange. He wasn't really a big fan of the Tophams. Fact, they hated him up until they found out he was dying and they'd profit from it. But Crowley used to promise a lot of his other- much nicer- relatives that they'd live comfortably after his death." Loralei gave an unaffected shrug. "Those poor people will never see a dime. A few of them were even contesting the will."

"Really?" I didn't have to feign interest now. I was definitely interested in all this talk of a mysterious will. Hayworth was a little town off the side of a little town- that kind of drama was uncommon for such a sleepy place. And I could swear the name Crowley sounded familiar. Not just ‘two seconds ago when I asked about it’ familiar, but ‘I’ve heard it somewhere before, but didn’t pay too much attention to it’ familiar. "Do you think they stand a chance?"

Loralei gave me a level sort of look as the machine spat out a receipt. "I don't think so." She ripped the receipt off and handed it to me. My 'savings' happened to be in the triple digits and I was sure Bess would just love her new rehearsal dinner dress. "Crowley was a weirdo and not all there on a good day. Chances are, those Tophams coerced him into re-writing the will in their favor." She put a manicured finger to her lips. "But you didn't hear that from me."

I smiled back. "Of course not."

[saizoswifey]

So I haven't started Saizo's act II yet, but all this talk of Momochi's Shakespearean talk got me curious, so I found a screenshot and no amount of expectation prepared for how absurd it is😂😂 I immediately burst out laughing😂 He is a great and intimidating villian, but all this fancy talk kills any form of seriousness I might have had towards him. Wish they didn't go so overboard with him in the translation.😅

Okay, I might go off for a minute, lol. Thank you for this message! <3

Not much annoys me and I still don’t know what level of annoyed I am about this. But I will say I am annoyed to the point of wanting to rant a bit on main which I don’t enjoy doing so that’s saying something lol.  Translating is HARD. Localizing is even tougher. I am a complete amateur. It’s hard to explain that you can read something in another language and understand the tone and what is being conveyed but the first time I took an event story (Jinpachi btw) and edited it to English in photoshop line-by-line, screen-by-screen, to make it make sense and be in my native language while still trying to convey the tone and personality of the characters...I felt overwhelmed and even now as I look back on it there are so many things I would like to change lol.  I don’t want to say the team SUCKS because of what they did to Momochi. Nor that it is an easy job. It’s seriously not. When you have a line of dialogue and it could go 15 different ways you start to fucking sweat LOL. And you wonder if you are doing things correctly. If you are staying true to the story and characters. 

However, I just wish I understood the WHY. As a native English speaker, this type of speech is like adding salt to a dish. (leave it to me to add a cooking ref lolol). A tiny bit over, your hand a bit heavy, and the whole thing is fucking spoiled. 

One time, when I was about 6, I helped my mother make mashed potatoes. For the FIRST TIME, she let me actually take control of a whole part of the process. They were MY mashed potatoes from start to finish. I had control. I felt so happy and proud. But then I looked at the recipe and the salt and I thought the TSP meant cups??? For some reason??? And I added like 1 cup of salt. You can see where this went LMAOOO but that’s what this felt like to me. That’s what his language felt like to me!!!!! You could have had a TSP of Thou in there and maybe some other Doth or O’er but instead we get literally a CUP dumped into this creamy deliciousness and it ruins the whole fucking thing. It overpowers any other flavor.   Just because I am an amateur doesn’t mean I can’t spot when something is wrong. Just because you aren’t a cook doesn’t mean you can’t taste a dish and tell that it tastes wretched. 

We English speakers have learned to sort of detach ourselves from someone talking like this. This is how people speak in plays. This is how people speak in dramatic embellishments of reality. This isn’t the talk of people in real life. This type of English is reserved for the fanciful or the books we are hand-fed in grade school. So it lessens the impactfulness of the moment. It lessens the villainy. It lessens the drama and evil of the scene. It’s fucking COMICAL and the dozens and dozens of repeating voices saying as such should be telling enough. 

It’s not scary, it’s a sideshow. And that’s what pisses me the fuck off. His act 2 deserved better. His act 2 and the absolute horror he went through from childhood until now should be taken seriously. But you can’t. You can’t taste passed the salt. You are too distracted by the way he speaks and the language he uses. And it ruins it, because someone thought that a few archaic ways of referring to people should be conveyed as the level of someone in fucking Romeo and Juliet and it’s not good...  I translated a full scene from the Act 2 you can read here. And honestly, I think he reads just fine as a normal asshat. All you need are MC’s comments that he is scary young looking while obviously having raised Saizo. That’s ENOUGH!!! That’s quite truly. Enough. 

I understand trying to use this type of language to convey how creepily old he is, but I will not and will never forgive the heavy-handedness of it. 

[nanyoky]

It has been a week and A HALF and it’s only wednesday i deserve so much food and the drama BETTER BE GOOD this week

of course chic’s not a blossom he’s a whatever-alice’s-maiden-name-is/jones we all know this please let the confrontation be messy with alice and fp PLEASE LORDS OF MELODRAMA

oh my god. as much as i prefer season 1 alice to season 2 alice, this reaction is great. so great. “who’s his dad? who knows! it’s a mystery! highschool was so long ago i don’t even remember everyone i dated! doesn’t matter! no one needs to know who i rode like a pornstar in the back of his pickup after the homecoming game senior year! and no one needs to know i still think about it all the time! especially when he’s talking all sarcastic with his rough hewn charm! It was one time and I definitely don’t have dreams about it ever, okay? IT’S IRRELEVANT BETTY”

oh no you guys i just thought of the fact that alice cooper likely knows where fp’s serpent tattoo is and i don’t and now i’m DISTRAUGHT

okay- like i love it when they remember people i love are friends, but why is kevin sitting in on this register interview?

....i don’t know who this dude is but kevin is excited so i’m excited for him

also why is hal talking like there’s an audience to this interview? i know i bitched about the bad season one dialogue but now it’s just WEIRD

oh noooo.... veronica actually kinda thought her mom let her invite a friend just to be nice and then had to come crashing down to manipulative reality

jughead’s back on his bullshit again *claps hands aggressively in his face* ACTUAL. AT. RISK. KIDS. SUPPORT. THAT. SCHOOL. BEING. SHUT. DOWN. STOP. TRYING. TO. HIJACK. THEIR. LIVES. SO. YOU. CAN. FEEL. MORALLY. SUPERIOR.

god i really want there to be a falling out between jughead and toni where she finally tells him off for acting all martyred when he has essentially been a serpent for a hot five minutes and sees it as a novelty that can excuse his selfish actions when the rest of them live the reality of needing a gang to survive poverty and violence and i want that scene to HURT a lot because we like jughead! we genuinely do! but he’s been such a prime fucking pill this season and he’s not going to learn and grow until he gets hurt a little bit as a direct result of the shit he’s been pulling

um so i was excited that ethel was back..... and then a characterization 180 for zero reason other than they needed someone to throw a milkshake????? why

okay that was dumb but josie’s reaction was great

like- i’m still waiting to figure out how veronica’s long con with her parents is going to shake out. they better give her a great season three subplot to make up for this messy crummy mob malarky

that was a SOLID punch

also YASSS let her snap- give us some indication she’s been holding back and biting her tongue this whole time and now she can’t take it anymore

lol leaning HARD into the crimson peak vibe with that “special tea.” they know what we want.

i. am. so. glad. jughead’s hunger strike is a joke to everyone.

but also lol: jughead: why are you being such a bastard, v? veronica: my parents don’t want me to do the thing but i’m going to do it anyway. jughead: you are my favorite friend and i’ve always supported you.

and he’s back into anti mode because betty is being softcore up for some beronica

and a hard cut to toni killing it for no reason other than that we all forgot the vixens were a thing- and toni is a swell dancer so we’re all glad to see it

THE POMPONS ON HER SNEAKERS??????

“inner circle vixens- you know who you are” PPPFFFTTT

“MANDATORY SLUMBER PARTY” GOD I MISSED YOU HBIC VIXEN CHERYL

“you were only at southside high for like- four days” thank you. and i know jughead is tying it all to growing up in the neighborhood but like- come on. jug. he’s right. you didn’t hang out with toni and sweetpea and fangs and joaquin growing up. you hung out with archie and betty and kevin. you should not be speaking for the former just because you shared a zipcode in the part of your life you won’t even remember as an adult. and if you miss your mom and jellybean so much like- call them?! why are they not brought up more often?!?!?!?!!?!?!?! when am i going to finally see neeve campbell claim her right by combat to divorce skeet ulrich in dramatic fashion when she finds out about his lovechild?????????? she killed him twice in the nineties SHE’S EARNED THIS

HOMO EROTIC BRAID TRAIN

what is cheryl wearing is that a dress? a slip? a nightgown? I DON’T CARE I WANT IT ON MY BODY

also HOLY SHIT DOES SHE HAVE HER “BURN IT TO THE GROUND” DRESS ON DISPLAY ON A DRESSFORM GOD LOVE THAT WOMAN

“wait- is this real or a game?” i stand by the headcanon that not only did joaquin tell the gang about “this is riveting-” but secrets and sins and the whole night so toni like- has tangential second hand knowledge of season 1 cheryl’s bullshit and is trying to reconcile that with the vulnerable but emotionally stunted hottie she’s learned to love

god i’m still FURIOUS that we will never see teen serpents all together i would kill for a flashback of them all hanging out on the night of jughead’s birthday and joaquin bursts through the door at 2am like “I JUST HAD THE WEIRDEST FUCKING NIGHT OF MY LIFE INCLUDING THAT TIME I STUFFED A BODY IN A FREEZER LET ME TELL YOU *EVERYTHING*”

also i just realized toni has primarily male friends so her confusion might be partially due to the fact she’s NEVER BEEN TO A SLEEPOVER?!?!?! she’s just sitting there like “oh shit- ‘i don’t feel safe in my home’ is this a game??? i haven’t seen this in any teen flicks how do you play??? are their pillow fights involved?????”

SHE JUST CALLED HER TT. LIKE JJ. as a messy bitch who loves questionable things in her suburban gothics: FUCK. YES.

there is.... something both HILARIOUSLY implausible, but also HILARIOUSLY realistic about this. “i invited you all here because i fear for my life in my own home.” “omg same let me tell you MY family drama.” sleepovers just be like that.

they just turn in after thiss???? okay THAT i don’t believe. sleepovers are the time for plotting convoluted and dangerous plans to solve your life problems, not vent for 30 seconds and then go to bed

THEY MADE EVERYONE ELSE SLEEP ON THE FLOOR BUT CHERONI IS BATHED IN SEXY RED MOOD LIGHTING I’M CACKLING

i’m trying to picture cheryl announcing the sleeping arrangements and i can’t stop laughing. “as the newest vixen, toni will have the privilege of a mattress. not alone of course. i AM the hostess after all. there is plenty of room.” toni: oh that’s so nice and not weird or suspicious of you cheryl i would love to bone- i mean sleep on the same bed three feet apart from you. everyone else: we’re still here stop being nasty.

cheryl and toni are meant to be because they both don’t remove their makeup before bed like some kind of goblins with naturally perfect skin no matter what hell they put it through

BLOSSOMS! BACK AT IT! THERE’S MY FAM! BRINGIN HOME THE GOLD WITH ATTEMPTED MURDER AND SOME CLAUDIUS/GERTRUDE- I MEAN PENELOPE ACTION

((i can’t tell if this episode is actually better or if i’m just in a better mood tonight. don’t care. having fun.))

molly ringwald!!!! missed you boo

.....who is that boy veronica just snubbed on his cupcake and kiss i only saw the back of his head but i know my TYPE when i see it

“right now i’m only interested in one girl, you.” ethel shifts uncomfortably because no one could resist that gay shit right there no matter how hard we may try

also tho- for the record, i’m with ethel, sexualizing your student body president campaign is tacky and archaic af

oh my god jughead you look like a freshman delivering his first speech at the regional finals

also lol they got like Other Serpents to fill in the club so that it’s not just the snakey core four

AND HE’S BACK USING THE TRIBE FOR HIS OWN NARRATIVE GODDAMMIT JUGHEAD YOU’RE MAKING IT SO HARD TO LIKE YOU RIGHT NOW

KEVIN THE FUCK IS GOING ON WITH THIS NONSENSE I THOUGHT YOU AND I AGREED YOU WORK ON JUST BEING YOU FOR AWHILE AND THEN IF JOQUIN COMES BACK THEN YOU HAVE A LOVE INTEREST?!

oh kev i can’t stay mad at you not when you can’t keep a secret to save your goddamn life. sweet bean. precious pea. too good for this world.

oh i like this. i like betty getting FEROCIOUSLY protective of kevin- even though i’m not even entirely sure chic is as dodgy as they’re trying to make us think

ahhh there she is josie- my ambitious girl.

oh my gooooooddddddddddd. serpents why are you listening to jughead- with that edit away from the scene i thought they were gunna let him have it. why do they suddenly think he’s right????? THEY HATED THAT SCHOOL! THEY WERE HAPPY TO GO TO RHS! THIS IS CANON AND IN THE DIALOGUE! I DON’T UNDERSTAND THIS SEASON!

WUT THE FUCK BETTY. i kinda love it tho

oh lordy- heavy handed girl power political twisting- COMPLETE WITH SONG

i mean- i know that ethel has always been a very minor side character, but i’m still disappointed they’re using her for this plot when the last we saw of her in season one was her being very mature and understanding that veronica does not control her parents actions and now she’s the exact opposite with like- no new personal story to back this change up. you either get put on a bus at the end of season one or you stick around long enough to be handed a sloppily put together new personality that no one wants.

JOSIE?! honestly i know i keep saying it but this is so messy what even is this show anymore

((sorry i’m whining again- i really liked the sleepover bring that bit back))

that was a well done breakdown from mendes good job girl that built really nice

also was that a spark of season one hermione i saw???? please?????

“she wears it when she has sex with jughead” oh my. oh dearie me. this is. goodness.

betty you fell into one of the classic blunders- never admit anything you’re accused of until they have proof lol even chic is surprised that worked

alice needs a system reboot at the thought of jughead and betty boning for various reasons- not least of all the generational echo of her life

JUGHEAD AND FP SCENE. these are the only times this season that remind me of my love for that skinny little twerp. their interactions remain golden and heartbreaking and i love themboth to bits.

boys- wake up and smell the custody papers. jellybean aint comin back. good or bad idea. also jug- you’re sixteen? two years you’ll be out of here on a scholarship anyway- stop acting like people don’t move out of small towns anymore

OH GOD THEY’RE GENTLE SNUGGLING HLEP ME just bury me in scenes of these boys bonding over their pigheaded natures

like this annoys me that they’re couching this in archie drinking hiram’s koolaid because “i don’t think jughead’s fighting FOR anything.” is the smartest thing archie’s said all season

archie deserved that now go after jughead, molly ringwald i trust you to dress anyone and everyone down as you see fit

“i’m.... very well acquainted with how alluring the jones men are” yes.... yeeesssss..... yaassssss YASSSS!!!!!!!!!!!!!

“woah- wait-” keep up betty we all knew this from alice and fp’s first interaction in season one

there she goes- puttin it together. “absolutely not” my lumpy ass

“don’t forget what he did.” “i will never forget” ......i’mma confess i honestly forgot about the murder that’s how fucking messy this season has been.

jesus christ this mutual blackmailing but also gaslighting between chic and betty is just nightmarishly stressful 

YASS BACK ON CHERYL BEING THE TRADITIONAL GOTHIC HEROINE OF EVERY MOOR-SET PAPERBACK EVER PRINTED i missed this. i missed the trational gothic heroine trapped in an american/suburban gothic.

*sigh* i’ve spent all season holding out hope- giving varchie the benefit of the doubt that they were both playing close to the chest and pulling long cons on mama and papa lodge, but i don’t know. i think it’s just bad writing now.

yeah hiram like anyone would ever believe that the bulldogs would go to disband a protest of their peers with wire cutters completely of their own volition. NO ONE is going to think the developer who is essentially the only one with a personal stake in the demolition of the school might have twisted their arms. solid plan. no one will suspect you’re pulling the strings of these teens.

god they’re making this so dramatic but i hate this plotline and the lack of consistency with the serpents plot so it’s just laughable

omg omg- can we just forget the unfortunateness of this episode’s plot for jughead and instead get fucking PUMPED to see him try to get votes for student council i am READY FOR THIS TRAINWRECK

lol- if this was anyone but jughead i’d be laughing at him agreeing that she stay in the trailer without consulting- you know- the adult who owns the trailer and is his legal guardian, but this is fp we’re talking about he’s gunna be so stoked. he’s gunna buy like all new pillows and sheets and curtains and like a “welcome home” teddybear and stock the fridge full of healthy things he imagines people like betty eat. like smoothies. fp needs all the strawberry smoothies as jughead’s dowery to seal the deal

MORE MOLLY RINGWALD?! YAYYYY!!!

HOLY SHIT???? i mean- i was all for cheryl being the typical gothic heroine trapped away and called mad once she wised up to her shady family but this is... hmmm. wow. that’s..... a lot. nto sure how i feel about it.

[writevswrong]

FANFIC * NESSIAN * PART TWENTY THREE

So I lied...

This next part turned into 8000+ words--I got a little carried away. So I decided to split the super long beast of a chapter into two. Both parts are being released today though! 

Thank you everyone for reading! This fanfic turned into 100,000 words and I can’t thank you enough for new and old readers supporting it. I hope you all have enjoyed it and I can’t wait to share all the new fics that are in the works.

P.S. I’ll be posting this lovely story on a few different fanfic sites with some minor edits. :) More info to come. 

Enjoy loves! :) 

Nessian Part Twenty Three by L.J. LaFleur

Nesta:

A sharp inhale; floral and honey notes caressing my senses. I gripped what should have been the spoiled strands of wheat, instead it was a handful of silk sheets. My eyes fluttered open, expecting to see Cassian’s lifeless body beside me.

“Feyre? Elain?” I asked shooting up to a seated position, my vision blurring. With the tips of my fingers, I rubbed my eyelids. I must be dreaming—or dead. Or, or maybe all of this was some twisted nightmare? The kidnapping, the war—all of it.

I studied Feyre first, her skin was flushed I realized. Her tunic and trousers drenched in sweat—she probably just got done with training.

It was a nightmare. It was only a nightmare.

“Sisters?” I began to smile, feeling the weight lifted from my chest.

Elain’s head turned in my direction, her eyes a milky gold color with black spirals—shadows circling in her irises. She quickly looked away, her head held up high as she remained silent.

Everything wrong and dreadful did happen. I was living my nightmare, it was all real. The weight of the entire sky, of every star and planet fell onto my chest. Guilt paralyzing my speech as the well-known pain writhed through me.  

Feyre’s fingers curled around my limp hand, “it’s okay, Nesta.”

I could barely speak, my lips fighting every attempt until finally I said his name, “Cassian?”

Holding my breath.

I waited for her deathly blow.

“Alive,” Elain replied softly, the curl of her lips increasing.

My watery eyes darted between my sisters, “and Eris?”    

“Also, alive,” Elain whispered, her smile fading as a deep line appeared between her brows. What did she see? What was his fate? The softness returned to her features as she faced me.

The floodgates we’re overwhelmed with the onslaught of my amber tears. Too many emotions, I felt too much. Relief, guilt…love. I felt it all at once as my sobbing continued. Pulling my legs into my chest, I pressed my forehead into my knees. I could hear the fabric singe from the drops of flames.

They were alive. Safe.

After several minutes of release, I wiped the tears away. Swallowing hard, I stared at Elain’s foggy eyes. “What of your sight?”

Elain closed her eyes, her head tilting towards the bedroom door. “It wasn’t your fault, Nesta.”

“Elain…” my jaw quivered, fresh tears—hot as the drop of sun in Ronan’s lair. “Wh, what of your sight?” I stuttered, raising my hand to her cheek, forcing her to look at me.

She pressed her lips together until they turned white, a crushing thought running through her. As she parted her mouth, I brushed away a fallen tear, “I will see again, Azriel even said so.”

“Is he healer? Does he know one? What—”

“Hush. Save your words, your strength. I believe him, I trust him more than any man before. If he says I will see again…I will.” Elain gripped my wrist, guiding my hand into her lap. “You have to know it wasn’t your fault, you have to accept that. This is not your burden, this is not because of you.”

“Yes, it is. Everything that has happened is because of me. I should have been the one providing for us, it should have been me in those woods. I should have protected you both when I knew…when I knew our father wouldn’t. And even if I didn’t, I should—I should have stayed as Ronan’s queen. You all would have been safe then.” My speech hardened, my spine lengthening as I felt myself grow colder. The fire within barely alive as I drowned in my own misery.

Elain shook her head in exasperation, “It was our intertwined fates that we ended up here in Prythian. If you had hunted instead of Feyre, she would have never found Rhys. If you had protected me from Ianthe and the cauldron, I would have married Graysen. If you had not, Nesta…” she lost her voice momentarily, more tears leaked from those milky irises. “If you had chosen a different path, our lives would be simpler—yes. But we would have lost so much more. I, I know…” Elain turned away, red splotches exploding along her open neck and collarbone.

Feyre tugged at my arm, forcing me to look at her, “you have nothing to feel guilty for, to apologize for anymore. You’ve done that enough. Elain is right, you know. We would have been stuck in that shit-cottage if it weren’t for you.”

“Bullshit and you know it,” I snapped at them, instantly regretting my tone.

“It was because of you, because of our situation that I went into those woods. We are here today because of what you set in motion. You might not like your choices or the effects of your actions but I met Rhys. And I would go through everything again, every painful moment if it meant being with him again.”

I glanced between my sisters, my aching heart beating louder than before—stronger. A frail smile brushed across my lips as I took in Feyre, “you know our sister is quite skilled in stabbing our enemies.”

“So, I’ve heard,” Feyre laughed, distant and little but nonetheless a laugh. “Eris is here,” she nodded towards the door. “They’ve been taking shifts to watch over your room…to watch over you.”

Elain snorted, “you should have seen them. Not one argument, not even a minor disagreement. Well, a few grunts or snorts but otherwise a perfect team.” Elain chimed, her voice as sweet as the peonies in her garden.

I stared at the door, at the single plank of wood that stood between me and Eris. “I don’t know how to ever repay him,” I whispered to myself.

“Honesty, sister,” Feyre answered as she scooted off the bed and headed towards Elain. They stood arm in arm, both bending down to hug me.

A gentle moment of affection that nearly made me cry all over again. By the mother above, I hope this was not a continuous act for me. I would definitely burn down the townhouse then.  

I watched them head towards the door, feeling my heart inflame as the door opened. There was a wide enough crack for Elain to slip through. Feyre let Eris hold Elain’s arm, guiding her down the stairwell.

Feyre paused before leaving, she whipped around forcing the locks of hair in her braid to separate from the thin leather strap. She cleared her throat, running her bandaged fingers through her hair to push the loose locks away. “It’s good to have you home. Everything feels…complete.”

There was a pull at the corner of my mouth, I could feel the flames within flicker. “Yes, it does.” My smile faltered as she turned away, lost in a kaleidoscope of unnerving thoughts.

The sound of the door closing made me jump. Jolting me right out of my thoughts. I was in the middle of trying to figure out where I stood, where did I consider home.

Eris stood with his back propped against the door, “I’m not too sure what you have to be scared of.” The start of a smirk, the development of a grin.

I raised to my knees, edging off the bed when I stopped.

Each step he made, there was a limp—a more distinct one than I had previously seen. Images of his blood seeping out between my fingers made that archaic ice spread through my extremities.

“It’s not that bad. I promise.”

Shoulders back, I braced my hands on my hips, “you’re a liar.”

“A damn good one until you came around.”

I tried to laugh, to separate myself from the images of the past but I couldn’t.

“You always scowl when you’re thinking. Do you know that?” The muscle in Eris’ jaw fluttered as he stopped halfway between the door and my bed. As he lingered, debating whether it was safe to move forward.  

I rubbed my forehead, afraid the lines would become permanent one day. “I do now, you prick,” I retorted, the agitation plummeting through me like a rogue wave until…

Before I knew what I was doing, I launched off the bed, crossing the space between us with two strides.

I crumpled into his chest. His burly arms wrapped around me, holding me up as I sobbed into his amber tunic. My tears didn’t burn him, nor his attire—a flaming court would need clothing that didn’t easily deter from flames, I guess.

“Thank you,” I cried, my voice going raw as I repeated my sentiments over and over. My heart thumped so hard, it felt like my bones would fracture. “Thank you…”

Eris brushed his lips on the top of my hair, then to my ear—just barely moving against my skin, “you look awful when you cry by the way.”

My fist reacted before his comment even registered, I slammed my knuckles into his gut. His grunt echoed through the room followed by a hearty laugh.

But then it stopped, everything did.

His warm, freckled hand caressed my cheek, lifting my face up to meet his. He swallowed hard before speaking. “Maybe not in this life and maybe not the next,” he breathed heavily, his amber eyes burning into mine had softened. “But at one point in time,” his voice cracked, “in one realm or another…”

I nodded, not needing him to finish. I knew what he was saying, I knew that if it wasn’t Cassian, it would be him. I lifted to my toes, gently sweeping my mouth against his scruffy cheek.

It was enough for him, I realized. The thought, the embrace.

Eris rested his forehead against mine, “you’ll always be my dear friend, Nesta Archeron—the enchantress of fire and steel…and a vicious tongue.”

Moving my forehead away from his, I laughed. Our laughter died down as I wiped away our tears.

“And you’ll always be my dear friend, Eris. The lord of fire and delayed wit.”

He drew me in closer, his chest rising and falling with his silent chuckle. As he released me, I could see the last tear escape him.

I smiled, he deserved that at the very least.

Eris didn’t wipe the tear away, nor did he acknowledge it. “If you ever need to run away, or just need a moment of different company…I hope you’ll visit. I mean, I am a High Lord now.” He raised his arms to encompass his entire body in emphasis.

In response, I rolled my eyes till it formed a minor headache.

Eris quipped, “I promise I won’t lock you in the dungeon?”

“You say that as if it’s still up for debate!” I snapped at him with a vengeance.

“Well if you want to be tied up, Nesta, all you have to do is ask.” Eris winked, his usual smirk in place.  

“Ass,” I muttered with the trace of a smile. “It’s the library I can’t resist, not you.”

“Until then, King Slayer.”

“Until then, Eris.”

Without hesitation, he winnowed out of the room. Only an echo of my past, but a friend—a dear friend I would never forget and a love I would never truly know. I was happy he winnowed away—that he didn’t wait another moment. I wasn’t sure how well I would keep my emotions in check if we elongated our goodbyes.

He saved my future, he saved me. For what it was worth, he had a piece of my heart, even if it wasn’t the pieces he wanted.

It only took me a few minutes to regain my composure. I stared down the door, willing my feet to move. My fingers wrapped around the cold metal…I paused.

This was real, I reminded myself. They were alive. Cassian is alive.

I whipped open the door to an empty hallway. Right, it was Eris’ turn to watch over my room. Inhale, exhale…do not let your emotions get the better of you.

My pace quickened down the stairs until I nearly slammed into Rhysand’s back.

Quickly he turned around, obviously not expecting me to collide with him. As he turned around, I noticed the vibrant blond hair of Mor.

Waiting—were they waiting for me?

Yes, Rhysand pushed into my mind.

The glare across my face vanished as I looked to him.

I apologize for the intrusion. Mor wanted to speak with you…

But she was afraid to do so alone?

Well, after seeing you tear apart Beron, I can’t say that I blame her. Rhysand chuckled softly at my slight look of surprise.

“Nesta?” Mor interrupted, “may I speak with you? Alone?” Her voice didn’t waver but I could see the shifting of her feet, I could smell the honey scent of her sweat.

Rhysand picked at the fleck of lint on his black tunic, “before I go,” his cosmic eyes darted to mine. “I wanted to thank you. For bringing him back. For keeping our family together when no one else could. I am forever indebted to you.” He lowered his head, offering a small bow.

I remained silent as I nodded, watching as Rhysand left the room.

Consider us even, Rhys, I pushed towards him, receiving a buzz of magic on the outskirts of my mind. Gratitude, I soon realized.

“I’m sorry,” Mor blurted out once I faced her. “For all that I have done. Not just to you, to them too. To everyone.” She shook her head, the long blond waves brushing against her shoulders. “I made a mess of things, a common practice of mine. There are…” she struggled to find the words as she searched the floor hoping it would save her.

“The answers are in your heart, not the wooden planks.” I remarked quietly.

Mor bit her lip, her eyes watered over as she nodded.

“You were only trying to protect him—both of them. I understand that sometimes in the midst of protecting loved ones and yourself, you only cause more damage. I’m well versed in breaking the hearts of my loved ones…as you know.” I tried to smile but my brows snapped together. “Do you love him?” I asked, the nagging question that had nearly eaten me alive.

Mother above, I felt like an ass for asking such a thing.  

“Not in the way that you do. I love him as a brother, as my family and protector. But not, well…I’m,” she let out her held breath, followed by the fidgeting of her fingers until her courage resurged. “Nesta, I’m gay.”

I wasn’t sure what to say or do. Not because I didn’t accept it but because I didn’t know how she wanted me to react—what she would accept. So, against my better judgement, I hugged her.

She flinched for a moment until she relaxed into my embrace. Her thin arms wrapped around my waist, I could feel the warm droplets collide against my shoulder.

Then it was over. We drifted away from one another, a silent understanding as we regarded each other.

But I had to speak, she had to know, “I hope moving forward,” I paused looking for the right words—this time it was my turn to struggle for the truth, “that you will not think of me as your enemy but as a friend, as family.”

Mor’s lips curved into a perfect dimpled smile as she wiped away her tears. “Thank you,” she whispered before retreating out of the room.  

Now who was next? I was sure to bump into several more people before I would see Cassian. I would swear my life upon it.

I turned towards the hallway, to where the second flight of stairs led down to the kitchen.

“I will only say this once,” her voice thickened with emotion, her fury barely contained.

I paused, looking over my shoulder to see the little demon faerie. Turning ever so slowly, I lifted my chin, “go on then.”

Amren crossed her arms in defiance, “next time, don’t exclude me.”

“From?” I asked confused beyond measure.

Her devious smile nearly frightened me but I knew better, I knew her. “You’re not the only one who has encountered Ronan,” she flicked up her brow at my sudden shock. “The bastard never mentioned me?” she nearly gasped, “I might have to pay him another visit,” Amren simpered.

My mouth dropped but no words came out. Why should I be so surprised, for someone such as Amren—for anyone who has lived a long life, you were bound to run into one another at some point.

Releasing a coy smile, I baited her, “he made no mention…”

Amren’s left eye twitched, her mouth beginning to part as her quick wit caught up with her tongue.

“Why would he? When you’re far more frightening than him?” I replied, watching her shoulders shake with laughter.

She turned on her silver heel, a flash of a smile made permanent on her ruby lips. Not another word was said as she headed to the front door, releasing an explosion of light from the streets of Velaris.

Cassian:

I pulled the medium sized chest from the wagon, one of many I needed to return. The chest was made of solid pine strapped with obsidian leather, bolts of gold lining the edges and the Night Court’s insignia centered on the top.

I would not hesitate even as the pit in my chest grew. How many were left? I counted the chests, seventeen.

I had done this every day since I woke up.

Seventeen left.  

With a heavy breath, I held the box close to my chest—carefully making my way down to the cottage on the far east side of Velaris. It was small and peaceful. An abundance of flowers and trees with a small creek carved between the front yard.

To distract myself, I thought of Nesta.

Today would be the day that she wakes up, she had to. It had been two long weeks since the war. Two very long weeks of recovery for all of us. I hated to leave her side but Eris was there. If there was anyone that I could without a doubt trust Nesta’s life with, it was him. Hated to admit it, loathed that it was him.

But he was there when I wasn’t. He sacrificed everything to protect her and that’s exactly what he did. Eris of all people. I guess there’s always more to a bastard’s story than I care to admit.

My heavy feet stopped just before the tiny wooden bridge. Once I crossed this, I would destroy yet another family. I would rip their hearts open unable to fill the void. Five hundred years later, I still had not mastered how to break the news of death. No apology, no remarks would lessen the blow.

I exhaled, raising my head as I had witnessed Nesta do a thousand times. I clenched my fist, knocking my knuckles against the worn wood of their door.

On first glance, she seemed fairly young—too young to lose a husband in a savage war. In a war that I started, that Nesta finished.

“Lord Com—” her cerulean eyes glanced at the box and she pressed her body against the door.

I caught her just before she fell to her knees, unable to stop the horrendous sobs that escaped her. “May I come in, Evelina?” I asked with a somber tone. Chest in one hand, her in the other.

She nodded, her only reply.

 Two untouched cups of tea sat between us, the chest of her husband’s ashes rested beside her.

“How did he die?” Evelina asked softly, her fingers brushing against the bolts of stars.

I cleared my throat of emotion, it was better this way. “On the front lines,” I answered. You never gave them details, they didn’t need any more help to picture their loved ones being murdered. I clasped my hands together, digging my thumb nail into my palm as if to ease the pain.

“Mom?” A fragile voice called from the stairwell.

My head whipped in his direction. A boy, about eight or nine years old. A boy who hasn’t realize I just shattered his mother’s world and would go on to shatter his.

Evelina wiped her tears before looking at him, “yes, Eowan?” Her voice was remarkably even for the news she just received.

“Are you okay?” He asked, heading down the stairs with wide eyes—ones that matched his mothers. “Is he hurting you?” Eowan asked, reaching for a plank of wood that was near the doorway.

“No, my love.” Evelina glanced to me, noticing my crumbling exterior.

It was not often that I ran into the children of the fallen while delivering the news. I was there afterwards, I was there picking up the pieces—one child at a time, one family in need of support after another.

I should be used to this, especially after the war against Hybern’s army. There were thousands of our soldiers that died at the hands of that monster. Yet I still wasn’t used to it, I still hated delivering the news. But it was better me than anyone else. After all, I am the Lord Commander of the Night Court armies and these were my warriors I failed.

Eowan eyed the chest, “what is that?”

Then it hit him, he looked from his crying mother to the chest and then to me. My uniform, my blank expression. He shook his head several times before fleeing upstairs.

“I must speak with him,” Evelina made a move to get up but I held out my hand.

“If I may?”  

She nodded, not bothering to watch me as I headed up the creaking stairs. Instead she wrapped her arms around the chest of ashes.  

There were two doors upstairs, I took a guess on which was his. My knuckles grazed against the aged door, the one painted with dragons and Illyrian soldiers, “Eowan?” I asked softly, “may I come in?”

Before he could respond, I cracked the door open. His room was small for a grown man but perfect for a child. I didn’t dare step inside, not without his permission.

Eowan’s posture sunk, his back creating a crescent moon as he pulled his legs in, “who are you?”

“Lord Commander of the Night Court armies.” This got his attention.

Eowan wiped his face with the edges of his sleeves. He studied my armor, then looked to where my wings should be. His cerulean eyes bulged, “what happened to you?”

I braced my scarred back against the door frame, waiting to feel the tips of daggers where my wings should have been. I was still healing, in some spots more than others. “Sacrifice,” I finally managed, taking another glimpse of his room to avoid his curious stare.

I hadn’t spoken to anyone about this. About the loss of my wings. Not Az or Rhys. Not even as Nesta slept. If I spoke of it, if the words drifted from lips—then it was real. I didn’t want it to be real.  

Eowan waited.

I just broke the news that his father died in battle, the least I can do is give him something else to think about. No matter what damage it did to my soul.

“There was a woman, an innocent who needed our help,” I began, unsure of where to lead next in our story.

“Was she why you went to battle?”

“Yes,” I did not lie.

“So, she’s why my father is dead?”

“No.” I urged, my emotions tangling within one another. Softly I released my breath, “your father died at the hands of a tyrant. Of a High Lord who suffered far more than anyone on that battlefield.”

Eowan’s eyes caught mine, containing a depth of innocence I had lost long ago. “Do you love her?” he finally spoke.

I didn’t hesitate, “yes. More than I ever thought possible.”

“Mates?”

I nodded, clenching my war-scarred fist. The red siphons sparked in agreeance.

Eowan released his legs followed by an long exhale, “my father once said that nothing could stand in the way of mates. Not even death.”

A part of me unraveled, feeling the abrupt pluck at my heartstrings. “Your father was a wise man,” I commented. “War is about sacrifice. No matter which side you fight on, you will always lose.”

“And what did you lose besides your wings?”

His question stunned me, every part of my body shuddering as his words struck me like flaming arrows. “Every battle I lose a piece of my soul. I live with the guilt of not protecting my soldiers. I live with the knowledge that I’ve torn families apart, that I’ve taken loved ones away and have absolutely no way to fill the emptiness left behind…” I choked up, not expecting the emotion to drain out of me so quickly. Especially not in front of a child.  

“You shouldn’t feel that way.”

“Why not?”

He tipped his head to look up at me, “you’re not the one taking their last breath. It’s not your sword, it’s not your wrath.” He rubbed his eyes again, smearing his tears, “they fought for you, for their court not out of duty but because they believe in you. That’s what my father always told me, anyways.”

I liked his father. Rumbreun was fierce and well-seasoned but he was also kind—thoughtful, it seems he passed those traits onto his kin. “What do you think?” I countered; I had to know, even if it was painful—his opinion mattered.

“That chaos and loss—well, it’s written in our stars but so is kindness and compassion.”

Stunned, yet again. By a child.

“You have both, Commander.” His mother said from the hallway. “We’re Illyrians, we’re born with battle fever in our blood.” She stepped forward, gripping the handrail for support.

“I’m sorry for all of this,” I hung my head.

“If you want to honor the fallen, my husband, then live. Love and be kind. For the only antidote to chaos is kindness.” She paused to clear her throat of the growing lump, “we’re born with the thirst of battle but we’re raised with the pursuit of compassion.”

“Thank you,” I uttered while stepping aside to let her into her son’s room.

Evelina held him, his head turned away from me now as the tears catapulted off his chin. Her haunting eyes peered up at me, a smile adjusting on her quivering lips as she held back her cries.

“I will not fail you two.”

“We know.”

Eowan lifted his face just enough for the words to come out clearly, “bye Lord Commander.”

“Call me Cassian.”

Nesta:

The mixed aromas of citrus…and vegetable stew—an odd combination flooded the stairs that led to the kitchen. I wasn’t exactly sure what Bea was making but I’m sure it would be delicious.

I could hear her soft hums and the clank of her wooden spoon against the lip of the pot. Pushing open the doors slowly, an attempt to not scare her, I called her name.

“Mother above!” She screeched, knocking over the pots and ceramic plates. Bea stood facing the mess of stew and fresh cut oranges. Her mouth opened, unable to speak as she took me in.

“Hi Bea,” I smiled, stifling my laughter at her shocked expression.

Bea still held the wooden spoon in her hand, giving me a slight wave that only furthered the mess by flinging remnants of sliced carrots and potatoes.

I couldn’t contain it any longer, the chuckles broke free. Bea joined in as she observed the massive mess of food. Luckily, she didn’t burn easily.

“I would hug you, however, I’m a bit...” she used the spoon to spot out the mess of oranges that stained her apron.

“That’s quite alright, seeing you is enough. I never thought I’d get a show though.”

Bea’s raven dagger smile expanded, “you know, you do have to help with dinner now. After all, it was you who scared me.”

“I’d love to help.”

 I wasn’t much of a cook, not in the human world at least but in the underworld…it was a sanctuary for me. I had learned basic dishes but not much else. I didn’t have time to dive further into that hobby.

Maybe that is why I escaped to the kitchen, to Bea.

There was obviously no saving the stew so Bea came up with a new idea. A sweet potato bisque, she said. I had no idea what a sweet potato was but after she explained that it would be turned into a bisque and mentioned the amount of vegetables she adds in, my mouth began to water.  

She had assigned me to chopping sweet potatoes and mushrooms, though she worried I might cut open a finger. I told her several times that chopping and slicing was not an issue for me.

Bea focused her attention on the onions and zucchini while I continued to cut large potatoes into neat chunks.

“May I join you?” Feyre asked the doorway, making Bea jump again.

“You Archeron women will be the death of me, I hope you all know that,” she lifted her utensil and shook it into the air in disappointment.

I grabbed another knife, offering it to her along with the bowl of mushrooms. She beamed at my offering.

“Will Cassian be back tonight?” I asked casually, trying to focus at the task at hand.

“For dinner? Yes.” Feyre glanced at me then at the chunks of potato I was putting in the boiling water. “Do you know what it means to cook a meal for your mate?”

“Mate?” I asked, still unable to fathom it.

Feyre’s lips twitched at my reply, “I can tell you our story? What happened between Rhys and I—if you’d like.”

“If you wouldn’t mind.”

“Rhys didn’t tell me, believe it or not. He kept it from me as long as he could but eventually all secrets come out.” She finished several mushrooms by the time I had finished three. Feyre continued, “I was furious, locked myself in a cabin as far away from him as I could be. Eventually, he found me—flew to me through a damn blizzard.” She shook her head, a soft smile forming. “He was so cold that I decided to heat up soup. He acted as if I was showing him sunlight for the first time.”

“Why is that?” I interrupted, completely forgetting about the mushroom in my hand.

“When you offer your mate food—it means you accept the bond. Some will do formal events or as simple as a can of soup in a lonely cabin.” Her cheeks tinted pink, “though this isn’t an official offering if you don’t want it to be…”

I stared at the mushroom in my palm, as if it would tell me my future. “Thank you for telling me, for letting me hear a piece of your love story.”

Feyre nodded, her bowl of mushrooms finely chopped. “I must go but remember, you can accept the bond or not—either way you are loved by us all. It’s your choice, Nesta.”

[iamnotawomanimagod]

I don’t like him either. And the change we need won’t come from any single president or presidential candidate. Every single one of them will always work to maintain the status quo. It wasn’t going to come from Bernie and it definitely isn’t going to come from a party Dem like Biden.

But do you think we’ll be able to overthrow the concept of the presidency by November? To rework our government so we won’t need to hold an election? 

Because Trump is trying to designate Antifa as a terrorist organization, he’s calling for shooting looters, and he’s attempting to put sanctions against social media and free speech. He has done nothing to condemn or speak out against police brutality, including the dozens of incidents that took place just the past weekend. He’s on the fast track to fascism.

I was fortunate to vote for Obama back when I didn’t consider him the lesser of two evils. That was a nice feeling. I don’t think I’ll ever feel that way about casting a vote towards the presidency ever again. 

It’s not choosing someone you’re going to marry. It’s getting on the right bus that’s headed home.

Until the people are ready and willing to engage in a violent coup, there will be a presidential election this November, and getting Trump out is the most important thing we can do. If he stays, there’s a high chance he’ll be nominating at least two more Justices to the Supreme Court. If he stays, he will continue to remove protections in the food industry, the medical industry, and the criminal justice system.

If I had my way, we’d be able to choose from more than two parties. We’d have the opportunity to actually see the candidate we wanted get elected, rather than relying on the archaic electoral college system, which heavily favors conservative-leaning candidates. We’d have literally any other option besides Old White Predator Fascism Edition and Old White Predator Status Quo Edition.

But since those are my choices, I’m choosing the status quo. I hate it, but it’s about harm reduction right now, not about hoping for the ideal.

The phrase was used by Miami's police chief, Walter Headley, in 1967, when he addressed his department's "crackdown on ... slum hoodlums," according to a United Press International article from the time.

Headley, who was chief of police in Miami for 20 years, said that law enforcement was going after “young hoodlums, from 15 to 21, who have taken advantage of the civil rights campaign. ... We don't mind being accused of police brutality."

Trump wants police brutality. It's that simple.

[astridsherer9-blog]

SANSKRIT FOREIGN LANGUAGE Related Contents

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[lorrainecparker]

Avid ScriptSync: An Editor’s Secret Weapon

ScriptSync is an Avid product that lives inside Media Composer. It assists filmmakers and video editors with a workflow we’ve been waiting 100 years for – the ability to quickly sync video and audio clips directly to the lines and lines of words on our scripts and transcripts.

Either someone has written a script ahead of time, or like with documentary or reality shows, someone makes word-for-word transcriptions of what people said, and then builds the script in post-production from those transcripts.

You’d think something this awesome would have been around a lot longer. Well it has. 11 years longer in fact. Many people are actually confused between what ScriptSync is and what is the environment inside Avid Media Composer it works from, namely script-based editing.

It’s funny how many people over my career have said this exact line: “Wait, you really want me to write down what they said? Every word?”

If you want ScriptSync to work, and work well, your transcripts need to be amazing. Not just slapped together, or approximate. They need to be accurate. I’d even recommend word-for-word, to the point of including ums and uh’s, stutters and restarts. The more you give ScriptSync to latch onto, the better.

There are three options, and they absolutely subscribe to the theory of cheap, or fast, or good. And I’ll leave it up to you to decide which one fits your production.

The first option is the cheap option. Use an app or a bot on the Web that makes speech-recognition transcripts. Since there isn’t a person listening and typing, the customer is supposed to expect a failure rate. If you are in need of extras in your transcripts – like notes about what timecode each new bite starts at, and who is talking (interviewee versus the producer asking the questions), then this option is not for you.

The second option is the fast one. Use an upload service that hires people at an incredibly cheap rate. On-call and on-demand, these people bang-out transcripts as fast as possible. Think of them as the UBER of the transcription world. For this, a lot of independent producers have recently begun using REV.com. The price is nice and the speed of getting back transcripts is nice too.

There are still issues with this – many of them. But the biggest ones are inaccuracy and inconsistency. If your interview mentions medical terms, occasional foreign language words, or anything out of the ordinary, many times the contracted transcriber will simply spell it phonetically. Also, on large projects you are absolutely not guaranteed getting the same transcriber. If you have 30 transcripts, you might have 30 different people, and each with a different style and accuracy level.

Plus, and a lot of independent filmmakers don’t often think of this one, but what is that company’s confidentiality plan? You may not be concerned with whether they leak the information about what an interviewee says, but depending on your material perhaps you should? Are those transcribers under your own Non-Disclosure Agreements? How sensitive is your material? Remember they are able to keep your proxy videos or audio clips forever if they wanted to. Lots to think about!

The third option is the good one. Use a transcription service that includes a full spectrum of services including confidentiality, a single transcriber assigned to the entire project for consistency, researching the subject matter as it’s being transcribed especially medical terms, locations and such, double proofing on the part of the transcriber and the transcription company’s manager, back-end confidentiality where all evidence of the work and its transcripts are actually deleted from the contracted transcriber’s computer, and then upon request, using of all the transcripts for closed captioning., so that you’re not starting that part of the process from scratch.

Here in the US I’ve been a huge fan of Accurate Secretarial. Every editor should find a good small-scale place like this one that has large-scale standard operating procedures.

I know it seems like I’m drifting away from ScriptSync a bit, and hammering away at how precise your transcriptions need to be, but your transcriptions feed ScriptSync.

ScriptSync is only as good as your Transcriptions.

Well here we are. All transcripts are made, and from them, the script was written.

Time to load the scripts and the media into the system and get it ready for ScriptSync. The process here is actually the same as it was when ScriptSync came out.

Don’t open Media Composer yet. First grab a transcript in a folder on your computer. You’ll have to reformat it as a text file (.txt) in order to use it in Media Composer. Why is this? Actually it’s a good thing. All of the extra formatting that comes along with Microsoft Word would just get in the away of you trying to make your film. In order to mark your script in the Avid with script-based editing’s tools, you need it to start as a clean thing.

Open it in Microsoft Word. Click File / Save As. About 2/3 of the way down, click Format, Plain Text (.txt). Don’t worry, it’s not going to save right now, just wait a moment. Click Save and see what happens. See? Before it saves, another dialogue comes up. This is important. Text Encoding: Even if you’re on a Mac and going to a Mac, just trust me on this. Click MS Dos. Options? Insert Line Breaks. Always. End lines with CR/LF. Always. Allow Character substitution? Always. Once you have these four things selected, click OK, and it saves your script as a text file.

So why those settings?

There are big tech reasons behind it. The terminology and operations of script formatting – in Avid and in all computing in general came from the old days of typewriters. So in the background, when any Word doc or Final Draft doc, or Text File is being converted from one thing to another, that background architecture is following a set of rules created ages ago. ASCII rules to be exact. And those rules here are:

Text Encoding: In MS Dos, it allows more transferrable features between OS’s.

Insert Line Breaks: If you don’t, you’ll be going for the Guiness world record of the longest horizontal script ever.

CR : Carriage Return. This returns the text creator’s ability to its left justification

LF: Line Feed. This means the text won’t be typing right on top of the last line of text that was typed.

Character Substitution: For when you have a goofy name like mine.

Once done with all these, click “Save”. Now this is ready to be brought into Avid Media Composer.

OK, are you ready to sync your script the old way – the archaic, slow way? Let’s do that first, so you can understand how awesome ScriptSync is.

In Composer, click File / New Script. Go and find that script, and bring it in. Here it is, completely formatted for the script-based editing environment. As you can see I’ve also requested from the transcriber to add timecode as well as the letter Q and a colon to indicate the producer’s questions. Now let me tell you, do this File/New Script a few times and, like everyone else, you’ll be begging Avid to expand this to File / New scripts (plural), bring ‘em all in at once. Man we want that. Maybe someday.

Now click File / Open Bin, and let’s bring in the video and audio clip that is what was transcribed. File / AMA Link, or you could bring it in through legacy methods like File / Import or digitizing from tape, it depends where it came from.

Now you can’t just drag it onto the script. That would be like dragging a clip into the timeline without any in/out points. Avid wants to make sure you’re deciding where it should go. It wants in/out points. So go give the clip a listen. Where does it start? Where does it stop? OK go highlight that area on the script. See how nice the click-and-drag ability lets you define in/out points? This isn’t doing any damage to your script. This is just setting in/out points, much like in your sequence timeline. Nothing sticks. Set an in, and an out. Is this the right in and out? Unsure? Well unfortunately, you’d better be sure. It is not – I repeat – not an easy interface for making changes. There is absolutely no “trim” function as you’re used to in the timeline. So you don’t have to be exact with your in/out. Actually you can be sloppy, but you need to be sloppy in adding too long of an in/out, rather than too short.

Now drag the clip into that area. Nothing is synced yet. It is only placed.

Time to sync. Ready? Look here in the toolbar. There’s a play button, which plays the take totally separately from Media Composer’s source/record monitors. There’s also a Record button. Record? What are we recording if the clip is already captured? We are recording the points at which we want to sync. And we do so “live”.

Hit record. It starts playing the take from the very beginning. So you’ll sit and wait through silence, film crew banter, or whatever. Wait for the start. Now when you hear a word, click the clip’s magic little green tail here. Do it again… And again… And again… You can be as line-by-line exact as you want, or if this whole project only has a couple of days of editing total, just click a few and deal with the fact later that your only syncing a few points, and you’ll have to shuttle to find the exact words.

You’re adding these little triangles, called “script marks”. I never call them by that name though because it’s too easy to confuse someone in conversation between “script marks” and “markers” in the timeline. I call them carrots. It’s an old term, and I’m old. So forgive me. Anyway, add the next carrot. And the next… And the next… Bored yet? Getting nervous because you already spent time transcoding or digitizing, and the producer is demanding real results, not this tedious junk?

Well tough! Sit here and do this for the next 40 hours of interviews you shot! Or go buy ScriptSync.

ScriptSync. Ready to see it?

Highlight the in/out. Drag the clip. It becomes a “take”. Click Script / ScriptSync. OK.

Done! Next script. Done. Next script. Done. Those 40 hours? You’ll now be done in like one or two, tops. How much do you charge per hour? Yeah. ScriptSync. No brainer.

A new beautiful feature added for script-based editing 2.0 is text editing. It was sooo bad in the past. I wouldn’t expect something as robust as MS Word to be inside Media Composer. But this new text editing is a really nice compromise. It works great. You add or change text, and the carrots move dynamically. Sure you could do this for script rewrites I guess, but for now let’s just look at transcripts. Let’s say you didn’t use a good transcription house, and you find some text that’s just wrong. Click Edit. Fix it. Done!

Another great feature we’ve had for years but that they’ve upgraded is Set Color. Yeah baby, here’s where the color-coding geek in my jumps out. Is there a good line? Color it. Is there a bad line or one you can’t say for legal or non-disclosure reasons? Color it. Color things your own way, or according to your writer/producer’s preferences, or even to Final Draft’s standards, if your writing staff is using that.

Interface-wise, the default way a new script looks is actually not this white one I’ve been using. Normally it comes with line numbers and gray colored line separations. A lot of folks use it and are really impressed by it. They’re settings you can enable or disable. Personally I always turn those off and keep scripts white, without line numbers. When I have dozens of bins open, it is so wonderful to be able to immediately identify the difference between a bin and a script. I need to see the script separated from bins, visually.

So there it all is: ScriptSync and script-based editing.

This webinar is just an adjunct to the wealth of wisdom out there on ScriptSync. Over the years some of the brightest people we have in our industry have written about it and presented about it. Following Ashley Kennedy and her tutorials has been amazing. Also, go Google Oliver Peters. Go Google Michael Kammes, and his awesome 5 Things series. Follow Kevin P. McAuliffe’s Get Started Fast video series. Go to 24p.com, the immense site from Michael Phillips, the former principal designer at Avid who co-created Avid ScriptSync and script-based editing. Definitely go Google Frontline PBS editor Steve Audette ACE, who has been one of our greatest voices for ScriptSync. Follow the Avid Editors of Facebook. Follow the little Facebook page I created ages ago called “Script Sync Fans”. Go to those places and ask questions. Ask as many as you can.

Or if you really want to get good at ScriptSync, then do what I did… Just play.

Start opening things, and clicking on things, and mess up intentionally. Go break stuff. Then go fix it. The only way to learn how to dig yourself out of a hole, is to throw in a shovel and then dive after it. Craft editing is a challenge, and we must never get to a point where we are above the challenge. If we do, we stop being better filmmakers, and we stop being better storytellers.

ScriptSync is tremendous technology because it helps us be better storytellers. More gets done, and less story gets missed. And we must be focused on the story. In order to give audiences the feeling of total immersion, we must operate behind the scenes, madly – one person in a room, madly pursuing an idea.

It’s the only thing that has ever worked.

  The post Avid ScriptSync: An Editor’s Secret Weapon appeared first on ProVideo Coalition.

First Found At: Avid ScriptSync: An Editor’s Secret Weapon

[ahvie-voidsinger]

Charity

During the course of one of my many facebook battles (I don’t necessarily see a futility in them if the person hasn’t unfriended me yet), I was berated for defending the rights of transgender citizens to use the bathroom of their chosen gender, not the one they were assigned at birth. Keep in mind I have not yet come out to my friends. One such friend angrily asked me, “The fuck do you care about them? It doesn’t personally affect you, does it?”

And although in fact it did affect me personally, because this is very much a fight on my character and my profession, that question struck me as very odd. Do people really think that we cannot or should not give a damn about something or someone if we ourselves aren’t expecting to get something out of it? Doesn’t that fly in the face of the charity work nonpartisan, religious and nonreligious volunteers do for other people?

Instead of choosing to come out right then and there and make the argument more personal (and therefore a little more subjective), I chose to grill them right back on what charity really is. You’re giving your time, your money, or something of your own to help improve the life of another human being, with ZERO expectation in return. Even if there’s no thanks. Some might say that they are charitable because it makes them feel like a better person, that they might not be as bad as the world tells them they are. Some might say that they are expected to be charitable because of a religious belief or some holiday or some leader told them to be charitable.

I’m quite aware that even writing a blog post about what being charitable is could very well be subjected to a possibility that it was just to get attention, to have praise and thanks lavished upon oneself. My father probably saw it that way, as part of his being a sociopath drove him to seek the shield of others’ adoration and admiration to hide behind. Ironically, he hated it when I donated money at the grocery checkout lines, or outside Walmart with the red kettles, and he certainly didn’t approve of gofundme’s.

Thankfully, he’s out of my life and not breathing down my neck on every decision I make. But back to the topic, which is where I really don’t giving money away to charity. I’m single, probably will be for a very long time as I transition, and have only one family member left, my poor mother. I have a decent job I enjoy that doesn’t pay a lot, but I live with her and we make things work, and we’re amazingly well off considering the political climate. I am ever conscious of how unlucky many of my gaming friends are, or how less well off they are, and I can finally start doing something about it.

I once donated a bit of money to a gofundme effort before there were gofundme’s, sort of a volunteer freelance project. See nearly three decades ago, when pc gaming was in its infancy, LucasArts released several games that revolutionized adventure stories, one of them being Escape from Monkey Island. The other, which my father chose for me instead, was LOOM. It was a musical-focused game that had the player-character cast spells through musical notes recited in a particular pattern. Some patterns were reversable by singing backwards. The game had a lot of depth and alternate means to solve the puzzles. And it was slated to be a trilogy. Only at the culmination of the first game, we got a hell of a cliffhanger... and LucasArts never delivered, only hinting briefly at what the titles of the 2nd and 3rd games would be. In the following years, and decades, the best we got were ports and special editions of the first LOOM game, some even going as far as providing voiced dialogue for ALL of the game’s speech. If that wasn’t commitment, I’m not sure what was; and yet the series just never continued.

Then a driven and story-loving nerd who, like many of us middle-aged gamers who grew up with LOOM, decided to continue the series himself by not only writing the story for the next two games, but also to hire programmers, testers, artists, musicians and coders to create a purely fan-based, fan-funded pair of sequels. Only, as you could imagine, following in the footsteps of a very iconically and archaic game art style required people with very niche skills, and all of those people needed to make a living. Paying for all of it became very difficult and very scarce. I think the project was a few years in development, barely halfway to even the first playable alpha demo, back when I stumbled upon it after searching for a sequel. I was young and idealistic, but no less idealistic than I am now, and shrugged. These guys might never get off the ground, even with a significant donation. But, Hell, I grew up with this too and want to see the story resolved. So I gave them their biggest donation in years (which appears to have inspired others to top it, as months later bigger cash flowed in) and thought nothing of the offers to put my name in the game as an easter egg, or to have a character named after me or whatever. Maybe in the credits, okay, but that’s not why I donated money.

I donated money because I want them to succeed. I want hardworking talented artists and caring people to stay employed so they can continue being hardworking talented artists and caring people. My friends used to tell me I sounded like an asshole when I told them I had money I was willing to throw around for the good of my friends. I was so confused then, and maybe I can understand the danger or the appearance of wanting to be a savior or somesuch. But I have very little in my life to throw money at, and I figure it’s far better than a WoW Token or a new car or a 4K TV or something I don’t need. Better to make the world better one choice at a time, because God knows there’s a shitload of stuff fighting to make the world worse many choices at a time.

I paid $2,000 for the custom-fitted, glow-in-the-dark Mass Effect N7 fury cosplay latex costume back in 2013. The tailor, Andrey (better known as Andromeda Latex now), was not very well known back then for his revolutionary catsuit patterns, latex designs and layering, as well as the reactive coating that made it glow under black light. After helping to fund what I saw as a very worthy artist being underappreciated, he got a few more ideas from progressively happy customers, and hit the jackpot making Evangelion plugsuits and Overwatch costumes. He has more work than he knows what to do with, and his waitlist is more than a year long. When he moved locations, he had a rare opportunity to make only specific costumes for a short time. I paid 2K for another one, just as much to own another rare and high-quality cosplay as to support an awesome human being who I thought deserved to stay in business.

So, um, yeah. I’m not rich. I make barely $35K a year being a newspaper editor and designer, but I rather like it. And living at home with an open-minded but damaged mother means I’m well capable of living within my means. Looking after me isn’t a big deal, isn’t a big upkeep. So when I offer an artist payment with no concern about the price tag, or help pay for someone’s bus ticket out of their shitty hometown, or help fill a few shelves at the pantry... I’m not doing it for God, I’m not doing it for the golden plaque, I’m not even doing it to escape from the shadow of my father’s upbringing. I can very much get by. I’m no high-roller, but... this world, with all the shit that happens to good people... I’m sorry Facebook ‘friends’, but I very much have a stake in this fight. I don’t know why you don’t feel the same way, with all the religious drivel you preach to me every day.

I hope the money goes to good use, and that it helps bring about happiness and goodness in this entropic world we inhabit. Would that money could solve all of our problems =\

It’s like Bill and Ted often said, “Be excellent to each other.”