#he is a sphinx he only talks in riddles and metaphors

[sojirosteacup]

One of my favorite things about the hanadan ds game is that if you play sojiro's route and take him to the zoo (not his best date option) you go see the sloth 🦥. Then you start talking about it and you get 3 dialogue options: a nice one, a rude one and a third one, where you info dump about sloths. I chose the third one as a joke and bc I would definitely info dump irl and he starts relating to the sloths and seeing them as a metaphor for his life and it's the weirdest video game dialogue I've ever seen I love him

[remmushound]

Rise/bay 23!! @brightlotusmoon @errorfreak88 @selfindulgenz

Donnie ran out of his room in an excited frenzy. His feet tip-tapped the happy dance he always did when he found a discovery. The light in his eyes, the flutter in his heart. The warmth overwhelming him. He ran right over to the cuddle pile, hesitating only to eye the strange scene curiously before prodding Donatello’s forehead.

“Mm?” Donatello’s eyes opened in an angry scowl at being disturbed.

“Hey!” Donnie was beaming, his eyes shimmering like dark pools of shiny chocolate, “Hi— here— here take a look at these!” 

Donatello grumbled through his sleep-heavy state and ignored the pictures shoved in his face, covering his muzzle with his arms to block out the light.

“Wha— hey, come on! I think I found your April!”

Donatello hardly heard him, and the fuzz of his mind wasn’t sharp enough yet to care. As the bickering continued with Donnie’s mouth running like a motor trying to wake up the sluggish softshell, Raphael opened his own heavy eyes and started to listen in. 

“Ugh! Make it stooooop!” 

Leonardo reached over and prodded Donnie where his tail would have been under the pants, making the box turtle yelp and fall forward. 

“There.” Leonardo snuggled back in against Raphael, “I found the off switch.”

Raphael was fully awake now and slowly started to untangle himself from his brothers. When he stood, the absence of his immense form made Michelangelo and Leonardo roll suddenly and slam into Donatello on either side. None of the three seemed to care. Raphael gave himself a minute or so to stretch and pop his joints before positioning himself behind his brothers, low to the ground. He sucked in a good deal of air, and then belched it back at his brothers.

The reaction was immediate. Screams of terror as the scent overwhelmed them and the panicked scrambling as his brothers tried to escape the stench. Their feet scrambled helplessly on the floor for a minute as the slick floor held them in place. Michelangelo was the first to find his footing, then Donatello, and lastly Leonardo. All scrambled to different corners of the lair.

“AH OH MY METAPHORICAL GOD!”

“THAT’S DISGUSTING!”

“DISHONOR ON YOU, DISHONOR ON YOUR FAMILY, DISHONOR ON YOUR COW!”

“You’re up now, antch’a?” Raphael laughed. “Whatchu got for us Don?”

“What? I don’t have anything for you.” Donatello answered.

“He meant other Don, Don.” Leonardo nudged his brother in the side, “Maybe we should mark you with paint or something— Don 1 and Don 2.”

“Not funny, Nardo!”

“No, it is extremely funny.” Leonardo laughed continuing to prod Donatello playfully.

“Nardo, if you keep doing that I’ll—“

“You’ll what?” Leonardo stuck out his tongue and bounced between legs as he continued to poke Donatello and avoid his swatting hands.

“Eh, ignore them.” Raphael smiled as he rubbed his neck and turned to address Donnie, craning his neck over to look at the pictures the box turtle reluctantly offered. “You found something?”

Donnie squeaked at the closeness of the snapping turtle’s head to him and pulled away quickly, dropping the photos in his panic. Raphael picked them up and his eyes lit up once he located the reason for the images.

“That’s April!”

That simple declaration was enough to make the other three forget about their playful bickering and hurry to Raphael’s side. The mutant held the proof of April low enough for his brothers to be able to look comfortably. Cheers sounded off seconds later.

“Yeaaah!”

“That’s April!”

“Oh, she’s okay!”

“Looook!” Leonardo prodded a finger against the paper at April’s chest, “She’s got the orb!”

“Ohh I hope she’s okay!” Michelangelo piped, crawling to hang over Leonardo’s shoulder.

“Time stamps from an hour ago.” 

“Do you know where she is now?”

“Can we get a pizza on the way to find her?”

The smaller mutants started to swarm Donnie with their questions, but Raphael was quick to separate them and give the box turtle some space.

“This is the last I saw of her— she was heading into an alley and I can just kinda see her going up the fire escape.” Donnie said finally.

“Hey, isn’t that where dad was?” Leonardo pointed out.

There was a symphony of agreement.

“I didn't see her come back down though, so she’s probably still up there.” Donnie said, “Unless she found a different way down, which I don’t see why she would…”

Donnie gave yet another yelp as Raphael’s hand fell onto his shoulder. Raphael laughed.

“You’re a jumpy one arencha?” He gave Donnie a few comforting pats to try and reassure him, “Great work Don! You don’t know how much this means to us.”

Donnie’s eyes glimmered with astonishment at the genuine praise.

“Yeah, that big head is good for something after all.” Despite the insult, Donatello’s words came off as a good-natured joke as he circled around Donnie and leaned his head on the box turtle’s shoulder.

“You’re one to talk, peanut head!” Leonardo laughed, “Your head looks like Stewie Griffin’s in reverse!”

“Ha ha.” Donatello faux-laughed, “Very funny, Leon.”

Donnie shivered as Michelangelo scrambled up his shell, using the older turtle’s tech for hand and foot holds. “You’re so smart, other Donnie!”

“Uh— heh— thanks?” Donnie’s cheeks hurt from smiling so wide. 

Raphael whistled, and his brothers all dislodged themselves from Donnie to heed his call. “Come on, Mad Dogz! April needs us!”

Another uproar of agreement sounded.

“I have an ideeeahhh!” Donatello purposely exaggerated the last word, “Let’s take the turtle tank!”

That suggestion sparked a series of cheers. 

“You do have a turtle tank right?” Donatello asked, his brothers excited cheering still sounding behind him.

“Well— yeah— but—“

“Great!” Donatello didn't let him finish, and Donnie couldn’t help but wonder if it was on purpose.

“Wait— you’re not really supposed to…” Donnie’s voice only got softer as the cheers drowned him out and the other four set off searching for the tank, “Take it out of the lair without… oh never mind.”

Donnie followed reluctantly after them. 

When they finally found the room they had been searching for, Leo blocked their path before they could enter. While the rest of the brothers stared at Leo— Donatello annoyed, Michelangelo concerned, and Raphael confused— Leonardo was quick to confront the box turtle.

“Hey guy, we were trying to get through there you know.”

“I know.” Leo crossed his arms pointedly.

“What, you the new door? Cause I’m not really seeing any working handles.” 

Leonardo pretended to look all around Leo for a handle before returning to stand in a similar stance as the older shinobi, except more relaxed. 

“Waiiiiit~ Are you like the sphinx? Gotta answer a riddle to get past you and if we get it wrong you just stare at us disappointedly!” Leonardo said the last part of the sentence in a low voice that tried to mimic Leo, standing up a little straighter and making sure to be loud. “Waitwaitwait, lemme guess: What’s green and uglier than a half-drowned mutant mole rat? And the answer is you! What’s my prize?”

Leonardo cupped his hands together and batted his eyes innocently, standing on one foot as he posed.

Leo didn't even address the annoying slider. “Donnie. What are you doing?” He asked slowly.

Donnie’s head shrank slowly into his shell. “Sorry Leo… I tried to stop them.”

“He spotted our April.” Raphael explained calmly.

“And so you thought you could just bully my brother into taking you out to get her?” Leo pulled up to his full height to try and tower over Raphael, even if the difference was only a few inches.

“Wha— bully?” Raphael frowned, not flinching at the attempt at a threat and looking more concerned for Donnie than for what Leo could do for him, “I didn't mean to bully him— did— did I?” 

Raphael looked back at Donnie with soft eyes. Donnie was looking incredibly guilty, his eyes locked on the floor as he sniffled softly and adjusted his glasses. Raphael gave a long, almost mournful sigh and approached Donnie.

“Gee, I’m sorry. I didn't mean to press you into anything.” Raphael apologized, “I just really wanted to find our April.”

The rest of the collection of mutants muttered similar apologies, Leonardo even giving a bow to the box turtle. Donnie looked to Leo to make sure he wasn’t the only one made uneasy by this strange situation. Leo seemed to carry a similar sentiment.

“Don’t worry— we’ll go out and find your April.” Leo said finally when he was able to, “But you all need to stay here.”

“Stay here?” Leonardo shot back, “Why?”

Leo was more than happy to challenge the slider again, almost glad he finally got the mutants attention. “My brothers and I know this city better than you.”

“Yeah, and we know our April better than you! And you’re not my leader!”

At a simple touch on the shoulder from Raphael, Leonardo immediately calmed down. “We won’t get in your way.” Raphael addressed Leo.

“You better not.” Leo said after a hesitation, so used to an aggressive remark that a kind one threw him off guard for a moment. “Suit up Don. We roll out in five. You two as well!” Leo called across the lair to Raph and Mikey.

“What?” Leonardo turned to Raphael with a hushed voice, “You can’t be serious!”

“I’m not.” Raphael whispered softly out of the corner of his mouth. “I said we wouldn’t get in their way, and we won’t. Never said we weren’t going.”

Leonardo understood immediately and gave a soft laugh, punching Raphael playfully in the shoulder. “April, here we come.”

[elsewhereuniversity]

What has 4 legs at dawn, 2 legs at noon, 3 legs at dusk, and no legs at midnight?

Nothing I can say to this is better than Terry Pratchett’s Pyramids:

‘The answer is: “A Man”,’ said the Sphinx. 'Now, don’t put up a fight, please, it releases unpleasant chemicals into the bloodstream.’

Teppic backed away from a slashing paw. 'Hold on, hold on,’ he said. 'What do you mean, a man?’

'It’s easy,’ said the Sphinx. 'A baby crawls in the morning, stands on both legs at noon, and at evening an old man walks with a stick. Good, isn’t it?’

Teppic bit his lip. 'We’re talking about one day here?’ he said doubtfully.

There was a long, embarrassing silence.

'It’s a wossname, a figure of speech,’ said the Sphinx irritably, making another lunge.

'No, no, look, wait a minute,’ said Teppic. 'I’d like us to be very clear about this, right? I mean, it’s only fair, right?’

'Nothing wrong with the riddle,’ said the Sphinx. 'Damn good riddle. Had that riddle for fifty years, sphinx and cub.’ It thought about this. 'Chick,’ it corrected.

It’s a good riddle,’ Teppic said soothingly. 'Very deep. Very moving. The whole human condition in a nutshell. But you’ve got to admit, this doesn’t all happen to one individual in one day, does it?’

'Well. No,’ the Sphinx admitted. 'But that is self-evident from the context. An element of dramatic analogy is present in all riddles,’ it added, with the air of one who had heard the phrase a long time ago and rather liked it, although not to the extent of failing to eat the originator.

'Yes, but,’ said Teppic crouching down and brushing a clear space on the damp sand, 'is there internal consistency within the metaphor? Let’s say for example that the average life expectancy is seventy years, okay?’

'Okay,’ said the Sphinx, in the uncertain tones of someone who has let the salesman in and is now regretfully contemplating a future in which they are undoubtedly going to buy life insurance.

‘Right. Good. So noon would be age 35, am I right? Now considering that most children can toddle at a year or so, the four legs reference is really unsuitable, wouldn’t you agree? I mean, most of the morning is spent on two legs. According to your analogy’ he paused and did a few calculations with a convenient thighbone- 'only about twenty minutes immediately after 00.00 hours, half an hour tops, is spent on four legs. Am I right? Be fair.’

'Well-’ said the Sphinx.

'By the same token you wouldn’t be using a stick by six p.m. because you’d be only, er, 52,’ said Teppic, scribbling furiously. 'In fact you wouldn’t really be looking at any kind of walking aid until at least half past nine, I think. That’s on the assumption that the entire lifespan takes place over one day which is, I believe I have already pointed out, ridiculous. I’m sorry, it’s basically okay, but it doesn’t work.’

'Well,’ said the Sphinx, but irritably this time, 'I don’t see what I can do about it. I haven’t got any more. It’s the only one I’ve ever needed.’

'You just need to alter it a bit, that’s all.’

'How do you mean?’

'Just make it a bit more realistic.’

'Hmm.’ The Sphinx scratched its mane with a claw.

'Okay,’ it said doubtfully. 'I suppose I could ask: What is it that walks on four legs’

'Metaphorically speaking,’ said Teppic.

'Four legs, metaphorically speaking,’ the Sphinx agreed, 'for about-’

'Twenty minutes, I think we agreed.’

'Okay, fine, twenty minutes in the morning, on two legs…’

'But I think calling it in “the morning” is stretching it a bit,’ said Teppic. 'It’s just after midnight. I mean, technically it’s the morning, but in a very real sense it’s still last night, what do you think?’

A look of glazed panic crossed the Sphinx’s face.

'What do you think?’ it managed.

'Let’s just see where we’ve got to, shall we? What, metaphorically speaking, walks on four legs just after midnight, on two legs for most of the day-’

'Barring accidents,’ said the Sphinx, pathetically eager to show that it was making a contribution.

'Fine, on two legs barring accidents, until at least suppertime, when it walks with three legs-’

'I’ve known people use two walking sticks,’ said the Sphinx helpfully.

'Okay. How about: when it continues to walk on two legs or with any prosthetic aids of its choice?’

The Sphinx gave this some consideration.

'Ye-ess,’ it said gravely. 'That seems to fit all eventualities.’

'Well?’ said Teppic.

'Well what?’ said the Sphinx.

'Well, what’s the answer?’

The Sphinx gave him a stony look, and then showed its fangs.

'Oh no,’ it said. 'You don’t catch me out like that. You think I’m stupid? You’ve got to tell me the answer.’

'Oh, blow,’ said Teppic.

'Thought you had me there, didn’t you?’ said the Sphinx.

'Sorry.’

'You thought you could get me all confused, did you?’ The Sphinx grinned.

'It was worth a try,’ said Teppic.

'Can’t blame you. So what’s the answer, then?’

Teppic scratched his nose.

'Haven’t a clue,’ he said. 'Unless, and this is a shot in the dark, you understand, it’s: A Man.’

The Sphinx glared at him.

'You’ve been here before, haven’t you?’ it said accusingly.

'No.’

'Then someone’s been talking, right?’

'Who could have talked? Has anyone ever guessed the riddle?’ said Teppic.

'No!’

'Well, then. They couldn’t have talked, could they?’

The Sphinx’s claws scrabbled irritably on its rock.

'I suppose you’d better move along, then,’ it grumbled.

'Thank you,’ said Teppic.

'I’d be grateful if you didn’t tell anyone, please,’ added the Sphinx, coldly. 'I wouldn’t like to spoil it for other people.’

[drsilverfish]

A Pearl of Great Price - 14x13 Lebanon

Well, Supernatural’s 300th episode was SO affectingly emotional. And beautifully so.

But what exactly is up with that magic pearl in 14x13 Lebanon?

Continuing my meta series on the Jungian themes of S14 (have I mentioned how much I LOVE S14?) I’m going to talk about the significance of the Baizhu, the heart’s desire granting pearl of the episode, as the pearl of great price. 

In particular I’m going to talk about the pearl as holding special significance as the object which permits Dean to confront (and make peace with) the ghost of John Winchester. The pearl helps to move on Dean’s psychological haunting by an internalised construct of his father, which has oppressed and repressed him for so long  - part of the Jungian Shadow-work of the season. 

So, why was a pearl the magical object chosen to grant Dean’s wish-of-the-heart, thus altering the time-lines to resurrect John Winchester?

Pearls have significance in the Bible as metaphors for Heaven, because of their beauty and value...

In Revelations, the gates of Heaven are made of pearls, hence the pearly gates. And in the parable of the pearl, the “pearl of great price” is commonly interpreted to represent Heaven:

”Again, the kingdom of heaven is like unto a merchant man, seeking goodly pearls: Who, when he had found one pearl of great price, went and sold all that he had, and bought it.”

— Matthew 13:45-46,

King James Bible

So, the pearl grants Dean’s wish for what he had long imagined as a kind of Heaven - his original family, Mom, Dad, Sam and himself, all together again. 

But, as with most wish stories (and I’m sure @prairiedust​ will be writing a great meta about fairytales and wishes) - be careful what you wish for is the maxim here.

Because Dean finds that the price the pearl exacts is too high. 

If they accept the world the pearl has delivered, he and Sam will, eventually (as the timelines course correct) no longer be hunting together. Sam will be a lawyer and a kale-eating motivational speaker (a hilarious nod to Tom Cruise’s dick character in Magnolia) and Dean will be on the FBI’s “most wanted” list again. They will be separated. Neither will the brothers have the gift of their mother’s return, because Mary will never have been resurrected by Amara. Additionally, their adopted Nephilim son Jack will not exist, because Lucifer (presumably) will remain in the Cage. And finally, Castiel will not have escaped his endless obedience mind-wipes in Heaven, thanks to his transformational encounter with Dean, starting with the raising of the elder Winchester from perdition. Instead, Cas will stand at that dick-in-Heaven functionary Zaccharia’s side, and will neither know nor love the Winchesters. He will still belong to Heaven (and not to Dean). 

So, the pearl can be understood as the pearl of great price, because the price the pearl requires is simply too great, and the “Heaven” it offers is a false one.   

Dean chooses (with Sam’s full assent) in the end, all the pain, all the suffering of his and Sam’s lives, including his 40 years in Hell and Sam’s agony in the Cage with Lucifer, because that journey has brought them to who and where they are now. Dean chooses the found family that their journey has brought, not the (impossible) fantasy family of his boyish imaginings.  

JOHN: (to Sam and Dean): “And now you live in this secret bunker, with an angel and Lucifer’s kid?”

later....

JOHN (to Dean): “I guess that I’d hoped eventually that you would… get yourself a normal life, a peaceful life, a family…”

DEAN: “I have a family.”

(And oh boy is that ever the kind of conversation that happens between a hetero-normative parent and their queer kid - but that’s another meta).

However, there’s more, because as well as representing too great a price, and a false Heaven, thanks to its Biblical associations, the wish-granting pearl in Lebanon also links to the season’s Jungian themes. 

A pearl has also (I argue) been chosen by Dabb and Glynn as the episode’s wish-granting object, because of that object’s connection to alchemy. 

Jung’s key interpretive understanding of the mystical pseudo-science of alchemy, is his revelation that the transformation of matter in medieval alchemical texts can be understood as representative of the (potential for) the soul’s psychological journey towards greater self-actualization. 

“The alchemical operations were real, only this reality was not physical but psychological. Alchemy represents the projection of a drama both cosmic and spiritual in laboratory terms. The magnum opus had two aims: the rescue of the human soul and the salvation of the cosmos. What the alchemists called ‘matter’ was in reality the [unconscious] self...”

Carl Jung in Speaking: Interviews and Encounters ( p228) (in a 1952 interview with Mircea Eliade).  

Here is one of the earliest printed books on alchemy (originally 1546, by the reputed alchemist Bonus Ferrara, but translated into English, as here, in 1894):

You can actually read a copy of the translated text itself here:

https://archive.org/stream/newpearlofgreatp00laciiala/newpearlofgreatp00laciiala_djvu.txt 

The “pearl of great price” is another name for the “Philosopher’s Stone”. On a material level, in alchemy, this is the supposedly mystical and magical substance which could turn base metals like mercury into gold. So alchemical texts, like Bonas’ one above, read in part as weird chemistry recipe books. But, on a metaphorical level, this chemistry was understood (in Bonas’ book and elsewhere) as analogous to the soul’s journey to God:

“The Sages represent the Stone as bearing the same relation to the metals which is borne by form to substance, or, soul to body.”

Jung takes that Christian interpretation of alchemy (made by correspondence of the world below with the world above) and transmutes it into a psychological one. For Jung, the alchemical work is the work which psychoanalysis can assist a person with - the work of facing and integrating with one’s Shadow self.

My previous series of meta on S14 and the Shadow is here:

http://drsilverfish.tumblr.com/post/180906003584/the-shadow-14x08

http://drsilverfish.tumblr.com/post/181122764984/14x09-the-spear-jungian-decoder-ring-edition

http://drsilverfish.tumblr.com/post/182299438269/jung-and-deans-journey-towards-self-integration

http://drsilverfish.tumblr.com/post/182486474324/ouroboros-in-prophet-and-loss-14x12 

So, how does the episode’s pearl of great price (aka the Philosopher’s Stone, aka the mystical substance which makes possible the soul’s journey to God, aka, according to Jung, that which makes possible profound psychological progress) happen for Dean, in particular, in Lebanon (given that he was the one whose wish the pearl granted in the first place)?

Well, Dean has been running from an internalised psychological construct of his father, a haunting by John Winchester’s ghost, if you will, for a very long time.  

The opening sequence to 14x13 Lebanon is key in recognising this. Because one of the flashbacks we get is to 14x04 Mint Condition, in which Dean confronts the ghost of “Hatchet Man”. 

Here is the 14x13 Lebanon flash-back at the start of the ep. Dean, with the axe:

confronts the ghost of the comic store owner, animating the life-size model of “Hatchet Man”:

As my meta on Mint Condition made clear at the time, 

http://drsilverfish.tumblr.com/post/179735406854/batman-vs-superman-connection-and-conflict-in 

the episode, “...invites us to see Stuart’s conflict with the ghost of his father-figure, the comic store owner, as a mirror for Dean’s conflict with the ghost of his own father, for whom AU Michael (in the narrative arc of S14) acts as a mirror (AU Michael = John Winchester = Dean’s own internalised repression via the metaphor of Dean’s “drowning” possession by Michael).”

That the psychological construct of the ghost of John Winchester has been a very repressive internal construct, for Dean, is further symbolised in S14 both by Dean locking AU!Michael in a closet in his mind AND by the Ma’lak box Dean has built and has been intent on locking himself inside for all eternity.

Just to re-emphasise this, the opening sequence of 14x13 also shows us AU!Michael once again banging on the doors of Dean’s mind-closet:

Dean repressed a lot of himself in order to be a “good little soldier” for his Dad, in order to try and be the parent for Sam that his Dad was manifestly failing to be, and in order to embody the kind of (straight) masculinity he thought his father approved of. 

So we can think of John in 14x13 Lebanon as partly representing the opportunity (at last) for Dean to confront that internal “ghost of John Winchester”, i.e. for Dean to confront a part of himselfL

When Dean is able to hear his father tell him he is proud of him, when Dean is able tell his father, out loud, that he loves him, when Dean is able to tell his father that he has a found family that includes Castiel and Jack, when Dean is able to tell Sam out loud (as a result of his encounter with his father) this:  

DEAN: “Look, we’ve been through some tough times, there’s no denying that, and for the longest time, I blamed Dad. I mean, hell, I blamed Mom too, y’know, I was angry. But, say we could send Dad back, knowing everything, why stop there? Why not send him even further back, and let some other poor sons of bitches save the world? But, here’s the problem? Who does that make us? Because I gotta be honest. I don’t know who that Dean Winchester is. And I am good with who I am...”

that is Dean being able to tell himself all those things:

I am proud of you

I love you

I have a “found family” whom I love

I am good with who I am.

Jung tells us that the more we run from the Shadow, the more its terrifying haunting power over us grows. It is only when we turn and confront it, and embrace it (as the repressed parts of ourselves) that we can achieve psychological growth. 

As I said in my meta last week on “The Riddle of the Sphinx” in 14x12 Prophet and Loss:

“The Jungian solution, which the S14 narrative is offering to the metaphorical Riddle of the Sphinx, is, to turn around and embrace the Shadow-self (the parts of oneself one has repressed) and in so doing, to evolve - to become more fully human.

http://drsilverfish.tumblr.com/post/182482293379/the-riddle-of-the-sphinx-14x12-prophet-and-loss

The pearl of great price in 14x13 Lebanon, in symbolising the transformative alchemical power of the Philosopher’s Stone, has enabled Dean, in confronting and embracing the ghost of his father, to undertake some powerful Shadow-work. Shadow-work that will, eventually, help him to defeat both the repression locker in his mind where AU!Michael resides and the eternal repression locker represented by the Ma’lak box. 

[libramonthlyhoroscope1]

Dreams dragons

Daenys the Dreamer

When Daenys Targaryen was still a maiden, she had visions, including a powerful prophetic dream that Valyria would be destroyed. Her father had enough faith in her prophetic abilities to relocate his family to Dragonstone. Valyria and all the other dragonlords were destroyed twelve years later.

Aegon the Conqueror

According to a semi-canon source, Lord Aegon Targaryen of Dragonstone had a dragon dream that contributed to his decision to conquer the Seven Kingdoms.

Dreams dragons

Prince Daeron Targaryen told Dunk about a dream he had. A great red dragon would fall on Ser Duncan, dead, but the knight would walk off alive. He said he did not know what it meant, but that his dreams came true and that he was scared of Dunk. The dream turned out to be metaphorical, referring to the death of Prince Baelor Targaryen.

Prince Aegon Targaryen mentions another dream of Daeron's:

"I'm not stupid, ser. Someday the dragons will return. My brother Daeron's dreamed of it, and King Aerys read it in a prophecy. Maybe it will be my egg that hatches. That would be splendid."

Daemon II Blackfyre

Daemon II Blackfyre, in the guise of 'John the Fiddler', talks to Duncan, saying that he recognized him on the road. Duncan had appeared to him in a dream in which Duncan wore the all-white armor of the Kingsguard. The Fiddler says his dreams always come true, as he dreamt his brothers dead once and also a dragon hatching from an egg at Whitewalls.

Maester Aemon

Maester Aemon tells Samwell Tarly:

I see them in my dreams, Sam. I see a red star bleeding in the sky. I still remember red. I see their shadows on the snow, hear the crack of leathern wings, feel their hot breath. My brothers dreamed of dragons too, and their dreams killed them, every one.

As he weakens he spends more time sleeping. Sometimes he would call for Sam, insisting that he had to tell him something, but he would often forget what he meant to say by the time Sam arrived. Even when he did recall his talk was all a jumble. He spoke of dreams and never named the dreamer, of a glass candle that could not be lit and eggs that would not hatch. He said the sphinx was the riddle, not the riddler. He asked Sam to read for him from a book by Septon Barth, whose writings had been burned during the reign of Baelor the Blessed. Once he woke up weeping, wailing:

the dragon must have three heads…but I am too old to be one of them. I should be with her, showing her the way, but my body has betrayed me.

He mentions "the prophecy" and his "brother’s dream" to Sam - but does not mention what prophecy or which brother to Sam, or what the dream entailed.

Daenerys Targaryen

Daenerys Targaryen has dragon dreams preceding the birth of her three dragons. She dreams of a black dragon prior to her wedding day:

Viserys was hitting her, hurting her. She was naked, clumsy with fear. She ran from him, but her body seemed thick and ungainly. He struck her again. She stumbled and fell. He struck her again. She stumbled and fell. “You woke the dragon,” he screamed as he kicked her. “You woke the dragon, you woke the dragon.” Her thighs were slick with blood. She closed her eyes and whimpered. As if in answer, there was a hideous ripping sound and the crackling of some great fire. When she looked again Viserys was gone, great columns of flame rose all around, and in the midst of them was the dragon. It turned its great head slowly. When its molten eyes found hers, she woke, shaking and covered with a fine sweat.

Newly wedded, when she is despairing in the Dothraki Sea, and feeling that she cannot go on, she dreams of a black dragon.

There was only her and the dragon. Its scales were black as night, wet and slick with blood. Her blood, Dany sensed. Its eyes were pools of molten magma, and when it opened its mouth, the flame came roaring out in a hot jet. She could hear it singing to her. She opened her arms to the fire, embraced it, let it swallow her whole, let it cleanse her cleanse her and temper her and scour her clean. She could feel her flesh sear and blacken and slough away, could feel her blood boil and turn to steam, and yet there was no pain. She felt strong and new and fierce.

After the birth of her three dragons, Daenerys Targaryen seems to no longer be dreaming of the black dragon, but she is plagued by other dreams and visions.

The night before the sack of Astapor, aboard the Balerion, Daenerys Targaryen has what may be a prophetic dream that may involve the Others:

That night she dreamt she was Rhaegar, riding to the Trident. But she was mounted on a dragon, not a horse. When she saw the Usurper’s rebel host across the river they were armored all in ice, but she bathed them in dragonfire and they melted away like dew and turned the Trident into a torrent. Some small part of her knew that she was dreaming, but another part exulted. As Queen of Meereen she chains Viserion and Rhaegal in the darkness of the Great Pyramid's pit and Drogon is lost to her in the Dothraki Sea. She is finding herself vexed by nightmares, and her dreams have changed, no longer offering her succour.

[what-even-is-thiss]

I got all the time in the world

Alright. *cracks knuckles* Oedipus. Pronounced Ed-eh-pus in America and Eeed-uh-pus in some other places. Warning for incest mention and violence mention. Hoo boy.

So there was this place called Thebes, right? Nice little city state. Got a nice army, prosperous citizens, a pretty standard ancient Greek setup. The king and queen of this place have a son. And the king is like “I’ll go and talk to the oracle (always a good idea) about my son’s future. Nothing bad ever comes of talking to the oracle!”

Yeah, little baby Oedipus was prophesied to kill his dad and do the sex with his mom.

So the parents did the natural thing here. The gods won’t let you kill a family member, but if the baby just happens to die out in the wilderness, I mean… that doesn’t really count, right? Nature killed the baby, not you. So they stick the baby boy out on the mountain to die but a shepherd finds him. Shepherd dude knows exactly who the baby is but is like… this is a baby. I’m not gonna let a baby die.

So baby Oedipus gets carted off to a far away city with a king and queen that just can’t seem to get a baby. So they adopt this found baby are like yup, we made this. Totally legit. And they raise Oedipus to be their heir.

Then Oedipus does the growing up thing, probably against his better instincts, and decides to visit the oracle (always a good idea) and there hears the same prophecy that was told to his birth father all those years ago. But see, he was never told he was adopted, so he doesn’t know his birth parents are in Thebes. Which is where he goes to try and escape his fate.

See, this is why you tell your kids if they’re adopted.

On the way he encounters two obstacles. The first is a traveling band of people that he gets in a quarrel with. They try to kill him but don’t know that Oedipus was a badass so he kills everyone but one of the men in the group. The second obstacle is the sphinx. And she’s right at the entrance to Thebes.

Now in Greek mythology the sphinx has the body of a lion and head of a woman and likes to ask riddles. This particular sphinx eats everyone that doesn’t know the answer to her riddle on the first try. Obviously this has been causing problems for people that want to you know, leave the city. Because like any other cat she is sitting in the most inconvenient spot ever. Right in the middle of the pathway, come on.

Now as preciously stated, Oedipus was a badass, but even he can’t take on a sphinx with skill or strength. She’s even more of a badass than he is and also very hungry. So the only option left is to try her riddle. The famous sphinx riddle is “What is the creature that walks on four legs in the morning, two legs at noon and three in the evening?”

Apparently Oedipus is good at abstract thinking too because he answers correctly. The answer is man (or humankind if you prefer) because a man crawls in early life, walks on two legs as a young person, and uses a cane to walk in his later years. Yeah, the day was some weird metaphor for a life. Anyways, the sphinx was so peeved that Oedipus solved her probably only riddle that she killed herself.

Hey, sphinx is dead, that’s cool. Now Oedipus is king because the people are so thankful for that. He can marry the queen Jocasta because the king died in a mysterious incident on the road that only left one survivor so now she’s single.

Hmmmmmm…

So a few happy years go by. Oedipus and his… new wife Jocasta, have no less than four children together. All of whom end up fighting later but that’s a different story.

But uh oh. Not everything is alright in Thebes. The city seems to be cursed. I wonder why. Everything is infertile. No new cows, new crops, new babies, nothing. The sexual reproduction thing just isn’t working. Everyone is hungry and has like no new babies. It’s a disaster, honestly. Oedipus, being the good king that he is, sends the former king’‘s brother to the oracle (always a good idea) to figure out what’s going on. The oracle says that the murderer of the former king must be brought to justice.

So Oedipus seeks out the blind prophet Tiresias (always a good idea) and asks him what’s up. Tiresias knows what’s up but understandably doesn’t want to say anything. Oedipus tries to poke him about it but Tiresias doesn’t budge. Then he angrily accuses Oedipus of killing the old king.

Tensions rise. Jocasta tells the story of her son that was left to die out in the wilderness that definitely wasn’t baby murder. Oedipus is nervously thinking that band of people he killed on his way to Thebes might have had the king in it. At this time he also receives word that his adoptive father has died. But see, Oedipus thinks that’s his birth father so he thinks at least for a moment that he’s avoided his prophecy.

Then the messenger reveals that Oedipus was adopted. Jacosta immediately puts two and two together and begs Oedipus to not keep looking for her former husband’s murderer. Oedipus refuses and calls for the man that witnessed the murder of the former king and the shepherd that had brought him to his adoptive parents to get clarification on both stories.

Yup, ya killed your dad and married your mom Oedipus. Good job trying to defy the oracle. Always a good idea.

Obviously shocked by this, Oedipus goes to find Jocasta only to see that she’s hanged herself in shame and now her lifeless body is hanging from the ceiling. Yay. So he does the natural thing and grabs the brooch off of her robes and stabs himself in the eyes with it and then goes to wander the wilderness blind for the rest of his days to pay penance.

And then there’s like a war or something but that doesn’t involve Oedipus really. So, the end!

[emjenenla]

See Who I Am, Break Through the Silence [a Zankyou no Terror Fanfic]

Title: See Who I Am, Break Through the Silence

Author: Emjen Enla (Fanfiction)/emjen_enla (Wattpad)/emjenenla (Tumblr)

Teaser: Slight AU of Episode 10. Shibazaki speaks to Nine while he’s in police custody.

Rating: PG-13/T

Canon/Timeline: Canon divergence from Episode 10 “Helter Skelter”

Dominant Characters: Nine, Shibazaki Kenjirō, appearances by Hamura and Kurahashi, mentions of Twelve and Mishima Lisa

Pairings: none

Warnings: Nine is a terrorist. He has an atomic bomb. He is also terminally ill.

Notes:

-Special thanks to Nightsmoke from Fanfiction and ao3. Since the show does a pretty poor job of giving us specifics of what’s going on with Five and Nine and why Twelve doesn’t show any symptoms, I used her stories to build my headcanons about all that stuff.

-Also, to those of you reading my Six of Crows fanfic, I hope to get part three out soon. (College is leaves you with so much free time…Not!)

Disclaimer: I don’t own Zankyou no Terror/Terror in Resonance or the song “See Who I Am” by Within Temptation. Special thanks to Nightsmoke!

--

“Remember, I can only give you a couple minutes,” Kurahashi said as Shibazaki and Hamura followed him down the dark hallways of the police station. “You’re not even supposed to be in the building so the sooner you can get in and out the better.”

“Do we know who he is?” Hamura asked, taking a couple jogging steps like a small child until he was walking alongside the older man.

“He was registered in one of the area high schools as Kokonoe Arata,” Kurahashi said. “He hasn’t gone to class since the first bombing. We think Sphinx number 2 might be another new student called Hisami Tōji who has also been chronically absent since the bombing. We did background checks on both of them, but it seems likely both identities are fabricated. We’ve had no luck in getting him to give us a real name.”

Normally that would have been a problem, but Shibazaki was fairly sure that in this situation there wasn’t a name for them to get. “Has there been any sign of Sphinx 2?”

“None,” Kurahashi said. “It’s making me nervous. He could easily be out there setting a bomb to go off if we don’t release his partner.”

“That’s unlikely,” Shibazaki said.

“How do you know?”

“Sphinx 1 turned himself in,” he explained. “No one would have to break him out if he hadn’t marched in here in the first place. Don’t get me wrong, I fully believe there’s a plan, and it probably involves a bomb, but it won’t be to break him out. Sphinx 1 is right where he wants to be; the trick will be figuring out exactly why this is where he wants to be.”

“That’s encouraging,” Hamura muttered.

They reached the door to the cell block. “We can’t move him to an interrogation room without the Americans getting wind of it,” Kurahashi said as he opened the door. “This will have to be good enough.”

He stepped inside and muttered a few words to the guards who left without glancing at Shibazaki and Hamura. Kurahashi motioned with a hand and they stepped through the door.

The cell block was empty aside from one cell directly opposite the door. Inside it a teenaged boy sat on a cot, his back against the wall and his cuffed hands draped over his drawn-up knees.

One of the most wanted terrorists in Japan watched them silently as they crossed the room. Kurahashi opened the cell door, Shibazaki stepped inside and the door closed behind him. He grabbed the cell’s single chair, spun it around and settled into it, resting his arms on the top of the seat. “Well,” he said. “You said you wanted to talk to me.”

Sphinx 1 just stared. He expression was unnervingly blank. Shibazaki stared back and tried to get a feel for the young man before him. He had slightly long black hair that looked freshly washed, like he’d taken a shower in preparation of turning himself in as a terrorist. His eyes were somewhere between blue and gray, and he was wearing surprisingly normal-looking black framed glasses. The black shirt he had on looked like the same shirt that he’d been wearing during the airport bombing.

That wasn’t what Shibazaki found alarming, though. The boy was almost impossibly thin and there were dark bags under his eyes. He had a pallor akin to snow, aside from the hectic splotches of red on his cheeks like he had a fever. All in all, he looked sick. Shibazaki hoped that someone had at least taken the kid’s temperature and given him some acetaminophen.

Sphinx 1 still hadn’t answered his question. Shibazaki wasn’t going to put himself at the disadvantage by asking the question again. They stared at each other for at least five minutes. Shibazaki heard Kurahashi and Hamura shifting and murmuring behind him, but ignored them and continued staring pleasantly at the terrorist before him.

Finally, Sphinx 1 cleared his throat. “Did you figure out about us?” he asked quietly, his eyes deep, old and watchful. “Do you understand now?”

It was like being struck by lightning, suddenly Shibazaki realized that Sphinx 1 and 2 had wanted someone to look into the Athena Program. They’d wanted someone to look into where they’d come from. He’d acted exactly as they’d hoped. The thought of playing into the hands of a pair of terrorists was more than a little disconcerting.

He swallowed around that massive realization and forced his voice to be level and pleasant when he replied, “Are you number nine or number twelve?”

Sphinx 1’s emotionless masked cracked. A look of childlike relief spread across his face, and he leaned his forehead against his knees for a few moments. When he looked up again his eyes were wet and there was a tiny smile playing around one corner of his mouth. “I’m Nine,” he said.

“Alright,” Shibazaki said trying to regain his metaphorical balance. This conversation was going to be nothing like he’d originally thought it would. “And what would you have me call you?”

The boy’s eyes moved to Kurahashi and Hamura on the other side of the bars. He raised an eyebrow.

“I trust them,” Shibazaki said. “They’re not going anywhere.”

Sphinx 1 sighed. “You can call me Nine,” he said. “That’s what Twelve and Lisa call me.”

Lisa. Shibazaki filed the name away in the back of his mind. They’d calculated that there had to be another person beyond Sphinx 1 and 2 at the airport during the bombing, perhaps that was this Lisa person.

He didn’t mention any of these musings to Nine, however. “And I assume Sphinx 2 is Twelve?” he asked instead. Nine nodded his face still flooded with adolescent hope despite the minor distraction of Kurahashi and Hamura. Shibazaki went on. “Where is he right now?”

Nine’s face fell immediately. “I don’t know exactly,” he said. “We split up, but I do know that wherever he is, he’s not planning any more trouble for you.”

“Why did you split up?” Shibazaki pushed as gently as possible.

“We had…” Nine sighed and fiddled with the handcuffs. “He decided something else was more important than completing our plans.”

Shibazaki couldn’t say he was exactly surprised at that something like that had happened. The stress of what they were attempting had to be immense, especially for a pair of teenage boys. “And what are you plans?” he asked.

Nine looked up and dropped his legs to the floor. The emotionless mask was back. “Sphinx is ready to make a demand.”

Shibazaki felt like he’d been given whiplash from the sudden change in topic. He forced himself to focus. Sphinx had never made a demand before; this was important.

“I want a press conference,” Nine said. Back straight, shoulders back, voice shockingly adult. “As many camera crews as possible from as many countries as possible. I want it broadcast live in Japan, and I want to be allowed to speak freely.”

Shibazaki couldn’t help it; he raised an eyebrow. “That’s all you want?” he said. “You plant multiple bombs and post complicated riddles on the internet and all you want is a press conference?”

“I want people to listen to what I have to say,” Nine said, eyes boring into Shibazaki as if expecting him to understand.

It took a minute, but then Shibazaki did. “You want to tell people about the Athena Project,” he said. “That’s what all these bombings are about.”

“If Twelve and I had just dumped our story on the internet,” Nine said. “Only the nutcases would have believed us. Now we’re one of the biggest stories in the world. People will listen. Important people will listen.”

So that was what this was all about. These kids had gone around threatening the lives of thousands just to get people’s attention. Shibazaki wasn’t sure whether to be annoyed or pitying. “And what if you don’t get your press conference?” he asked. “What happens then?”

Nine’s face was cold as ice. “Then I tell you that Twelve and I didn’t steal plutonium from Aomori; we stole an atomic bomb. If I don’t get my press conference, a failsafe will activate and the bomb will go off.”

“What?” Hamura’s body crashed against the cell bars, but Shibazaki didn’t let himself look away from the terrorist in front of him. “You can’t do that!” Hamura roared.

“I won’t tell you where it is no matter what you do to me,” Nine said calmly. “Finding Twelve won’t help you; he doesn’t know where it is either. You can either give me my press conference or the bomb will go off. There are no other options.”

Shibazaki took a deep breath and forced himself to relax. Shouting would do no good. “You do realize,” he said in a tone of voice almost as calm as Nine’s, “that if you set off an atomic bomb in Tokyo while you’re still in Tokyo, you’ll die along with everyone else.”

There was a long pause, then Nine’s right shoulder rose in an almost imperceptible shrug.

“You don’t care?” Shibazaki asked.

“Not particularly,” Nine admitted. “In fact, the bomb might be preferable to the alternative.”

This boy didn’t care if he died during these bombings. He just wanted the story to get out no matter what happened to him. It took a moment for the reasons for that to sink it, for Shibazaki to remember something that Mamiya had said. “You’re dying,” Shibazaki said. “Both of you. That’s why you don’t care what happens to you.”

That look came back. The one of relief. The one of finally being seen. Nine looked like someone had thrown him a life vest in the middle of the ocean. “Degenerative encephalopathy,” he grinned darkly. “They really should have done more testing on those drugs before they pumped us full of them.”

Shibazaki was fairly sure Hamura and Kurahashi weren’t breathing which he understood completely; he wasn’t breathing either. “How long?” he finally got out.

“Hard to say exactly; neither of us have had an MRI since we escaped,” Nine said, gaze floating away evasively. “Twelve might have a year or so; he didn’t have as many treatments before we escaped. I’ve probably got a matter of months. Two, perhaps, maybe less.”

Shibazaki had completely lost his battle at remaining stoic. He gaped. He knew that knowing that he was talking to a terminally ill seventeen-year-old shouldn’t change anything, but somehow it did. “I’m sorry,” he said, and that seemed so inadequate, but he didn’t know what would be better.

“I’ve been dying for a long time,” Nine said looking back up at Shibazaki. “I’m used to it. What I want is for people to know what happened to us so that the people who did this to us don’t get to try again once they come up with a new cocktail of drugs. If I do that anyway other than a live press conference under the protection of the police everything will just be swept under the rug. The story needs to get out in a way they can’t control.”

The kid leaned forward, eyes wide and earnest. “I don’t want to kill anyone,” he said. “If you let me do this; I promise I won’t set the bomb off. The instant the press conference is over, I’ll tell you where it is and how to disable it. I won’t cause any more problems. I’ll plead guilty in court and everything. Just let me do this first. Please.”

Shibazaki stared at him for what the longest minute of his life. He knew he shouldn’t be touched by the boy’s story. He knew that nothing excused the violence Sphinx had wreaked on Tokyo. Still, he wanted to find a way to make something better for this child who obviously had little experience with kindness. He wanted to help.

He took a slow, careful breath. “You’ll get your press conference, kid,” he promised, not carrying how angry Kurahashi got at him for making that decision. “It’s the least I can do.”

--

[the-desolated-quill]

Private View - Inside No. 9 blog

(SPOILER WARNING: The following is an in-depth critical analysis. If you haven’t seen this episode yet, you may want to before reading this review)

Another series has come to an end and overall I thought Series 3 was a bit of a mixed bag. The Riddle Of The Sphinx left a sour taste in my mouth and while The Devil of Christmas and The Bill were both fun, their final twists did run the risk of dismantling all the good stuff that came before. Thankfully Empty Orchestra and Diddle Diddle Dumpling were there to pick up the pieces, both episodes I consider to be some Reece Shearsmith and Steve Pemberton’s best work. And now we come to the Series 3 finale, Private View.

Set inside an art gallery called Nine (a restaurant, a shoe and now an art gallery? Shearsmith and Pemberton are really starting to push their luck here with regards to what ‘Inside No. 9′ means. Who would name their art gallery Nine? Is it the ninth art gallery in the set?), Private View is a good old fashioned murder mystery. After a surprise cameo appearance from Peter Kay (’Ooooh! I spilt me Ritz!’ ROFL XD), we’re introduced to the premise. A group of people have been invited to a private viewing of the late Elliot Quinn’s art exhibition called Fragments. They’ve never met each other before, have no idea why they were invited and only a few seem to have any interest in art. And then the deaths occur...

The first time I watched this episode, I wasn’t too fond of it. Sure there were some good jokes, a creepy atmosphere thanks to the lighting and set design, and the reveal that Fiona Shaw’s character was the murderer was a good twist, but I thought it was all a bit flat. The characters aren’t given much development and it all feels a bit rushed. But having watched this episode a couple more times for the purposes of this review, I discovered that Private View actually has a lot more to say than I initially thought.

Private View isn’t so much a murder mystery, but rather a pastiche of murder mysteries. The episode follows all the same beats, including the characters stupidly deciding to split up so that the killer can pick them off one by one, and the episode openly makes fun of that fact. Felicity Kendall’s character has a whole monologue talking about how difficult it is to write a good murder mystery and describing the cliches whilst those same cliches play out in real time. 

The characters are all pretty one dimensional, but it seems almost deliberate. They do seem to have a lot in common with the characters you’d find in Cluedo. Characters who have just one definable character trait, and the episode openly makes fun of that too. When the tragically named Kenneth Williams (played by Steve Pemberton) talks about how much he hates comedies, someone says there must be funny side to him lurking deep inside him, and he just flat out says no. The episode tries to dig deeper into a character and the character dismisses the attempt. It’s hard not to see this as deliberate. Even the murderer’s motivation seems suspiciously weak. She reveals she’s Elliot Quinn’s mum who is trying to recover the organs her son donated after his death, and as she describes why each victim doesn’t deserve the ‘gift’ they were given, her reasons become more and more flimsy. By the time she gets to Reece Shearsmith’s character (who had a heart transplant), her reason is because he’s a ‘heartless critic’, to which the character scoffs. Even he recognises how flimsy this is and Fiona Shaw’s character just shrugs and goes ‘whatever.’ And that perfectly describes the whole attitude of this episode. It’s not this deep, complex murder mystery, but it’s not really trying to be neither. 

Given the 30 minute time frame, there’s no way they could make a true whodunnit (they practically just tell you who the murderer is about halfway through the episode), so they just focus on what people would want to see. A tense atmosphere, increasingly grotesque deaths and dark humour to undercut the threat. As paper thin as Private View is, it’s all done with this kind of tongue in cheek attitude that you can’t help but find quite endearing. The actors all embrace their caricatures completely and are extremely funny. Felicity Kendall in particular got some massive laughs from me. When she goes to hide from the killer in the toilets only to switch cubicles because of the stink, I nearly bust a gut laughing. And Fiona Shaw, once her character has been revealed to be the killer, just milks it for all its worth. It’s a truly delightful performance.

But it’s not just a murder mystery pastiche. There also seem to be elements of self parody in there too. Shearsmith and Pemberton are not and probably never will be household names due to the nature of their writing. Most mainstream critics dismiss their work as being too grotesque and weird, but that’s precisely the reason why some people (myself included) love shows like The League Of Gentlemen and Psychoville. Private View does very much embrace that fully, which surprisingly leads into a very interesting comment about art. Artists like Damien Hirst are hugely successful, but whereas some like myself can’t see the artistic merit of a bisected cow or a diamond encrusted skull, others seem to get a lot out of those kinds of exhibits. Art, like beauty, is in the eye of the beholder, and it’s this idea that permeates throughout Private View and starts to take on a more meta meaning.

When Elliot Quinn died and donated his organs, he intended to posthumously bring the recipients together three years later to Fragments. A living exhibit where the guests are the art. His mum, believing they squandered the ‘gifts’ they were given, kills them to steal the organs back and turn them into an exhibit instead. It’s pretty clear that her son’s death has driven her completely mad, as demonstrated by her behaviour as we see her practically worship Elliot Quinn almost as a godlike figure. But as grotesque and morally reprehensible as this is, Shearsmith’s character sees true artistic value in it, which leads to final twist where he kills her and uses her heart for the exhibit instead, taking all the credit. I feel this is a very appropriate metaphor for Shearsmith and Pemberton’s work. It’ll never be mainstream, deemed by some as too grotesque or macabre, but it’s the kind of thing they enjoy writing and what many people enjoy watching. So what seems, at first glance, to be a paper thin murder mystery is actually a surprisingly deep and thought provoking look into the often subjective meaning and value of art.

While it doesn’t quite have the same punch as say The Harrowing, Private View serves as a decent series finale that accepts its limitations and finds creative ways of twisting and exploiting them for our own amusement.

And that’s it. Series 3 is finished. Now when does Series 4 come out?