#it’d be one of those tragic stories

[eddwardtheseventhspacewizard]

I’m blocking everyone celebrity fan blog that shows up on my dash now. You don’t know that man I think it’s kinda creepy how you thirst over him. That’s a real person, not fictional. Don’t ship them with other people either!! That’s disgusting!!!!

[dark-frosted-heart]

Roger Barel Main Route - Chapter 18 His POV

As usual, can’t guarantee 100% accuracy on this. I’m doing this for archiving purposes and you can probably find a better translation out there.

As I was about to be taken away by the Privy Council, Kate took my hand and led me to the garden behind the palace.

Kate: Roger, what’s the meaning of this? Arrest…

Roger: Calm down, Kate. Whatever’s going on is just as you heard.

Kate: …There’s really an arrest warrant?

(Don’t look so sad...I can’t resign myself to this if you make that face)

A deep sigh filled the space between us.

Roger: …Yeah, long story short—I’ve been set up by the Privy Council.

I’m now a criminal and a traitor to Crown.

At first, I thought it was one of those Vogel guys behind it. Never thought it’d be one of our own.

Kate frowned in confusion.

Kate: …Traitor? You…? …There’s no way that will ever happen.

You would never betray Crown!

(Yeah, I know. I thought it was impossible)

(That’s why I made you that promise that day. I made a vow to myself when I purposely said those words)

~~ Flashback ~~

Roger: However, I’m gonna change my fate. It’s absurd to allow myself to be controlled by it. Kate, I’ve taken a liking to you so I’ll promise you this. I will never betray you without a reason. Never.

~~ End flashback ~~

As someone who spent my life trying to tame my curse, surrendering to it was like admitting defeat.

But—I completely lost.

Roger: …I could.

Kate: Roger…?

Roger: …It’s laughable, isn’t it…?

I was shaking with the anger, sadness, and despair rising within me.

Roger: I swore to myself that I’d tame my curse. I wouldn’t let fate drive me mad like God’s whim.

I resolved to never betray anyone unknowingly. ..And yet.

You can’t fight it…just by your will alone?

Kate: …

I’ve lived all my life fighting against despair.

But it’s like my curse was mocking me, saying “it was all useless.”

Roger: Is this how I meet my tragic end?

…Surrendering myself to my curse…

Kate: No…

You won’t! You can’t let your curse beat you—

I heard the voices and footsteps of those searching for us. Kate took my hand and quickly hid behind a hedge of Chinese privet.

I could hear their footsteps coming closer, signaling that our brief moment together was about to come to an end.

(It sounds pathetic, but the only thing I can do now is let her go. Can’t get her involved. I can do that much)

Kate: Run away with me, Roger.

Roger: That’d just make the crime worse.

Kate: …I still don’t have a complete grasp on the situation.

However, I know you’ve been falsely accused. Until that gets cleared up…

As if to stop Kate from weaving more kind words, I cut her off.

Roger: Kate, though we ended up spending time together by pure chance, I enjoyed it.

Kate’s eyes wavered.

Kate: What are you talking about at a time like this?

(...I can’t waver. I just need to tell her the truth as simple as possible) 

Roger: Take care of Ale. My old man should be back soon to pick him up.

I picked Ale up and shoved him in Kate’s arms.

Kate: Eh, huh?

Roger: And when your time as Fairytale Keeper’s up, turn to Victor. He’s a good one.

Kate: Roger, what are you saying?

Roger: And finally.

(“Finally”, huh?)

That word brought up emotions that I desperately tried to hold back.

(...Ah, damn it.  Love is such a foolish, troublesome emotion)

My body moved on its own—I impulsively took Kate’s lips with mine.

Roger: —Kate, I've fallen for you.

Kate: …

(...I didn’t plan to tell you this at the very end)

Roger: Heh, what’s with that dumb look? You didn’t notice? You’re pretty dense for someone that boasted about being a teacher of love. You’ve got terrible drinking habits and hate losing, but you’re earnest and stubborn. I know your bad points.  Still, even with all this trouble…Kate, I adore you.

Kate’s eyes were filled with a mixture of anger and sadness.

Kate: …Why are you telling me all of this now?!

Roger: ‘Cause I might never see you again. My ego’s telling me I’ll regret not telling you.

Kate: Never see me again…

(Kate. Anyone who says stuff like at the last moment’s no good)

(I’m a selfish man that wants a part of me left in you, even if just a little. That’s why)

Roger: I’m retracting my definition of “romantic love’s just a dysfunction of the brain or a misunderstanding caused by sexual desire.” Love definitely exists in this world. Q.E.D.

(You deserve to be adored by someone more kind and sincere. I want you to keep laughing and smiling for the rest of your life)

Privy Council member: There they are, I found them!

Roger: Whoops, looks like time’s up. They’re so impatient.

Kate: Roger…

Roger: See ya, Kate. Take care. Ale, you live a long life too.

Ale: …Kuuuuun?

Roger: …Can’t even pet you cuties’ heads with these handcuffs on.

I tried to smile like I usually do and turned my back on Kate and Ale.

Kate: No, Roger! Don’t go!

(...Don’t make such a sad sound)

Kate: …Roger, Roger! There’s no way you can’t hear me!

(Yeah, I can hear you. I won’t forget your voice for the rest of my life)

Kate: Roger!

(Kate)

(Please don’t give in to despair. Be happy)

And thus—I disappeared from Kate’s sight.

[heartmii]

TOA 01

✮⋆apollo x male!reader

!warnings!: angst, mentions of blood, anything else anyone sees and is uncomfortable with please let me know!

✮⋆˙ woo chapter two!! I'm excited to release this but also super nervous because I added a twist that I'm not sure everyone will love but I mean, it's a story about mythical beings so I decided to just have fun with it!

✮⋆˙previous

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“What did you do?” Anger seethed through the ex-god, his shaky breath competed with the rapid thump of his heart against his chest. Apollo’s eyes snapped to the now smug smiling emperor, the fury in his chest growing. 

“Oh? Are you not happy with what you see?” Caligula asked, voice laced with fake concern. He clicked his tongue, his eyes surveying his servants in dissatisfaction. “The gods,” he sighed, shaking his head. “So hard to please. You surprise them with the dead love of their life, and still, it’s not enough for them to say thank you. Such egos, it’s a shame, really.”

Apollo swallowed, an attempt at soothing the dryness that was now overtaking his throat. “That’s not possible. It’s an illusion. It has to be…” he faltered, his body deflating as he dropped onto the ground.

 Apollo was a god turned mortal. He was from the mythical world and saw many things, things that one alone could not comprehend, things that don’t make sense, that shouldn’t be able to happen because it went beyond the natural order of the mortal and mythical world. Yet, somehow, you being brought back from the dead was not an acceptance that came easily to him. 

It’d been years, years, since your death, but you lived. Alive in Apollo’s mind. There was not a day, not a century, not even a millennium, that Apollo did not think of you and the bittersweet memories you two shared. Your grace and your beauty, along with the essence of your soul, were immortalized for eternity in his heart, where he could forever nourish your memory and honor your legacy. 

Please… Who was he kidding? Honoring your legacy? Him? Apollo had done nothing but trash on everything you stood behind! If anything, he went against what you fought so desperately for. There was blood on his hands. The blood of many innocent lives he so easily discarded with no regard for their being. The option of others having a choice was previously nonexistent in the ex-god’s mind. He’d force many people to do his bidding and castigate them if they rejected. 

Including those he loved after your time. 

His heart clenched as Daphne’s horrified face filled his mind. Her expression contrasting his hopeful one as he chased her through the forest surrounding mount Olympus. It was Eros who, so full of spite, caused her to hate the mere thought of Apollo’s face. So much so that she begged her father, Peneus, desperate for help. He’d heard her prayers and granted her salvation.

 But even after the last branch formed from Daphne’s outstretched arm and she had fully become a prospering laurel tree, Apollo did not allow her to rest peacefully. He had plucked the leaves from her branches and formed what was now known to be one of his most notable symbols. The laurel reef.

 Daphne didn’t love Apollo. No, she despised him so much that she believed death was better than remaining on earth with him, but even that he had stolen from her. 

Just like you, Daphne was immortalized in the memories and stories of people but met the tragic fate of being forever tied to the very god that she had died escaping, tainting her name with his own and taking away her right to a peaceful death. Apollo may not have been the one that forced her to take her last breath, but it was he who pushed her to such a state of helplessness that she felt there was no other option. 

Perhaps that was why the thought of you being alive was so agonizing to him, because then you would learn about the monster he had become and how all of those promises he made to you under the moonlight had become nothing but empty words he spewed under the drunken spell of love.

 How could he look you in your eyes now? Eyes that always glimmered with determination as you spouted your ideals and all the great you planned to do in the world…how could he look at those same eyes and say that he failed to do what you had dreamed, what you both dreamed. Even if that dream died for Apollo a long time ago. 

Caligula considered Apollo for a moment before grabbing your arm and moving you back into his line of sight. He turned back to the ex god, his smile now wicked and sadistic, vastly enjoying the conflicting grief in his eyes.

“You haven’t taken a proper look at him. As he was once your lover, there’s no doubt in my mind you’ve memorized his body. You should have no trouble deducing if he’s a fake or not.” 

How odd was it that Apollo, who had been literally fighting for his life these past few months and wanted nothing more but to evade conflict, wished he was dodging swinging swords, and running from giant monsters that chased him and his friends instead of being here, simply standing and being forced to stare at the person most precious to him. 

Yet, he had succumbed to the small part of him that was a tad curious if it truly was you. 

His breath staggered, and he stood on wobbly legs, anxiously meeting your stare, only to regret it immediately. 

There they were, those eyes. Hypnotic as they had willed Apollo into your grasp, and enchanted him with an infatuation that ran deep in his blood. The same hunger swirled within them in a way that could only be described as honest passion. The intensity made Apollo’s heart skip a beat, and he trembled under your gaze. 

It was said that one’s eyes were the window into their soul, a quote which honestly was quite dated and overused, but as you searched deep within Apollo, he felt his own soul stir in response. His body had recognized its missing piece and, like a magnet, it fought to connect again.

Your souls were bound to each other. The fates decreed that the moment you two met. There was no way Apollo wouldn’t have known if you were a fake. 

In case he was completely wrong and in over his head, he took action to make sure he was absolute in his observation. It hurt to tear his sight away from your face, but he allowed himself to survey the rest of you, as Caligula suggested. 

His eyes roamed your body with a frown. 

 How strange. You appeared to be… out of this world. 

Your aura, although it had always been charming, was different in a way Apollo could not put his finger on. Something about you filled him with an irresistible sensation he had never felt with you before. 

Could it be Lester’s human hormones could not handle the gorgeous sight of his past lover and therefore appeared to be more appetizing than usual?

No, that couldn’t be it. Yes, mortals could definitely be extremely tempting creatures, but they didn’t hold the same weight and power as they did with gods. Many felt enchanted just by the mere sight of one. It was not a simple task to break away from their inviting aura and fight the urge to give in to their desires. 

Your aura was similar; An inviting force emitting from you. But how? You weren’t a god… were you? 

Apollo gagged internally at the thought, his insides twisting at the possibility of you being a deity. 

Being mortal was the very essence of your existence. It was nauseating how you nurtured the role like it was your life’s purpose, facing no fear towards things such as death or illness, claiming that these tragedies were simply just a part of being human and running from it would do nothing but force you to live in a world of clouds where you’d constantly be lost amongst the fog. 

Becoming a deity would’ve made your death a vain sacrifice for what you believed and enduring an eternity of grief would’ve been for nothing. Days of forcing the sun to shine upon the earth when Apollo himself was lost in the overwhelming darkness of his heart as his guiding light, his sun, was gone. Constantly, he searched for another you because the void left in him hurt too much, but of course, none had come as close to his heart as you did because in the end, all he wanted was you and he caged his heart behind iron bars out of fear of experiencing grief on that level ever again. 

There was only one who had been close to unlocking his heart again after you. His dear Hyacinthus. Oh, how the boy had reminded Apollo of you in so, so, many ways. The both of you were graceful, heads held high as you smiled at all that you loved. Adored by many as anyone who came to meet you was always enthralled by your allure and hearts of gold. But alas, love was never in Apollo’s favor, and his precious Hyacinthus met a tragic fate when he was murdered by the conniving and envious wind god, Zephyrus. 

It was almost comical how similar your deaths were. A sadistic joke played on Apollo. All hope he ever had for another love as great as you and Hyacinthus went out the window and following that was a now numb and manipulative god who allowed himself to know his lovers but never allowed them to know him. 

All of that guilt he felt for abusing his authority and refusing to see his lover’s as equals, all the shame for not living up to par with what you wanted, would’ve been for nothing. Along with the stab of knowing that you didn’t choose HIM over your ideals when he would’ve burned the world for you, was all too much. No, you couldn’t be a deity because then Apollo would never forgive you. 

He could not bear these thoughts and, for once, Apollo was glad when Caligula spoke to him as he had distracted him from the fogginess building up in his eyes.

Caligula waved his hand in the ex-god’s face, surveying him. “I’ll take the dumb look on your already idiotic face as confirmation that you’ve recognized that this is the real deal.” He turned to you, “I know how, uh… different…Apollo must look to you. Surely, it must be traumatic to come back from the dead and your once powerful and radiant lover is now pathetic, weak, and ugly. Do you believe this to be the god you once loved?”

Apollo huffed, once because he could not deny that Lester’s face was, in fact, idiotic and again because of Caligula’s question. Your eyes were good, but they weren’t that good. Unfortunately, you hadn’t been blessed with seeing beyond the mist, a trait that could’ve saved your life.                  

“You ask him a question he cannot answer. He would not recognize me in such a body—“ 

“Yes.” You cut him off and stepped closer. Apollo sucked in his bottom lip as your hands had come up to run your fingers through his hair. Oh, how he missed your touch. The way you handled him like he was a piece of glass. Then you spoke again, your voice being in that delicious and melodic tone that made heat travel up Apollo’s neck to the tips of his ears. Damn this body. 

“Although in a different body, your scent remains the same… how bizarre. Might it be your soul I smell?” You muttered, your fingers dragging down Apollo’s cheek. 

Apollo shuttered at your touch, the coolness of your finger soothing his warm face. But as much as he wanted to allow you to continue your exploration of his body, he could not shake off what you had said. “My scent—- What does that mean? — How is your nose even that good?—“

“Bravo! It appears love truly conquers all!” Caligula clapped, pulling you away from Apollo and making the ex-god frown. Something wasn’t right about you, besides being a walking corpse. Death was not his domain, but as far as Apollo was aware, coming back from the dead did not include the nose of a hellhound. 

“What did you do to him?” He asked Caligula, pinning his arms to his side as they had once again trembled. 

Caligula stared at Apollo questioningly. “What did I do?” He laughed. “You are funny, dear. This fiasco was not my idea. All I want from you is to squeeze out the final essence of godhood that’s left in that lanky vessel. If you were smart, you would’ve directed your attention to the only witch in the room.” 

Apollo’s eyes swiftly met Medea’s sadistic ones. She had silently been watching the previous conversation from the side. Gods, he was so caught up in the sight of you he had forgotten all about the Wicked Witch of the East.

“How rude of you to put me on the spot. I haven’t prepared my speech.” Medea purrs and approaches, circling around you before landing her hands on your shoulders. “On the contrary, love does not, in fact, conquer all.” She said, referring to Caligula’s earlier comment. 

“Instead, it leads people to their doom. It makes them think with their hearts and not their heads. The most powerful beings,” Apollo cursed himself for flinching after she had eyed him with a knowing look. “Have been brought down onto their knees in the name of love. As you all know, I, myself, have been a victim of this. After Jason betrayed me.” 

“I don’t understand.” Apollo interjected. “I had nothing to do with Jason’s betrayal against you.” 

“Oh, I am aware. But that is not why I brought him up.”

“You see, my heart had never bled as much as it did when I was in love. I yearned to serve Jason. To become half of his soul as his life, his goals, had become my own. I was high on that feeling. A feeling you must know well, yes?” The smile on her face was one Apollo did indeed recognize. 

A smile that did not reach one’s eyes, that was all for show to hide your true misery. He hated sympathizing with the witch, but he knew exactly what she meant. 

It seemed his face wasn’t so good at hiding his feelings either, as Madea had nodded to herself in what seemed to be satisfaction. “I needed something against you, Apollo. But what was something that would hold such great power over an ex-Olympian God? It couldn't be physical, no, that would be too merciful. I needed something, or someone, that could cause such turmoil within you that the thought of even fighting against it would cause you great sorrow.” 

“Well, isn’t that thoughtful? Putting in all that effort into destroying little ol’me.” 

She sneered, her eyes narrowing. “I studied you. Studied how I could control you, and imagine my surprise when I found out about an unclaimed lover of yours.” Her hands go to you, caressing your arms and making Apollo livid. “It seems not everything made it into the history books.”

Grime stained Apollo’s face, becoming one with the hot tears sliding down his cheeks. His hands ached as he pulled apart dirt from the ground with none other than his fingers. He could’ve called someone and ordered them to do the laboring task on their own. But he refused. He had to do this alone. He had to bury you himself. 

 No one should be able to see you, to touch you, to be around you. Not anymore. You were too sacred, too precious for this cursed world. But Apollo was selfish. He took you away from the earth, took you away from the rest of your family, just to have you rest under his domain. 

The god’s choked cries turned into loud sobs as his fingers dug deeper into the sacred dirt of Delos, shimmering gold tainting the soil. He welcomed the blood seeping from his hand; the pain was deserved. It was nothing compared to what you must’ve felt when his father had struck you down, but he needed to feel something. Anything that would compensate for the agony you went through before drawing your final breath. 

Delos, where he and Artemis were born. The land that had once been his aunt, Asteria, who had transformed herself into a floating island to get away from the advances of Zeus.  Where she provided sanctuary for his mother as she ran from the wrath of Hera on earth. This is where Apollo would bury you, a place that would now provide you sanctuary as it did for his family. A place where you could rest unbothered by the world. 

The hole was deep enough now, and Apollo had pulled himself out of it. A coffin waited for him and he involuntarily walked towards it, dragging his hand against it. The coffin had been turned from a simple block of stone to a grand piece of imagery. All along its sides had Apollo carved into it, creating depictions of milestones in your relationship. The first time you met, along with the time he revealed to you he was a god followed by the countless times he’d let you play on his lyre and of course, the first ‘I love you.’ Amongst many more. 

He was gentle with the coffin when he picked it up, moving slowly when he brought it over to the open ground. Apollo bit his lip, holding back his weeping so that he could focus on lowering you into the hole. 

It was done. You were really gone, and Apollo would never be yours again. 

“What are you doing here?” Apollo asked, his voice hoarse and his eyes bleak. He was sitting on the ground, painting a gravestone. 

Grass crunched behind him as someone approached. “You’re burying him here?” 

Apollo’s wrist kept moving, his brush creating faces on the gravestone. Still, he answered, “Cut the crap, Artemis.”

Artemis crossed her arms, frowning at her brother’s words. “I was born here too, Apollo. I have just as much right to be here as you do.” 

“You knew, didn’t you?” Apollo snapped, the brush falling from his fingers. 

“Knew what?” Artemis asked. 

“Don’t lie to me Artemis.” Apollo stood, finally facing his twin. “You knew father would kill him!” 

Artemis flinched as she caught wind of Apollo’s face, the puffiness under his eyes red and throbbing. Yet she recovered quickly, shaking Apollo’s arm away. “Don’t touch me.”

He placed his hands back onto her, gripping her in more of a desperate plea than before. “Please, sister, tell me the truth. Did you know that father would kill him?”

. “I…” she started, her chest growing heavy as she felt Apollo’s fingers shake against her. Swallowing carefully, she moved her eyes to your grave. “Yes, I knew… we all did.”

Apollo’s grip on her tightened, his eyes becoming glassy at the revelation. “Why didn’t you tell me? Were you sworn to secrecy? Is that why you didn’t tell me? Father is frightening. I understand if he forced you to swear on the River Styx—”

“He didn’t force me to do anything.” 

“What…?” 

“Oath did not bind me to not say anything to you. I simply chose not to.” Artemis stated, throwing Apollo off of her once again. Her head held high as she watched for his reaction. 

Apollo stared at her, his eyes widening in disbelief. He shook his head. “You knew how much I loved him, you knew father was going to kill him and you didn’t tell me! I don’t understand, Artemis. You are my sister, my twin, my blood. How… how could you?”

“That is exactly why! Apollo, you are my other half. We are two sides of the same coin. We might be related to the others, but their bond is not like ours. That boy was leading you to your demise. I have nothing against him, but you are who I care about most. I didn’t want to see him dead, but I didn’t want to see my brother subjected to an eternal punishment, either.” Artemis finished, her own resolve fading as she too shook at the thought of Apollo being hurt. 

Apollo’s jaw clenched. “Well, sister,” he started, malice seeping into his voice, “It seems you’ve failed anyway because a life without him is the worst punishment I could ever endure.” 

“Demigods!” Medea yelled out, bringing awareness to Meg and Jason’s presence in the room. They couldn’t speak anyway, not while they were stuck in the wind tornadoes Medea had stuck them in. “This is important. Pay attention.” 

“Delphi was a known city-state of ancient Greece. A city state where you, Apollo, were the patron god of. But the Delphi that lives in myths, the one that we know, is not the Delphi that has always been.” 

Through the corner of his eye, Apollo watched as both Meg and Jason’s expressions formed into one of confusion. 

“Once upon a time ago, Apollo betrayed Zeus. However, that’s not a surprise, that is a story that still lives. What didn’t make it, though, was the entire punishment your father had you experience. The gods said you were forced to build the gates of Troy alongside Poseidon. But what they failed to mention was the part where Zeus took everything from you. Your lover and your city. Isn’t that right?”

Apollo opened his mouth to speak, eager to defend his story. He knew where this was going and dread filled his stomach.  

Medea spoke before he could. “Oh, but that’s not even the best part! The original Delphi had its own royal family, a family that your boy-toy had been born to.” She comes to your side, raising your hand up. “Here stands the last prince of Delphi before its initial destruction. After a few years, Apollo rebuilt Delphi and got rid of all the evidence of its history. But thanks to my digging, I could uncover all of this.” 

Behind him, the Pandai were ready to lunge forward and capture Apollo as he had taken on a defensive stance against Medea. “Who told you this? The only person who knew about where I buried him was my sister.” 

Medea scoffed. “Oh, please, if you want to hide the body of your dead lover, do it somewhere that’s not your famous birthplace that everyone knows about. It was the first place I checked.” 

Apollo’s eyes ripped away from hers as blood rushed to his head. She was right, and he was an idiot to think that if someone wanted to find your body, they wouldn’t look on Delos. In his defense, it had been four thousand years since your death. 

Medea smirked at the red dusting Apollo’s cheeks. 

“Everything fell into place for me after that. You preserved his body well, I expected dust only to find that his body was enchanted to stay in good shape. It was perfect for my plan. I needed to bring him back from the dead without actually bringing him back, as I did not want to deal with Hades. He needed to be undead. I looked for spells beyond Ancient Greece and came upon the perfect solution within the dark arts—

“I’ve had enough of your talking,” Apollo sneered, glaring at the witch. “What have you turned him into?” 

“Patience.” She hissed, “I sacrificed my rarest properties along with human blood to create an elixir that would wake up this sleeping beauty. It took days to restore him to full health. But finally, when he did wake, he was radiant. No longer was he a meek mortal. His senses had heightened as he was now strong and blessed with speed, his ears picked up on sounds from miles away, and a nose made for hunting. There’s more, I'm sure of it, but he is still fresh and needs time to develop. So what did I turn him into, you ask?”

Medea sent Apollo one last wicked smile before dropping information that made the ex-god wish he was dead. 

“I have turned the long-lost Prince of Delphi into a vampire.” 

[piss-pumpkin]

🕷️restless nights🌑

Douce amere chapter 14, (older)Dipper pines x reader, ~4.1k words Prev Masterlist

Quick tw- gets a little angsty at the end. But like y’all probably knew that was coming.

Sleeping at the mystery shack seemed to be the only cure. Each night spent outside of its walls yielded a worse nightmare than the last. Shadows that swallowed and ate you, creatures out of creepypasta stalking you, your friends dying, your brain had it all. 

It only took twice more for you to crack, text dipper in the night and go sleep at the shack, much to Mabel’s annoyance when you woke her up getting in. The nightmares always seemed to fade in the attic, next to Dipper. So how could you mind? It was an excuse to stay over there more. Aunt Susan didn’t mind. It’d seemed like you found a refuge.

And how could you complain? You spent night after night burning through mystery thrillers with Dipper under the blankets, always smiling when he was able to guess the ending. 

On the second night in a row you stayed there, you both finished the book you started with him, the mystery story with the two brothers, and their detective partner. And it broke broke both of your hearts when, just after the partner and the brother got together, the partner betrayed him. Ending in the death of Dippers favourite character. 

You and Dipper gasped together when you read those lines, waking Mabel up, much to her annoyance. In truth you were mostly shocked that the page turning, quiet comments, and flashlight weren’t enough to do it. 

As she complained, Dipper mumbled, “hey, we’re grieving here!” To her across the room. 

It didn’t take much for her to grumble and roll over, quickly falling back asleep. 

You made a dramatic show of leaning your head on Dippers shoulder. “I hate that you were right,” you sighed. 

“I wish I wasn’t,” he responded hollowly. Guess he was really into it too. “I don’t think this was necessary.”

You slithered and squinted around, filled with restless energy, properly woken up by the tragic ending. “I guess it’ll be just him and the other brother at each others throats in the next one, huh?”

Dipper nodded, “It won’t be as good without my favourite.” 

You gently patted his back, nodding along.

”Y/n, he was my boy,” he complained, nearly whining. He leaned his head back to bang it against the headboard, earning another groan from Mabel. 

“Dip,” you sighed, “I know. It’s a grieving time.”

”For the love of fuck, please grieve quieter,” Mabel shot. 

Dipper groaned, and you sighed yet again. “Fine, fine,” you whisper-yelled across the room. You lightly grabbed Dippers arm, and shook it a little. “Come on, kitchen,” you said simply, rolling out of the bed.

He looked up at you bitterly where you stood, refusing to move, and crossing his arms. The book was discarded on the sheets beside him now. He was almost pouting. 

You sighed, raising your brow and offering a hand. Wordlessly, you gestured with you head towards the door, and then with your eyes at Mabel. 

Not without grumbling, he accepted your hand, clasping you at the forearm. 

You smirked. With one fatal motion, you heaved him off the bed, sending him tumbling forward, feet hitting the ground running. One of the blankets came falling after him. 

He let out a startled yelp, and Mabel quietly snickered. You could faintly hear her murmur a small ‘deserved’ under her breath as she rolled over under the covers again. 

You released Dippers arm and slithered your hand down to lace your fingers together as you led him out of the room. His hand quickly squeezed yours in response. 

You shut the door behind you as you left. When you were alone in the attic foyer, Dipper lightly head butted you. His forehead landed between your shoulder blades. “You’re just salting my wounds, Y/n,” he muttered.

You smiled softly at the floor, and turned around. Your hands easily found their way to his waist, even in the dim light of the moon through window. Now it was your turn to rest your forehead on him, leaning on his chest. “We deserve snacks after an emotional ordeal such as this, Dip.”

”Ugh, when are you ever wrong,” he muttered, resting his chin on your head. 

“I can still hear you fucks!” You heard fairly from the bedroom. 

You snickered. Dipper giggled. And you pulled apart to go down the stairs. 

The kitchen wasn’t amazingly stocked. Mostly ingredients, less snacks. And the shelves were half full of Stan’s apocalypse prep meat, which Dipper advised to avoid at any cost. 

Scrounging around in the back cupboards yielded a half empty bag of chips and a box of graham crackers. Good enough, you supposed. You sat on the counter beside the stove, tearing into a pack of the crackers. “I just can’t believe his partner would do that to him. His boyfriend, at that.”

Dipper stood beside you, leaning in the counter with his elbows. “What I can’t believe is that the authors would just kill off a main character like that in the first book!” He said, whisper yelling. He angrily crunched a chip. 

“Bold move, bold move,” you nodded, eating a cracker of your own. Then a chip. Trades. As you reached into his bag, he reached into yours. 

“I hope the next books aren’t boring without him,” Dipper whined. 

“I’m willing to hear the authors out on this one,” you mused, kicking your feet back and forth. “It could be good character development, and it definitely raises the stakes.”

”But at what cost,” Dipper said, looking over at you dramatically. 

                                             …

On another, similar night, You, Dipper and Mabel were cramped together on the couch, watching the worst Gravity Falls horror movies on the ‘used to be about history channel’. It always seemed to play absolute trash at one in the morning. You were in the centre, with the twins on either side, and doing your best to annoy both by man spreading incessantly. 

“Hey, do you guys think Pacifica likes girls?” Mabel asked out of the blue, stealing your attention away from ‘Evil Vampire Clowns.’ You and Dipper turned your heads towards her in unison, brows raised.  

You pursed your lips, thinking back to her old crush on Dipper. “I mean, she’s never said anything about a girl,” you, said, nodding your head back and forth to try and shake out a thought. 

“Yeah, I don’t know,” Dipper said, adding nothing. 

You crossed your legs, and leaned back on Dipper to fully face Mabel. “Why,” you asked, suppressing a smirk  and shooting her the gay hand gesture. 

She giggled, “you know,” and did the gesture right back. 

A grainy scream from the tv cut through the room as you snickered, and Dipper laughed, “since when?”

She shrugged, “Well, now I guess,” she said, flipping her phone around to show you. It was open to Pacificas Instagram. She had just posted a few pictures of her posed with her pony. You snickered as you saw, thinking of all the complaining she did about having only one pony. And at her horse girl antics. Mabel smiled, retracting her phone, “I mean, she’s kinda cute… I guess I’ve been thinking about her more lately,” Mabel mused.

Dipper shifted slightly behind you, also turning away from the tv, putting his back to the armrest. “Have you asked her yet?” He put and arm around you as he moved, trying to better himself as your pillow. 

Mabel suppressed a small nervous smile, “No, not yet,” she said, waving her head side to side. “I don’t know if I wanna come on too strongly right now,” she admitted. 

You raised your brow, “That doesn’t sound like you.”

She winced, and then her face softened as she looked at the floor. “You’re not wrong…” she pursed her lips, and smiled slightly, voice brimming with optimism, “I kinda wanna scope it out.”

”You should,” Dipper shrugged.

”We should,” you snickered, idly taking Dippers hand in yours as it rested over your shoulder. “I think together, with our expert deduction skills, could figure it out.” It seemed like you knew more than them… but maybe you didn’t know everything. You leaned your head back onto Dippers chest further, squeezing his hand. Good chance, even. 

Mabel smiled, and kicked her feet out to annoy the both of you, resting on both your laps. “You might be onto something there…” she said deviously, clasping her hands together. “It may be time to do some, investigating, sussing, if you will.”

You could practically feel Dippers brow furrow. “Are you scheming?” He asked tentatively. “You’re not just gonna ask?”

Mabel blew a few stray hairs out of her face, “Bro, you’re one to talk,” she sighed. 

He did his best to kick her, but it was difficult, considering where he was on the couch. His foot ended up lightly tapping her on the shin. 

Your phone was somewhere in your pocket, and after a minute or so of fishing, you managed to get it out. “Okay,” you said, unlocking the screen. “Scheme or no scheme, let’s make some plans.”

You started to text Pacifica, pursing your lips as you thought, “What if we go shopping?” you said, idly typing it in, waiting for them to confirm or deny. 

Mabel clapped her hands, grinning, “Oh! Yes!” 

You knew Dipper opinion on shopping days was far lower than Mabel’s, but he didn’t object, instead shrugging his shoulders behind you. Probably as good as you’ll get. “Then it is done,” you said, sending the text. 

Mabel grinned, “based.” 

You phone vibrated right away as she replied. “Damn, that was fast,” you muttered. Your eyes skimmed the message, squinting from the blue light. “Okay, she’s free on Saturday,” you said, pleasantly surprised. “Looks like we’re set.”

                                           …

And that Saturday eventually came, believe it or not. And lucky you, Stan let you take his car. Even luckier, there weren’t any cops on the road to pull you over for driving without a license. 

When you stepped out of the shack, and into the driveway, the sunlight seemed blinding. You shielded your eyes, trying to fight your rapidly growing headache. Sunglasses. You dug around for them in the car before you started driving.

Finally some fresh fucking air.

It was true that you had spent most of your time in the shack. And it was very nice outside, you as to admit. 

Dipper was in the passenger seat, and Mabel in the back, told to lay down if there were any sirens, or suspicious looking cars on the side of the road. You adjusted the seat, plugged in your phone for music, and turned the keys. To the Gravity Falls mall. 

“You guys really need to get your licenses,” you sighed, pulling out of the driveway. 

Dipper turned to you, brow furrowed, “you don’t even have yours,” he deadpanned.

“Yeah,” you exaggerated, “If y’all had yours I wouldn’t have to be driving you around illegally.”

Mable chimed in from the back, “But then who’d be your little passenger princess?” She asked, punctuating herself by kicking the back of Dippers seat. 

You rolled your eyes, grinning as you looked over to Dipper, “I could be the princess for once,” you beamed, pointing at him with a free hand.

He looked horrified. “Y/n, I’m begging you, please look at the road,” he utter quickly. 

You laughed, swerving slightly as you looked back in front of you. “Will do, princess.”

You saw her when you drove into the parking lot, Pacifica was waiting at the mall. She stood outside, leaning against the walls and scrolling on her phone, ever punctual. You tried to park near her, grinning as you shut the car door and locked up as Mabel waved at her. 

Shooting star always comes off a little desperate.

What? You scrunched your face as you and Dipper caught up to Mabel, who was already chatting up Pacifica. You grumbled, zipping the keys up in your bag. That was a weird thought. 

Your confusion broke when Dipper nudged you. He leaned over slightly to whisper as you drew closer to Mabel and Pacifica. “Dude, you look like you’re thinking up a scheme,” he said. Half asked.

You shook your head, staring at the concrete beneath your feet as you walked. “No, not that…” you mused. “I dunno.”

Dippers brow raised, but he didn’t say anything. You’d caught up with the girls, it was too late for any plots, plans, or any such schemes as he thought. You bit the inside of your cheek. Let him think that. 

                                            …

It had been an hour and a half at the mall, and you were starting to break. Between the dull and persisting headache, and Mabel’s increasingly unsubtle ways of trying to sleuth out if Pacifica would date her, you were nearing the limit.

Drastic measures were necessary. Or at least seeming like the better option. So eventually, you shot Dipper a knowing look, redirected Mabel’s attention to a knitting supply store, and walked off with Pacifica.

And fortunately for you, there was a cute candy store with a shelf of plushies, immediately stealing your attention away from the task at hand.

“So like, what’s up with her?” Pacifica asked dryly, coming up behind you as you looked through the shelf. 

You sucked a breath in through your teeth, picking up one stuffed animal, then another, then a third, cycling between putting down and picking up. Too many choices. “Yeah, I suppose you would’ve noticed, huh.”

“Yeah,” she snickered. “Hard not too. So do feel free to let me know what’s going on.”

You sighed, putting a plush down back on the shelf. “Do you, per chance, like girls?” You asked optimistically. 

Her lips parted, brow raised. “Why?” She asked cooly, brow raised. 

You rolled your eyes, “take a wild guess,” you laughed. You picked up a different stuffed animal, a little frog this time. ”I know a girl that likes you, but…” you started, looking over and squeezing the frog. “I guess she doesn’t know about your kinda-sorta crush on Dipper?” 

Pacifica sighed, and pointed a finger gun at the shelf. “Just pick one, if you’re really that cheap I’ll just buy it for you, daddy’s money and all.”

You grinned, eyes racing back to the shelf to find the cutest little guy.

Pacifica snickered, but then sighed again. “I dunno,” she shrugged while you touched every last one of the plushies. Trying to find the softest. One of these guys could cure any headache, probably. “I mean, I do, actually-“

You turned to look at her, mouth wide open in surprise.

”-but,” she continued, “my parents don’t really like that kind of stuff, so I don’t think about it much.” She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

”Oh,” you couldn’t help. “That’s not good.”

Pacifica snickered, “yeah. I mean, it hasn’t been a big issue.” She crossed her arms, brow raised. “Since I liked Dipshit for a while.”

You hummed, finally deciding on a plushy, and holding it close to your chest.

“I’m pretty much over that, though,” she shrugged, starting towards the till. “So, I guess the question is relevant again.”

You nodded, “So… what should I tell the girl who likes you?”

Pacifica paused, presumably to think, as she stood in front of the cashier, and pulled out her card. She declined when they asked her if she wanted the receipt. As you walked, putting your new little stuffed friend into your bag, Pacifica sighed. “Do I know who she is?”

You looked around, checking the coast was clear. “Maybe,” you relented. “I mean, your free to guess.”

”After the events of today, I think I do have my suspicions,” Pacifica said, pursing her lips and looking at the floor.

Ah. “Well, then I feel less bad about hinting,” you said. 

“Please,” she chuckled. “Subtle isn’t in that girls vocabulary.”

You looked around for signs leading to the food court, eventually finding one far off to the right. You pointed it out to Pacifica, and started in that direction to regroup. “She actually was trying to be, today, I think,” you said.

I guess she always fails! 

You shook your head. That’s mean. 

Pacifica smiled, “yeah, oddly enough I did get that impression.” She sighed as the food court came into view, and you both started to scan the crowd for the twins. “Okay, here’s what to tell her,” she started, hands in the air in declaration. “I do like girls, but right now what I need is…” she pursed her lips, “time to think,” she finally said. “I’ve never thought of her like that, and I still kinda-sorta have my other feelings…” she looked over at you, and smiled, “so the verdict is; I need a little time, I don’t know.”

You nodded, “a respectable position, I’ll pass on the message.”

She grinned, “perfect. Come with me to get sushi,” she said, pointing at one of the restaurants. 

You got the sushi. And sat with the twins. And rested your forehead in your hand to try and ease your head. And Dipper raised his brow at you in questioning from across the table. And you smiled at him, nodding as if to say, I’m fine.

You sure are! 

Pacifica ate her sushi. Mabel had fries. And Pacifica shot you a look of optimism and understanding before she left with Mabel to check out some expensive chocolate store. Good for them. 

If there was one thing you never had to buy, it was sweaters, because Mabel was an absolute beast. So when you and Dipper went to a clothing store, both of you skipped right past the wooly section and into the summer. 

I honestly don’t know how she does that. Super weird. 

You nodded along with yourself as you carefully skimmed each hanger for shirts. 

“Y/n, yes or no?” Dipper asked, holding a pair of baggy jeans. You nodded yes, wincing as your head moved. What was up with your head today? 

Nothing!

Yeah, probably that. Dipper seemed happy with your answer, turning around to start towards the fitting rooms. “Hey,” you called, before he could go. “I’ll be right back, I’m going to the washrooms.”

He nodded, and when his back was turned, you felt your forehead. Maybe splashing some water on your face would do it. Either way it was a breather. You traced your hands along the clothing racks as you made your way out into the halls. Soft under your fingers. 

Heh.

The mall wasn’t crowded today, lucky enough for you. And the people of Gravity walls were more then notorious for noticing little. You felt okay sighing and groaning on your way, knowing nobody would pay any mind.

Heheh. 

In a blink, your dull ache of a head pain started to throb. 

Wow! You’re dumb!

 What? You shook your head. This was dumb. This fight you were having with your thoughts lately. You punched the bridge of your nose, and tilted your head back, trying to get back on track.

No, no no. You gave me the perfect opportunity. We’re on my track now. 

You stopped, like deer in headlights, your blood ran cold. What? You stood in front of the bathroom entrance, locked in a battle with yourself. What. Was happening.

You know, for such a fighter, you really are an idiot. 

You had to fight to turn around, somehow. This… you needed to find Dipper.

What, you think pine tree can save you? You make me laugh! No, you’re not making it back to him. You really shouldn’t have left.

You scowled, even as your thoughts screamed at you.  Fuck you. Yes I am. You took a step. A single, shaky step, but it was a full foot closer to the clothing store than you were a second ago. Maybe if you were lucky, you’ll be able to make another one. 

Even still! You’re still going! You humans are crazy! 

You were sweating. And took a few more steps until you got dizzy, your vision blurring and spotting at the edges, and sending you sideways to lean on the wall for any support. It was cold under your fingers. The ambient voices of the mall seemed to fade away as your ears started to ring. Dipper would probably know what to do. He was good with… weird stuff. 

He sure is. Ha, maybe that’s why he likes you! You’re not getting there though, Y/n. As much as I respect how much effort you’ve put in, you’re done now. You couldn’t stay in that shack forever. 

Stay in the shack? You groaned, leaning your head against the wall as you blinked, and the world with your eyes closed looked too similar to when they were open. Ugh. What did you do? 

I’m shocked you haven’t realized. But glad! I didn’t think I’d be back so soon.

Realized what? You winced, you headache throbbing. Okay. This situation is workable. You trailed down the wall to the ground, sitting. This had to be workable. 

Not this time. 

You stood up. 

I need to find Dipper. That’s the win condition. Once I find him, this is a winnable situation. 

“Not anymore,” you said, grinning. 

What? You tried to look around, but nothing happened. You tried to move at all, but nothing happened. 

But you were moving. You were digging around in your backpack, you were clutching it close to your chest. Your finger finally landed on a pair of sunglasses, the ones you kept in case it got too bright while driving. The ones you wore on the way in.

“Nice,” you said. Your voice. Not your words. “You make it too easy for me.”

What’s going on? 

You could feel yourself smirk. “It’s my body now,” you laughed. “Not yours.”

What are you?

”Smarter than you?” You put the sunglasses on, and suddenly your vision was darker. Your head fell slightly as you laughed under your breath, and you whispered, practically to the floor. But you heard. “It’s Bill,” he said. With your voice. “As in Cipher? That guy your boyfriend hates?” you said sarcastically.

Oh. Fuck. 

“Yeeeeahhh,” you nodded. “They’re finally getting it.”

You stood up. Or… he did. And you were a passenger. And he started to walk. And you stared aimless in front of you. And you were glad you couldn’t hear his thoughts like he seemed to be able to hear yours. Even if knowing could help you. Or save them. Knowing what somebody like him was thinking might drive you over the edge. If you had any control over it, you’d probably be crying. 

“I’m gonna find him,” you said. He said. Not you. He shook your head, “yes, it’s me, not you. Glad you’ve caught on.” He walked, a bounce and strut in his step as he found his way back to the store you left Dipper in. “I’m going to torture your pine tree, I think,” he said under your breath. 

Please don’t. Your thoughts were growing all the more desolate. Desperate. Defeated. 

You got to the edge of the store, a wide grin plastered on your lips. Then you saw him. And so did Bill. And he started walking towards him, your feet, your legs, your arms swinging at your sides. His sides now. Until you were so close to Dipper.

”Hey Dip,” Bill greeted happily. You pointed at the glasses, “you fuck with the shades?” You laughed.

They were heart shaped. Your silly shades, if you will. Dipper smiled, brow raised, “eh,” he said, tilting his hands side to side. 

Bill rolled your eyes, “Whatever, man, your one to talk when it comes to style.”

Dipper put his hand on his heart, feigning hurt. He quickly recovered from his heartache though, as he stepped closer to ask, “Are you good? You seemed a little,” he paused, giving you a so-so gesture with his hand. 

Bill nodded, “Yeah, I think I was just dehydrated,” he said, waving your hand in dismissal. “I was drinking bathroom sink water, and now I feel great.”

Dipper grimaced, “That feeling great shocks me.”

“Suit yourself, but you’ll never find more… quenching..  water,” Bill smiled playfully. “You think we should rendezvous with them,” he tilted your head side to side, smirking. “See if anything crazy happened?” 

Dipper chuckled, “Think Mabel’s asked her out yet?”

Dipper. Please notice. It’s not me. I love you.

Bill stifled a laugh, covering your lips. “I’d say it’s fifty-fifty, despite my advice.”

Dipper rolled his eyes. “I’d take those odds,” he said. “Let’s go.”

He has pretty eyes. While Bill spoke, you stared at Dipper. He seemed so normal. The same. He had hot girl eyelashes, somehow. 

“Awesome,” Bill smirked. “Let’s.”

Next

Yeah. We’re in this part of the story now. Pray for me. I need it. For everything. Finals are next week and I’m sitting here doing this.

Taglist: @cipheress-to-k-pop @dead-esque (oops I forgot to add this when I first posted)

[watcherintheweyr]

Can they make a post with their opinion on young alicent please? (English is not my first language, I hope I used the pronouns correctly. If not, I apologize)

Hello! I’m sorry this took me so long, I had written out this entire response and somehow tumblr fucking ate it.

So for starters, you didn’t quite get the pronoun use right, but that’s totally fine and I really appreciate you trying! Pronouns and the english language are a bitch to learn. So when someone’s pronouns are ‘they/them’ those pronouns only replace gendered pronouns- (he/his/he’s/she/her/hers/she’s). Non gendered pronouns (you/your/you’re/yours) are entirely fine. So this would’ve been ‘Can you make a post with your opinion on young Alicent?’. If you were then to talk about me, it’d be ‘I asked watcherintheweyr to make a post about their opinion on young Alicent’ or ‘Watcherintheweyr made a post explaining their thoughts on young Alicent because I asked them.’

Don’t feel bad pls- the English language is a total bitch, and genuinely you put more effort into trying to get it right than a lot of native english speakers who I interact with. And I really do appreciate it.

anyways, on to your question!

So while I have a lot of sympathy for young Alicent in a lot of ways- I don’t like her, and I never did. For starters, I absolutely despise that the show isolated Rhaenyra and made Alicent her only friend and companion, which was untrue in the books and also makes no sense for how royalty works. Rhaenyra, as the only princess, would’ve have a sizeable ‘household’ of young ladies around her age. Those girls would’ve been essentially her helpers and her companions- she would’ve been in lessons alongside them, and they would’ve worked together in matters of court, politics, and events. Canonically she had a gaggle of young girls she was very close to- to the point that when (SPOILERS) Rhaenyra is murdered by Aegon, her ‘youngest and gentlest’ lady, Elinda Massey, purportedly gouges out her eyes from the trauma and horror.

Also, I despise that Laena Velaryon’s story and importance in Rhaenyra’s life was sacrificed for Alicent Hightower- including their deeply hinted romantic connection.

Anyways, moving on. Alicent Hightower.

Ultimately, I think that Alicent is a tragic example of what happens when you buy into oppressive regimes- further and enable them because you think you’ll be rewarded for sacrificing others to those regimes, and realize far too late that you won’t. She has 100% bought into the Faith of the Seven and Otto and Westeros’ sexism, and she serves that system in the hope that she’ll be rewarded for it, for playing by the rules and sabotaging the power and autonomy of other women- especially Rhaenyra. And all the seeds and groundwork are THERE from episode one if you pay attention. Alicent is a self-righteous hypocrite and not nearly as intelligent as she thinks she is- and she is also a victim of Otto, Viserys, and the patriarchy. I also think she was never a good friend to Rhaenyra- and that she never really knew Rhaenyra.

(This post is going to be VERY long, so buckle up)

In episode one, we see very quickly that Alicent doesn’t understand Rhaenyra well, if at all. She makes the comment that Rhaenyra is ‘disagreeable’ when she’s worried- and is promptly baffled that Rhaenyra’s worry is not her position or about being ‘overshadowed’ for a son- that Rhaenyra genuinely hopes her father will get the son he’s wanted for her entire life, and that her only true worry is her mother. Emma D’Arcy and Milly Alcock both press that Rhaenyra is fully aware that due to her gender that she isn’t ‘enough’ for her parents or the realm, that she’s seen as lacking or deficient. Alicent doesn’t seem at all aware of this. Furthermore, Alicent’s question is… Odd. At this point in the story, Rhaenyra is only ‘a’ princess. She isn’t the heir- Daemon is. The only ‘overshadowing’ that could occur is Viserys’ already fleeting and inconsistent ‘love’ becoming even less present. And Rhaenyra is already expecting this; but Alicent presses more of Rhaenyra’s ‘position’.

Now bear in mind- in the past 10 years, 14 year old Rhaenyra has had to watch her father insist on and continually risk her mother’s life and health, and she’s had to mourn 5 siblings- some born, others not. So Rhaenyra being ‘disagreeable’ when she’s worried makes sense. But when she doesn’t budge on not wanting to talk about/prioritize her ‘position’, Alicent gets huffy and makes to leave. She then appears to be entirely stunned when Rhaenyra verbatim recites the current passage of history that they are learning from their Septa. This piece of information is given to us to set up and establish Rhaenyra’s clever mind and interest in learning- of the 5 episodes we have of Young!Rhaenyra, she is shown to be actively listening to and learning from her superiors in just about all of them, reading and learning from books in 3 of them, and utilizing courtly intrigue, manners, and speak in 3 of them to shut down opponents or disrespect. And yet Alicent is entirely taken aback by Rhaenyra doing this; which again lends itself to the idea that she doesn’t actually know Rhaenyra very well. In the script, at the end of the episode, it’s also expressed that Alicent doesn’t seem to understand Rhaenyra being stressed/worried about her investiture as heir- in her eyes, Rhaenyra now has everything anyone could want. Meanwhile, Rhaenyra has now been revealed the truth of why Aegon conquered the seven kingdoms- and has now been entrusted with learning to rule and govern the kingdoms, and to nurture and protect the legacy meant to fulfill this prophecy- and she is shown to be very aware of and affected by the weight of this.

Alicent, meanwhile, has become a pawn in her father’s bid for power, and a victim to his ambitions, and to Viserys’ sexism and passivity.

In episode 2, Alicent has been seeing Viserys in secret for six months- and notably, it’s 6 months into their meetings that Viserys expresses that he wishes for her not to tell Rhaenyra, as he doesn’t think she would ‘understand’. We see that she is harming herself and Otto doesn’t appear to care about it in any way more meaningful than why she would do so when she’s the most beautiful girl at court- a thing to be envied and admired. We also in this episode see how fully she has bought into the realm and the Faith’s sexism. When Rhaenyra comes to Alicent about her fears of the plots of the lords to marry her father off again now that his period of mourning is coming to an end, and as such they would be plotting to supplant her. She is struggling, because it’s shown that she is trying to act as heir, to learn and participate- because she WANTS this, wants to be heir, wants to do it and do it well- but Otto undermines and humiliates her, and Viserys simply lets it happen- practically enables it. She expresses her fears of these plots and her frustrations and desire to be the heir, to be more and grasp for more than she would’ve ever been allowed as ‘Viserys’ little girl’.

And Alicent’s response is to dismiss Rhaenyra’s fears- to tell her friend and the named heir to the throne that it ‘isnt their place to question the plots of kings and men’. Because Alicent does not believe women can or should hold genuine power- like she says in episode 9, women are meant to ‘gently guide those who [rule]’. And she does this while she is actively a part of one of those very plots that Rhaenyra fears. Now, bear in mind; I am fully aware that Alicent is a victim to her father’s ambitions, and Viserys’ complicity. It’s not Alicent’s fault what these men do to her. And it’s understandable why Alicent wouldn’t want to tell Rhaenyra, in a lot of ways.

That doesn’t change that both Alicent AND Viserys broke Rhaenyra’s trust and hurt her- and she is shown later to be trying to create distance from them- because they have both shown that Rhaenyra cannot trust them. Viserys because he’s self-serving and blind, and Alicent because her ultimate loyalty and obeisance will always be to her father, not Rhaenyra. And Rhaenyra is keenly aware of this after the reveal, even though it is never made clear to Rhaenyra that Alicent wasn’t seeing Viserys in secret of her own volition. That doesn’t change that for six months, since the *night* of Aemma’s funeral, Alicent was seeing Viserys in secret, whilst dismissing Rhaenyra’s fears of that exact sort of plot to her face. That doesn’t change the fact that Rhaenyra has every right to feel hurt, feel betrayed, and not want anything to do with Alicent- or Viserys, beyond what she cannot avoid.

On a note that’s entirely personal, while I know that Alicent was attempting to share something important to her with Rhaenyra in an attempt to help her feel better, to me, Alicent having Rhaenyra partake of her faith felt… strange. Rhaenyra, who named the dragon she shared a cradle with after a goddess of Old Valyria and who has no idea how to pray in a Sept to the Seven, clearly either is not religious or follows Valyrian faiths- and considering her Valyrian marriage to Daemon, it’s likely the latter. Personally- I would not want a friend of mine to try and have me participate in their religion, and I wouldn’t push them to participate in mine either. For me, that was just uncomfortable; but again that’s a purely personal issue.

In episode 3, we see these traits of Alicent’s repeat, as well as her inability to introspect or consider someone else’s feelings. Immediately in the Godswood she uses her ‘weight’ as queen to disregard Rhaenyra attempting create space and distance between them. And while yes it was on command from the King- the way Alicent does it is almost… Smug. She then attempts to tell Rhaenyra that ‘things need not be this way’- as Rhaenyra, upset, goes to change and ready herself for the hunt, despite the fact that this is the last place she wishes to be. Alicent is upset at the loss of her friend, and likely lonely- but she disregards Rhaenyra’s feelings entirely. This is further compounded by the scene in the carriage.

Despite the fact that she and Alicent are not friends, nor truly even speaking, Rhaenyra, who watched her mother struggle and suffer pregnancies, and lose multiple babes and her life, expresses concern that Alicent is traveling in her condition. In an incredibly clumsy attempt to soothe her concerns, Alicent makes the comment that ‘Aegon came quickly and without fuss.’ Again; i understand that this was a very clumsy attempt to ease Rhaenyra’s worry, however everyone in that carriage sees how poorly the comment lands, and Alicent makes no attempt at apology. ‘Aegon came quickly and without fuss’ is.. very insensitive to say to the girl that lost her mother to the childbed, and especially when you are quite literally sitting in that mother’s place- when you’ve replaced her because her last child killed her and died alongside her. If she had made any attempt at apology (the way Rhaenyra did when she saw a comment she made while expressing her frustrations hurt Alicent in e.4), that would be one thing; but she doesn’t.

Rhaenyra is heir- and canonically the only duty she has balked at is marriage. She is currently desperately holding on to being ‘the heir’ with everything she has- because it is all she has, the only thing that doesn’t make her replaceable with the new family that Viserys is building with Alicent- and as such it’s understandable that she doesn’t wish to go to Aegon’s second Name-day celebration, as she is keenly aware of the thing Viserys is blind to and that Alicent is passive to; the realm considers a 2 year old boy child more valuable and more worthy than the 17 year old princess who has actively been learning to be and acting as heir for three years at this point. Alicent’s uncle, Hobart Hightower, welcomes them by crying out ‘All Hail Aegon the Conqueror-Babe, second of his name!’ and neither Viserys nor Alicent does anything. Hobart is not corrected, nor taken to task, and the crown is rabidly enamored with the two year old child all because his genitalia makes him more ‘valuable’ than Rhaenyra. By calling Aegon ‘second of his name’ Hobart is saying the quiet part out loud- the realm all expects and wants for Aegon to be heir, for Rhaenyra to be set aside. Alicent is the queen- but she doesn’t care enough to correct her uncle, either because she does already think her son should be heir or because she doesn’t think it’s a woman’s place to correct a man.

Later in this same episode, she gives an incredibly half-hearted defense of Rhaenyra when Otto begins to speak literal treason- but she does bend to his will yet again, and goes to Viserys with the intent of pushing Aegon’s claim. She is aware in *episode 3* that her father is conspiring against Rhaenyra’s ascension, and she never says a word of it to Viserys or Rhaenyra, because she is Otto’s creature first, and because she agrees- Rhaenyra is a woman, and thus cannot and should not rule.

Episode 4 and 5 really bring Alicent’s hypocrisy and self-centeredness to a head and set the stage for the cruel abuser that she becomes. She is the story of a victim-turned abuser, in the end.

It starts out more positively, with Alicent and Rhaenyra attempting to rekindle their friendship, and discussing Rhaenyra’s tour. Alicent expresses an almost childish lack of understanding of the truth of Rhaenyra’s courtship tour- calling it romantic, seeing it as something dreamlike. Rhaenyra exposes the cold truth of it- after we had earlier seen that none of the options she’s offered (that we see) are actually suitable. She uses courtly manners and speak to have Lord Dondarrion essentially take himself out of the running, by getting him to speak of his age and simply agreeing with him- and is then presented with a literal child. She is fully aware that every man ‘courting’ her doesn’t love her, doesn’t want HER. They want her valyrian blood. They want their children to be dragonriders. They want proximity to the throne and power. Rhaenyra has to choose a consort; and the consequences if she chooses wrong are disastrous. She could choose a man who turns her into what Viserys did to Alicent and Aemma, she could choose a man who utilizes Westerosi patriarchal views and values and turns her into a puppet queen so that he has the actual power, or she could choose a man who is, ultimately, weak- and thus would not be able to support her claim, would not be able to support or defend her when she ascends. She expresses these frustrations- but when she sees one of her comments hurts Alicent, she immediately holds her hand and squeezes in an attempt at comfort and apology.

Alicent expresses that she has found that she has few friends, lately; and this comment is.. Interesting, in what it says of Alicent. That even at the height of female power in the realm, she cannot inspire loyalty or affection in those around her, that the only prospect she has for a friend is her childhood companion. Rhaenyra expresses a hope to grow closer again as well; but well.

Immediately we shift to the scene in the Godswood where Alicent confronts Rhaenyra with her father’s accusations. She comes into the confrontation immediately condescending and judgemental, looking down on Rhaenyra’s rebellious and adventurous nature, as well as her ‘queer Targaryen customs’, and the ‘crimes’ of which she is accused. Because remember; at this point, Alicent has bought entirely into the way the realm and the Faith views women; women who follow the rules, subservient and obedient, never reaching for more, sacrificing and doing their duty, are good, should be rewarded. Anything else is morally deficient, wrong, lesser. Given this and how she approaches the conversation; it is entirely understandable that Rhaenyra doesn’t trust Alicent, and relies on misdirection and her mother’s memory as well as their former closeness to protect herself, because through this entire conversation, it is obvious that if she knew the truth, Alicent *would not protect Rhaenyra.*

Now remember, Alicent speaks with Viserys in ‘defense’ of Rhaenyra- and she knows FULLY well that Viserys doesn’t believe that nothing happened, that Rhaenyra is restless, chaotic, and willful, and that she would have done as she pleases. (Made worse by Viserys bemoaning that Rhaenyra is ‘just a girl’ when 5 years ago he married Alicent and has had 2 children by her at this point and will have 2 more- plus he has been pushing and pressuring for Rhaenyra to marry for at least 3 of those years.)

Later, when Otto is dismissed, Alicent states what we all know to be true; he got himself into this position, because he kept pushing for Aegon to be made heir, to the point of committing treason and spying on the princess, salivating for a moment where she misbehaves that he can use against her. Here we see Alicent begin to believe the seeds Otto has been planting; that Rhaenyra would kill her siblings to secure her ascension. (Remember, the whole reason of the juxtaposition between the boar and the white stag in episode.3 is to directly contradict this. Rhaenyra attacks and kills the boar only because it harmed her and her knight. Killing the white stag would have helped her- it would have made the lords of Westeros see her as chosen, especially since she caught and killed it the day AFTER Aegon’s name day, and it revealed itself to HER [symbolizing that yes, Rhaenyra is the rightful heir and the RIGHT heir]. Killing it would have given her legitimacy beyond legitimacy and silenced MANY of the tongues that are conspiring against her. However she shows it mercy- despite the fact that its’ death would have served her) Despite having once ‘loved’ Rhaenyra, and ‘known’ her, somehow these lies make sense to Alicent and she believes them. (Furthermore, she somehow is shocked in ep.9 that the reverse is true- that to secure Aegon’s ascension, the easiest and most acceptable route to all the men around her who wield the true power, is to kill Rhaenyra and all of her children).

When later Larys mentions the delivery of a tea to Rhaenyra’s chambers on orders of the king (despite, again, her KNOWING that Viserys doesn’t believe nothing happened) she decides to look further into the matter; even though clearly Viserys wishes it dead and buried, left behind in the dust of her father’s departure of the capitol.

In ep.5, when Alicent discovers that Criston Cole slept with Rhaenyra, it all comes to a head. Despite the fact that Rhaenyra didn’t ‘lie’ (she did not sleep with Daemon), in this moment, Rhaenyra has solidified herself in Alicent’s mind as morally deficient, as less, and it infuriates her. The fact that Rhaenyra has taken charge of ehr body and autonomy in a way that Alicent would never have dared infuriates her; because a part of her had always accepted and even wished for what she assumed would be the order of things. That Rhaenyra would ‘sacrifice and do her duty’ and lay down to suffer the whims and wills of the men around them at Alicent’s side. That they would be united in that suffering. That they would be defanged and declawed the way the Faith extolls women must be, to ‘gently guide’ the men in power alongside them. (Ironic considering how later Alicent utterly fails in ‘guiding’ every man in power around her.)

Alicent has followed every rule and every tradition, does her duty no matter the discomfort, and the fact that Rhaenyra is daring to grasp for more, for power of her own, for happiness and autonomy, and isn’t being punished for it infuriates her. Infuriates her to the point that only Rhaenyra’s trasngression matters. To her, it doesn’t matter that Criston Cole broke his vows and slept with the princess because he valued desire over duty (as explicitly stated by Fabien and by ep.4’s directors)- he is a man. Only Rhaenyra must be punished. It doesn’t matter to her that Rhaenyra has bowed to her father’s will and that the choice of who she will be marry has been taken away from her so that he can use her to fix the political wounds he has caused; from this point forward, nothing Rhaenyra ever does will be enough for Alicent. Supplying heirs to the throne and Driftmark? Not enough- especially since Rhaenyra doesn’t assault her gay husband to do so. Acting as heir and putting forth wise, responsible suggestions in politics and problem-solving in the small council? Absolutely not, especially since in Alicent’s mind Rhaenyra has no business ruling over the men in the Small Council. Ruling from the heir’s seat of Dragonstone in preparation for the throne? Not enough. Offering apology when the poison that Alicent has been feeding her children about Rhaenyra and her children causes a fight between the children where her son is injured after throwing around death threats and claimed a dragon without the King’s leave (which IS established to be necessary in Jaehaerys’ reign) Not enough- she must have Lucerys’ eye as well. From this point on, *nothing Rhaenyra can or will do will ever be enough.*

And the irony is that her own hypocrisy never takes herself into account. She uses a dress to declare war at a wedding; insulting the Velaryons and her stepdaughter, and she faces no consequences for doing so, nothing for the disrespect- but only Rhaenyra ‘never’ faces consequences, right? Criston Cole murders a knight of the kingdoms and strikes the future king-consort to the Kingdoms- and Alicent protects him from every consequence, brings him into her own household as her own sworn knight.

In essence; young Alicent is a victim of the Faith, the Patriarchy and the men around her; but all of the seeds for the abuser that she becomes are there. She’s a hypocrite, blind to anything that doesn’t fit the narrative she wishes for, and to a degree, very narcissistic, and not as clever or as powerful as she thinks she is.

Mind you her being self-serving or self-absorbed isn’t some unforgivable crime; but in juxtaposition to how Rhaenyra expresses concern and care for her at multiple points, it just sits very poorly, for me.

Moving on;

Alicent, when younger is… Deeply interesting, deeply flawed, and incredibly tragic. Her younger self sets the stage for how her story ends; (SPOILERS) with her outliving all her children and grandchildren, all of them dead for her grudges and ambition, with her mad and alone.

She’s also, in some ways, very clever; she’s observant, knowing much of the court gossip, even potentially dangerous secrets in e.1 (speaking of that one Lady’s ‘swollen belly’ aka suspected pregnancy). She’s very duty-oriented, though mostly because she wants to be rewarded for how dutiful she is. She’s subservient to the men around her due to how Otto uses her, and short-sighted. I don’t think she’s a particularly kind individual, but I think she did have the POTENTIAL to be kind. She’s a little boy-obsessed- she was confirmed to have had a crush on Daemon and on Criston, plus how she viewed the courtship tour as ‘romantic’, but she’s also so obsessed with Rhaenyra that it blinds her to the truth both of herself and of Rhaenyra- obsessed with an image of Rhaenyra that isn’t actually the truth. She takes solace in her Faith, it seems, more than anything else, and she struggles to connect to people around her in meaningful ways. She has moments of deep insight- such as how she told Rhaenyra that any effort in hers and Viserys’ relationship would have to come from Rhaenyra, as Viserys, a man, is useless to ‘the language of girls’. She doesn’t like risks (no interest in flying with Rhaenyra) or adrenaline, and likely pursues only more ‘feminine’ pursuits- canonically we know Rhaenyra loves to ride horses and to fly Syrax, to hawk and hunt, loves fashion- even in the book I’d say Rhaenyra is a ‘fashionable’ tomboy in a lot of ways. But we don’t really know.. ANY hobbies of Alicent’s. We don’t know her passions, we don’t know her interests outside of the Faith and the ambitions of her family.

We don’t know her relationships with her children or motherhood- though we know she’s jealous of what a good mother Rhaenyra is.

Honestly it’s a shame. S1 really needed to be 20 eps- 10 with the younger versions of Alicent and Rhaenyra, and 10 with the older. It would’ve let us KNOW the characters more and get far more invested in their fates.

Anyways this… is a novel. But I hope I answered your question alright lmao. I think Alicent as a character is very interesting- but good lord I don’t like her, and yeah I didn’t like her younger version either.

[philaet0s]

So I decided to start posting my social media AU here, in parts, and without the few bits that happen off social media that will be on the ao3 version <3

As an introduction, here’s a little bit of context:

Baz is an world-famous singer. At the beginning of the story, he’s about to go on tour for his 5th album

He and Simon are in a relationship but it’s not public. Simon asks Baz if he can make a twitter account where he claims to be Baz’s boyfriend because he thinks it’d be fun to see how people react

Baz’s albums, because I’ve thought about them a lot —except for the first one— lol:

Ergo, - 2019

→ he just wanted to be pretentious with a latin word honestly + the word “ergo” has this intrinsic meaning of consequence. for something to have a consequence, there *has* to be a something, but there’s nothing that comes before the album. it’s his first. it’s a sort of oxymoron with just one word, something contradictory at its core, Baz likes that

I don’t really know what Baz’s first album is like. the themes would probably be rather dark, but I don’t have a clear idea of what the album would represent like i do for the others. and yet i know there’s an album before those others. something that started it all

Flowers in the Water - 2020

→ a reference to Ophelia from Hamlet, who drowned surrounded by flowers. in this album baz explores his feelings after his break up. he was the one to leave his boyfriend who he was in a pretty toxic relationship with though he still had love for him. so he never had much agency during the relationship (as Ophelia doesn’t have agency during most of the play and her life) and the one time he acted on his own, he ‘ruined his life’ -the feeling of despair after a break up, when you think you’ll never find love like that again, even if it was bad (as Ophelia did when she killed herself). Cliché image of the break up as a sort of death, but you can be cliché when you’re heartbroken

baz’s ex used to buy him flowers, so there was this vase in their flat that for a long time always had flowers in it. after a while, towards the end of the relationship, baz noticed that it had been a moment since there had been flowers in the vase, and that was one of the things that made it hit that his bf didn’t care about him anymore

BUT the ‘vase’ is replaced by ‘water’ in the title of the album – a nice metonymy – to better fit the Ophelia reference.

Portrait of the Artist as a Madman - Feb. 2021

obvious reference to james joyce’s Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man. Baz reread the book during lockdown so he had that title in mind. he used Madman instead of Young Man because we all went a little crazy during lockdown so that was his state of mind when he wrote the album

his most reflexive album, in which he writes very personal things about who he was and is, but also his persona as a singer and the way the music industry impacts him and his life

The Prophecy - Sept. 2021

baz really wanted to use the word prophecy in a title. it’s his favourite word in the english language. it’s a very meaningful word, prophecies were a huge deal for ancient civilisations, prophets are important figures in the abrahamic religions + he likes the idea of a prophecy, something being foretold, an inevitable end, no matter what one does. it’s very tragic, he likes that

this album is about his new relationship with simon, a romantic piece about how when they met, he felt like their story had already been written and all they had to do was play it out, he felt this inevitability that he associates with prophecies. simon is the love that was foretold for him

Metamorphoses - 2022

in reference to Ovid’s metamorphoses. Baz reuses some of the stories in the Metamorphoses while also applying them to his life, creating songs that are a blend of mythology and personal. (his fans love trying to guess what is merely his interpretation of Ovid’s stories and what is personal elements he added to the songs). the songs are ordered in a way that shows how baz was transformed throughout his life to become the version of himself he is at the time of writing the album. a sort of memoir told through a dozen songs

Paroxysm - 2023

paroxysm: a sudden sharp attack (of pain, rage, laughter, etc)

the meaning of the word is why baz chose it as a title. he thought it fit the album, which he wrote very differently from his previous ones –in bursts. his creativity was renewed after Metamorphoses, which was a project that felt to him more like writing a book than songs, and it expressed itself differently. in this album, the topics he writes about are all different, with nothing to give a coherent theme to the album… which is the theme in itself. all the songs are little paroxysms

[dnpanimationstudioclone]

Do u believe in or have any ideas about the whole Overlord Niffty theory?

Actually yeah! For my Niffty I’m going for that route!🐛

HUGE Spoiler alert!!!! Hazbin Hotel @the-burd-lord made these concept designs for me as a gift, I treasure them greatly💖 Their designs inspired from Centichoro from One Punch Man. The other character in the drawings is my take on Alastor!🦌📻

With the reveal of Husk being once an Overlord I like to believe the same with Niffty but rather than gained her power from souls(talked about this with @a-sterling-rose, she was an immensely powerful sinner like Alastor, but alas her form was far too big and scary for people to want to get close to and she was all alone…until Alastor came along and offered her a deal he’d provide a more approachable form in return for her eternal service).

One idea. I imagine she was once a regular sinner like everyone else but was still a centipede like demon so it wasn’t easy to gain peoples trust due to her scary appearance. But one day some overlord or jsut really strong demon or hellborn tried to attack her and in defense or just acting on first instinct…ate into them and ended up becoming stronger and scarier looking in the process, driving even more people to see her as a threat and try to attack only to well…think the Hungry Catepillar but more gruesome and scary.

I can imagine she used to live in the outskirts of the pentagram or underground somewhere as Centipedes can burrow. Occasionally some try to get close to gain power or try to kill her but failed. She was very lonely💔💔💔 Warning scary images.

A lot of her looks meant to be hiding what she is. Disguising her extra limbs as hair, her body’s color scheme based on a centipedes, poofy dress that could cover extra, even the bug design could be Interpreted as a long centipede. I was also going for a subtle sharp, mini legs for her apron ruffles, giving off her trying to look sweet and soft but could also be interpreted in another way…

I read and learned from a @lovesart23 redesign vid for her that, she was meant to be based on B-Alien Movies. LOVE that and I tried it myself(hardest part was figuring out what bug to make her and what themes to go with) but I ended up going for another Sci-Fi route. Kaiju/Giant Bug monsters. Creatures like Godzilla or those giant bugs creatures like “the Tingler” 1959(which was a centipede monster I read). I figure it’d connect well to both her struggles of fitting in but also her Japanese Roots.

Monsters are tragic beings. They are born too tall, too strong, too heavy. They are not evil by choice. That is their tragedy. They do not attack people because they want to, but because of their size and strength, mankind has no other choice but to defend himself. After several stories such as this, people end up having a kind of affection for the monsters. They end up caring about them."

— Ishir⁠ō Honda The Director of Godzilla

Plus some certain Kaijus could qualify as Aliens!.

There’s even a Yokai/demon based on the centipede known as the Ōkumade! I imagine Niffty’s true form is basically a giant monstrous looking centipede.

What do u think? Any ideas you have for overlord Niffty? I’d love to know💖

[dekusleftsock]

Turning tragedy into hope-Let him lose those arms

I’ve tried making this post three times so let’s hope that third times the charm y’all.

I’m just gonna come out and say it but when I saw that panel where Izuku doesn’t have any hands I literally got so excited.

AND ITS NOT BECAUSE I LIKE MY FAVORITE CHARACTER GETTING BRUTALIZED (well? I do think it’s a little funny but shhh)

But it’s because this has been foreshadowed almost as much as the handhold itself between Izuku and Katsuki. And it’s wonderfully tragic in the best of ways. Literally half of the commentary surrounding it when it came out in the leaks was “omg I thought of that!” Because literally everyone and their mother KNEW this was coming in some form. Izuku was going to lose an arm, and that would be the case.

Hell, even outside of the story the amount of official art and AU’s Horikoshi drew that had Izuku without an arm is astounding. Like it’s so painfully obvious that this was coming, and so he upped the shock when he made Izuku lose them both.

Izuku is even doing his white eye thing, he isn’t shocked, he’s angry. My dude is pissed. Clearly, to me at least, the loss of his hands is less of a shock to him and more so that he’s angry that afo took away the reason he lost them in the first place—Tenko.

Y’all gotta remember who Izuku is, he’s the stubborn motherfucker that refused time and time again to give up on his dreams, he’s the one that illegally saved Iida and Katsuki, he’s the one that refused to let go of Tenko’s hands because when he was in his time of need, it comforted him.

Izuku has been told by his doctors for over a year atp that he was going to eventually either lose his hands, or lose the function within them. He’s accepted that. He can try to stop it, hold it off through equipment and treatment, but at the end of the day, everything breaks eventually. He knows that. We know that.

So if he was going to lose his arms in some way, it’d be through this: saving someone, holding their hands, never letting go, comforting them.

It’s tragic and sacrificial, but Aizawa’s the same. Did we make theories about how Eri is gonna heal him from being an amputee? Did the story say “actually due to this cool magical illusion/quirk it was all a mirage/eri could heal it”? No, it didn’t. Did Mirko somehow get her arms and legs back because they’re tied to how she views her strength? No, she didn’t.

And there’s a reason they didn’t. Multiple reasons they didn’t. They’re heroes, their scars tell their stories.

Not even mentioning how that’s such a trope (“everyone else keeps their long term injuries except for the main character because he’s special and gets main character powers, like not getting a disability from a dangerous job! :)”), but why should eri, a little girl, be responsible for everyone’s injuries? She doesn’t even have full control yet, she’s playing it by day. (People LOVE to talk about how all the 1-A kids are just kids fighting in a war, except when it comes to a little girl being responsible for everyone’s injuries, somehow)

The reason eri was shown wasn’t because she was going to somehow save the day, but because she wasn’t. It was supposed to stop those theories from having actual merit, because eri doesn’t actually have the built up strength to help.

So, with that out of the way, I wanted to say how this is so fucking beautiful. It’s tragic yes, Izuku and Katsuki never got to hold hands, not properly, but maybe the measure of their trust is beyond that. Maybe, an embrace could suffice—this would go back to Izuku’s vigilante arc. Where, instead of holding hands, Katsuki caught him when he needed to. And he’s going to do it, again and again.

Maybe holding a robot or silicone arm won’t feel the same, but it’s the feelings surrounding it that matters, not the act itself. The hand hold is still there, the hands still haunt the narrative like a mouse within the walls. It bites at cords like their own emotional walls.

Katsuki missed his chance, over and over again, and he’s going to have to come to terms with that. But that’s not to say that the story won’t let this aspect haunt the narrative like it always has. It’s still THERE, and I believe in Horikoshi to continue to write a story about hands while the main character doesn’t even have them.

Izuku’s hands are tied to his strength, physically and emotionally. He views them has the glue that ties his heroics to himself. His hands have always reached out to others, his hands have always punched those who were wrong, and even when he had to switch fighting styles he still saw them as the reason he was able to fight at all. They represent OFA, his love, his anger, his weakness, his strength. They represent his sense of self, and yet he’s more outraged than hurt that he lost them for Tenko to be free—only for AFO to take away that freedom all over again.

THATS why the loss had to happen. THIS. He lost something so incredibly valuable to himself, but he lost them of his own accord. He could have let go of Tenko at any moment, yet he didn’t because he wanted Tenko to know comfort and freedom. He wanted him to be free.

You could say that Tenko was telling Izuku to let go because he was breaking down his emotional resolve, and I believe you could also say that he was telling Izuku to let go so he doesn’t hurt someone who tried to help him all over again. You could say it’s both. It’s selfish and selfless, like everything in this story is. But Izuku refused to, and that was a choice Tenko could never take away from him.

So, that’s how I’ll turn this tragedy to hope, because this was done out of Izuku’s love, why take away that meaning?

Why put them back?

Why take away those scars?

Scars tell stories, they tell you how we became the greatest heroes.

[literary-illuminati]

2024 Book Review #17 – Terra Incognita by Connie Willis

Connie Willis is a name I have heard come up a lot with regard to late 20th century American Science Fiction, but in a slightly odd way. The only thing she’s actually written that I’ve ever heard of is To Say Nothing of the Dog (a delightful-sounding book that tragically has a multimonth hold list at my library). Instead, I mostly know her from other books’ acknowledgement sections, or semi-mythologized folklore and anecdotes about the culture and community of the era. So I really picked this up as a matter of curiosity, to get a sense of what Willis’ whole deal is.

The book is a collection of three novellas, each basically totally unrelated with only the faintest attempt at a unifying theme to justify bundling the three of them together. Each work is pretty different from the others in everything from length (the longest is something like 3x the length of the shortest), tone, setting and subject matter, the works really. The first is a sort of romcom farce about surveyors charting an alien world that has, well, aged. The second and longest a love letter to classic classic hollywood and movie musicals as told from the POV of a self-hating drunk who pays the bills going through and retroactively editing the studio’s back catalogue to meet the whims of the executive of the day. The third and by far shortest is a lighthearted and very fannish comedy about a teenager getting conscripted to be a space cadet against her own ferocious objections.

The stories are all perfectly modern in, like, structure and pacing, but they still absolutely feel like they were written last century. Part of that is just word choice (the only thing that ages worse than old euphemisms for sex is old attempts to create futuristic slang), but it’s also just a general sensibility. Which is most cringe-inducing in the first story, both for its portrayal of the native species of the planet being surveyed (directly compared to native americans a few different times, characterized as relentlessly opportunistic penny-wise but pound-foolish hucksters leaping at the chance to sell their land for cheap imported consumer goods), and also just for a handling of gender and sexuality it’d take more time than I’ve got to really dig into. (I have a sense of where all those tomboy versus girly girl memes ultimately descend from now, though.) The other two more just felt out of time than actually wince-inducing, with the third story especially feeling like an affectionate nod to the fan culture of a different era. That said, the second one’s whole horrified preoccupation with a Hollywood that refuses to make anything new instead of just remaking the same sure things from its back catalog forevermore either never stopped or has looped back around to feeling real topical.

Insofar as I’m already reading romances, I admit I do have a real soft spot for the whole ‘idiots compensate for total refusal to communicate feelings with grand romantic gestures and hoping the object of their desires will get the idea. It doesn’t work.’ thing that’s a bit of a recurring beat in two of the novellas though.

Prose and characterization wise, all three were pretty well done – though riffing off tropes and archetypes that I honestly can’t remember the last time I’ve seen played sincerely and unironically, which did always leave me feeling I was missing context on how to read them. Which is pretty much what I was hoping for going in, to be clear – what’s the point of reading older stories, otherwise? Which is nice, because the actual reading experience of going through it was a bit of a slog. The first one was the real trial, but just overall I’d say the book’s more interesting as a cultural artifact than an artistic work. Oh well, c’est la vie.

[heyclickadee]

Rebels is a higher stakes show than The Clone Wars. (And that’s not meant as a dig at TCW, I promise. Too much rambling under the cut):

Both shows are great. I have one I prefer over the other, but that’s just personal taste—it doesn’t mean it’s better, just that it’s different in a way that appeals to me a little more. Some people will prefer the same one as I do, some will prefer the other, and some will love (or hate) both in equal measure. This isn’t a judgement of quality. They’re different shows doing different things. The Clone Wars is more violent, more graphic, and more characters die. But Rebels has higher stakes. Let me explain.

Stakes in a story are all about potential consequences, and consequences are not synonymous with tragedy or inherently negative. Consequences are results. Results can be good or bad.

In order for a story to have stakes, there really has to be more than one potential consequence. That means potential negative consequences of failure, potential positive consequences of success—and even visa versa, which can get fun. When a story has only one potential outcome, the stakes are actually very low, no matter how tragic that outcome is.

Which brings me back to The Clone Wars.

Now, The Clone Wars does get to play around with high stakes to some extent. It’s an anthology series made up of a bunch of smaller, somewhat self-contained stories interconnected by a loose narrative whole. The stakes of those smaller, self-contained stories are often quite high, because almost every single one of them could go many different directions. The stakes of the larger narrative, however, are lower. We know how the story has to end, because the story of that ending was already told.

It’d be different if The Clone Wars was made before Revenge of the Sith. A LOT of things would probably be different if that was the case, but, the main point is that the audience knew, and had known for years, where The Clone Wars would eventually end up. No matter how many seasons there were, no matter how many times the Jedi lost or won the day, no matter how much we cheered for Rex or Ahsoka, no matter how many times it seemed like the fate of the galaxy rested in the hands of a couple Jedi and a handful of clones—it wasn’t.

The fate of the galaxy was decided a long time ago. There are so many times in The Clone Wars where it seems that fate can be avoided if circumstances shifted or if characters made different decisions—but they don’t, and we already know they don’t going in. Anakin falls, Order 66 happens, the Republic becomes the Empire, and Palpatine wins. That’s how it goes. Thats how it will always go. The main overarching stakes in The Clone Wars are connected to Ahsoka and, to a slightly lesser extent, Rex, and what happens to the two of them—and even those were slightly lowered by the fact that Rebels came out in that long hiatus and told us that Ahsoka and Rex would live.

Rebels, by contrast, didn’t have a known point at which it would have to end starting out. It was about unknown characters whose fates, successes, and failures were open ended. All we knew about them was that they didn’t show up in the Original Trilogy, but since the original trilogy was focused on Luke and his friends, that could have meant anything. Galaxies are big. There was a whole range of positive and negative possibilities for where the story could go.

(Just to be totally clear, because I’m probably being a little misleading by accident, knowing how a story ends doesn’t automatically lower the stakes. A show’s going to have the same level of stakes no matter how many times you watch it (though I’m willing to debate that). The difference I’m trying to illustrate between The Clone Wars and Rebels here is between a story written knowing its ending is inevitable, and knowing the audience knows it, and a story written knowing its ending was open.)

And here’s the other thing: telling a story that’s aware of a predetermined ending, and which is aware that its audience knows the ending, doesn’t mean there’s no tension. Suspense—not knowing—is one way to create tension in a story, but dramatic irony—the tension created in the gap between what the audience knows and what the characters in a story don’t know—is another.

A lot of stories play with both depending on the needs of each scene, but The Clone Wars is swimming in dramatic irony. The characters go along fighting their battles and trying their best while we, the audience, watch them hurtle towards the inevitable of the Revenge of the Sith. Rebels, by contrast, touches on dramatic irony every once in a while for individual scenes and episodes, but plays more with suspense overall, because nothing’s inevitable(1) and the audience isn’t sure where it’s going. Both can work and both are valid. Same with lower stakes vs higher stakes.

All this to say that creating stakes is not just about negative outcomes, stories which end in tragedy can have lower overall narrative stakes than ones that end in which the characters succeed in their goals, and lower overall narrative stakes isn’t the same thing as the story having no tension or drive. All of it can work depending on what you want the story to do.

1. Except maaaaaybe Kanan’s death. That one was kind of baked in from the get-go.

[marypsue]

Meet Riley

Girls, Ghosts, and Meathooks // Meet Ben

Angelica was a bitch.

Riley flung herself flat onto the smooth, hard surface of the roller rink, not a second too soon. The blade flashed as it swept through the air above her, where moments before, her neck had been. Any slower, and she would’ve ended up like Pamela Voorhees.

Overhead, there was a screech of rage and frustration, and a flutter of ruffled skirts and long blond ringlets as Angelica’s momentum carried her past.

Riley allowed herself a split second to catch her breath, before jerking herself back onto her feet. She crouched for a moment, poised on her toes, listening to the sound of mocking, girlish laughter as it echoed around the emptiness of the abandoned roller rink. Trying to pinpoint, from the sound, where Angelica was now.

“Ben!” Riley shouted, when she thought the laughter was down by the farther end of the rink. “Now!”

There was a beat. A split second of suspension. Riley held her breath.

And then, on cue, the mirrored disco ball overhead, for the second time in forty years, began to turn. Newly dusted that afternoon, it caught flecks of coloured light as the spotlights around it all chunked on, and threw those lights back all over the rink, dancing in disorienting skirls and spirals over its emptiness.

There was a ghastly moan, a long, slow winding-up noise that quickly resolved itself into music. The dulcet harmonies of ABBA’s ‘Dancing Queen’ washed through the vast, empty space, echoes adding sinister offkey harmonics as it went.

“Come on,” Riley muttered to herself, as she sprinted for the edge of the rink, dashing through the break in the barrier meant to keep the skaters from crashing into pedestrians and skidding under the table built into a booth along the opposite wall. “Come on, you know you want to, take the bait, come on…”

Angelica’s story, like most of them, was tragic. Unlike the eponymous heroine of ‘Dancing Queen’, she’d never made it to seventeen. At her sweet-sixteenth birthday party, at this very roller rink, she’d been leaning over to blow out the candles on her cake when one of her long blonde curls had fallen forward into the flame. It hadn’t taken more than a minute or two for the fire to spread to her brand-new party dress. Before her horrified friends and family could do anything to save her, she was dead. Burned to death right before their very eyes.

The rink, the story went, had closed the next year, after a string of mysterious accidents that had people staying away in droves, convinced it was haunted by Angelica’s vengeful ghost. And so it had sat, empty and abandoned, nearly killing people every time someone tried to start it up or renovate it again, for forty long years. Until a roller derby team had decided it’d make the perfect place to get some practice away from the possibility of prying, spying eyes.

It had been hard as hell to sniff out the truth behind this particular story. Usually, when they had to do with a specific person, a full name attached itself to the tale – even if it wasn’t the whole story, or even the wrong name altogether. But ‘Angelica’ had no last name. So Riley and Ben – all right, mostly Riley – had gotten to comb through the newspaper archives at the local library, the medical records at the hospital, the municipal records at City Hall. The death records at the morgue.

What they’d found wasn’t exactly surprising, for anyone who knew anything about slashers.

The roller rink hadn’t been plagued by a vengeful ghost. And the accidents hadn’t been so mysterious. All the rink had really been plagued by was shoddy wiring, which had started three fires before the city had issued a demand that the owner either fix the problems or shut the place down. Obviously, from the state the rink was in now, the owner had picked the path of least resistance – and expense.

And ‘Angelica’, the poor girl from the story who’d died tragically at the tender age of sixteen, didn’t exist. Or, at least, hadn’t existed before the story had sprung up around her. But Angela “Angie” Werner, who’d been badly burned in one of those electrical fires while attending a birthday party and confined to hospital for six months in 1978 while her skin grafts healed, did.

And, more than that, she was definitely still alive.

If, that was, you could call what someone became when they went full slasher ‘alive’. Which Riley very much doubted.

That was what she was counting on, as she crouched beneath the table, peering out at the empty rink surface dazzling under the disco lights. That Angie wasn’t just borrowing the ‘Angelica’ legend as a convenient cover for slicing and dicing her way through a random unfortunate roller derby team. That the story had found an Angelica-shaped focus to fix itself onto. That it had taken over.

If Angie was just a run-of-the-mill serial killer, then this wasn’t going to work. And that was the best Riley could hope for.

But then, it wouldn’t be the first time in her life that Riley’d caused the death of a regular person.

The song bounced through another chorus, Agnetha and Anni-Frid’s vocals imploring Riley to see that girl, warning her to watch that scene. But even with her eyes peeled, scanning not only the rink but the gutted arcade behind her, the empty skate rental counter to her right, the plastic sheeting hiding what had once been the concession to her left, Riley couldn’t see so much as a swirl of a Gunne Sax skirt. Angelica’s mocking laughter seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere all at once.

At least that meant she was still around there somewhere, though. Riley still had her full attention.

The thing about slashers that Riley’d found, through years of extensive research sitting in front of a glowing blue screen in a darkened room watching corn-syrup blood fountain out of latex wounds, was that you didn’t get them out of random meaningless tragedies. The Angelica story was a good story. It’d stuck around. But it wasn’t the whole story. Couldn’t be. There had to be a single act of thoughtless human cruelty. There always was.

The trouble with a story like the Angelica story, though, was that it had a tendency to overwrite the truth. Sometimes literally. People – even people who’d been there, people who should know better – misremembered, took details or elements from the story instead of relying on their own experience. Often without even realising they’d done it.

And, sometimes, people didn’t like the way the truth made them look very much.

Angie Werner had been at a birthday party when the fire that had ruined her life and set her on the path to slasher-dom had started. But what the many and varied written records didn’t say was that she hadn’t been invited. Had been the only one in her class who hadn’t been invited, actually. The roller rink was a public place. Angie had crashed.

And the birthday girl and her friends had responded by locking Angie in the supply closet where the fire had started.

That was why Angie had been so badly burned. Why she’d needed to stay in the hospital for so long. The closet had been full of cleaning chemicals, many of them flammable. The only door had been jammed with a chair from the outside.

None of the written records had told Riley that. Neither had the woman whose birthday party it had been, when Riley managed to track her down. It hadn’t surprised Riley to discover that she was the mother of the captain of the roller derby team Angelica had started going after. It hadn’t surprised Riley at all.

Slashers were predictable. If you knew what you were looking for.

The person who’d told Riley the truth, in the end, was a former janitor for the roller rink. The man who’d freed Angie from the flaming closet and stopped the whole building from burning to the ground. As a reward for his heroism, a few months later when the city issued its edict to the roller rink’s owner and the rink had been shut down, he’d been put out of work.

He’d been a red herring, for a very short while. Injustice, after all, bred slashers like rot bred mushrooms.

But he’d also given Riley the missing piece of the puzzle.

The former janitor had tried to keep up with Angie, through her long and grueling recovery and beyond. Had made sure to check in, now and again, to see how she was doing and what progress she was making. He was the one to tell Riley how bad the scarring had been, when Angie’d finally been released.

And the one to tell Riley about how Angie had simply dropped off the map, not long after she’d left the hospital.

“Her parents transferred her to another school,” the old man had told Riley, sounding wistful. “Can’t say as I blame ‘em. I sent birthday cards for a couple years, but after she’d’ve graduated, they started coming back.”

Riley had wasted too much time, trying to track Angie down. Two teenaged girls and the man who’d been the birthday girl’s boyfriend back in ’78 were already dead by the time she put two and two together.

There’d been a few attempts, over the last forty years, to reopen the roller rink, or to renovate it for some other use. They’d all failed after a string of dangerous accidents on the worksite – accidents that might not have been accidents. But Angie Werner had survived her injuries. There wasn’t really a ghost.

Which meant that living, breathing Angie had to be somewhere close by. And had to have her own reasons for not wanting the roller rink disturbed.

Riley had a hunch that she knew why. And what she and Ben had found behind the walls of the rink’s old office, when they’d broken in that afternoon, had just confirmed it.

Instead of trying to move on with her life, Angie had come back. Had spent some thirty-odd years squatting in the abandoned building that was the site of the worst moments of her life, driving away everyone who might have forced her out. Waiting.

Riley’d known Angie must be there. Because Riley herself had briefly done something similar, once. Out at one of the unused summer cabins on Clear Lake.

A shadow of a sound, the faintest flicker of motion, snapped Riley’s attention back to the present. She wasn’t sure, as she looked all around her, what exactly it had been. It took a moment to be able to tell, with the shifting disco lights making everything seem to swirl and sway. But the translucent sheet of thick plastic hanging in front of the old concession was drifting, ever so gently, back and forth.

Riley shifted, adjusting her crouch so she could spring quickly and easily out from beneath the table. Her eyes never left the swaying curtain as her hands sought out and closed over the thing she’d left prepped and waiting for her under this table, that afternoon.

The music swelled to a final crescendo. The disco lights glittered and flashed. Riley’s gaze bounced from the curtain hiding the concession to the centre of the rink, back and forth and back again.

The song clicked into quiet. The eerie dance of the lights, in the silence, made the whole cavernous room feel like it was underwater.

Angelica didn’t appear.

Riley did one last sweep of the room, before cautiously inching up to the edge of the table, keeping a wary eye out as she dragged the thing she’d stashed along after her. The plastic sheeting covering the concession had fallen back into stillness. Other than the spots of coloured light, nothing moved.

Riley leaned forward, sticking her head out from under the table, to push herself to her feet –

Bony fingers scrabbled at the top of her head at the same time as the minor chords of ‘Lay All Your Love On Me’ sliced into the silence.

Riley, for the second time that night, flung herself forward out of reach, burning the bottom of her chin against the nubbly carpet. An enraged screech from above told her Angelica was none too happy about not being able to get a handful of Riley’s tight, cornrowed braids.

Gripping her prize close to her chest, Riley rolled, just barely in enough time to dodge the long, slender serrated cake knife that sliced down toward the carpet where, a moment before, her unprotected back had been. And, lying there, looking up, she got her first really good look at the slasher called Angelica.

The overwhelming impression Riley’d gotten before this had been of dusky-pink-striped ruffles and long blonde curls. It hadn’t exactly been wrong. The dress Angelica was wearing, high-collared and long-sleeved with a Victorian-revival V-shaped ruffle at the shoulders and trimmed with off-white lace, could have come straight out of a 1970s Jessica McClintock catalogue. If it weren’t for the unladylike way Angelica was crouched on the tabletop. And the rusty stains of blood.

The hair streaming down on either side of Angelica’s face was indeed thick and wheat-gold and coiling into gentle ringlets, where it wasn’t lopped bluntly off to cover her forehead.

It was also, now that Riley was looking, obviously fake.

And behind the clear plastic gloss of a cheap ‘beauty’ mask, fixed and expressionless, the eyeholes outlined with garish blue shadow and thick black lines representing lashes, the lips painted on in an unnatural red, the face that stared back at Riley was bubbled and shiny like melted candle wax and contorted with a mindless, obsessive rage.

Angelica’s clear, bright blue eyes met Riley’s, and widened as she raised the knife again.

And Riley, lying on the floor at an awkward angle, all but helpless, breathed a sigh of relief.

Those blue eyes narrowed, drifting warily from Riley’s face down to the thing Riley was clutching to her chest.

They went wide again when they landed on the chainsaw.

And then Angelica was jerked backwards. A strangled noise erupted from her throat, the ravaged skin of her face suddenly squashed against the mask she wore as its elastic strap was yanked, hard, away from the back of her head. The arm waving the cake knife flailed up, stabbing wildly and randomly out around and behind her, her rage momentarily fixating off of Riley and onto whoever had managed to get behind her without her noticing.

The grainy graveyard glimmer that picked out Ben’s outline, the same green as the northern lights, slowly filled in behind her. With the hand not pinning Angelica by the strap of her mask, Ben threw Riley the horns.

Riley threw them back, and then scrambled up to her feet, keeping the chainsaw clutched close.

The twang of the mask’s elastic slipping through Ben’s insubstantial fingers and back into place was barely audible over the almost-frantic chorus of the song. Riley backed away from the table, toward the rink, bracing her stance so she could get a better grip on the chainsaw. One that wouldn’t see it ripping her own face off if she tried to start it up.

“Angie?” she tried.

In answer, Angelica slowly rose to her feet in a rustle of skirts, standing on top of the table, gripping the cake knife.

“Angie Werner,” Riley tried, again. One hand rested on the chainsaw’s pull-cord, a finger on the dead-man’s switch. Ready to press. Ready to pull. “I know what happened to you. They shouldn’t have done it. I know.”

Raised up to her full height, towering above Riley from the tabletop, washed in the shifting underwater lights from the disco ball, Angelica was still and silent. She cut an imposing figure, even with all her girlish ruffles. The bloodstains that splashed her skirt looked almost black in the blue circles that spiralled past. Half in shadow, her mask hid the scars almost completely.

“I get it. You want somebody to pay for what they did. You want justice,” Riley tried. “But this isn’t it. Those kids had nothing to do with it. You don’t have to -”

Wherever her little speech would have gone next, Riley didn’t have to find out.

This time, Angelica was silent as death as she flew forward, hair and ruffles streaming, gleaming knife raised.

Riley slammed the dead-man’s switch flat to the handle of the chainsaw and yanked the pull-cord.

The chainsaw sputtered, choked, and died.

Riley had to throw herself backwards, swinging the chainsaw’s motionless blade up between herself and Angelica’s knife, to avoid doing the same.

“I thought we gassed this thing up!” Riley screamed, partly at Ben, mostly out of terror, as she tried to keep her footing. Angelica didn’t give her a moment to breathe, grabbing the chainsaw by the blade like she wouldn’t notice if she lost a few fingers and slicing at Riley with the knife gripped in her other hand. Riley tried to duck under one slashing stroke, and slammed backwards into the low wall separating the rink’s surface from the rest of the building. For a moment, it punched the breath out of her.

The cake knife flashed pink in the disco lights, and Riley jerked sideways, tugging the chainsaw out of Angelica’s grip. Riley wasn’t sure what she’d expected, but it wasn’t for the wall behind her to suddenly vanish, leaving her stumbling out onto the rink’s smooth surface. The soles of her high-tops squeaked deafeningly in the echoing emptiness of the rink, audible even over the Swedish voices demanding that she not go wasting her emotions.

When Riley looked up, Angelica was gone.

“Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit,” Riley hissed between her teeth, hurrying back two steps before she realised she was in all likelihood hurrying straight backwards into a knife and spun around, chainsaw held out in front of her like a talisman. But Angelica wasn’t there either. This time, there wasn’t even the mocking laughter to help keep track of her. Only the disco lights, shivering and shifting in Riley’s peripheral vision, making her jump and whip around more than once.

She was a sitting duck, as she inched her way closer to the centre of the rink, and Riley knew it.

The chainsaw’s engine choked, again, as she tried for a second time to get it started. It died with a pathetic little cough, the chain giving a tiny death rattle as it tried and failed to make a complete rotation. Riley gave the thing a shake, unable to look down and try to see what was wrong with it without taking her attention off of the hundreds of different places Angelica could jumpscare out of at her.

In a split second of relative quiet before the minor chords of the song’s chorus whirled back up into their frenzy, something caught Riley’s ear. Something that sounded like the rasping whisper of polyester on polyester.

She looked up.

In a slasher movie, what happened next would have happened in slow motion. The disco ball, glittering out its magnificent swan song, descending from the ceiling like a Robert Englund Phantom of the Opera chandelier, exploding into a million bits of scattered light against the floor barely an inch from Riley’s scrambling feet. Angelica, descending in its wake like the wrath of disco incarnate, hair and ruffles fluttering, knife raised and ready to plunge into Riley’s vulnerable flesh.

Angelica, realising halfway through her descent that, while she was still dropping, her mask no longer was.

Angelica’s blue eyes, revealed fully in their scarred setting, widening with fear.

The chainsaw, finally, roaring to life in Riley’s hands.

Real life, of course, wasn’t a slasher movie. Riley barely even knew what was happening until it was over.

The fountain of blood that exploded out of Angelica when the chainsaw carved up through her ribcage and out through her collarbone seemed weirdly glittery, in the now-steady coloured spotlights.

The thump when what was left of her fell to the rink’s surface, into the remains of the disco ball, was disgustingly soggy.

The clear plastic mask she’d worn hung suspended in midair for another few seconds or so, before it drifted down to hover, instead, somewhere around waist height. The outline of Ben took shape holding it in one hand, and then filled in with the rest of him. Against the shadows left after the demise of the disco ball, he looked brighter, clearer than he often did, especially in daylight. Almost solid.

He raised the mask, giving it a cheeky wave, and grinned at Riley.

Riley killed the chainsaw’s motor, and reached up to wipe trickling blood off her forehead with the back of one hand. “That second song was the wrong era of ABBA.”

Ben fixed Riley with a wide-eyed, disbelieving stare, before gesturing down at himself, snarling a short, crunchy electric-guitar riff out the curled-up side of his mouth. Riley, who was starting to become an expert in how to read him, took it to mean something along the lines of Do I look like I listen to ABBA?

It wasn’t actually funny. The laugh that bubbled up out of Riley was mostly just relief.

“We gotta get out of here,” she said, when she trusted her voice again. “Before anybody starts asking questions.”

Ben gave the mask another little wave, like he was holding up something Riley’d forgotten, and Riley rolled her eyes.

“Obviously after we burn that.” She didn’t want to let her gaze track down to what was left of Angelica, the insides of her chest now open to the air, those perfect curls tangled around her face, those blue eyes wide and glassy in a final, fatal surprise. Riley’s eyes went there anyway, without her input. The pang that shot through her wasn’t entirely horror, or even disgust.

All Angie Werner’d wanted was some kind of justice, in a world that’d seemed determined not to give it to her. Riley could understand, all too well, how that felt.

“After we burn that,” she repeated, a little louder, not taking her eyes off the wreckage. “We don’t want Angelica coming back.”

[jadetheblueartist]

IM SO SORRY I ACCIDENTALLY DELETED YOUR TEGAN ASK

I feel so bad :( you said it took you three hours and also I had written a huge response and now it’s gone ;-;

Okay so I’m going to rewrite my response but I’m really sorry if I get things wrong since now I can’t review what you sent ;-;

————

I LOVE THE IDEA SO MUCH!!!! And I would love to hear more about their training and life on the ship!

I may be obsessing over Talon and Megan a tad bit…

I love all the possibilities of how they passed the time in the car so much. It would be so awkward at the start and I’m all here for it!! I imagine Talon carried most of the conversation from the beginning until after they really got to know each other. I feel like at the start Talon would just awkwardly try to tell her what has happened to the earth while she was gone in hopes of starting some conversation. I’m imagining the parking lot picnic with them just drinking slushees and eating whatever gas station food seemed good (I’m assuming everything is kind of run down?)

Car karaoke. Oh it would be amazing. Talon trying to find songs Megan likes and trying to get her to sing along, windows rolled down, it’d be such a vibe.

With the race scene I can’t stop picturing the scene from princess bride where they both are rolling down the hill XD

Their relationship is so great, two strangers bonding in a long car ride… oh wait they already knew each other? They were already in love from book one? But Megan’s memory was wiped- WAIT NO THEY WERE IN LOVE AND HER MEMORY WAS WIPED!?!? Okay, okay, it’s fine at least they became close again, just a fresh start nothing to worry about… HER MEMORY WAS WIPED A SECOND TIME!?!? TALON THOUGHT SHE WAS DEAD!?!?!? NOOOOOOOOOOOOOO (this is so tragic but I love it so much)

Talon nooooo why the tragic backstory ;-; (I love it very much)

Oh and the art? I LOVE IT SO MUCH!! I love Talon’s design!!!!!! The drawing of him saying happy birthday to himself makes me so sad ;-;

Also question time!

Do you have designs for the sci fi ppl? Are they like aliens or just advanced humans chilling in space? Does Talon hide his tattoo? (I love that type of angst so much mhm hidden scars [in this case a tattoo tho]) and you said there was an image limit… could I see those drawing you couldn’t show? Also why is it called Tegan (is it bc Talon + Megan = Tegan…)? That should be all of my questions…

Anyway I absolutely love this story and please feel free to tell me more whenever! (I’d love to hear a lil more about Ivan too)

Again really sorry abt deleting the ask ;-; I hope you have an amazing day though!!

(I feel like I’m forgetting things I wanted to mention but idk)

Oh my I wrote out this whole thing and it deleted it for me hahaha let’s try this again

No worries about deleting the ask it happens hahaha and it doesn’t look like you got anything wrong so yay!

I’m gonna answer this paragraph by paragraph

-IM SO GLAD YOU LIKE IT and I’m pretty sure I have either the original google doc or a “Megan’s POV” doc that I can look into to give you those details :)

-I’m so glad you’re obsessing so we can be in the same boat

-I’ve been mulling over that car scene for years and somehow you managed to squeeze out even more serotonin for me to devour I thank thee. And I think it’s run down ish, like people are still there but WW3 is kind of happening/ just happened soooo you know

-it would be the vibiest ^^

-I’m so glad you said that bc I couldn’t connect the dots as to what that scene reminded me of but yeah that’s amazing

-IKR the mind wiping rocked my world. My friend was at the point where she was writing the post separation explosion and we were on face time and she casually mentioned “oh you know the cars weren’t the first time they met, right?” I went feral trying to get all the info out of her hahaha

-yes his backstory makes me so sad…

-I’m glad you like the design! It was our group’s “hot guy” design hahaha I’ve tried to make it more individualized to him over the years tho, and that happy birthday one gets me every time (especially since that’s probably how he spent most his birthdays…)

Yay Question Time!

-I believe I could at least get the designs for those people sometime soon. They are just random people who decided to work for big bad (aka the voice, bc they only heard his voice through speakers at first). The voice decided he could make some good money abducting children and forcing them to be assassins so he did that. The government doesn’t know about them bc they hide in space. The few organizations trying to take them down are the only ones who really know about it

-talon has a few different tattoos, the one he got initiated with is a tattoo/ permanent burn so it has to stay covered to protect it, the other is just on his neck and he leaves that one in the open (I can point it out in the pics below)

-and yes! Tegan is the ship name for Talon and Megan (it was that or Melon hahaha)

-Ivan didn’t really have much personality in the oh other than he was angry bc the scientist that snuck into the escape ship was dating his crush, I’ve made some personal modifications to him in my head though making him more protective rather than just angry (he’s also Megan’s cousin) and I just remembered I have a drawing of him? So cue the picture section :)

Picturesssss

Here’s Ivan, the permanent third wheel (he doesn’t know tho)

The first ever drawings of Talon and Megan 😬

Moving on… idk which of these are repeats so lemme know if they are and I could probably substitute them for new pics

And now the og Megan design vs the much needed redraw

Ughhhh the one on the left still haunts me…

I was struck by the limit again so I might reblog this with a few more, idk hahaha

But reading through this ask made me so happy you have no idea (insert the “I don’t normally feel things but that one got through” donnie gif)

Thank you so much and I’ll look into the daily life on the ship and the sci fi guy designs :)

[dialovers-translations]

Diabolik Lovers CHAOS LINEAGE ー Laito [15]

Monologue

Standing in front of the deep abyss,

a howling wind blows.

These lands are a closed space,

cut off from everything else by a cliff.

There is no exit anywhere.

Now that we have run out of time,

the only fate which lies ahead of us...

is one where we are caught and pulled apart.

As we are confronted with said reality,

it brings along an unbearable sense of hopelessnessーー

ー The scene starts by the border of the World

Yui: ( We have run out of options. )

( This was the last shot we had at escaping this place. )

Laito: These lands are blocked off by magic. I guess someone threw us in here for their own personal enjoyment.

Even by my standards, that’s just messed up.

Yui: Yeah...

Manipulating our memories, making us fight each other...For what purpose exactly...?

Laito: I don’t know. It frustrates me how little information we have. Butーー 

I just don’t want to be separated from you, no matter what. I don’t want someone else to steal you from me.

Yui: ...! I don’t want to leave you either...

( But even so, we don’t have any more time. With no way out, I know that eventually we’ll get caught. )

Laito: Do you want to keep running away until one of our pursuers catches us then? Inside this closed off world.

Yui: Eh...?

Laito: Ultimately, I will be declared a traitor and killed. While you will be taken away.

But want to keep on fighting till the bitter end...?

Yui: Laito-kun...

Selection

→ Let’s run away together!  (♡)

Yui: Let’s run away together. I don’t want to become separated from you ever again...

Laito: I see. I’m happy to hear those words from you.

But I’m pretty sure we’ll be pulled apart either way once we’re caught. I doubt I’ll be killed on the spot. 

I can only imagine that you’ll be the only thing on my mind once I’m chained up inside my cell.

Yui: No way...

→ There’s no point (🖤)

Yui: There’s no point in doing that...You’ve realized as well, haven’t you? Eventually they’ll find us...

Laito: I see. I honestly thought that the idea of eloping together sounded kind of romantic.

Then...I suppose we simply have to make up our resolve.

Yui: ...

Laito: I hope I can at least stay by your side until the moment I take my final breath.

Yui: Until you take your final breath...?

( Actually... )

ー Yui recalls his words from earlier

Laito: If we were to fall down there, I’m pretty sure it’d be game over, even for us Vampires...

ー The flashback ends

Yui: ( If he were to fall from here, even Laito-kun... )

Laito: What’s wrong? 

Yui: Hey...If you’re going to dieーー 

I want you to take me with you.

Laito: ...Eh? 

Yui: If the only other option is to be separated, then I’d much rather just stay together till the very end.

Yui:  With how steep this cliff is, even a Vampire like you wouldn’t survive a fall from here, right?

Laito: Aah...That’s what you mean, huh?

Yui: If there’s truly no other options left, then I want to stay with you at the very least...

-> BRANCH: EUPHORIA ENDING

The game does not tell you if you are in the Euphoria or the Labyrinth branch. In the Euphoria version of this chapter, this is what Laito’s first line after the branch looks like:

飛び降り...か。悲恋の主人公達としては悪くない結末なんじゃないかな。

Laito: You want to jump down...huh? I guess that wouldn’t be a bad way for us to end our tragic love story. 

Yui: Eh...? 

Laito: If that’s what you want, I’ll even drag you down to Hell with me. 

I actually won’t let go with you...You’re fine with that, right?

Yui: Of course!

Laito: Okay. ...Thank you, Yui-chan.

In that case...Let’s go together.

ー The scene shifts to the entrance hall of the Violet Manor

Kou: What is going on, for real!? I can’t believe the others suddenly stormed us like that!

I thought they were locked up in the dungeon!?

Azusa: I-I don’t know either...!

Ruki: You must be very confident to chit-chat about trivial matters in front of the enemy.

Kou: Why do we have to fight with this guy out of all people? ーー Kuh...

Azusa: Kou? What’s wrong...!?

ー Kou gets a dizzy spell

Kou: For some reason...I’m incredibly dizzy...Guh...

*Thud* 

Kou: Uu...What’s going on...? There’s several images...flashing through my head...Aaah...!

Azusa: Kou!? Kou, hang in there!!

Ruki: What’s this? I do not know what kind of act you’re putting up here, but you better not believe you’ll be able to catch me with it.

*Cling* 

Azusa: Ruki...san...! Stop, please! Don’t hurt Kou!

You can cut me down as many times as you want, okay...?

Ruki: Such ridiculous brotherly love. Rest assured, neither of you will make it out alive.

Azusa: No way...

Kou: ...Wait...Ruki-kun...

Azusa: Eh...?

Ruki: Hah...?

Kou: Why are you...pointing your sword at us...?

Can’t you tell who we are? ...Ruki-kun...

Ruki: Such nonsenseーー

ー Ruki starts to remember as well

Ruki: ...What is this...?

*SCENE SHIFT*

Subaru: Damnit! What happened to their fuckin’ plan, huh!?

The situation won’t hold for much longer!

Shuu: Haah...What a drag. I’d like to get this over with soon.

Subaru: As you wish!  I’ll crush you real quick!

Reiji: What are you doing, Shuu!? Hurry up and take care of them.

Shuu: No need to tell me.

Subaru: Two against one, huh? Fuck...!

*Woosh* 

Ayato: Woah there! Mr. Sleepyhead! I’ll take you on instead!

Subaru: Wha...!? 

Shuu: Haah? You’re from the Orange House...Why are you helping out the enemy?

Kanato: You still haven’t remembered? As the oldest of the family, the two of them act cocky all the time, yet you haven’t even grasped the situation?

Honestly, I am beyond disappointed.

Subaru: N-No...Explain it to me as well. Why would you two...?

Ayato: Shut up, we can do that later! We still don’t quite get what’s goin’ on either after all.

Subaru: Haah?

Kanato: I believe it was probably Laito. Also her blood. That is what helped us remember. 

Fake brothers and a pointless war. You better believe I am not letting myself get caught up in such a mess and die as a result.

Ayato: I don’t know what that guy’s plans are but...

If he ran away with Chichinashi, I’m sure he has somethin’ in mind.

In that case, I’ll hang on until then!

*CLING*

Shuu: Kuh...!

ー The scene shifts back to the cliff

Yui: ( You really can’t see the bottom. I guess this is what you’d call the ‘pits of Hell’? (1) )

Are you...sure? If we dive down, we’ll most definitely...

Laito: You’re the one who brought it up though. Getting cold feet now?

Yui: No! That’s not it, but...

Laito: I want to be with youーー

...Until the bitter end, no, for eternity.

I’ll be there with you no matter what happensーー So let’s go together.

Yui: ...Yeah...

Monologue

Grabbing hold of each other’s hand,

we stood by the edge of the abyss.

In front of our eyes,

stretched an endless, bottomless pit.

If we took even one step forward,

we’d fall straight down.

However...

Even though I was standing on the verge of death,

my mind felt at peace.

Laito-kun is right there besides me. 

The joy from being able to go together,

surpassed the fear of death.

We looked at each other one last time,

exchanging a tight embrace.

And then,

we dove into the abyssーー

Laito: Yui-chan...Let’s go together.

Yui: Yeah...!

*Rustle*

Yui: Ugh...ーー

( The wind pressure is intense...Almost as if my whole body is being ripped apart... )

*Woosh*

Yui: Kyahーー

ーー Ah.

( Swept away by wind...I’m drifting apart from Laito-kunーー )

Laito: No!

*Rustle*

Yui: ...Laito-kun...

Laito: I refuse...to let go of you...

Don’t worry...As long as we’re together, there’s nothing to be afraid of...

Yui: Yeah...I know...!

*Rustle* 

Yui: ( I don’t care how or where. From here on out, we’ll be together foreverーー )

*Twinkle*

ー The screen fades to white

Yui: ( Eh...? )

( The strong gust of wind from earlier is gone. )

Laito: ...Is this... a light?

Yui: Look at the sky...The landscape is slowly fading away.

Is this what dying is like...?

Laito: Good question. I’ve never experienced death before, so I can’t say for sure but...

It’s very pretty...

Yui: ...Yeah...

( The orbs of light are steadily increasing. My consciousness...is growing faint... )

[EUPHORIA END]

-> BRANCH: LABYRINTH ENDING

The game does not tell you if you are in the Euphoria or the Labyrinth branch. In the Labyrinth version of this chapter, this is what Yui’s first line after the branch looks like:

一緒に飛び降りよう。それで、終わらせよう。

Yui: Let’s jump together. And put an end to it.

I don’t want anyone else pulling us apart.

Laito: ...I can’t believe you’d come to that conclusion...You must truly feel like there’s no other option left, huh?

But I feel the same way. If there is no way back, I want to stay with you till the bitter end.

Even if that means choosing death.

Hey, Yui-chan...Will you die alongside me?

Yui: ( If we stay here under the current circumstances, I won’t be able to stay together with Laito-kun. In which case...I know my answer. )

...Yeah, of course.

Laito: I’m glad. I was worried what I’d do if you were to turn me down.

Yui: As if I’d ever do that?

Laito: Right.

Well then...Let’s hold hands, and go together?

Yui: Yeah...

*Rustle*

*Woosh*

Yui: ( We’re going to...jump down from here. )

( Even though I’m the one who brought it up...I’m a little scared... )

Yui: Laito-kun...Don’t let go of my hand, okay?

Laito: ...Yeah. I won’t let go, no matter what happens.

Yui: Thanks.

Laito: Well then, off we go? So we can be together forever.

ー They jump off the cliff

Yui: Ugh...ーー

( The wind pressure is intense...Almost as if my whole body is being ripped apart... )

( Oh no...I’m going to let go of his hand...! )

*Rustle*

Yui: ( Ahーー )

Laito-kun...!

Laito: ...Shootーー!

Yui: ( He let...go. )

( His hand is...moving further and further away... )

( ーー No! I don’t want to fall alone!! )

( Even though we promised to be together... )

( And that we’d be together until we both take our final breaths... )

( He said he wouldn’t let go, no matter whatーー )

( ...You...liar... )

[LABYRINTH END]

Translation notes

(1) 奈落 or ‘naraku’ is the Japanese word for the Buddhist concept of ‘Hell’, being ‘Naraka’. 

[where-are-the-spooky-gays-2]

(chanting) HORROR MUSICAL HORROR MUSICAL HORROR MUSICAL

immediate yes to that AU. What would the plot be? I’m not super familiar with horror tropes, but the spooky gays doing a musical together is just—right. It’d be an easy AU to slot in the others, even add in OCs depending on how large the cast is. my role ideas:

Virgil: stagehand, artist (set/costume design), writer, musician, or dramaturg. I feel like he wouldn’t want to act? Depending on how long the play is, how much needs to be done for it, how many people are involved in the process, he could take on several productive roles or just one. (which applies to the rest of this list as well). Imagine Virgil playing spooky piano though… If it was a smaller production the sound would probably be recorded clips, but even outside this AU. Imagine fanon Virgil playing piano.

Remus: writer, artist, actor, practical effects dude. I feel like Remus would play the main villain, especially if Roman played the hero. However, it’d be interesting to switch up their typical roles and have Remus play the tragic hero, and Roman gets to be the dastardly villain. As a treat. :} Either way, I love picturing him up late writing with Virgil. And I can’t be the only one who sees him getting really into the practical effects, trying to get that blood bag to spray just right.

Roman: actor. To the point where I’m struggling to think of what else he would do.

Logan: definitely a techie/stagehand (are those the same thing?) Maybe he’d handle lighting? Idk what this musical is about yet, but I know it has great (and super symbolic) lighting. I can’t really see Logan as an actor, but then again. He could also be an awesome dramaturg.

Janus: …actor? I don’t really know for him, he could be whatever the story requires him to be.

Patton: same as Janus. I did not walk into this thinking about what Patton and Janus would be. I feel like Patton would play a pretty good victim though.

After writing this out I do actually have an idea for the musical’s plot, but that’s going to be a separate ask, if I can flesh it out a bit more. (gonna see if letting it ferment in my head helps it develop, it’s pretty basic right now. And, like I said, I’m not really familiar with horror)

-🐢

Fuck Y E S Horror Musical AU!!! I L O V E L O V E L O V E the roles you gave them!!! Jan and Patt definitely could be extra actors and as far as plot mayhaps it could be the spooky beloveds' first official big production? (Also no worries on not knowing Horror tropes it usually varies from murder mystery, suspense, supernatural, slashers, etc. and I'm sending you A L L the good AU vibes to be able to gain D E L I C I O U S AU K N O W L E D G E <3)

[oncie]

why clive is THE ‘tumblr sexyman’ of the professor layton fandom; a short thesis written at 5am.

“descole fits sexyman tropes more than clive does” no he doesn’t. look at my url. this is coming from someone with a long long background of once-ler fandom and sexyman studies (and terrorising the pl fandom with clive/once-ler ship art LOL). SO. im educated in this matter is what im saying. the once-ler, AKA the ORIGINAL tumblr sexyman, SHAPED an entire generation and put the term tumblr sexyman in the internet vernacular which also made this whole competition exist in the first place so you better show some RESPECT to that man’s name.

clive’s polarising personalities: outwardly charming and friendly (future luke), inwardly malicious and spiteful (clive). his story arc: his selfishness and delusion leading to irredeemable destruction followed by his commitment to atonement even if it meant his lifelong imprisonment. he’s even got a weird kind of father figure in his story who tries to save him from himself. and then how the fandom that sprouted up around him was a microcosmic version of the once-ler response: some skinny white villain in a suit who was barely even the main character of their own media, their SINGLE piece of media (not counting precious versions of the same story here re:the lorax), suddenly taking an internet collective by storm to a surprising degree and giving impetus to a fandom-wide legacy of fame and infamy for said character. you see this in the fandom response to clive even today in 2022. look in his tag; you will either get people passionately devoted to him or people who passionately hate him for the chaos he wrought upon a community and also the general annoyance of seeing his face everywhere unjustified for the amount of media he actually was present in. THAT’S the once-ler response.

descole, on the other hand, has been a largely well received character after his four media appearances. you either get people passionately devoted to him or people lukewarm on him. people don’t complain of fatigue and annoyance at seeing descole’s face everywhere, because his appearances in the entire prequel series justifies his popularity. yes, descole fits some of the aforementioned tropes mentioned: namely the polarised personality, the suit, the villainy, tragic backstory. but the term tumblr sexyman is not solely rooted in tropes; it is equal part trope and equal part fandom meta. the term itself was coined by not the fans, but the critics; those in response to the once-ler fandom  who had grown fatigued by tumblr’s affinity towards the same flavour of charismatic villain in a suit. when you think of the phrase “i want that twink obliterated” and the people who genuinely mean it, which is the professor layton character that springs to mind first? it’s probably not descole.

a slight digression, but it’d also be wrong to write about the once-ler response without a mention of the absolute avalanche of once-ler OCs and askblogs that unexpectedly flooded out of that ONE kids’ movie. an entire fandom UNIVERSE was made from literal scraps (seriously have you seen the lorax 2012 the once-ler is barely fucking IN IT). these scraps AKA missing information about a character led fans to compensate by filling in the gaps which is what ended up birthing the infamous oncest ship - in its essence, a response to the largely unexplained and sudden jump from ‘nice once-ler’ to ‘bad once-ler’. this was what created a literal ‘once-ler fandom’ as opposed to ‘lorax fandom’. ANYWAY. this is a digression because neither clive nor descole had a ‘clive/descole fandom’ of their own (sadly) and selfcest was not a defining feature of their respective eras (thankfully). but that’s not why i raise this point. i do because THIS was the phenomenon that truly allowed the term ‘tumblr sexyman’ to come to fruition. it was a marker of not only just fatigue, but cringe. 

CRINGE is an important and defining factor to what TRULY makes a tumblr sexyman, and those in the tags this past week dunking on clive for being embarrassing and wearing kneesocks and being ‘the sexyman of the past’ (AKA a teen girl’s crush) is only proving it. that thirst that brought about the once-ler fandom from literal scraps was created by the most important demographic in internet history: neurodivergent teenagers circa 2007-2014. THIS was the one demographic with the POWER to make the most unexpected characters and media popular with their sheer passion and creativity, and yet the characters and media loved by this era specifically became the first subjects of cringe culture. cringe culture itself is a topic for another day; why it matters here is that there is an unmistakable element of cringe today surrounding clive as a character most of all. there are far too many examples of this to count but see this post for one example. this one post is really important because OP really gets it; the insane fandom response to one unlikely character, the main era of his popularity (cited 2013), and a question of cringe from a 2022 fandom perspective - why DID he inspire such lust and loathing when he looks like that? it’s because the neurodivergent teenagers wished it so, and thus it came to be. 

to most people, thanks to current tumblr’s over-categorisation of the term in an attempt to “cringe” at its past in a self-aware manner, “tumblr sexyman” has been watered down to mean “any character conventionally attractive and popular enough who sometimes skews towards the morally grey.” seriously, look at that sexypedia wiki, there are hundreds of these characters now. ANYONE qualifies if they had a sad backstory and had a reasonable fandom following. but this is only a cheap imitation of what the term really means. a majority of these characters haven’t actually earned what truly makes a “tumblr sexyman”, which ultimately boils down to the factors of tropes, unlikely fandom response, and their following notoriety based in cringe culture. in only a short time, we are forgetting the history. we’re forgetting where this phenomenon came from, WHO it came from, and how this essentially defined an entire era of the internet.

anyway im going to bed so what i’m saying is that voting clive represents and respects what the term “tumblr sexyman” really, actually means at its core and origin, because in the end, the character has earned it. descole on the other hand may very well be the ‘sexyman of the modern age’ - a cheap, watered down imitation only replicated by those who have forgotten their internet history.

[feeling-high-with-pride]

Thinking about Odin and Magpie...

On some brainrot stuff again so I’m gonna ramble about the Arrow siblings. 

A long while ago I saved a translation of the nordic runes in panel 1547, seen below;

I can’t recall who did the translation (whether it was from here or Reddit, so if someone knows I’ll add credits to them!) but it reads:

“I woke up this morning and realised that I could not remember the sound of her voice. Her laugh echoes in my head when I try hard enough to imagine it. But it's nothing more than an empty weightless reflection of reality teetering on the cusp of my memory and it only brings me pain to try and remember it. But my fear of forgetting her is much more powerful and so I must remember and end up at the same question of everybody in the universe. What did we do to deserve this. Why me?"

This, written in Odin’s notebook presumably, was shown directly after Moribund Malediction. There is a level of intense melancholy associated with this writing, exploring a sense of longing to remember those who are no longer with us. If Odin did write this, then there are two characters that this reflection piece could be referring to; either Magpie or Odin’s mother. I’m more inclined to believe it’s Odin’s mother in this sense, as it’s been a longer period of time since she’s been around versus Magpie’s disappearance about 2 and a half years prior to the main story. 

Tragically, Odin is forgetting his mother. 

It doesn’t help that Pedri (later in the story when Odin is unveiling his “tragic backstoryTM”) was shown to be tormenting Odin through the visage of his mother. Being shown so many illusions, and perhaps turning to the herbs he smokes as a way of deterring Pedri, it would make sense if Odin has begun to forget what his mother was actually like when he was younger. It seems like the only good memory or dream he has of her is from when he was born around Gildhaust and she was showing him around. 

It would be really sad if Odin was forgetting Magpie too, but from the clearer shots of her in his memories I do doubt it. 

Speaking of Magpie, I went back to check out some panels I knew existed (namely panels 1275-1277, which appear just after Ava is trapped in the Gate to Paradise machine. 

Looking back on these...it has to be Magpie! The bow, the blue...it just makes sense!

The first image shows Magpie looking rather happy, holding the hand of a featureless figure. This is likely Magpie with her ‘inbisible friend’, as she told Odin when they were younger. The inclusion of a happy sun (I think it is one on the righthand side?) is interesting, given that Aedinfell hasn’t been with a proper sun for a long time. 

The second image shows Magpie looking much more upset and crying, standing alongside two other girls of similar (if not exact) stature. This must be her sisters; Crow and Raven. As the youngest of the triplets, she often was given a lot of grief (in Odin’s words), so this drawing seems to exemplify that! It’s possible she was bullied by her sisters, or teased for being the youngest. 

The third image is a bit more confusing in my opinion. There’s 6 vertical lines followed by a faceless girl. It doesn’t appear to be Magpie specifically, since the bow is missing, but it could always be her regardless. My first thought (which could be wrong) was that the lines plus the girl equal to seven, like the seven deadly sins that the Hosts are meant to portray. Ava = Wrath, Odin = Pride, Gil = Envy, Maggie = Lust, Erios = Greed(?) and then three others that have yet to be revealed. What if this signifies that Magpie is the last Host we’ll meet pertaining to these sins? Honestly she’s probably not, but it’d be pretty cool. 

If anyone has thoughts on that last image I’d love to hear them.

Anyway, I guess the point of these rambles is that I think the Arrow siblings need a big hug and lots of blankets because holy shit this family is traumatised af, and definitely need the additional care and love that they missed out on getting when they were kids.