#vague bookends thoughts

[panharmonium]

OBSESSED with how lorelai calculatedly says the most inflammatory thing she can think of in order to stop chris's parents from targeting rory. this woman is standing in a tank of starving sharks and she dumps the chum bucket over her own head the instant straub makes her daughter uncomfortable. she doesn't cause a scene for no reason; she strategically weaponizes everybody's low expectations of her in order to stop straub from attacking rory and encourage him to attack her instead. and it WORKS. and she just sits there takes it. i see your daughter is just as out of control as ever, richard. but lorelai doesn't care what straub says about her because that was the point; she wants to him to come after her and forget that rory is there. if you'd attended a university as your parents had planned, and as we planned in vain for christopher, you might have aspired to more than a blue-collar position...you might not want to take such a haughty tone when you announce to the world that you work in a hotel.

and then she sends rory out of the room to safety and she sits there and continues to take it. she seduced him into ruining his life. she had that baby, and ended his future! and it doesn't matter because they're chewing on her and not her daughter and that was the point. she played them. they fell for it. and it doesn't mean that the things they say don't hurt her, because they do. it means she's willing to let herself be hurt in rory's place.

you can see the tense disapproval on lorelai's face when the group turns expectantly to rory like they're waiting for her to perform some kind of circus trick, and even though the gilmore grandparents + chris do it out of genuine admiration and pride, they don't understand how terrified rory feels about being asked to demonstrate genius on-demand in front of people who are already judging her for being born. rory looks reflexively at her mother with HELP written all over her face, and one needling comment from straub is all it takes for lorelai to offer herself up as a convenient (and familiar) punching bag.

[florencemtrash]

The Shadowsinger & The Inkbird: Chapter Twenty

Summary: Y/n's clairvoyance is a gift from the Mother, but it feels more like a curse. With the power to gain knowledge through touch alone, Y/n holes herself up in The Alcove and hopes her powers and parentage will remain a secret. But things will change after the Summer Solstice ball and a chance encounter with a certain Shadowsinger.

Warnings: Canon typical graphic depictions

The Shadowsinger & The Inkbird: Masterlist

Masterlist of Masterlists

You were running on coffee and willpower, and both were in short supply. You cradled what you promised would be your last cup in your hands, feeling your fried nerves inch closer to bursting into flames with every bitter sip. 

Azriel had one arm looped protectively around your waist, propping you up against his side like an overworked bookend. You both sat huddled over the map you’d spent the last day and night laboring over until you could picture every stark line pressed behind shuttered eyelids like an afterimage. Until your cramped hands shook while clutching the mug like a vice. 

Feyre, Rhys, Mor, Nesta, Lucien, and Cassian similarly hovered over the innocuous sheet of paper. Pale parchment glow flickering over expressions of intense thought. 

You traced the outline of the lake, its form vaguely star shaped and pointing abstractly towards the north, south, east, and west.

“Here.” You tapped the northeast edge where a greyed out huddle of shapes formed the forest and a collection of scribbles marked the Death god’s home close to the waters. The lines swirled in your mind like a thousand snakes locked in battle, swallowing each other whole and getting eaten alive in an endless, vicious cycle. 

Koschei’s portion of the continent lay flat and unassuming, seemingly vulnerable with the flatlands peering at his back with limitless entry points for enemies from the Continent. But the seductive ease of access through that region was a guise. Koschei was a death god, and a powerful one at that. Magic grew in and out of the soil there and what walked those woods had a strange habit of toeing the line between life and death.

The western corners swam in seas of grasslands, flat and open and unprotected save for the expanse of water a mile wide. 

And the lake. The lake was the most curious thing of all. A black shape on paper, still and foreboding. 

You knew from Andrian’s memories that enchanted swans flocked there — women layered with curses that kept them bound to the region in animal form — but nothing else. No creatures floundered in the salty dark. No animals came to drink from it as if they could sense the power that tainted it with decay. 

“The boundaries of the Koschei’s power lie somewhere along here.” You pointed to the lazy line sketched down. “But I wouldn’t trust it. When Andrian was first sent off from the lake he crossed the plains towards one of the harbor towns on the coast and he felt that Koschei’s influence scaled with the distance away from the source of his power.” 

“Any weak points? Places we could slip in unnoticed?” Feyre’s eyes scanned the page, reimagining your weak swirls of ink into something more layered. Something with more meaning that could only come about from the mind of an artist and a warrior. 

You pointed to one of the star points and then to another toward the south. “Here and here. Don’t ask me how and don’t ask me why but these are the only two blind spots. Andrian used to sneak away from Koschei’s house to these two places.”

“To do what?” Cassian asked. He lumbered towards the back of the war room, easily peering over everyone’s shoulders to the flattened parchment and eyeing the wooden pieces strewn across the map, his own piece being tipped with a glistening red stone. 

“To plan his escape.” 

A hush fell over the room, thick and suffocating. 

The boy had never succeeded.

Feyre’s lips flattened to a pale line, the air around her reverberating with heat as the temperature in the room rose — a drop of Autumn’s power magnified. She nodded to the second map, this one gathered from Azriel’s contacts on the Continent. Whereas your map had laid out Koschei’s land in detail, Azriel’s was suspiciously empty where the lake was concerned. The two fit together like puzzle pieces. “What’s the nearest harbor town?”

“Tournnes.” Azriel replied without needing to look down. You’d memorized one map, he’d memorized the other. “It’s a small fishing village located twenty-three miles to the southwest. Most of the inhabitants are men that come and go with the season and travel west from Slairn and Friesieg. It will be empty this time of year.” The fish would have gone south in search of warmer waters. Even here the Sidra had turned frigid, crusts of ice lapping up against grey sand shores. 

Cassian shook his head, examining the map with a scowl. “There’s poor coverage getting from Tournnes to Koschei. And an abandoned town’s too obvious a place to hide any soldiers. It’d be better to come in from the east, through the woods.”

“Then we’d need to take the long way around Koschei’s territory.” Lucien argued back, “Our soldiers would need to trek through foreign lands for weeks and we’d lose any advantage Tarquin could give us by staying close to the coast.” 

“You can’t trust those woods,” you gasped, your eyes flashing with fear that didn’t wholly belong to you. 

Never enter those woods. Henna had once warned her Andrian. Never. Do you understand me?

Azriel tightened his hold on you, pressing his lips into your hair to brush against your ear. “Breathe, my love. Breathe.” 

You hadn’t realized you’d stopped. 

It was a heavy burden carrying the memories of others. Like a weight tied around your belly that hadn’t been properly woven into flesh. Something both part and apart from you. And you’d been feeling too many of Andrian’s memories in the past week since his death. 

Silence flung itself over growing irritation and anxiety as everyone circled back to the same conclusion. 

They wouldn’t be able to bring their armies abroad. And with limited numbers, brute strength would only go so far when forced to bring a fight to a foreign land against a foreign god. This would be decided by few. It would be as intimate as lovers. As ruthless as enemies. 

“There’s still the other plan.” Nesta reminded them, glancing first at Feyre and you with the faintest of nods. 

“I hate that plan, Nes.” Cassian gripped the back of her wing-backed chair and she reached up to take his hand in her own. She looked like a queen in her own right — harsh, pragmatic, unwavering. And he her mirror — a roguish knight, rough and wild and raw. 

“I know. Unfortunately for you, it’s the best one we’ve got.” 

“It’s the only one we’ve got.” Mor said with a sigh, rubbing her temples to alleviate the ache there. “We’re asking for a blood bath one way or the other.” 

“Ione is still with us.” Rhys squeezed his cousin’s knee. “Without her, he can be killed.” 

“But for how long, Rhys? How long until he finds someone else? Some other way?”

The question hung in the air like an ax ready to fall. An invisible clock ticking its way towards doom. Koschei had read the book’s contents. He had to know the secret to freeing himself was sheltered in Ione’s veins. So long as she was alive and breathing she was a threat as much as she was a tantalizing prize for him to tear his teeth into. 

Feyre’s fingernails clicked on the glossy tabletop, eyes narrowed in on that splash of black on paper. Through the golden string tied to her lower ribs, she felt the tug of her mate’s silent agreement. Her eyes flickered upward for a brief moment, as if she could see through the layers of the House to the skies above. “For as long as we have Ione, we have the upper hand. But we can’t rely on it forever.” She looked at you, “ We go with the first plan. It will have to be enough.” 

You shivered. 

Four years ago, when the Day Court had first opened its borders to foreigners from other Courts, you’d encountered a male in the market. He’d been young and reckless and glamoured himself to live amongst the humans for six months. In that time, he’d learned their version of magic — the sleight of hand tricks and elaborate games of misdirection humans played on one another. Caped entertainers bedazzling crowds with obvious moves, while the real work happened just out of frame. 

You thought of him now. You pictured him in the marketplace as he made a hand-painted playing card disappear from his hand into the fold of his suit jacket, only to reappear under an overturned teacup. 

Yes. 

It would have to be enough. 

The crisp blade flashed in the dull light as you moved your feet back and forth in a practiced dance. 

Left, left, right, duck, keep your wrist straight and slice up. Just like Azriel had instructed you. He stood off the narrow mat, hazel eyes tracing every slow movement of yours with a critical gaze. 

“Practice makes permanence.” He’d reminded you earlier. “Get it right first, then we’ll worry about speed.” 

Magic hovered over the House of Wind’s training gym, warping the air like a soap bubble as it shielded you from the frigid rain. Even so, the scent of petrichor and the cleanliness of frosted wind hung close to warn of the storm churning its way down from the north, carrying with it the promise of rainfall or the first true flakes of snow. 

How poetic that winter should come with death chasing its heels while you were learning a dozen ways to kill a man. 

“Here.” Azriel took your wrist in a loose grip, arching your arm and sticking the point of the knife into the training dummy’s jugular. Hay crinkled and burst out from the burlap covering instead of blood and you stepped away, locating the points in the liver, the lungs, the heart, the throat, under the arms, and more. Gruesome things made digestible by the motionless, fake body propped up on wooden poles. 

You didn’t need to imagine what it would feel like for your blade to meet flesh. 

Your arms ached. Hot, unfamiliar stretches of muscle trembling while slick with sweat. You could taste salt on your tongue as Azriel repeated himself. 

“Be precise. Be quick if you can. Then run like hell.” 

Incapacitation and speed. Those were the only two things you could rely on if things went south on the Continent. 

Precise. Quick. Run.

“Emphasis on run,” You muttered beneath your breath. You adjusted your feet to match Azriel’s stance, feeling the strength of his muscles close to your body and imagining some of that power seeping into the ground for you to drink up. 

The corner of his mouth twitched, then rose in a smile. “Exactly.” He stepped in, hands twisting your hips to be straight and then drifting up to your wrist. “Too much.” He corrected your bones with a feather-light touch. He wasn’t smiling anymore. 

It should have been romantic. Him touching you like this with his front pressed against your back and his breath sliding over your skin as he taught you to wield a knife. Instead his insides churned relentlessly. Visions of you, blood-splattered and motionless on the ground, flashed through his mind. He’d be damned if he let that happen again. 

You practiced on him next. Blunt, stone knife gripped in your hands as he moved in slow-motion. Azriel must have had everything custom made for you. The balance felt right in your hands, the movement as fluid as your awkward limbs could manage. 

You clasped a hand around the back of his neck, dragging him forward as you swung up. 

Where the head goes, the body will follow.

He didn’t so much as grunt as the stone wedged itself into his ribs. 

You locked eyes with him and saw his pupils blown wide as a doe’s. “Good.” He murmured. “Again.” 

On and on you went for hours, Azriel’s panic fueling the training he put you through, as if he could fit a hundred years of combat into a handful of hours. 

You grunted when Azriel easily flipped you over onto your back, a scarred hand catching the nape of your neck so your head wouldn’t slam into the floor. The knife slipped out from your sweaty fingers, skittering away and disappearing beneath one of the weapons racks along the wall. You breathed heavily beneath him, feeling the grit of the ground and the sweat sliding into your hair and the leather brushing your chest with every breath he took. 

In a real fight, Azriel would have killed you a thousand times over and he knew it. There was not a single moment where you could have saved yourself. 

You saw the tell tale flicker in his eyes, the tensing of his jaw before he gritted his teeth and swore beneath his breath. 

You felt shame seep into your stomach again. “Az—”

“I want you to take my memories,” he said. “Everything I’ve learned over 500 years.” 

Metal whispered against leather as a tendril of shadow retrieved the knife and slid it into the thigh sheath Azriel had tied around your legs only hours ago. It felt strange to have such an unfamiliar weight against your thighs. To know that only leather kept the wicked blade from slicing you to the bone. 

“We’ve been over this before, Azriel. I can take however many memories I want from you until I can picture every way to take down an enemy in my mind’s eye. But that doesn’t mean my body will obey or follow through correctly. Knowing things mentally isn’t the same thing as knowing things physically.”

Azriel huffed in frustration, dropping one hand to your waist like he often did and gripping the flesh there to ground him. 

“If we had more time—”

“When this is over we’ll have more time.” 

If I make it. 

Because if there was anyone who would survive what was to come. It was Azriel. And you could find a great deal of comfort in that.

Azriel must have read your doubt because his eyes hardened and his hands came up to cup your jaw. “We will have more time. We’ll have time for everything, do you understand me?”

“Like what?”

“Whatever you want. We’ll travel the Courts. I’ll take you dancing and—”

“You’ll teach me a dozen new ways to kill someone?” 

“Exactly.”

“Should I start keeping a tally?” 

“If that would help, then yes.” He dipped his head down, kissing you firmly on the lips, the taste salty and warm to the touch. Kissing you came easy now. Touches were a comforting drug he craved daily. 

“If things go wrong—” He whispered, flicking a strand of hair out of your eyes. “Promise me you’ll find me.” 

You blinked up at him, tracing fragments of gold in his eyes. 

“Find you,” you echoed, your voice tinged with sadness. “You’re not going to convince me to run?”

He laughed bitterly. “I know you too well, my love. You wouldn’t listen even if I did. If anything, it would make you want to stay and fight even more, just to prove me wrong.“ “Then is this some reverse psychology? You tell me the opposite of what you want, so I end up doing what you intended all along?”

“You’re thinking too deeply about this.” He slid his arms around the small of your back, dropping his weight until you were flush against him. Until you could feel his heart beating beneath his skin in time to yours. “Find me, so I can protect you. And so if anything happens, we won’t be alone. I want you to promise me.” 

You caressed his cheek, the coarse bandages he’d wound around your wrists and knuckles scratching the skin of his jaw and the faint stubble that had grown there over sleepless nights. “I promise I’ll find you, Azriel. We’re better together anyways.” 

He could never disagree with you. He lifted you back onto your feet, kissing your forehead. “Three more drills, then we’ll be done for the day.” 

He made you run five. The bastard.

You’d dreamed of what might come. Nightmares filled with glassy-eyed children and skeletal forests where the dead roamed free. A black lake with stones of bleached bone to fill your lungs and choke the life out of you. 

You wanted to make Azriel proud. You wanted to be the kind of warrior who could match him physically, not just mentally. The kind of female he’d never have to worry about protecting in that way. But violence had never been beaten into your bones and you could only hope that the skills you did possess would see you through to the end. 

You and Azriel would make it. You’d all make it. 

Some way. 

Somehow. 

Then there would be time for everything you had ever wanted and everything you’d never had the courage to ask for.

You woke up to a world shivering beneath a dusting of snow. Frost creeped up the windowsill, trying to slither inside before the House’s magic burned it away. A grey, ashen sky hung low over the mountains, mist blowing over and gathering in valleys until they were transformed into pools of smoke. 

So this is it. You thought wearily, tasting the change in the air. Winter’s finally here to choke the world into submission. 

You burrowed further under Azriel’s wings, chasing the heat that rolled off his skin. When you looked up at his eyes they were already trained on the weather, some similar tangle of thoughts running through his mind that had his grip around your waist tightening. 

“The other death gods. Have you met any of them, Az?” You whispered your question into the hollow of his neck, feeling the blood rushing beneath your lips until he answered.

“I’ve met a fair few. The Bone Carver, Stryga, and Bryaxis joined our side in the final battle against Hybern and Nesta was equivalent in power when she first emerged from the Cauldron.” 

“Nesta?” You asked questionably. 

She was a collection of sharp edges wrapped in silk and cunning, but a death god? 

Azriel smiled ever so slightly. “You didn’t know her then, but she was a terror to behold. You could feel her presence in a room like a knife in your back or a flame licking at your heels so hold it starts to freeze. Only Cassian was foolish and lovestruck enough to approach her at the time.” 

You tried to imagine it — Cassian’s wild, borderline arrogant mannerisms going toe-to-toe against Nesta’s magnified sharp grace. “That sounds about right.” 

“Feyre knows the most about the death gods. Has come face to face with the most. Rhys sent her into the Weaver’s cabin to retrieve her engagement ring — don’t give me that look, my love, I don’t understand it either — and she’s the one who convinced The Bone Carver and Bryaxis to fight for us.” 

“Feyre has a penchant for endearing herself to monsters.” 

Azriel smirked, pearly teeth flashing. “You have no idea.” Then he said something that stuck with you. “The Bone Carver was especially close to her.” 

Anytime the Bone Carver — Thanatos — was mentioned, you could only think of Bethsevah. The one person who had ever looked upon his true face and never flinched.

“How so?” 

Shadows swarmed around his ears, as much a sign of his thinking as it was a sign that whispers beyond your own understanding were reaching him. 

“When Feyre met with the Bone Carver, he made a bargain that he’d only fight for her if she could descend into the Court of Nightmares and bring back an enchanted mirror without going mad. Feyre said she saw her true form when she looked into her reflection, and that it was only by accepting this form that she was able to keep the madness at bay. The Bone Carver was impressed with her and pledged his loyalty to her from then on.” Azriel shook his head, wings flaring out in another sign of his thinking. “It never made sense to me why a being like him would even make that bargain to begin with.” 

“Even death gods can be surprised. We should consider ourselves lucky.” 

“It wasn’t just that though. I was watching when he died. He… he turned his face up to the field at Feyre and he smiled at her. It felt like a bittersweet ending to a story I didn’t know. Like he was saying goodbye to more than just this world.” 

You draped your arm over his chest, tracing the black ink swirling across his chest and over his shoulders like ocean waves. The Bone Carver was more myth than legend to the few fae that had known of his existence and you knew with each passing century his story would be steadily wiped from the earth like wind shaving down stone. His name would become a whisper. His story, and Beth’s, a tragedy for no one but the stars to weep to. 

But you were still here, and your time with Bethsevah’s book had left you with no small amount of fondness for him. For now you would still be able to whisper his true name. 

“Thanatos.” You said. “He loved this world and the people in it. He sacrificed his life for it. I think he had many things he wanted to say goodbye to.” 

“To Thanatos then.” Azriel raised an invisible cup towards the ceiling of his bedroom, silk sheets sliding down his arms.

“To Thanatos,” you echoed. 

You eventually went through the morning motions together —Azriel helped lace up the back of your dress, and you buttoned up his shirts, careful to avoid the fragile membrane of his wings as you stood at his back.

He tugged you away from the bedroom door at the last moment, your questioning eyes softening when he cradled your face in his hands and stole one last kiss in the privacy of your room, murmuring "Beautiful," against the crown of your freshly brushed hair.

"Do the others know you're such a hopeless romantic?" You asked, finally opening the door and breaking the spell of privacy.

Before Azriel could answer, Cassian blew past the room, shockingly quiet for his mountainous size. "Yes, we all know," he shouted before disappearing down the hall.

Ione stood proud and tall in front of the windows, grey eyes narrowed at the Sidra as it wound through the valley like a snake. Cassian slid into the space beside her and handed her her cane. She knew instinctively where the warrior stood and where his hand reached out towards her. She took the cane without the second glance. A golden lion’s head roared from atop its wooden post, Ione’s fingers resting squarely between its glistening teeth as she leaned experimentally on the new device. Cassian had ordered it custom for her and she knew that hidden within the sleeve of glistening redwood was an iron rod forged in enchanted flames that rendered it near unbreakable. 

“Careful.” She reminded Cassian when she caught him staring for too long. “This body may be different, but I can still bring you to your knees.” 

Cassian chuckled, “I don’t doubt that.”

She slammed the cane against the ground once. Twice. Testing its strength and finding it worthy. “Do you think it will happen soon?” 

This waiting — it was beginning to grate on her nerves. This foreboding calm that threatened to fall away into chaos and bloodshed. She almost wished she were living three years into the future, when she was finally done healing from her wounds and the future had faded into the background of her life once more.

“If I could see into the future, I would not be here right now waiting.”

“And yet here we are.” Ione sighed, shoulders rising and falling elegantly beneath a wrinkled but slender neck.  

Cassian would have said more had Feyre and Rhys not entered the room together, bruises layered beneath their eyes as they plastered on bright smiles for their family, tension visible through the cracks in their porcelain teeth. 

The Inner Circle had assembled in their entirety at the request of their High Lord and High Lady. There was no holiday to be celebrated. No birthdays or anniversaries or special occasions. The fare that had been laid out on the table was simple and everyone filled their plates before spilling out across the sofas and the armchairs or carving out a space on one of Rhysand’s expensive hand-woven rugs. There would be no special meal around the new table devoid of scratches and watermarks and the passage of time and love. This was their family, and for their family it was the company that put finery to shame. 

Elain was a flutter of movement in and out of the kitchen, shepherding pots of tea and fruit tarts before Lucien finally caught her around the waist and made her rest. The House was equally restless. The lights strung above the fireplace mantle flickered like lantern flies. 

Mor sat with Emerie’s wings draped around her shoulders like a cape and Gwyn sat on the floor, hugging her knees close to her chest as she rested her head against the Illyrian female’s knee. To no one’s surprise, you and Azriel clung to the corner of the room, content to watch everyone’s laughter with your arm subtly looped around his. 

He still hasn’t told her, I see. Emerie noted, watching your smile stretch into place when Azriel leaned close to whisper in your ear. 

Does it matter? Mor teased, kissing Emerie’s nose reverently. The Illyrian’s cheeks turned warm. Emerie had not been granted the freedom to explore romance to the same degree as Mor, something she’d worried about when they first started their courtship. But if anyone asked the blonde, she’d tell them it drove her wild to see how such simple gestures could reduce the fearsome warrior to a puddle, even now. Mor tucked herself into Emerie’s side, throwing her long legs over the armrest. It’s probably a good thing. If they could speak to each other like this, we’d never hear from them again.

Emerie laughed into Mor’s golden hair. 

Conversations rose and fell. Plates emptied and clicked as they were laid out on the coffee table.

It was a simple peace they welcomed with open arms. 

They didn’t hear the faintest thud coming from above their heads. 

You smiled when one of Azriel’s shadows wove themselves into your hair, tickling the sensitive skin behind your ear and along your neck. 

“Sorry,” Azriel whispered, trying and failing to draw them back to him for the nth time that day. “I don’t know what’s gotten into them.” They’d been especially touchy as of late, nipping at your heels like a litter of puppies vying for attention or hiding in your pockets. It was a mixture of Azriel’s own feelings that spurred them on and their own desire to protect what they’d claimed as theirs. 

“It’s alright, Azriel. I like having them around.” 

They hummed amongst themselves, happy to see you so pleased. Sometimes, Azriel wondered if you’d be able to learn to listen to them as well. To tease apart that secret language he couldn’t begin to describe. 

Maybe you were listening to them now without even realizing it.

Maybe that’s why you and Azriel were the only ones whose eyes snapped towards the hallway before the first creak of wood sounded throughout the House.

The shuffling of a new, unfamiliar set of feet down the stairs had the hair on the back of your neck rising and crackling with energy.

It wasn’t Jurian. It wasn’t loud enough to be Jurian. He so rarely descended from the attic that he made a habit of making his presence known, tired feet shuffling along the rugged staircase with measured drags. 

You walked over to your brother and tugged on the back of his shirt. “Jurian—”

“That’s not Jurian.” Lucien said with bated breath. He was the third person in the room to hear the sound.

He’d checked on his friends less than a handful of hours ago. Jurian had been as he always was — weary but hopeful as one hand had clenched the bundle of morphine and the other had leaned against the food cart Lucien had carried up to the top floor. 

And Vassa… Vassa had been uncharacteristically quiet, slouching against the wall of her gilded cage, raw skin and thin feathers trembling with her haggard breath as she slept. 

“You should come down.” Lucien had said. “You deserve a break.” 

But Jurian had only shook his head and flashed a tight smile. “As much as I would love to bless you with my presence, I won’t leave her like this. But one day, my friend, we’ll both walk down those steps together and have a proper celebration. I promise you.” 

Vassa came down the steps. 

Alone. 

Naked.

Shivering.

You eyed the window where the mid-afternoon sun beat down on a frosted city. 

It was the middle of the day… and Vassa was human. 

You clutched Lucien’s arm, fingernails digging through his cotton shirt before he could take another step forward. Silence suffocated the room. There was something deeply wrong with the cursed queen. She trembled like a newborn fawn unceremoniously dumped into the world, her skin puckered and pock-marked from where she’d picked at old scabs and opened new wounds. The whole array hung from bones so thin they may as well have belonged to a bird. 

“Vassa…” Lucien’s voice broke on her name. 

A path of bloody feathers trailed behind her.

She grasped at strands of her fiery red hair and tugged. Hard. You focused all your energy on keeping the food in your stomach when strands fell through her bloody fingers and saliva rose in your mouth. 

“I’m so sorry, Lucien. I can’t… It won’t stop.” Her voice, which had once been beautiful, grated your ears. “My skin. It feels like I’m crawling out of it.” 

“Vassa.” Lucien held out his hands, showing her they were empty. “Where’s Jurian?” He would come down. He would help her in ways only he was capable of. 

“I don’t… I don’t know…”

“Where’s Jurian?”

At the second mention of her lover’s name, Vassa broke down crying. Fat, ugly tears streaking down tan cheeks that had turned sallow and grey. She wiped them away, fingers dripping. There was a deep, unyielding hunger evident in every stutter of her body as her eyes raked across the room. You flinched when those milky, teal eyes passed over you… and landed on Ione. 

Elderly, painfully human, Ione.

Vassa’s left eye twitched and Azriel had only enough time to tackle you to the ground and cover your body with his own before the mortal queen burst into flames.

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Author's Note:

^^ Visual depiction of how I've felt the last week like what in the world? I'm getting enough sleep I swear but every morning I feel like I'm dragging a two ton boulder behind me until I get a sip of that bitter goodness. Ugh. Hope y'all are resting better than I am.

Anyways, I know it's been a while since I posted, but the chapter is here! Whoop! And I hope you enjoyed :) As always, feedback is appreciated and welcome if you have burning things you need to get off your chest (doesn't even have to be SSIB-related honestly my inbox is there).

[pastafossa]

hi most wonderful pasta!!! i have a question from me and my friend and we are wondering if the red thread is going to be following the born again show plot when it gets there? sorry if this is something you've answered already but thank you sm !!

I don't have a problem answering this at all, no worries!

Ok so

The official end of TRT (aka all the big outlined plans, shit with the Man in the White Coat, Project Beagle, etc), is going to technically end a bit after Season 3, just because if I don't put some sort of ending on that, it'll break the site. I've had that ending planned out for a long time where a bunch of our plot threads are resolved, and there's a nice bookend moment for Matt and Jane's relationship as a symbolic parallel to their first meeting. This does NOT mean, however, that TRT!Verse stuff will end especially because we know when I watch Born Again i will have thoughts

So right now, what I've got planned is:

TRT the fic finishes up, just post S3

Mystery fic that I can't reveal yet because it'll give away some plot things, but it'll be a good, happy fic, est 3 chapters

A Snap fic to give the TRT!Verse a specific 'canon' for the Snap (this is now esp relevant if I want to do anything for Born Again cause no way it won't be referenced). For a long time, because I'd planned this before Born Again was announced, I had a plan to write four variations (Matt is snapped, Jane is snapped, neither is snapped, and both are snapped). Now thanks to Echo we KNOW Matt was not snapped. Which leaves you readers with the mystery of which of the two Unsnapped Matt options I'll be making TRT canon. I CAN'T WAIT.

Smaller fic here dealing with Peter having everyone's memories wiped away, including how that affects the TRT crew.

This is where Born Again would be. I have a vague original plot idea that's slowly coalescing and that I'd be running alongside Born Again's plotline, whatever that is, but I want to see what they do so I can plan that more thoroughly!

And in between of course there will be little one shots. AND I can promise one Born Again comes out, I'll throw out some little itty bitty oneshots to give us samples and tasters of what Married Couple!Matt and Jane are doing cause obviously TRT's gonna take a bit longer to finish. <3

[markantonys]

Thoughts on the poster cause I am shaking! Spears! Dragon tattoos maybe? Rand carrying Moiraine so gently (that's his mom!) rather than Lan. Much to think about

perfect timing, i was just typing up a mini-speculation!! (actually, not so mini now that i type it out haha i managed to yap as always!) i also want to note that at first i thought you meant "rand carrying moiraine rather than rand carrying lan" and died laughing djkfjg

there was previously an alleged leak about moiraine having an incident with a powerful sa'angreal in rhuidean, and @butterflydm's eagle eyes spotted that moiraine appears to be holding something in the poster. rand also appears to have his dragon tattoos, like you say! and i saw a reader with a better memory than me say that the shaido throw spears in a circle around rand when he returns from rhuidean in TSR. so, i theorize that rand will emerge from the glass columns and find moiraine injured/unconscious in rhuidean from said sa'angreal incident, and what we're seeing is their return from rhuidean with rand carrying injured moiraine and moiraine carrying the sa'angreal (which may or may not be the choedan kal or an equivalent).

alas, this would seem to be a replacement of rand emerging from the glass columns and finding injured mat in rhuidean, but there is still hope for Cauthor CPR in another time and place! (first to note, there was the alleged leak a while back that mat would be in tanchico with the girls in s3, so if this new image is indeed the return from rhuidean, then mat very likely is not at rhuidean, which lends further credence to the mat-in-tanchico leak and also makes unlikely the theory that mat could go into a doorway in tanchico and get spit out in rhuidean. plus, donal was doing hadestown for all but a couple days of the south africa leg of filming, so based on that it seems unlikely he could be involved much or at all in the waste storyline.)

anyway, here's how Cauthor CPR can still win!

from a variety of vague cast/crew comments and just plain ol' narrative sense, we feel pretty confident that moiraine vs. lanfear mutual doorway yeeting will happen in the s3 finale. we also have had numerous comments pointing to the gang all being together still in 3x01. it makes sense to me that the gang could spend just about all of 3x01 together before splitting up on their respective roadtrips, because making the most of this precious Together Time feels in keeping with the show's emphasis on the bonds between all the characters. we can suspect from other comments that liandrin will be causing some major action at the white tower in 3x01, but we still need SOME kind of action in the gang's location too, it can't just be everybody hanging around talking for a whole episode (much as *i* would love that haha)

so, perfect time for a doorway trip! it could function as the Inciting Incident for mat; maybe he's feeling angsty and confused after the whole "found out he's a hero of the horn and then immediately stabbed his bestie" situation and goes through the doorway for answers (or potentially his Hero Memories wore off and he wants them back), whereupon they tell him he has to go to *tanchico* instead of rhuidean (maybe because he's fated to meet tuon there?), thus setting him in motion for the season. rand could also go through to get his book Q&A (which may remain secret from us until they're relevant, like in the books) and moiraine could go through - but maybe to get her information about her doorway fate HERE instead of in rhuidean, if they perhaps cut the silver rings and have moiraine doing that sa'angreal incident in rhuidean instead. this might again be kept secret from us until it's relevant, but it would set her in motion for the season. plus, having doorway stuff in 3x01 & 3x08 would make for very neat bookends to the season.

then, i don't see a huge purpose in having mat go through a second doorway later, so maybe he could get his Q&A AND his items AND his hanging all in one trip here. efficiency! mat's hanging was foreshadowed in his bad tea trip in s2, so i feel pretty confident it will still happen in the show (unless it was just a cruel easter egg) even if he isn't in rhuidean. and rand could return from his own Q&A and find mat dying and administer CPR, and this way we get to fit in a nice big emotional moment for mat-rand (which has been probably mat's most focal relationship so far in the show, so makes sense to squeeze in something nice for them) even though they'll be apart for most of the season.

oh! i forgot to add that s2 made a point of noting that turak is a collector of ancient artifacts and has a "room of curiosities" in falme (where he was storing the horn), so this could very easily be a place where the doorway could be hanging around, a la the tear storeroom. i believe that they didn't return to film in morocco for s3, so we don't know for sure if falme will be the gang's starting point, but totally possible that they could be in falme but just indoor scenes done in the studio without needing to go back to morocco for outdoor shots (and i do think that storywise it makes sense for them to all stay in falme taking a breather and figuring out their next moves, which they set out on at the end of the first episode).

another possibility is that mat does get 2 doorway trips like in the books and the second one is in tanchico and TUON gives him CPR, but that would make me feel so robbed i can't even think about the possibility jdkfjg

[silverskye13]

sorry my brain died when i sent the poem title my boyfriend is using that as his memorized piece for a class and my brain just went "oh you know that kinda vaguely vibes with RnS" and "oh yeah silverskye does poetry"

ive also been dissociated for like 5 days so that may have also been a part of it

but when my boyfriend sent me "and death shall have no dominion" it really hit hard with me for some reason

and i think i just wanted to share it with someone who would probably get it

idk brain funky

You're perfectly fine anon! I thought it might be RnS related, but I didn't want to assume just in case :3

I was overjoyed at the poetry recommendation in my inbox! I highly encourage recommending me more, whenever the mood strikes.

I wish your boyfriend luck memorizing the poem! It's a very good pick in my opinion. Good rhythm and flow, insightful rhymes, bookended stanzas. He'll do great!

[charsimsalot]

RAVENWOOD: ENTRY 14

That really could have gone better! I will review the events of the night here in hope of doing better tomorrow.

The clearing looked like Forgotten Hollow. Or it felt like Forgotten Hollow? Or… somewhere else? I don’t know. But of course, it was nowhere else. I don’t really know what happened. The mist between the trees looked like the mist between a lot of other trees, damp and stuck with fear.

I don’t always think of it like that. Maybe something about Edith brought it out in me. Mist can be quite lovely, the way it leaves cheeks and the tips of noses damp and shiny and bright. But it covers things up, in the distance. I don’t know what’s behind it.

I didn’t see Edith at first. I saw her grave, as I already wrote about, and I saw the well, green and glowing, and investigated it warily. Here I found two more of Lady Ravendancer Goth’s Tarot cards, which the intuition that she gifted me with tells me are the Tower and Evil. This intuition as always gave me some vague explanations of their meanings.

“Chaos. Destruction. The Tower, thought to be a sturdy constant, reveals itself as mere façade. With flames aglow and meteors in flight, the universe has uttered its decree! In the midst of unrest, the only hope remains divine intervention.”

The Tower depicts three people in a tower room, one holding a baby and the other holding a book. They’re running away from a cauldron in a fireplace, spilling over with flame, billowing smoke. Outside the Art Nouveau style windows — Keisha has pointed out this architectural style on one of my trips to the Magic Realm — a meteor approaches. They’re dressed in a Medieval style. Are these spellcasters? Does this depict a real historical event?

Then there’s Evil:

“In the dead of night, Evil may beckon, as if to tug on one’s own puppet string. With his hypnotic stare, anyone can fall prey to his influence. And the longer one stays within his trance, the more susceptible to his power they become.”

I’m not quite sure what Evil depicts. Two people under hypnosis it seems, but who is the figure commanding them? The image is not of anyone I recognise. Must ask Morgyn and Wolfgang — after I help Alice and Edith.

I looked up from the Tarot cards, from the book and the baby and the burning room and the figure pulling puppet strings, and saw Edith, bright red and furious. I don’t think children these days wear nightdresses like the kind she wears anymore, ones with puff sleeves and ruffles. Her having been here so long, I didn’t know if she would act like a child, not that I know much what a child acts like. I don’t remember being one. I don’t really know any. I tried to say a very calm, cheerful hello to Edith, but my voice sounded high and tight. She shrieked so strongly I felt it as a physical force, stumbling back a little, my palm gripping the slippery stone rim of the well. I had the sudden image of being levitated and thrown backwards down into the well, and no-one coming to save me ever.

I ran away.

Sitting at my desk with my framed picture of me and Caleb and the ring binders between the crow shaped bookends and the ceiling light switched on, I think I imagined more danger in the situation than there really was. All she did was shriek at me, but I suppose when a vampire snapped their fingers and commanded me to mop up after a dinner party, it was more than snapping their fingers and commanding me mop up after a dinner party. It was the use of supernatural powers. I have some misted over memories of this, but I can’t see who was doing the commanding. I couldn’t have done anything but what I did. I couldn’t have said, “Clean up your own messes!” I couldn’t have said, “Stop making these kinds of messes!”

I couldn’t have stayed. If Edith’s shrieks are one of her ghost powers, I need to either get and keep the courage to withstand them or convince her to listen to me before she shrieks. Wishing for courage at the Well of Longing and Regret might help, so I’ll try that, but either way I still need to find the right way to talk to a little girl so angry.

I’m going to call Kristopher. One moment, future Inna!

When I called, the Moonwood Collective had recently finished dinner and Jacob was on his way out the door. Kristopher said Jacob had “plans across the river” and I knew well enough that I might save myself an awkward conversation if I didn’t ask any further. Kristopher probably wouldn’t have sounded so guarded if Jacob were simply going to see his uncle at the library and not his sister. My journal was of great use to me in telling Kristopher what I knew of Alice’s sorrows.

“It’s an especially sad thing to say this about a child, but I’d be remiss if I didn’t say she reminds me of Greg, all by herself, people scared of her.”

My thinking was that since Kristopher has raised two children, he could advise me on how to talk to Edith, but one of those children still goes long stretches avoiding talking to him, the same one who has growled (though not shrieked) quite ferociously at me on two occasions. Calling Kristopher made me realise that he may not actually be the best person I know to advise me on how to get a child with Edith’s personality to have a shriek-free conversation with me.

“Think of yourself as a port in a storm. When waters are high and choppy, you must be solid and still,” Kristopher said, and I understood that well enough, he could be perfectly correct, though it made me think of Caleb.

Solid and still he was not always. I think he wasn’t used to being responsible for anyone else, except perhaps his sister, sometimes. He made his effort though. He was a kind of port, a port in need of repairs. It was a little scary for both of us. I like to think it at least brought us closer together.

Kristopher kept talking. “If you can get her to understand that you know what you’re doing, that should be of some reassurance to her.”

“But I don’t know what I’m doing,” I said.

About ghosts. About children. About this child especially.

Kristopher cleared his throat. “Saying so will help no-one.”

Then I thought about calling Wolfgang because he’s always been a very involved uncle and, last I heard, he and Rory talk at least every week. Then I called Rory instead.

It turns out Rory and Lou are driving back to Moonwood Mill from Moonlight Falls. Well, Lou is driving. Rory took offense at me thinking for a second that she might have answered my call while driving and insisted she’s a better driver than some people assume.

I suppose those “plans across the river” Jacob has must be welcoming them back!

Apparently, they took off for Moonlight Falls not long after I took off for Ravenwood, Rory leaving Lux Demarco in charge of the Wildfangs. Last time I saw Rory was only a couple of days before I came to Ravenwood; I’d been doing some last-minute research with Wolfgang in his archives at Moonwood Mill Library, and when I passed by the Wildfang gym in the former loading dock, Rory was training very hard at the punching bag. I didn’t pop in to say hello. She looked like she wouldn’t appreciate the interruption.

I asked Rory just now what she and Lou had been doing in Moonlight Falls. She said they were there “expanding and exploring” on behalf of the Wildfangs: meeting with local werewolves, meeting non-were Sims who could be werewolves, who could be Wildfangs. They ran into some ghosts too!

“You’re a ghost historian now, right? Wolfgang said that’s why you moved to Ravenwood, that and researching other occult history there. Hey, good for you!” I could hear her smile. “Don’t get me wrong, nothing and no-one could keep me away from Moonwood Mill, I’ll always come back to it, but sometimes you can’t get everything you need where you are, you know?”

Lou whooped in agreement. I said she must be right.

Rory said, “But you don’t call me just to chat. What’s up?”

When I said I’d be very glad of her advice on something, she was obviously more surprised than she pretended. All the same, I was reminded once more what a good thing it is that I keep this journal! It was yet again quite helpful for catching her up on my quest to help Alice with her sorrows.

I told Rory about Alice being tethered to the Guardian Tree and about how finding out what became of her children might let her roam freely. I told Rory about Deimos in the unmade bed of a crypt and Ann with the yellow wildflowers. I told Rory about Freddy in the playground who forgot his Sim nature and about how he forgot most of what he knew about his mother and about how I had to remind him that Edith is his sister. I told Rory that some of the only things he remembered were that his mother loved him, and that Edith used to be his best friend.

Rory took a breath then like she was about to interrupt. She didn’t.

I told Rory about the Well of Longing and Regret and how people go to it to make wishes and how Edith is probably tethered to it and how she’s mean to people and scares them off. I told Rory exactly how I talked to her and exactly how that went and how she scared me off too. The others were much easier.

A few seconds hung heavily, just the sound of her breath and the rumble of the car and the rain like fifty fingernails on my window.

“From what you’ve told me, shrieking is a proportional response to her situation,” Rory said eventually. “I’m on her side.”

“I’m on her side. We’re both on her side. It’s the same side,” I said. “I didn’t say it wasn’t proportional, but it isn’t helping her.”

Rory told me I don’t know what helps Edith. It’s not for everyone, but maybe shrieking makes her feel better. Yes, it scares people away, but maybe she doesn’t expect anything good to come from them talking to her anyway.

“I want to help her,” I said. “I need to get her talk to me about her mother so that maybe her mother can be unbound from the Guardian Tree and come calm her down.”

Rory huffed. “Calm her down…”

Lou asked Rory if she wanted him to pull over. She said no, they should keep going.

People say Rory takes things personally — she does take things personally — but I came to her about this because I think it might be personal. Out of everyone I know, Rory might have the best idea about how Edith might want to be spoken to. I think she remembers being younger very well.

I don’t know exactly what it is she remembers, we aren’t nearly that close, I only know that Rory’s temper is nothing new and that the circumstances of her turning were, like mine, less than perfect. I know that last point because I’d been working with Wolfgang a lot in Moonwood Mill Library, and she overheard me talking to him about my first transformation. I said it would have been better if it had been my choice but, on the bright side, look at all the people I’ve lived long enough to meet! She liked something about that. We talked. She even had lunch with us that day up until we got into an argument about my relationship with Elle.

Rory’s advice for talking to Edith was thus:

Most importantly, meet Edith where she’s at. Rory said she could tell me very little about what Edith might like — or hate less — with certainty for this reason. She doesn’t know where Edith’s at, because all I have are other people’s opinions on her and a brief interaction I ran away from.

Rory said she usually advises people to be themselves, but that my usual looking on the bright side might not be well received. Maybe she loves having ghost powers. Maybe she hates being dead and subject of rumours and separated from her family more than she loves her ghost powers. Meet her where she’s at!

I know I’m on Edith’s side and Rory knows I’m on Edith’s side. Remember that Edith may have every reason to expect that I’m not. Maybe she shrieks for her own amusement, maybe she shrieks because she doesn’t trust me, maybe it’s a combination of factors. I’m in a better position to adapt to Edith than Edith is to adapt to me.

Edith may have been tethered to the Well of Longing and Regret for hundreds of years but remember that she’s still a child, unless she gives me reason to think she really isn’t one. Don’t let those hundreds of years make me surprised at her being childish. Rory says she’s only ever met the ghosts of dogs and that she’s pretty sure the puppies were still puppies no matter how long ago they died. I am ever so curious about these ghost dogs. I assumed at first this was in Moonwood Mill, but no, she said it was somewhere else and that maybe we could get into it some other time. This is an odd one. I’ll just have to see. Vampires keep growing until they reach young adulthood. Ghost children don’t grow up.

Rory really gave me an earful for taking the Tarot cards without asking. She’s right. They could be Edith’s, and I should have asked. I’m to give them back if Edith wants them. Maybe I should open with this?

If I wish for courage at the Well of Longing and Regret, I must be prepared for it to backfire. This was mostly Lou’s advice. He said he once wished for love at a wishing well in Lucky Palms, and a frog hopped out, but instead of transforming into the love of his life like he’d hoped it would when he risked kissing it, his mouth filled with smoke, and he threw it back into the water.

Don’t act like I understand what it’s like to be Edith better than Edith does, because I don’t. I know many things but not that. It was nice to hear Rory say that I know many things, because yes, I don’t think about this much, but I really do! Not knowing what it’s like to be Edith better than herself doesn’t mean that I can’t understand her at all. I am “actually a pretty good listener” according to Rory. I have my research with Wolfgang, I had my research before Wolfgang, and I’ve learned a lot from doing these quests for Alice. I never died as a child and became magically tethered to a Well of Longing and Regret for hundreds of years, but I have my own “stuff to be angry about.” That’s what Rory thinks. I don’t think I really want to be angry about anything. I don’t think it’s ever helped me.

A lot to think about. We talked a little more after that. Rory asked about my research in Ravenwood and whether I’d come across anything to do with werewolves yet. No, I had to tell her, but with all the spellcaster history here I might find something! As I wrote, she’d been chatting with some ghosts in Moonlight Falls. She thinks that the veil might be thinner throughout the whole town than it is in most towns, and that this is partly why so many ghosts have put down roots there.

“But that’s not all. Community’s a big thing,” Rory said. “There are more ghosts here than in a lot of other places, and yeah, they’re haunting, but they’re also living — or afterliving. I don’t know what they call it.”

Rory asked if I’d ever been to Moonlight Falls. I said I didn’t remember. I wonder what the mist between the trees looks like in Moonlight Falls. She said I’d probably like it there because vampires and werewolves and spellcasters and non-occults live together as neighbours.

“Though not, anyone could say, in harmony,” Rory said. “It’s not quite the realisation of the greatest reaches of the Maria-Volkovian dream.”

A failure she sounded bitter about. I find it sad too; it’s a beautiful dream. My undead-life has gotten ever so much better now that I believe in it.

I asked Rory if there was anything I could do to thank her for her help. She laughed at that — I think I surprised her again — and just asked that I let her know how it goes with Edith, and that I ask her if I want advice on Edith again, or advice on something else she’s well suited to talk about.

“I’ll think of you for that sooner if something else comes up,” I may regret saying.

“Think of me…” she repeated. “Who did you think of for this sooner? Kristopher?”

My silence answered for me.

“Did he tell you to be a port in a storm?” She cleared her throat regally, and said in Kristopher’s cadence, “Solid and still?”

I asked her if she didn’t think it was good advice. She said it’s fine advice if you can tell the difference between what’s port and what’s storm and what’s drowning, and that Kristopher thinks he can but he can’t, and that one person’s port is another person’s storm is another person’s drowning. I said, and I was trying to help, that maybe she should make the most of not being magically tethered to a Well of Longing and Regret and tell Kristopher what she thought in those words, because they sounded quite good to me. She said that she could tell Kristopher whatever she wanted whenever she wanted and that she wasn’t my “little ghost kid history project” and that she didn’t need me trying to get her talking to her mother so she could be calmed down.

I did ask her about Edith because I knew it was personal. It wouldn’t be good to blame Rory for taking it personally. Lou asked something I didn’t hear. Rory took a very large breath, said she hoped I’d be able to get Edith and Freddy and Alice back together, and that it was good to hear I’d think of her if something else came up. I thanked her for talking to me about this.

“I don’t bite.” There was a thud on her end of the phone, like she’d kicked the footwell of the car. “No, I do. Most of us do.”

I didn’t know what she meant by that. I stopped myself from asking if she meant most werewolves do, in case that’s not what she meant, so I wouldn’t end up making a generalisation. I just asked her what she meant.

“Us. You and me,” Rory clarified. “The people we know. People who got bit.”

That didn’t tell me if she was being metaphorical or literal. She snorted and said she could be multiple things at once.

I don’t bite as much as I’d like to. I don’t like to. I didn’t say this.

Rory didn’t say anything either for a long few moments, then said she had to go because they’d be getting home soon. Maybe that was true, maybe she was making an excuse to leave. I asked her to say hello to Jacob for me, and she said she would, she was going to stop in to see her Wildfangs, then swing by the Collective Cabin to give Jacob this new recipe book she picked up for him, I Was a Teenage Vegetarian.

“Like, I Was a Teenage Werewolf. He hasn’t seen the movie, but he can play the song of the same name on guitar. I know he’ll get a kick out of it. It’s part memoir actually, and the recipes look good, quick and easy stuff. He’s so busy these days.”

I didn’t spoil the surprise that Jacob already has plans to go see her. Maybe she’ll swing by the Collective Cabin anyway, even after she sees him on her side of the river. I don’t know. She told me to think about Edith instead. I think I’m going to be thinking about really quite a lot of people.

AUTHOR'S NOTE:

A million thank yous to @dead-lights for cheering me on especially hard with this one and for talking through some of the things I was trying to figure out as I was writing it. Talking to you really helped me find how I wanted to write this part and your support is very appreciated.

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[sonkitty]

The Sideburns Scheme Post #33

(For reference: The Sideburns Scheme)

Crowley, Good Omens 2, Episode 3, I Know Where I'm Going, Inspector Constable

...

Muriel

(For reference: Bookend Buddies - Crowley and Muriel (Part 2))

Muriel arrives on Earth. Before they are shown, the episode opens with Gabriel gazing out to Whickber Street while he drinks hot chocolate. The story has these two avoid having any actual, visible interaction between each other.

Mrs. Sandwich gets a complex window scene to see Muriel walk toward the bookshop. Notably, this walk is actually not the same direction that other angels arrive from. While it's on the same side of the street as the bookshop, it is otherwise the same direction that Crowley has been known to arrive from in episode 1.

Later, the episode will show Aziraphale leaving with the car parked in front of the pub instead of across the street from the pub or in front of the coffee shop. That suggests Crowley parked there so arrived from the opposite direction Muriel does.

My overall theory is that Crowley and Muriel have a deep trust in each other. They are possibly friends who have voluntarily forgotten certain memories while still being able to somehow activate their trust, like it has a switch of some kind. This strange theory developed because of how their scenes bookend each other, especially when it comes to the Threshold Tricks, and their combined use of advanced pocket mechanics in Earthly Objects.

This window scene with Mrs. Sandwich is the only one Muriel has that does not have a Crowley scene as a bookend. The front bookend with Gabriel was mentioned above. The back bookend is Muriel with Aziraphale, eventually being allowed into the bookshop.

I consider that back bookend scene to end with Aziraphale closing the door.

After that, Muriel's first scene with Crowley starts though Crowley takes a little while to arrive.

...

Sideburns Check

The sideburns are short, so now it's time for a new challenge from the game.

As stated in the main post, Muriel literally claims to be human. Aziraphale literally accepts the claim before Muriel crosses the threshold by saying, "I thought you probably were." Even though he says, "probably," that is sufficient. He had also greeted Muriel with, "Good morning, officer."

The bookshop space takes all of these literal cues from the characters and decides to give Crowley short sideburns for this "human" encounter.

It probably doesn't hurt that Crowley brought in his plants that are always with him to shorten the sideburns when driving the car.

Aziraphale verbally telling Crowley about the human police officer in their presence helps inform Crowley his sideburns are short, just in case he didn't already know or wanted confirmation.

I dug through my own archives of drafts out of curiosity. In my own general play of this game, this challenge was one of the easier ones for me, solved before I figured out the bigger thresholds with the longer sideburns. I vaguely remember I kept watching this scene over and over to figure out the logic for why short sideburns were around with three supernatural beings, or rather this one angel who is Muriel in particular, and no humans. The human presence seemed to matter in other parts of the story but not here. I eventually caught onto the dialogue's emphasis on the word "human."

...

Brighter Red Streak Check

I think the streak is there when Crowley first walks in and is holding the cardboard box of plants, then disappears once that box is set down. His hair was more red during that part too. Once Crowley has set down the box, there is more light and saturation on his right for his hair during most of the scene. If the streak is there, it's faint and with that side of his head.

...

Hairstyle Changes

The hair is darker and not as saturated in red, compared to the last present day scene in the previous episode. The top front hair goes upward with a slight tilt to the right. The top front hair doesn't have an evident split. Instead, the hair collectively curls back. Some separation between curls can be found if the camera work allows it.

...

Earthly Objects

(For reference: Earthly Objects)

Muriel is holding their cup of tea. Aziraphale is sitting on the chair and avoiding its back again. He also holds a cup of tea. Crowley touches the chair with a hand before eventually sitting on the arm rest of the chair.

Upon seeing Muriel, Crowley's first question is, "Who's this now?" I think the "now" is a clue about Crowley's and Muriel's past friendship. Muriel might have had a memory wipe so isn't quite the same. Crowley's right hand brushes up against the front of his jacket, with the CMC joint looking like it's up to something, especially with how both arms in general swing. One of the tie strands, the one most likely connected to the right hand, does swing more visibly outward off the vest and jacket for a moment. It happens after Crowley's actual left hand went behind Crowley, then moved to cover over the lapels of his jacket. The watch gets a little extra shine after the left arm swings a little more.

There is talk of Muriel's title being part of a name with another title, for Inspector Constable.

There are no touches for the Threshold Tricks during episodes 3 and 4, presumably put on hold while the special connection between homes forms.

The cardboard box receives a shared blur with Muriel only to be left untouched and questioned, just like with the fake Aziraphale-Crowley in episode 1. Crowley ignores it too, and it is more evidently in his line of sight during this scene.

There's a general box theme with Crowley and Muriel, and Crowley is touching a cardboard box the first time they are on-screen together.

Paying attention to the pockets...

I remarked in my first post about Crowley and Muriel that neither are using pockets here. Well, neither of them are using literal apparel pockets...but both make pockets with their body.

When Muriel says, "'Ello, 'ello, 'ello," they have three closed pockets made with their fingers and the cup of tea. One is with the right middle finger, lower part of the cup, and the plate. The second is with the middle finger and ringer finger with the bottom of the plate. The third is a pocket with the ring finger and pinky finger. I'm taking the dialogue meeting the Rule of Three as a clue that I am indeed supposed to notice these three pockets with what Crowley does soon after though not immediately after.

When Crowley seats himself and continues talking to Muriel, he creates three closed pockets with his body. One is between his arms and left knee, another is between the back of his left knee and right thigh, and the third is between his right leg, Aziraphale's chair, and the bottom of the screen. With these 3 pockets, he also has his actual fingers interlaced below the left knee. In the process, the left hand briefly swept over the Tied Hands before they hid themselves in shadow with Crowley.

Aziraphale ends up pocketed between Muriel and Crowley when all three on screen with the camera focusing showing him and Crowley from the front. Aziraphale himself avoids making visible pockets until Crowley gets up to leave, wanting to speak with him in private.

When Crowley does get up to leave, the Tied Hands conceivably retie thanks to the watch being visible, how Crowley manages his right thumb joint, Muriel's finger positions, Crowley's self-made arm pockets, and possibly a clasp striking a lapel edge. That last part is a judgment call based on position with the lighting and blurring of Crowley's movement. It's curious that they might have retied given the scene's context. Usually, there are Threshold Tricks or miracles involved. The miracle sound of the scene is a little hiss during or after this retying is done. There did look to be pocket trickery involved with Crowley, Muriel, and the Rule of Three, so that's my top suspect for why the potential retying happens.

...

Story Commentary

Crowley has changed his present day sunglasses without a word to anyone. Muriel can be seen repeatedly during the scene as a reflection in the sunglasses. It's a little blurry, but there's enough to figure out that it's Muriel. I've brightened the above image, hoping to help the visual. Here is another clue about the value of the reflections later in The Window Trick.

I took a good, long while to think that Muriel and Crowley are friends because pockets, but this reflection, for me, is a clue to look back on as also relevant to this possible friendship.

This scene is adorable, and when first finding the Earthly Objects game, makes Muriel look like a supernatural newbie to that game. Aziraphale is the main guide for this scene in trying to teach Muriel how to play without actually naming the game itself.

A light near Muriel flickers throughout the scene. Pockets use lighting as clues. Muriel saying they've been on Earth for like 200 years could be a clue about their past friendship with Crowley, such as when they first met or became friends. The nearby flickering light flickers just before Muriel says, "200". The number itself likely qualifies as a point for dialogue.

As noted in past posts with the Threshold Tricks, the core concept of The Sunglasses Trick is that Crowley's sunglasses are his door to himself.

The way I generally look at Crowley choosing to change his sunglasses here is that's his way of getting a new finish for his door. He's acknowledging this big step in his relationship with Aziraphale. It's a way he expresses himself without words. He just does it. It also happens to work to his advantage in his Earthly Objects play during the story. He's a sneaky snake like that. I love him for it.

The dialogue includes the second instance of the word "train," while Crowley complains, and this time, it is used twice.

Muriel and Crowley are contrasted with light for Muriel and darkness for Crowley. Crowley's body makes sure to stop with the shadow covering much of his upper body area in a diagonal manner.

The clock visible when Crowley walks in is at 1:20PM. That is a notably different time than the clock closer to Muriel and Aziraphale, which is the main clock visible throughout the present day story. This latter clock is strange in its time. As analog clocks tend to work, the hour hand should be closer to the 9 or the 11 because of where the minute hand is. Both hands are quite close to the 10. The time is either 9:51AM or 10:51AM. My guess is 10:51AM.

The Good Omens book provides a little bit of guidance on that time for the clock in that supernatural beings don't quite understand how things work on Earth, and by their nature of being supernatural beings, Earth will make up the gap. By that, I mean, for example, Crowley has an expertly engineered sound system where he forgot about the speakers, but it doesn't matter. The sound is perfect anyway.

So, here if, say the time really is 10:51AM, the hour hand is closest to the 10 because that makes the time easiest to read or understand for Muriel since they are in the best position to see the clock and are new to Earth. They might understand the basics that each number represents the hour, and that the hour hand moves, but not that it should have moved closer to the next number with the hour being nearly over. The clock may have looked that way when Aziraphale stopped the record, but he wasn't in a position to see it, and it's not as clear if that is indeed the time it says.

That's a a guess, of course. I could be missing something basic. I'm mainly bothering because of seeing both clocks, and this main clock isn't usually this clear with what it does show. There's usually a blur or a reflection to make it more difficult to read the time.

The hour hand does not consistently have this issue in other scenes, when applicable, but I figured I would note it all the same.

I don't know why the differences in the times are what they are for the clocks due to how the scene flows. I'm not able to piece together the logic for the story making this choice, but the choice is still noted.

The hiss mentioned in the Earthly Objects section seems to be a friendly, "Follow me," from Crowley for Aziraphale.

...

That's it for this post. Sometimes I edit my posts, FYI.

...

Main post:

The Sideburns Scheme

[moonshynecybin]

for fic asks and morning glory!

3. favorite part of narration ?

5. hardest part to write ?

9. were there alternate versions of this fic ?

3. fave part of narration:

i wanted to use this fic to explore how weird they are at the beginning of 2016 + some vague stuff on how marc’s injury weirdness comes into that and i think these two sections get at that pretty well! marc in early 2016 is kinda weird to me bc there’s NO WAY he’s not angry but well. he’d never sayyyyy that, and also he has a weird tone to some of his interviews where you get the sense that he’s waiting for the sepang stuff to blow over and for vale to get friendly again. like maybe not besties but at least chill. and vale is like. actually somewhat hot and cold in that regard imo. the barcelona stuff from that year comes to mind!!

so i thought i could dial all that to 11 by getting marc emergency medically evacuated at like. cota and then that retraumatizes vale + marc is flirting w people + he’s in a genderbend so vale’s weird gen x brain is like awesome i can be SUPER blatant in hitting on him in this bar rn… idk i wanted to interrogate that weird liquid place they’re at in early 2016 before either of them know that the feud is gonna last ten years minimum and define a large swath of their legacy. like the hope they can get over it versus the inability to do so. and at the end of the fic i think they’re both starting to understand it…

and:

5. hardest part to write:

i hate this paragraph to this day it’s like i’m giving a lab report thereis no pathos in it. whatever i will fix her ONE DAY. also the ending i hate the endings on like most of my fics tbh. im the stephen king of motorcycle yaoi fic

9. were there alternate versions of this fic:

only in the sense that i made narrative decisions as i went! largely the jorge bookends, but no real alt version or ending. it was ALWAYS supposed to end a lil unhappy and they were always gonna fuck nasty and feel weird about it

[petruchio]

Do you have any thoughts on what you think s5 of stranger things will be like?

ooh you must have really been digging in my blog to find my stranger things opinions bc i honestly havent thought about stranger things in like ... two years?? but long time petruchio fans will recall that i was HEATED after the 4th season

umm what do i think it will be LIKE? i think it will be BAD! i think it will continue to spiral into near self parody and i think the writing will continue to attempt to raise the stakes higher and higher until they become functionally meaningless and the only few bright spots are going to be the few stancy crumbs and maybe a couple dustin lines and maybe, like, hopper doing something memeable.

plot-wise, i don't know what direction they'll take it in, i don't really know how they could raise the stakes past last season when they were so out of ideas that literally all they could think of as villains was to just bring back matthew modine, make up a new lame child that is a villain, and then just use "the entire ussr" as stock villains without actually investigating and exploring the nuanced political climate of the 1980s that was what made the show originally good...

my hopes (that will likely go unfulfilled) are that we'll get a return to form and they'll just use the mind flayer as the villain, because it was looming and ominous and was vague enough to be legitimately scary. i REALLY want will to have his villain era because i think that would actually bookend the show quite well and make the antagonist feel like a legitimate threat. i also want stancy because as you guys know I LIKE IT and also i don't see the point of like 90% of what happend in hawkins last season if they aren't going to bring back stancy. other than that i'm sure they're just going to do like gratuitous violence and try to build suspense around some vague undefinable plot device without actually working with the characters and their personalities to drive a compelling story, which is what they did in s3 and s4 when they clearly had run out of interesting things to say...

[saintetheldredablogshorrormovies]

the hands of orlac - 1924

where does human agency come from?

this seems to be the central question of the film, since early on we are explained confidently "the will of a man comes from his hands!" and then when fortunes change towards the end there is an insistence "the will of a man comes from his heart!" so as well as being a question inherently prompted by the premise of this film, its a question that also kind of bookends the film, and is then arguably the organising principle

in my eyes the cinematography conveys this really effectively. the sets are wide empty vacant spaces, and the acting is exaggerated and dramatic. which i think expresses the need and instinct to latch onto something human in a very nebulous world. our eyes are drawn to the actors in these vacant sets just as we search for human agency in a sort of shroud of mystery

similarly, we are divided throughout between wide shots and close-ups, and the lighting often focuses us on just a thin sliver of the shot, again that search for something, some kind of agency to focus on in the vastness of unknowing of the human psyche

(these characterisations of the sets, acting and lighting are ones i have seen other people make but i think its fun to try and put it in a philosophical context and link it to the meaning of the film. the idea of it reflecting a search for agency is my idea)

cause so many scenes in this film are sort of like trials. it is full of accusations/appeals to ones own case. the whole film i think is almost like a trial where we are trying to assess the character of the defendant (there are a few moments in the trial at the end that zoom so orlac's defence speech fills up the whole screen, which i think suggest the film and the trial have become one)

i personally adore feminist/feminine horror so the scene where the maid is told to "seduce the hands" really affected me and stuck out to me. that was so fucked up. perfectly captured the psychological mindfuck of being a woman in a patriarchy, seemingly thinking about attitudes to domestic violence at the time specifically, cause it showed us the woman at the mercy of the cruel hands of a man when the world only sees his face (which is so different its somehow a separate entity) - so surreal and disturbing

i adored this film but the ending "twist" fucking drove me insane. i could not take that shit seriously. it was so funny to me cause it just made absolutely no sense. i have "WHAT IS GOING ON" written in my notes cause surely that cannot be the "explanation" for everything i just watched. all of those occurences they were trying to "undo" were quite vivid. im being vague cause i like to avoid spoilers on this blog if i can but suffice to say i think it perfectly demonstrated the absolute funniest thing about german expressionism

which is that they thought fucking everything was imaginary in german expressionism its so fucking funny

like guys you know the world is a BIT real right

not fucking all of it is made up. some things exist i think maybe??

and i mean this with a complete earnest fondness for german expressionism. its just funny to me

also i have no idea why im blogging this because where on tumblr will i find a no.1 hands of orlac fan. at this point i just do this cause i like taking a few minutes to write up some stuff from my messy notes. but of course if you are a no.1 hands of orlac fan please please interact LOL

[panharmonium]

Man, these past few days...so many thoughts. About my life then, my life now. What I missed. Thoughts about what I'll never have. And what I want to have.

[arondight-overload]

Thoughts in a post final party member world. Vague spoilers up to the end of the island. I won't say much about the plot since it seems I'm pretty far ahead.

Really been iffy on the various awakenings throughout Metaphor.

Strohl was the benchmark, 10/10 no notes and they all just kinda went downhill from there. Shout-out to Junah just being like "oh, I get it guess I'll just pull an archetype out of my ass."

Last two party members were decent and amazing respectively, and I loved final party member's awakening to the point that it's competing with Strohl. Idk it feels like we were bookended with the best two, with less than stellar in-between. Weirdly variable length too.

Honestly, Junah is incredibly forgettable to me. Everyone else is great but she's just wildly uninteresting and honestly kind of abrasive.

Also unsure why Atlus decided to skip romance this time around, since half the bond endings are incredibly easy to read as confessions. Shout out Brigitta especially. Let alone the end of the island, with the ability to pick one party member.

They literally basically put that meme about a person looking at a vista and talking about how pretty it is, and the other person looking at them instead and going "yeah it is" with the beach scene, at least for Gallica. Idk if the others are different.

While I might be looking at the protagonist and Gallica's interactions with shipper goggles, that one was pretty blatant imo.

So yeah, love me final party member, love me ship, 'ate Louis, simple as.

[grimmmviewing]

S1E22: “Woman in Black”—C+ (Watched 7/26/24)

Odd as it might be, I’ve always had this vague fascination with synopses of TV episodes, especially finales—something about the way they reduce so many minutes to several lines of bullet-point-worthy moments and particularly the special energy of the final moment of a given episode. The “worthiness” of it, in a sense.

Reduced to a summary like that, I think “Woman in Black” has exactly the vibe you want in a season finale for a show like Grimm. With regard to my weird interest, it has a satisfying amount of action and a number of callbacks to previous episodes, and it ends on an appropriately climactic revelation—that the titular Woman we’ve been seeing throughout the episode is actually Nick’s mother that he/we thought was dead. (In retrospect, I knew she wasn’t dead but had just forgotten over the years.)

The assumed dead parent actually being alive isn’t just a fine-enough reveal that any show could have ended on, though. It also works well for Grimm specifically as a bookend to a season that began with family as a focus, with Nick losing his aunt Marie, the closest thing to a parent he thought he had. To end with the (re)introduction of his mother makes a lot of narrative and/or “artistic” sense. I was hoping that they’d re-use “Sweet Dreams” as well to circle back to the start of the season, but I suspected that wouldn’t actually happen. What is here is definitely… fine, engaging enough for what it is.

The big downside of an episode as stuffed as this one is, though, is that there’s not much to chew on, in stark contrast with the previous few episodes. Maybe that actually qualifies as justification of a sort—“Big Feet” can be a bit more interesting and creative and thoughtful, while the finale goes hard on action and pure, straightforward dramatic beats, which include a somewhat extensive brawl at the end between Nick and the last of the “Three Coins in a Fuchsbau” crew involved in the deaths of his family. I thought it was much better than the Nick-Adalind fight in “Love Sick,” though Nick’s vague Grimm abilities that I guess let him tangle with a trained fighter like this Akira Kimura remain a point of frustration for me. I’m not a Power Level-obsessed person, but exactly what Nick is capable of (or, more critically, what his limit is) is something that could have been more clearly established. I’m going to argue that that sort of definition and growth is part of the appeal of a show like this, though obviously there’s no predefined suite of “powers” for people to anticipate like there was in something like Smallville. I still appreciated the sustained melee action, however.

At the beginning, “Woman in Black” looks like it’s going to focus hard on the Akira Kimura angle, but there’s a big detour in the middle involving Juliette that may derail the pace of things. The obvious fairytale reference is tied to this plot, where Adalind (a witch) arranges for a bespelled cat to scratch Juliette (a beauty) at work, which eventually puts her into a coma (sleep). It’s incredibly slight in terms of an adaptation, I think, but the personal stuff with Juliette is still great since her relationship with Nick is a favorite part of the series for me. It’s just that I also felt like it pumped the brakes on the energy from the other conflict and that it could have been better paired with a more mundane case of the week so that it could more smoothly “steal” the spotlight.

From a craft perspective, I can definitely appreciate the “have your cake and eat it too” approach that the writers took here: Obviously, Nick telling Juliette about his Grimm work is a big, juicy chunk of drama the audience would love to feast on, but by having Juliette fall into a magical sleep during the attempted explanation, that lets them indulge the drama but also essentially punt on truly resolving things. Between seasons, they could (if they didn’t already know) decide if they wanted her to remember any of this or if they wanted to draw out the tension of her not knowing for longer.

A fair number of the callbacks I mentioned before are tied to this thread, as Nick takes Juliette to the trailer (and then to Monroe’s) to try to show her the truth and convince her that she needs to be worried about the cat scratch. This attempt is… bad, but I think intentionally so. As I mentioned before, I like Nick and Juliette as a couple. Their teamwork is a highlight of the episodes where it actually happens (see “The Thing With Feathers,” especially). I thought Nick would handle this better based on the precedent of their usual interactions. I’m going to just paste in a little chunk of my notes for “Woman in Black” below, as it shows the strength of my feeling about this major element of the episode from right as I was watching things unfold:

“You want the truth, you’re going to get it.” < Nick to J during their arg about Adalind and why Nick’s so suspicious of her and insistent about J getting her cat scratch seen by a doctor. Like, this ain’t good boyfriend! Vague! Threatening! Bad Nick!

Of course, the writers know this, and that’s why Nick’s desperate rant in the trailer comes off like what it is (a desperate rant from an increasingly sweaty-looking guy). It wouldn’t make sense for Juliette to not be scared! After doing this reflection, I added a “+” to the episode score solely because of this sequence and how thoroughly it got under my skin. The fact that I didn’t like it was probably the goal, and I simultaneously expected Nick/his writers to handle this moment better when it came while also wondering how you would “realistically” pull this off. I may have actually told Nick (to the screen) to focus on the fur Juliette found in “Big Feet,” which had her wondering about this stuff on her own. Maybe if he had led with that instead of all but throwing books and morning stars and terms like “Verrat” at her…

I wasn’t pleased with how he put Monroe on the spot about revealing himself to Juliette to make her believe either! It feels like the possible nadir of the more transactional side of their relationship, where Nick only spends time with or talks to Monroe about what amounts to work. I couldn’t say exactly if my opinion of “Woman in Black” would be better or worse if it had somehow ended on the Juliette plot rather than with the mother reveal. Although, to be fair, the coma stuff is also a good fit for a season finale.

[rastronomicals]

8:49 PM EDT September 22, 2023:

King Crimson - "The Talking Drum" From the album Larks' Tongues in Aspic (March 23, 1973)

Last song scrobbled from iTunes at Last.fm

Always thought that this song and "The Sheltering Sky"--vaguely African-sounding instrumentals both--made good bookends

[thehydromancer]

Lordship at Last; A Scrub's Tale

After 268 hours (I know) and 173 levels (I KNOW), I finally cleared my first Elden Ring run. I... love it. It took me a long time to realize exactly why, but when it hit me it made perfect sense. The whole game is the Water Temple. I don't think I need to explain that to anyone. A simple statement, but the more you think about it, the implications are layered and sublime. I vaguely recall an ancient game mag interview with some dev or another who, when asked what his dream project would be, described a grittier Zelda with more subtle storytelling and more interesting uses in combat for traditional equipment such as the hookshot. I remember loving the concept, and later Breath of the Wild/Tears of the Kingdom. Elden Ring though feels like the logical conclusion to exploring the freedom and flexibility of modern fantasy adventure games, the masterpiece bookend to the world of possibilities that the OG NES Zelda began to reveal to us.

And what a journey its been. My first Souls-like game, starting out as a bandit named Torrent (IMAGINE MY SURPRISE WHEN THE GAME {I THOUGHT} ADDRESSED MY CHARACTER BY NAME IN THE FIRST FIVE MINUTES!!!), not understanding how shields worked, and grossly under leveling vigor (hell finished with only 40 before hearing after the fact that 60 is typically the goal). Dying to the lake side ruins bats again. And again. And again. Standing in the Church of Elleh thinking I was safe, studying the Limgrave Tree Sentinel with my shiny new telescope, only for it to drop the walls on me. Not understanding how elemental damages work till the last 3rd of the game. Breezing through some bosses only to be kneecapped physically and spiritually again and again by a pair of mangy mutts, cocaine bear, biblically accurate angel bubbles, or simply a zombie holding a torch causally away from their body. Spending the first half of the game dying in numbers that would make Rosus himself say 'hey slow down there partner, thanks for putting my kids through Raya Lucaria with all those runes you lost, but I really need a break.' Forgetting I'd picked up the crystal tear for cleansing during the Mohg fight, instead trying everything up to and including Law of Regression to clear the triple ring status effect during the fight.

Ever so slowly, painfully, learning the ins and outs of the game. Slowly morphing from a dex curved sword user with throwing knives and a bow to a mage knight desperately cheesing his way through the last 60 hours of the game. SO. MUCH. BACKTRACKING. I must have revisited Stormveil over the course of 100 hours, finding something new every time. Exploring every nook and cranny in the world, scrapping runes together as hard as I could in the early game, only to be shocked at how easy leveling became in the second half of the game. Hosting tryouts for every Spirit Ashes like I was assembling the outer-gods-damned Avengers to fight Thanos wielding the Elden Gauntlet. ACCIDENTALLY STUMBLING UPON DRAGON ELDEN LORD, WHOOPS SORRY SIR(S?) DIDN'T MEAN TO DISTURB YOUR ETERNAL TIMELESS SLUMBER! In the end, somehow, managing to defeat all demigods and I'd guess 95% of the bosses in the game. I know I missed a few, and there was 3 or 4 I purposefully decided to ignore for my own sanity (if Blaidd had been half red wolf he'd of been the next Elden Lord I swear).

Bosses that gave me the greatest trouble at the time;

Margit (pretty sure we killed each other at the same time, so I never got his runes)

Godrick (I'd like to think it'd be a different story now that I've developed some skill and muscle memory but boy was this a grind)

Dragon Tree Sentinel guarding Lyndell (probably over 50 deaths, just the worst, only read about the additional summons later!)

The Elden Beast (how do pure melee builds beat this guy!? I had trouble keeping up with it using various ranged spells, the opportunities to stab it felt few and far inbetween)

Bosses that I was shocked at how easy they were based on memes/carbot/the community;

Radahn (only demigod I beat my first time, still an awesome battle)

Placidusax (one of the most enjoyable fights in hindsight, really felt like I was hitting my stride with the ebb and flow of battle finally)

Malenia, Blade of Miquella (in fairness was probably grossly over leveled by this point, downed in 3 or 4 attempts)

Radagon (the cheese was real but I was also serving it)

Special shout out to the meteorite staff and rock sling spell, the true MVPs of my run and the breakers of bosses, especially dragons. The carian knight sword and grandeur skill had an incredible run until I was able to nab the Sword of Night and Flame, and eventually the Dark Moon Greatsword itself, fulfilling my transformation into Fierce Deity Tarnished. Loretta's War Sickle was surprisingly fun as well for non boss fights.

As I look ahead to the DLC and meander/experiment through a NG+ or 3 while I wait, I can't help but wonder, probably a true dark horse theory... are we, the Tarnished, in some way, shape, or form... Miquella? Why would Malenia, instead of seeking him out to rescue her beloved brother, wait for him in the one place she knows he isn't... convinced he'd return... when it was I, Tarnished, all along who returned? Silly I know. But Torrent (I hate that I have to specify this, the horse) also reacted to Torrent (the Tarnished) in a way that felt more meaningful the second time around after having experienced most of the story. Why would Melina choose us (assuming we were her only attempt) over all others? Did she even truly know?

Alright that was a lot. I wish I'd kept a running journal of my play through, there was just so much wonder and discovery. I look forward to picking up Bloodborne and Lies of P to continue feeding my new addiction!

[basedkikuenjoyer]

Look at that face. That sweet smile, those flower-shaped eyes you know are hiding. What mysteries do you hold flower lady? As we come around out of this hiatus, seems like a fitting time to ponder the reason this all kept going. Our star, ma cherie, simply put...was Kiku's strange ending notes in Wano a sign of future relevance? Or better, still think she could be lying low on Egghead?

Re-reading Egghead over this break, once again fifty chapters later the strangeness of those final Wano chapters and our transition hold up. Don't forget we have stuff like two potential spots we had an extra figure on the Sunny who'd fit the bill. I've said a lot more on the subject but there's still a reason our two big new faces in Wano are these mirror opposites and the subtler one here was, by leaps and bounds, the one who built that organic bond after being the one who just impressed Luffy on her own merit. Given what Momo & Yamato were talking about it's a big deal to no-show that admiral fight and even more so when his words make such a bookend with Kiku & Urashima.

Meanwhile, Egghead has enough weirdness where I've noticed Reddit and shit even catching on here and there. At this point, just the vague idea of someone we don't know about being involved? Being the answer for questions about what happened last night or things like the food pile? That's just an independent idea we see more and more. Likewise with the simple idea another cutaway could fill in these gaps with or without Wano's through a flashback like Kuma's. I see these ideas more and more floating, it's bizarre when you felt like you were expecting it from so early on.

So yeah...I still have to wonder about my girl here. Seeing the same dynamic with Yamato in Academy was such a weird one but affirming at minimum a spinoff author has a similar view I do. This cover serial will be very telling. Whether it be giving us our answer or another conspicuous absence. Really thought we'd see the Grand Fleet for a moment but just as those giants dashed that now I see so much potential in this worldwide broadcast. Still think this could all be a trap by Vegapunk and his holograms so you have seeing through it too should that play out.

That's what she did in Academy, saved the day in the background. It only works in theory because you're Miss Unassuming...but Miss Unassuming still has all that weird shit like a subtly significant big brother, an art exhibit doppelganger, and the deep callback to Kamatari. To me it's still as simple as something feels up and the last arc set up it's weird lil square peg with an ambiguous ending. Wonder when we'll get Drake reporting in?