#oh themes of memory and legacy my beloved…

[translucent-cryptid]

not allowed the glory of a violent death

[delphiniumblooms]

GUYS I FORGOT TO SUBJECT YOU TO MY THUNDERBOLTS* THOUGHTS! i watched it last week!!

amazing showstopping incredible. went in with high expectations and came out with them exceeded.

YELENA my beloved. oh strong woman broken girl the light that refused to be put out. ALEXEI FATHERING 😭😭 he is the gift that keeps giving. BUCKY THE CONGRESSMAN i loved his politicianspeak ugh so realistic and hilarious. i was so happy to see him again being badass and fighting evil <3 and i loved the hating on john walker. military asshole get outta here! if we’re doing comparisons (which as i say below is kinda pointless) he’s more Tony than he is Steve, which is interesting. i have no opinions about Ava other than that i am very entertained by how British she is 🫶🏼

the CALLBACKS to the Avengers!

i was YELLING (in the theatre) at Valentina like HOW DARE YOU APPROPRIATE THE AVENGERS TOWER AND THE AVENGERS MEMORIES AND LEGACY how DARE oh TERRIBLE TERRIBLE WOMAN

back in nyc with blorbos teaming up and fighting together aggh

THE BOOST ALEXEI GAVE YELENA JUST LIKE THE BOOST STEVE GAVE NATASHA!! i love how the new avengers aren’t copypasted versions of the old avengers but this callback and nod to the other super soldier and ex red room assassin duo was marvellous

the reminder (intentional or not) of the Sokovia Accords argument. i caught on when valentina started going all ‘i control the greatest superhero’ and i was cackling with glee when he started rebelling against her like AHA. THERE. controlling superheroes? they tried it before and failed, valentina… and for good reason too. it’s hilarious that she thought she could do it better

yelena and bob bob and yelena ohhhh my heart. i knew there was gonna be some connection when they jump cut to yelena being like 🤨 when bob said he couldnt remember anything like oh dear this girl with such a big heart and such a shit past 😭😥😥 i think it was cool of the writers to be respectful of yelena fans who believe she is aroace, and make their relationship so refreshingly innocent and genuine. there were zero jokes from the others about their closeness which i also SO appreciate. let the girl pay it forward in peace! i loved that what alexei and natasha did for her she did the same for bob. that’s exactly what love and compassion is like: it’s contagious!!

call it corny but i loved the theme of redemption and forgiving yourself and trying again. i saw someone say that it was kinda lame bc it was like ‘saved the day with the magic of friendship’ and like nOoOoo it wasn’t so simplistic at all!! guys!! they won by piling on him to stop him beating himself up (literally)!! i was fiercely whispering ‘ohhh yess get loved idiot’ during that scene. guys it’s not just about friendship it’s about love conquering apathy light conquering darkness compassion conquering hatred y’all!! they did not shy away from talking about suicide ideation and i can tell you that shit HITS if you can understand what it feels like. it’s about healing together! loving each other (as best as we can) through the darkness! i literally want to hug the writers this was such a good show.

[completeoveranalysis]

[4]

And Tomoyo just whips it out immediately, because she knew he was going to bring it up in this conversation. Not even as a seer, because she can't do that anymore - just because she knows him so well.

AND OH THAT FINAL PANEL, WITH KUROGANE REFLECTED IN TOMOYO’S EYES. AMAZING. BEAUTIFUL. 

Also the SECOND funniest way to tie the theme of doubles into Kurogane’s plot - there are just… two of him when reflected in someone’s eyes. 

I WILL TAKE IT. THANK YOU CLAMP.

The fact that Kurogane is surprised to see it is SUCH a nice touch. Even though he had a copy of it for such a long time, this is the ACTUAL link to his family. This is the ACTUAL symbol of his past and everything his family legacy means. It's not just a memory anymore - it's sitting right here in front of him, carefully wrapped up and cared for all this time.

It's the final stage in Kurogane's backstory coming back around. It's the continuation of the exact conversation they had in this exact room about this exact sword all those years ago. It's Kurogane finally returning home, not to be with Tomoyo as he once thought, but to continue the promise he made to his family all those years ago, and to take down the man who slaughtered everyone he loved.

It's, once again, everything coming full circle.

Proof that Tomoyo is the best: SHE EVEN PROVIDED THE FLASHBACKS TO THE EXACT SCENE I WENT LOOKING FOR.

THANK YOU TOMOYO, MY BELOVED. If I did not just hunt this down moments ago this would have been the EXACT context I needed.

That aside, Tomoyo pulling a “So I kept it” is infinitely funny to me and this is such a good turn of events. 

It turns out that Kurogane’s mother foresaw certain future events and ALSO prepared for them ahead of time. 

Or at least that would fit the pattern of every other seer we have in the series. It’s possible she didn’t foresee anything at all and she just talked to Tomoyo as a general precaution, but either way! Here we are!

[goldensunset]

What do you think of Kairi, Xion, Naminé, and Aqua? Just general feelings, nothing too detailed if you don't want to-

like as a team, or individually?

as a team: oh how i WISH we could see it in canon. even if it were to end up borderline tokenism-y like with marvel. i would love to see the girl power squad idc i think they should hype each other up their color schemes together would be so pretty

kairi: my dearly beloved. yes the writers need to treat her better but so do the fans. she does have clearly defined character motivations and it’s weird to act like she doesn’t just bc they’re not ones that people like. she just wants stability and a home after having lost her memories and crash-landed somewhere as a toddler. she’s afraid of change but will do anything to stay with her friends in the midst of a fast-moving world because she’s lost them too many times. she’s a bit out of touch with them and sometimes clearly doesn’t know the right thing to do or say. i hope kh4 treats her kindly and gently and gives her more agency without trying to flatten her into a hashtag strong independent woman. i have high hopes for my little strawberry and wild daydreams about what i would love to see as her precise role in coming games. wrote some stuff in the tags here. i swear i thought i had more pre-written essays to draw on than that i know there’s so much i’m leaving out but i think i got the main points

xion: truly i will never be able to get over her story and especially her theme. what an incredibly well composed piece of music. honestly she and her theme were like a major factor as to me getting into this series. i’m very happy she’s alive after all that. i said a lot about her here already recently so i won’t burn myself out going into detail again. even that i feel like is a minor weak attempt at fully conveying my emotions regarding her. oh and a few more thoughts here

naminé: tbh thinking about chain of memories reduces me to a puddle but like in a bittersweet way as opposed to the pure bitterness of days. like sora’s interactions with her… their relationship even if it was brief and based on an illusion…the writing and animation and voice acting was legit so good man. i’m a wreck. nami is so beautiful and strong and horribly horribly sad but she gets overlooked… the thing is that even if she has people who love her she’s still nobody’s first choice. she doesn’t have her own place to go. she’s still lonely…

aqua: MAN she’s so interesting.. the way she’s carrying on eraqus’ legacy in both good and bad ways… the way she was corrupted after wandering a distorted world alone for a decade… the way she’s headstrong and determined and fights so hard yet can hardly make a difference as her world falls down around her… the way she’s incredibly strong and proud yet you see her once-firm core begin to shake as time passes on… not entirely related but i hope we get to see her (and the other two) (and kairi as her student!) visit the ruins of scala ad caelum bc they’re the last ones carrying on that legacy

[kanouseis]

Top 5 Kamen Riders! (adaptations included)

okay so im gonna do this both ways as in favorite riders the shows and favorite riders the characters

for shows:

1. kamen rider w (wbk, my forever beloved, i dont think this will stop being my favorite soon. the fucking detective show. DUB E X crime and the city. fucking found family. hidari shotaro MY GUY. so much insanity just look at my header on here. phillip :')))) i have so many feelings and im forcing myself to stop here. ryu voice Dont Ask Me Questions.)

2. kamen rider ex aid (my first rider and yknow you dont forget your first rider. the gamer doctors are my beloved. the suits are so cool (taddle legacy!!!) kiriya is here AND HANAYA TAIGA. WHY IS HE LIKE THIS. taihii the most insane ship dynamic ever. POPPY MY BELOVED <33333 the character songs are So Good. i like real game and the taddle legacy theme a normal amount. EXCITE EXCITE ALL I GOTTA DO IS LIVE ON)

3. kamen rider ghost (big part of this is takeru which ill get to later. but goood theres so much good in this show. warera omou yue ni warera ari!!!! its literally so fun. and the messages are so good!!! life is beautiful and i never want to die. makoala and takekari marriages happened and nothing else is canon. THE BELT NOISE THE BELT NOISES. mugen ghost is my fav final form ever. that one henshin scene from the summer movie kills me. keep going go go go go go go gotta ghost!!!!!)

4. everything else ive watched so ooo and revice (ooo: i need to rewatch this one actually bc it made me feel so much but then i watched w next so yeah. ANKHEIJI LEGENDARY GAY OF ALL TIME. i love all the characters so so so fucking much but especially eiji this fucking guy. the greeed my beloved... the insert songs!!! so many times you can find me singing SONO SHUNKAN NOMIKOMARERU DAAKU SAIDO NO KIKEN NA YOUKUBO. so yeah you count the medals one two and three anything goes life goes on coming up ooo :')) (revice: free theraphy show fr fr. like just good vibes all around. loved this one so much. there is tragedy but we prevail. the music is fucking amazing i have listened to mirage mirror 73 times within a single month of discovering it. the suits!!! daiji and ikki and sakura the siblings ever. hana makes me emotional and also hanasaku oh my god heated drama between women. deep drop danger kamen rider demons INSANE belt noises in general. THE THEMES IN THIS SHOW YES I WILL LOVE MYSELF.)

and im not ranking gaim & gotchard since i havent finished them

now for rider characters:

1. shotaro/kamen rider w & kamen rider joker (the fucking guy ever. god. i like him so much its a little distressing. hes my best friend. i want to dress like him sort of unironically. i am feverishly waiting for my joker memory to arrive. HIS BACKSTORY MAKES ME SO SAD. LIKE I CAN EMPATHISE. SO MUCH. and his dynamic with phillip akiko ryu i :'))) the found family ever. yeah. i often rewatch w ep49 just for the joker scenes. i have his birthday as per my headcanon in my calendar. i am not normal)

2. taiga/kamen rider snipe (so. hes my type of character so fucking much. broken sad lonely fucker of a guy. i want to kill i also want to hug him and i want to make him kiss hiiro. saving people to save yourself,,,,, yeah. NICO TAIGA THE SIBLINGS EVER. babang bang bang babang bang shooting uh. his fucking emo fringe neon suit. the dog tags he wears for no reason. THE SNIPE PREQUELLLLL im gonna stop here before it derails but oh my fucking lord)

3. takeru/kamen rider ghost (YEAH SO. tied for my fav main rider with eiji. takeru is incredibly important to me if he werent the same age as my brother id call him son but alas. i want a hug from him i think it would fix me. his fucking journey as a character..... he makes me sad but like happy sad. like i appreciate life more when im sad about him. his scenes in the pacman movie literally kill me. you always gotta keep going chasing after life its the only way you can live. go go go ghost [i start crying uncontrollably])

4. daiji/kamen rider live (bonded with this guy 6 episodes into revice its insane. this character is insane. i need to hug him. his fucking character song is therapy for me. KAGERO YOU FUCKING EMO EBOY. daijis vcinema is so good and i felt so much. i love the evililtylive suit despite the stupid name. i just love daiji in general and i dont ever think about how his actor is the same age as me <3)

5. eiji/kamen rider ooo (MY GUY MY GUY MY GUUUUUUY. i need to give him a hug. hes been through so much. but he still. he still is Like this. like what the fuck genuinely. the scene from ep30 is in my head constantly. tied for my fav main rider with takeru bc god does eiji make me feel things. but this is so fucking long already if you need to hear me cry about him send me an ask bc. ohmygod. HINO FUCKING EIJI. i dont Ever think about him in zi-o. and ooo 10th is not real)

[ouijaban]

I can't even begin to explain how hard this news has hit me. I've been crying all morning, praying that I'll wake up and find out that there's been a mistake, but I know that's not going to happen.

Takahashi-sensei created a work that brightened my childhood in the wake of my father's death and established the basis for a creative interest that would guide the course of my life for years to come. He created a work that, years later, would make me happy and reinvigorate my creativity during a time when immense stress and crushing, suffocating pressure had my life in a chokehold. I have made so many friends, and so many wonderful memories, through this series and its characters – a process that Takahashi-sensei facilitated through his beautiful artwork and story. And I know he did the same to countless others across the world. That's an achievement whose importance cannot be overstated.

Yu-Gi-Oh! is, in part, a story about the strength it takes to let go and to allow life to move on even in the wake of loss. It's about perseverance. It's about friendship and love and empathy. Takahashi-sensei was taken from us too soon, but he left behind a work which teaches us to appreciate the gifts given to us by the people we love – a theme that could not be more apt right now.

So thank you, Takahashi-sensei, for everything. You will forever be an incredible artist, beloved by the millions of fans your work inspired and improved. The debt we owe you can never be paid back, but I hope you will be proud of the fruits your legacy has born.

We love you.

[notapaladin]

Obsidian and Blood, an overview

Do you like fantasy? Do you like mysteries? Do you like Mesoamerican mythology? Do you like ALL OF THOSE THINGS TOGETHER, set against the lush backdrop of Tenochtitlan in 1480? (Or maybe you just want to know more about the series I have been going feral over since August.) Then buckle up, because oh boy have I got a series for you!

*drumroll, please*

OBSIDIAN AND BLOOD, written by Aliette de Bodard (better known for her Xuya and Dominion of the Fallen series)

There are two kinds of people: Those who see the words “Aztec fantasy/murder mysteries set in very well-researched 1480s Tenochtitlan BUT WITH MAGIC, investigated by the HIGH PRIEST OF THE GOD OF DEATH” and immediately ran off to buy them, and those who clearly need convincing. So here I am, shamelessly plugging my new hyperfixation!

Obsidian and Blood consists of three semi-standalone novels and three (free!) prequel short stories, all featuring 30-year-old Acatl as our first-person POV mystery solver. Acatl is not, however, your average historical detective; aside from being set firmly in Tenochtitlan in 1480 with all that implies re. the acceptability of slavery and human sacrifice, he also is the High Priest of Mictlantecuhtli in a universe where the gods regularly meddle in mortal affairs and magic spells are powered largely by rituals and blood—animal, human, or your own. You’d think this would make Acatl really, really good at solving murders, but you’d be wrong. He is the least of the Triple Alliance’s three High Priests, and his god doesn’t come at his servant’s beck and call. Not to mention the other gods, who have their own deadly agendas. That’s not even getting into the people around him, who might be the most dangerous of all. Luckily, he has more allies than he thinks—if he has the strength to actually reach out to them and admit he could use the help!

(He doesn’t need to reach out to his student Teomitl. Teomitl, a confident young warrior of imperial blood, keeps volunteering. This gives Acatl roughly one heart attack per book.)

You will like them if…

I did just say “magic murder mysteries in 1480s Tenochtitlan,” right? It’s real Precolumbian Mexico hours up in here! The history of the Aztec Empire and their Triple Alliance actually forms multiple key plot points throughout the series!

you’re into Aztec history/culture in general

if a DnD fan, you are REALLY into the Raven Queen

you think blood magic is super cool and wish it wasn’t treated as the realm of The Bad Guys

you get incredibly hyped over lesser-known mythologies treated respectfully but also very awesomely (the thing where the Aztecs thought human sacrifice kept the sun in the sky? Yeah, in this universe it is literally true and plot-relevant)

you are big into chaste heroes, lots of snarky asides, highly opinionated narrators who let their own prejudices destroy them, “from an outside perspective this is cosmic horror but for the characters it is a Tuesday,” mysteries with twists you will NOT see coming, and themes of trauma/memories/family legacies

you love reading about dysfunctional family relationships in various states of repair/further destruction

you���ve ever thought “hey this historical mystery is cool but what if there was MAGIC”

you like noir detective stories but want them with magic

you like urban fantasy but want them to have historical settings instead of vaguely modern-day ones

Plot/character summaries below!

SHORT STORIES (prequels to the novels, blurbs by me)

Obsidian Shards

Warriors have been found dead in the town of Colhuacan, obsidian shards embedded in their hearts. Acatl, priest of Mictlantecuhtli, suspects a creature of the Underworld—one he already calls a foe, for it slew his first and last apprentice.

Beneath the Mask

In the Tenochtitlan suburb of Coyoacan, Acatl’s childhood friend Huchimitl begs him to save her only son’s war captive; the man whose sacrifice will make the boy a proper warrior is paralyzed from an unknown curse, unable even to rise from the floor. But who could have cursed him, and is it connected to the mask Huchimitl now wears?

Safe, Child, Safe

A toddler is slowly wasting away, the mark of the Underworld on him, and Acatl is tasked with finding the cause. But no creature of the Underworld kills so slowly, and so Acatl must turn his investigation to the living.

THE BOOKS (blurbs taken directly from the book listings, you don’t HAVE to read them in order but I do recommend it)

Servant of the Underworld

Year One-Knife, Tenochtitlan; the capital of the Mexica Empire. Human sacrifice and the magic of living blood are the only things keeping the sun in the sky and the earth fertile. A Priestess disappears from an empty room drenched in blood. It should be a usual investigation for Acatl, High Priest of the Dead—except that his estranged brother is involved, and the more he digs, the deeper he is drawn into the political and magical intrigues of noblemen, soldiers, and priests—and of the gods themselves...

(Neutemoc: I didn't mean to sleep with her! It was an accident! Acatl: I don't understand. Did you trip?) (Acatl: I don't want a new apprentice! Teomitl: :D? Acatl: ...I will make an exception)

Harbinger of the Storm

The year is Two House, and the Emperor of the Mexica has just died. The protections he afforded the Empire are crumbling, and the way lies wide open to flesh-eating star-demons—and to the return of their creator, a malevolent goddess only held in check by the War God's power. The council should convene to choose a new Emperor, but they are too busy plotting against each other. And then someone starts summoning star-demons within the palace, to kill councilmen...Acatl, High Priest of the Dead, must find the culprit before everything is torn apart.

(Teomitl: I've only had Acatl and Mihmatini for a year, but if anything happens to them I'll kill everyone in this room and then myself) (Quenami: Playing With The Big Boys.mp3)

Master of the House of Darts

The year is Three Rabbit, and the storm is coming. The Mexica Empire now has a new Emperor, but his coronation war has just ended in a failure: the armies have retreated with a paltry forty prisoners of war, not near enough sacrifices to satisfy the gods. Acatl, High Priest for the Dead, has no desire to involve himself yet again in the intrigues of the powerful. However, when one of the prisoners dies of a magical illness, he has little choice but to investigate. For it is only one death, but it will not be the last. As the bodies pile up and the imperial court tears itself apart, dragging Teomitl, Acatl's beloved student, into the eye of the storm, the High Priest for the Dead is going to have to choose whom he can afford to trust; and where, in the end, his loyalties ultimately lie...

(Teomitl: I am no longer Baby I want Power) (Acatl, to Teomitl: What have you got there? Nezahual, gleefully: A coup! Acatl: NO!)

THE MAIN CHARACTERS (in order of appearance)

ACATL “By my face and by my heart, I’ll bring you justice.” High Priest of Mictlantecuhtli, god of death and the underworld. As such, his duties include both the obvious ones of arranging funerals and standing vigils for the dead, and the less obvious ones of investigating magical crimes and keeping the boundaries between the heavens, Earth, and the underworld intact. When Servant of the Underworld begins, he’s only recently been promoted and hates it. Has a strained relationship with his living family, due largely to not having lived up to his (dead) parents’ desires for him to become a warrior like his brother Neutemoc. Bitter, cynical, and grumpy, but devoted to justice and fairness.

Has an official character sheet.

CEYAXOCHITL “Everyone has to grow up and take responsibilities. Even small, humble priests.” Guardian of the Sacred Precinct and wielder of the power of the Duality (Ometeotl), which makes her the sworn protector of the Mexica Empire and its Revered Speaker from all sorts of mainly-magical threats. Somewhat past middle age but still very strong in her magical abilities, and something of an antagonistic mentor to Acatl. (She nominated him for the position of High Priest. He is not appreciative.) Serious and devoted to her duty, with a keen eye for potential in others. Dies in Harbinger of the Storm and you WILL cry.

NEUTEMOC “Priests hide and run away. Warriors don’t.” Acatl’s older brother, a Jaguar Knight with five children and a failing marriage. Resents Acatl for not helping to support their aging parents by becoming a warrior like he did. The central suspect during most of Servant of the Underworld’s plot, though by the end he and Acatl have begun to repair their relationship. He is strict, stern, and bitter, but truly loves his family. (In the case of his younger brother, that love is buried very deep down.)

TEOMITL “If we don’t believe in ourselves, who is going to?” Acatl’s student, an enthusiastic warrior who yearns to prove himself worthy of his power and noble rank, as well as live up to the memory of the mother who died birthing him. During Servant of the Underworld he swears himself to Chalchiuhtlicue, goddess of fresh water and lakes, gaining (among other things) command over the man-eating water monsters called ahuitzotls. He is courting Mihmatini during Harbinger of the Storm; by the time Master of the House of Darts takes place, they are married. He is abrasive and proud, but also honest, loyal, and brave. And very, very ambitious. You will want to punch him several times. This is normal. (Also, I will swear that it's not just my ship-goggles being on too tight that has me thinking his relationship with Acatl is much more weighty and personal than the one he has with his ACTUAL WIFE.)

MIHMATINI “Better laugh, and smile at the flowers and jade. Life is too short to be spent grieving.” Acatl and Neutemoc’s youngest sister, a powerful magic-user who finds herself thrust into the position of Guardian during Harbinger of the Storm. Though she has no great ambitions herself—she mostly just wants to be a mother and raise children—she is ferociously protective of her family and will fight anything that threatens them. Even themselves. (Especially themselves.) Kind, caring, and light-hearted, but her acid tongue and sharp temper are not to be dismissed. "Fuck Around And Find Out" given human form.

ACAMAPICHTLI “We have always endured.” High priest of Tlaloc and a reoccurring thorn in Acatl’s side. Though he’s primarily out for his own gain and has no patience for Acatl’s refusal to play on the field of Imperial politics, they eventually form something like an uneasy truce following the end of Harbinger of the Storm. He is snarky and sardonic, but truly cares for his clergy. During Master of the House of Darts he somehow became one of my favorite characters.

TIZOC "I've always known that priests couldn't be trusted. You have just exceeded my expectations." Teomitl’s older brother, first Master of the House of Darts and then Revered Speaker. (Look, it’s not a spoiler if you can Google it.) He is cowardly, ambitious, and the closest thing this series has to an overarching antagonist. Among other things, tries to have Acatl executed during Harbinger of the Storm. Events at the end of that book only manage to make him measurably worse. "Ah There He Is, That Motherfucker, What A Tool" #1.

QUENAMI “Oh, Acatl. Such lack of tact. You are so unsuited for the Court.” High Priest of Huitzilpochtli, appointed by Tizoc between Servant of the Underworld and Harbinger of the Storm. Comes from a noble family, and is much better at diplomacy and playing politics than he is at magic. When push comes to shove, however, he can display some surprising determination. He is arrogant, scheming, and takes joy in cutting Acatl down, but presumably has some good qualities...somewhere. "Ah There He Is, That Motherfucker, What A Tool" #2.

Maps of the series’ primary setting

Setting Primers

Official Character Index

Glossary

[victorsandvanquishers]

The Fall of the House of Usher with the Black Bulls? Bonus points if you add some eerie aura to it, but that is totally up to you! Thank you in advance!

Hello! Thank you for requesting this fic. I took the liberty to apply some more themes from “The Fall of the House of Usher” than just the prompt’s family, eerie, and home themes. Twins, legacy, and of course, the quintessential haunted house, are also explored in this story!

As a sidenote - this fanfic features an ensemble cast, but primarily revolves around Secre and Zagred. Happy reading, and thank you again for requesting! (ᵔᴥᵔ)

~~~

Zagred haunts her. In a mansion overflowing with people and endless cheer, he haunts her.

“You had five hundred years to make peace. I had to die and then wake up as a ghost, with all the same pain and memories I had when I was still alive. I possessed a human being. You spent your life sitting on top of a statue before finding a boy to manipulate into doing your bidding.”

As she makes her way through the winding halls of the grand castle, Secre remembers speaking with Patolli of the Elf tribe few times in her five hundred and seventeen years. Still, there are words reverberating through her head in his voice, words he's never spoken to her since he barely knows her. Patolli barely remembered her when they met face to face again after the souls of the dead elves ascended, and she can't blame him. She'd been a crown prince's servant – her existence was meant for the shadows.

And yet, that's not how it is now. There aren't enough shadows in Henry Legolant's mansion for Secre Swallowtail to hide in.

“I can't change my actions, nor can I change my feelings, but you... You pretend like you've always cared. At least I did what I did out of rage, even if it was misguided, but you spent five hundred years chasing a rock. Who can you blame for your eternity of longing? You could have chosen death in those five hundred years, but you chose to wait instead because you had an inkling of hope that your beloved could be brought back.”

Secre swallows the lump in her throat and makes her way down the small flight of stairs. It seems her room is on the second floor of the grand castle today, instead of the fourth floor she'd walked up to the night before. The landing is buzzing with Luck Voltia's electric currents, and what she senses to be Charmy Pappitson's cotton magic. The smell of freshly baked bread gently wafts through the landing, infecting each and every one of her senses with the kindness and love she's been starving for, for five hundred years.

It's hunger, this feeling, not longing because the longing she had for Lumiere is moot now, because Lumiere is dust. He's the ash at the bottom of a fire pit in the early rays of dawn, but the hunger she feels now is something different, something more manic, something that slept quietly in her chest during her time as a bird, but suddenly awoke when she came across the fifteen-year-old boy who desperately reminded her of a dead dream, a dream where she and her Lumiere had a child, a child that doesn't exist.

It's this hunger that finally compelled her to stop using that fifteen-year-old boy for her own agenda. It's the hunger that drives her now, that drives her to protect that boy and his friends, to look at the shadows of Henry Legolant's castle with love instead of fear because now the shadows can help her to find the best spots to launch an attack if someone tries to hurt the boy and his friends, these human beings that are filling the hole in Secre's heart.

Atonement? I was fifteen when I died, fifteen when I woke up again. How can you look at me like I'm trash when you were the one who received the mercy of time when all I received was uncontrollable rage at knowing that no matter what I did in the end, I could never bring back what I lost? How can you look at me with such disdain knowing you're worse?”

Perhaps that's why her Lumiere is dead now. She has to pay for her negligence of a child who looked to her as a companion. It doesn't matter that Asta forgives her, that the others see her as a part of their family, none of it matters because Secre committed the same sin as Patolli, used a depressed, lonely boy to commit violence in the name of her beloved, used Asta to revive her Lumiere to defeat Zagred, just like Patolli used William Vangeance to revive his Licht, the Licht that never loved Patolli like Patolli loved him.

Just like the way Lumiere never loved her the way she loved him.

“You're worse than I will ever be, Secre of the noble house of Swallowtail. You're a filthy noblewoman who had everything and pretended she had nothing. You deserve this pain more than I do. You deserved to lose your Lumiere after five hundred years of waiting. You deserved to be strung along like the little rat that you are.”

It stings, but it's true, and maybe that's why Secre is still here and not dead at the bottom of a river. Zagred haunts her because he knows her. Zagred knows her as intimately as the verdant forests of the Forbidden Realm know the sun. Secre starves for kindness and warmth, just like Zagre starves for a corporeal body. Secre didn't kill herself in her five hundred years as a bird because for her, it was a blip on the radar, nothing more than an obstacle for her to get past to bring back her most precious light, her Lumiere. Nothing was sacred in that quest – not the fifteen-year-old boy who cried for magic so that he wouldn't be discriminated against, not the Magic Knights who were too daft to notice that she wasn't just an ordinary bird, and certainly not the nobles who were too ignorant to notice how they themselves sowed the seeds of dissent in their own kingdom. For Secre, none of it mattered because only Lumiere mattered.

And Zagred knows, and so he haunts her.

He takes on the voice of an elf she barely knows, and he finds her deepest, most repressed feelings before snatching them from the depths of her chest and bringing them into the light. Zagred forces her to admit that she's no different than the elf who almost sacrificed the entirety of the kingdom to bring back his brethren. Patolli of the Elf tribe barely knows her, and she barely knows Patolli of the Elf tribe, but Zagred knows her more than Lumiere ever did, and so he haunts her, haunts her under the guise of an elf who'd murdered countless human beings and managed to get away with it all. Patolli is her long-lost twin, and Zagred will never let her forget it.

“Demon.”

She walks into the dining hall, the tables already decked with food, beverage, and cutlery. The voice has shifted now, becoming more and more like the creature it belongs to, and not the elf who escaped.

Secre attempts a smile on her saturnine face, and finds that the effort hurts. She stops before Charmy and Luck can get a look at her. They're occupied with putting on the finishing touches to the overflowing table, Luck setting booby traps on Magna Swing's plate and fork, while Charmy instructs her sheep to pack food for the magical beasts living in the castle dungeons. They don't notice her yet, because she's a wraith in her own right, a ghost drifting from room to room.

“Oh, you're up,” she hears Yami Sukehiro drawl. She turns to the taller man, also an early-riser but just as clandestine as Secre. There's a cigarette hanging from his mouth, and his clothes smell like fresh leaves and dew, so she suspects he was out training in the forest before Charmy can ring her breakfast bells.

Secre nods in assent and turns back to the two young adults who've finally noticed her and are waving her over to take a seat. She attempts another smile, and this time, something resembling a smirk appears on her lips, but it still hurts, because Secre isn't used to smiling. She didn't smile when she and her Lumiere used to spend hours poring over books and tinkering around with magic in the castle yards. She knows little about how to socialize, but she tries. She tries because Zagred will kill her otherwise, under the guise of her spiritual twin, the elf named Patolli who has left Clover without being punished for his crimes.

“But I'm not really here, am I, Secre Swallowtail?”

“Nero, there you are!” Asta calls out, barging into the breakfast hall with his cleaning outfit already coated with dust and mud. “I was wondering where you went!”

“She came down to eat like a normal person,” Yami deadpans before bonking the boy on the head with a closed fist. Asta screeches in pain before passing out for ten seconds. When he wakes up, his eyes are sparkling with endearment, and Charmy has a pail of food ready for the beasts in the dungeon.

“I'll be right back,” Asta declares with more sparkles than necessary, and then he disappears, and Zagred's voice gets just a little lower.

“And he's not your son.”

Secre blinks, her red eyes going redder. No one notices, not even Yami who is dangerously observant at times. She looks down at the plate that Luck has filled up for her. Her ears perk up at the sound of Vanessa Enoteca's tell-tale yawns, and her eyes land on Rouge the cat, who cocks its head to the side and watches her, its fur as red as her eyes.

“And they aren't yours to protect.”

Patolli the elf's voice is gone now. It's Zagred, the demon, the being who knows her better than Lumiere, the creature who stole everything from her, her life, her light, her humanity.

Secre's eyes bleed red and she wants to destroy, wants to burn down everything in her path because she's hollow, her soul is corrupted, and she's one step away from becoming a monster like Licht, a monster that Asta and the Black Bulls will have to euthanize once she loses control.

“Nero-san? Is everything alright?” Secre hears, finding that the rage vanishes suddenly. She blinks a couple of times to completely wash away the reverie before turning to the familiar voices.

It's Grey and Gordon, their eyes filled with worry. Noelle is right behind them, pretending she isn't concerned, but her fists are balled in her lap and she's pensive, waiting for Secre to answer their question.

“I'm fine,” she says, the plastic smile budding on her lips, “just hungry.”

“Then you should eat!” Noelle squeaks, because she can't help herself when she's worried, and now Grey is shakily piling too many warm biscuits onto her plate while Gordon is pouring her coffee, and Charmy is singing, and Yami is smoking, and there is warmth, and love, and cheer, and Asta is back, and Asta is everything she's ever hoped her child would be, a beacon of hope in the darkness she's always lived in.

“Thank you,” Secre says.

'Fuck you.' She hisses inwardly at Zagred's voice, Zagred who is only dead in his corporeal form, but not in essence, because demons don't die.

“But we're cousins now.” Zagred coos back, because Zagred knows her intimately, the demon that set her tragedies in motion, who wants her to lose her mind when her grief becomes as all-encompassing as Licht's, and she becomes a demon herself.

Because that's what she is now – one step from becoming a demon.

She looks around the table at the family of misfits, all of them unrelated to her in every shape and form, and yet fundamentally her family – her lifeblood. Her Lumiere always told her to find her own happiness, but he had been her happiness, but now her Lumiere is dust, and she's still alive.

She attempts to smile again, and this time, Yami smiles indulgently at her efforts while Magna asks her if she wants more biscuits, even though there are seven biscuits on her plate.

Zagred haunts her, and Lumiere is dust. Patolli is her spiritual twin, and Asta and the Black Bulls are the children she never dared to ask for, for fear of retribution. Her light is gone, and the demon persists, but now she has this – this castle and this home, these shadows she has grown to love.

“I'll see you soon.” Zagred promises her.

And the red of her eyes bleed redder, because Secre isn't worried. When the time comes, she will trust her family to take care of her like her Lumiere took care of Licht. Because this castle, this home, is testament to the faith that they will put her to rest when the time comes.

“Thank you,” she says again, and takes a bite from her biscuit.

*

[ahagia-sophia]

Story Time

Vlog? Episode 1: A Man of Constant Sorrow

 Hey guys, I’m Jacob. I’ve always wanted to do a sort of blog type thing. But, I could never figure out what I wanted to make it about, you know? I like history, mostly. But then again so does literally every white guy on the planet. [rambling] Not to say that my love of history is basic, or that anyone’s passions and interests are basic its just- Never mind, that’s not what we’re here for.

I had considered doing a history sort of thing, but I decided against it for various reasons. Sadly, I didn’t have any other passions that might be interesting to other people. At least, that’s what I thought. Until the other day when my friend was going on about how I was a central point in a lot of the stories he was telling his new girlfriend. Specifically, I was what he described as, ‘the unluckiest man on earth.’

And you know what? People love real stories. Stories of people having terrible no-good very bad times adventures. And buddy, I’ve gone on a few adventures. So, I figured I’d tell a story or two. Mostly because I really love telling stories, but also because I crave attention love entertaining people.

I have a few eye-catching stories, like; Getting Cornered In a Carpet Shop, Getting Robbed by a Rapist(?), Civil War Reenacting, The Rape Accusation, Accidentally Becoming A Harem Anime Protagonist, Being a Terrible Person, and others. But I thought I’d start with something relatively tame.

Jacob Utterly Fails and Gets Congratulated Publicly For It.

Okay so this one takes place in a small-town high school in 2015. Which should already set off some alarm bells for people who were in small-town high schools in 2015. It was senior year and I was the Battalion S-5 for our school’s Army JROTC branch. The S-5 was basically the media officer, and the place where you threw useless seniors who had stuck with the program for four years and hadn’t done anything that could get them thrown out. Which was me. I was seniors.

I was the pale skinny white kid in high school who had charisma, but was too angsty to use it, you know? I didn’t have any real self-confidence; I would flinch if someone threw a ball toward me while playing Sport. I listened to metal and Irish folk music. I spent all my time playing video games with my friends and actively pretending that the future didn’t exist.

                                   Here I am, in all my glory

Not much has changed.

Anyway, these qualities did not lend themselves to what was essentially a military recruitment program. What I did have going for me was an intense need to please authority figures and a slightly above average mind.

To fully demonstrate my inadequacy, allow me to take you back in time to the distant year of 2011 and lay out how I could not master walking.

This is not a joke.

One of the key components of JROTC is walking in straight lines in various directions and formations. This practice was called Drill. Drill cover such intense concepts as, ‘turn while standing still’ and, ‘turn while moving.’ These advanced maneuvers were, however, based on one simple principle. Walking. Specifically, the advanced form of walking referred to by professionals as, ‘walking without stepping on other people’s feet.’ Or, more concisely, ‘walking in step.’

I was utterly unable to do this. Just completely, totally, categorically unable to do this. Even with such helpful aids as a person walking next to me actively telling me which foot should be hitting the ground. I just could not do it. I would walk in step for a few paces and then immediately fall out of step and have to perform what is called a ‘change step’ which I interpreted at the time as kicking yourself in the back of the heel in order to skip and land back on the correct step. In hindsight I was probably supposed to just drag the heel of my foot. There’s an allegory in there somewhere.

So, I couldn’t master walking. This has been established. This has been abundantly established. And it had been established at the time too. Everyone knew that my drill scores were terrible. Everyone knew that I was very unable to walk. However, I aced the academic side of things, and managed to get my shit together enough to pass the Walking Final with a solid B+, which in retrospect was absolutely a pity grade from the students who were grading the final. My legacy of mediocrity was secured, and I advanced on to the next year.

I was given the coveted position of Assistant Squad Leader and the enviable rank of Cadet Sergeant. What this meant was that everyone acknowledged my lack of ability on the drill pad and also the fact that this wasn’t the real military and they couldn’t drum me out for gross incompetence. Very quickly, however, everyone came to realize that despite having absolutely no actual responsibilities, I was failing terribly in my task of ‘Be the guy at the front of the line while we walk.’ For all of the above-mentioned reasons.

This began my career as what soldierly-types would call ‘regimental bitch.’ I worked exclusively inside. I wrote memos for the Officers (read: upperclassmen), I did numbers for fundraisers, I made lists of names and T-shirt sizes, and generally fucked about in my new walking free paradise. For an entire school year, I was behind the scenes, only going outside for Inspection on Thursday’s.

This, of course, meant the everyone had forgotten that I no ability with the ordered walking. And what little ability I might have possessed had absolutely gone to rust as I spent the year (or two, my memory is hazy) hiding from the sun. (This was in Louisiana, so hiding from the sun was not as shameful as it could have been.) Logically, therefore, the higher up types decided that on one of the last drill days of the year good old Jacob should take the reins and march the assembled company (Class, about 30 people) in a straight line, a turn, and then another straight line.

Sub Story: How I Caused a 30-Person Pile Up, Literally

Pretty much what the title says, really. I was given command of the company. I said ‘Forward, March!’ and everyone started to walk forward. A result which I was completely unprepared for. They started walking, you know, at the pace the people walking in, like, a bit of a hurry would walk. Which was entirely too fast for me.

They walked far too fast. So fast that by the time they had reached the point where I was supposed to tell them to turn, I had completely lost the plot. And the front rank, in one of those moments of blind obedience that you can never recreate when you need blind obedience, walked directly into a brick wall. And then the rank behind them, and the rank behind them, and the rank behind them.

It was a slow-motion pile of human idiocy with me as its conductor. In that moment I could almost hear the the universe stand proudly from her director’s chair and loudly call, ‘Scene!’

I was never given command again.

Sub Story: A Principal’s Principles

Alright, its 2015 or so at this point. I’ve skulked my way up to Cadet Captain and a position of theoretical importance. It’s Veterans Day. I have to do exactly two things. Read a script and put people’s names on chairs. I’ve got this. There’s no possible way I could fuck this up, right?

Did you know that there are two different spellings for the word Principal? I sure didn’t. I was given a very sudden and unforgettable lesson when First Sergeant (one of the two JROTC instructors) burst into the office with my sins printed on paper and asked me if I had passed 3rd Grade spelling. (Which I had, but only because I cheated.) Picture a 6-foot-tall, well-muscled, angry veteran yelling at a pale white kid who flinched when stuff fell off the table. It is not a lesson that will ever leave my mind.

Thankfully, my spelling error was corrected before anyone important could see it. Crisis averted. Now I just had to deliver a speech about a table set for a soldier or something. I was literate, it didn’t have to be fantastic. There’s no way I could fuck this up, right? Well, two things. I had rehearsed this speech, but I had only rehearsed this speech alone with the script. Not with anyone who knew how the speech was supposed to sound. So, they dim the lights, the spotlight falls on the table in the center of the gym, and I read my speech. I gave a damn good speech. It was rousing, it was passionate, and I’m pretty sure I got genuine applause at the end of it.

However.

I stepped down from the podium, awash in the afterglow of a Genuine Success, when First Sergeant pulled me aside and in a very forced whisper informed me that this was supposed to be a somber speech given in mourning for those who would never come home.

Fuck.

It is a common theme in my life that if I do something really well, I have invariably done it wrong. This is a phenomenon that I first noticed in second grade when I proudly presented my beautiful handwriting (I normally have terrible handwriting) to the teacher only to be informed that I had spelled the word wrong.

Now whenever my handwriting looks particularly good, I double check all my spelling.

               It was around this time that it was unilaterally decided (without my consent) that Jacob would never be put in charge of anything ever again. Which was something that was honestly a long time coming. But still hurt when I was informed.

               It hurt my pride so much that I fought it. I fought it hard. I demanded, in no uncertain terms, that I should be in charge of the Very Big and Important Slideshow at the banquet that we hold at the end of the year.

Jacob Utterly Fails and Gets Congratulated Publicly For It.

This was no normal end of the year banquet. These were not your average cold beans and dry chicken. Oh no. I cannot fail during such a mundane affair. This was the year that Colonel, a much beloved man who had held the program together through sheer competence and wisdom, was retiring. This was his last banquet. This was his send off, the blow out, the thank you for all of his years of service and sage advice.

This meant that graduates of the program were coming in from across the country to send off their beloved father figure. And, on top of that, this banquet hadn’t really deviated from its standard form in the past few years. So absolutely everyone knew how this was going to go.

Food, Slideshow, Speeches, Send-off.

This is how the banquet had gone since like 2004. Perhaps earlier, I don’t really know.

I was, as a result of my own arguing and everyone else’s poor judgement, solely in charge of The Slideshow. You know, 1/4 of the entire evening was entirely at my mercy.

Two weeks before the big event I put together my slideshow. I spend hours on the stupid thing. I comb the picture archives from each of the ‘Companies’ and make sure that absolutely everyone appears in the slideshow at least once. Then I go through all the old photo albums and scan in a bunch of pictures of Young Colonel and stuff. To really just nail it, you know?

If you can see where this is going, kudos, because I somehow missed all the signs.

One week before the event I submit my flash drive to First Sergeant to make sure that everything checks out. He gives me some corrections and sends it back. I make the corrections and save it all on the flash drive.

I save it all on the flash drive and only on the flash drive.

Yeah.

The flash drive, as is the way of things, dies. Can’t access the files. Can’t open the power-point, can’t do anything. I spend a solid day trying to unfuck this situation before I admit defeat and tell everyone what’s happened. At this point we’re two or so days out from the banquet and there simply isn’t enough time to make a new one. The slideshow is cut from the evening, and literally every single senior wants to hang me by my guts. Which was fair.

We come to the night of the event, it goes pretty smoothly. I think that maybe I can just slide by and no one will ask questions about the mysteriously absent slideshow.

Boy was I wrong.

In front of all the graduating seniors a few of the returning cadets (probably in their mid/late 20s) publicly praise me for having the clout and balls to cut the slideshow out of the formula. As they had never liked it and thought it was a massive drag on the evening.

I’m pretty sure I’m still living under some of the curses that the other seniors hurled at me over that.

That’s it. That’s the story.

No one chewed me out, no one came to afterward to tell me what a useless idiot I was. No one said anything.

Which was probably the worst part. My general incompetence had become such a common feature in the JROTC program that everyone who actually knew what happened was just. Totally unsurprised.

[laughinglullabies]

Inelaa Locte - Contacts Wanted!

basics ––––

NAME: Inelaa Locte.

AGE: 19.

RACE: Keeper Miqo’te.

GENDER: Female.

SEXUALITY: Straight.

MARITAL STATUS: Taken.

SERVER: Balmung

physical appearance ––––

HAIR: Thick and black, often left down to fall in soft waves and curls around her face. When hunting, she keeps it bound back in a strict ponytail, and there’s often flowers and trinkets wound in the strands - leftovers from playing with her siblings.

EYES: Bright & shiny silver doe-eyes.

HEIGHT: 5′6″, give or take a half ilm.

BUILD: While healthy and nourished, Inelaa’s youthful figure has filled out with curves that haven’t left in the aftermath of her pregnancy. She presents as a healthy pear with a little more chub that she’s still working to get rid of.

DISTINGUISHING MARKS: Like her aunt, Inelaa’s most distinguishing trait is her tail - a full seven-and-a-half fulms long, featuring soft black fur. When hunting, it is dressed in a leather and webbing ‘netting’ that tames the fur to something more like a thick rope, and she can control the limb very well. Additionally, there is a scar along her back gained during her coming of age trial.

COMMON ACCESSORIES: A magitek harp that was a gift from her mother on her 18th Nameday after so many years apart, and a few trinkets gifted by her beloved that she wears on a cord around her neck.

personal –––-

PROFESSION: Whimsical Bard and sometimes Host at the Keeper’s Kiss. Dreams of performing professionally, but does not like the thought of advancing a career with a little one.

HOBBIES: Child care, hunting, and music. Enjoys catching fish with her hands. Likes teasing people.

LANGUAGES: Common, hunt-speak, and smartass.

RESIDENCE: Alternates living-quarters with her mother in the Mist, and her beloved in the Lavender Beds.

FEARS: Leadership, isolation, finding out her father is dead.

relationships –––-

SPOUSE: "That’s none of your business!” She grins. “Still, he’s my sun and I am his moon.”

CHILDREN: "My daughter, Nii! Well, Y’niisa. I wanted her to carry her father’s legacy.”

PARENTS: "Moma is Kiipa Locte-Nulstat, and Papa is Obera’a Polaali.”

SIBLINGS: “I um... I have quite a few! Do you have the time? I should get you something to drink!” She quickly darts off, forgetting to answer the question on her return.

OTHER RELATIVES: "Ah, there’s Papa Gen ( @genpaw​ ) and his mate, Tikka! He’s more an adopted Papa, but that doesn’t make him any less a Papa, and Tikka is more like a sister since we’re so close in age. Then there’s Ahnaa ( @locteshadow​ ), and um... Anton ( @supermegachefbarguy​ )! There’s also Uncle Leroy ( @leroymurrand​ ) and Auntie Keim ( @purple-eel​ ) and Uncle Kweh ( @snow-and-sea​ ) and... oh, you might need another drink? Sure!”

traits –––-

extroverted / introverted / in between

disorganized / organized / in between

close minded / open-minded / in between

calm / anxious / in between

disagreeable / agreeable / in between

cautious / reckless / in between

patient / impatient / in between

outspoken / reserved / in between

leader / follower / in between

empathetic / unemphatic / in between

optimistic / pessimistic / in between

traditional / modern / in between

hard-working / lazy / in between

cultured / un-cultured / in between

loyal / disloyal / in between

faithful / unfaithful / in between

additional information –––-

SMOKING HABIT: never / sometimes / frequently / to excess.

DRUGS: never / sometimes / frequently / to excess.

ALCOHOL: never / sometimes / frequently / to excess

possible hooks –––-

Keeper of the Moon: Inelaa absolutely loves meeting her fellow Miqo’te, and she can spend bells upon bells asking all the proper questions! Expect a little playful competition if you’re a fellow archer - Inelaa’s the star archer in her clan and she likes to show off!

Musician: Inelaa is fascinated with music of all sorts, and will sit and listen to an instrument for bells. She loves to learn new ones, though prefers to fall back on her voice and small harp. She’s happy to become anyone’s #1 Fan!

Social Butterfly: This girl is never one to cling to the walls for too long. Her happy demeanor and cheerful ways are remarkably infectious, and she’s delighted to meet new people and shove them at other new people. It’s never all about her - expect to be the spotlight if she latches on, and get ready for an adventure!

'Are you my father?’: A hook that has potential in different ways. Inelaa and her father were exceptionally close, and his long-time absence has always been a point of sorrow for her. Not actually her father, but charmed by the girl enough not to correct the mistake? Sure! Actually her father, but maybe age/travel are making memories a little rough? Cool! Actually her father, returned as he promised? Great! This one requires discussion, but also unlocks interactions with her mother and aunt both! Woo!

Any other ideas! I’m very open to all kinds of connections for Inelaa. There’s a lot I can work her into unless it’s very much not her thing.

what I’m looking for ––––

Mostly, just a little more development for the character. She’s a happy and perky young lady who is head-over-heels in love with her beloved and is a very happy mommy, but she needs to get out of the house and socialize!

If you need a little joy in your day, this baby has it in spades!

oocly, I am ––––

I’m a PST timezone player who has a slightly erratic schedule due to fluctuating sleeping patterns - which is to say that the only pattern I have is that there is no pattern.

I don’t mind any length of posts! One liners through to multi-para is fine, though I prefer snappy, quick replies when at events, especially busy ones.

I am available for both in-game and Discord role-play. Discord tends to be a slower medium and I do enjoy in-game a bit more, but I’m absolutely open to any and all forms of medium.

I am open to all themes when it comes to this character. She is best suited for bubbles and sunshine, but I’m okay running with all other themes as well. I have no issues with sexual content, but please mind that Inelaa is monogamous.

a warning ––

Inelaa is an alternate character that I play between leveling Flidais and when the urge hits me. It’s considerably easier to interact with her on Discord, but if you should run into her in game, please know that I am absolutely always in character with her.

Additionally, my putting up this LFRP ad in no way negates the other characters that I have, nor the roleplays that I may have with them. All of my characters are available to play with!

you can contact me via ––

You can always reach me here on Tumblr, either through messages or through asks. If that’s not your style, feel free to contact me via Discord @ ♦ AshadelMG ♦#2352. You can also catch me in-game, though I frequently forget to slap up the RP tag!

[letterboxd]

Icon.

Our world was calm, well ordered, exemplary. Then we met the stars and director of the new sequel Mary Poppins Returns to discuss the legacy of the original, how to follow in Julie Andrews’ footsteps and rapping in a Disney movie.

Even in an era when seemingly every single film exploits something we cherish from childhood, it still feels brazenly sacrilegious to even attempt to sequel-ize Mary Poppins (1964), the iconic and timeless Disney movie.

One of the most universally beloved children’s films of all time, Mary Poppins is deeply imprinted on multiple generations of movie-goers, many of whom spent much of their childhood wishing (or indeed, believing) that Mary Poppins was their nanny.

To tread on such hallowed movie ground is risky indeed, but everyone involved in Mary Poppins Returns seems to realize that, and a great deal of care and attention has been applied to the new film to ensure it honors the original while captivating contemporary audiences.

The film gained a huge amount of instant goodwill from the casting of its title character. Few would argue that there’s anybody better suited to follow in Julie Andrews’ footsteps than Emily Blunt, who is an utter delight in the role. She doesn’t simply “do” Andrews, instead bringing her own flavor to the character, who returns to London to assist in the grown-up lives of her charges from the first film: Michael and Jane Banks, now played by Ben “voice of Paddington” Whishaw and Emily Mortimer, both also fantastic.

The film was directed by Rob Marshall, who in addition to helming 2003 Best Picture Oscar winner Chicago, also previously worked with Blunt on the 2014 adaptation of Stephen Sondheim’s Into The Woods.

Emily Blunt as Mary Poppins.

Joining Blunt in Mary Poppins Returns is musical man of the moment Lin-Manuel Miranda, making his first major big-screen appearance since the phenomenal success of his Broadway smash Hamilton. Miranda is a great student and practitioner of musicals. He wrote many of the beloved songs from the Moana soundtrack, and you can check out his five favorite movie musicals here.

In Mary Poppins Returns, Miranda plays a cockney lamplighter named Jack, revealed to be an apprentice of Bert, Dick Van Dyke’s character from the first film. Well, one of them. In one of many winsome musical numbers, Miranda performs in the the rap-meets-Broadway style he popularized with Hamilton. Rapping. In a Disney movie. Try not to faint.

All the songs are pretty fantastic. They were written by Marc Shaiman and Scott Wittman, whose most famous collaboration was the hit Broadway musical Hairspray. Richard B. Sherman, the surviving half of iconic songwriting team the Sherman Brothers (who wrote the songs for Mary Poppins, among other iconic films), is a musical consultant on the film.

The result? Mary Poppins Returns won’t be destined for The Place Where Lost Things Go.

A man has dreams, and Letterboxd’s Dominic Corry had one of his come true when he got in a room in Beverly Hills with Blunt, Miranda and Marshall (and some other press) to discuss the film.

On the pressure of following up such a beloved movie: Rob Marshall: I thought to myself when this came my way, “if anybody is gonna do it, I would like to do it”. It was incredibly daunting at first of course, but I wanted to be able to, in an odd way, protect the first film and treat this film with great care and love. Musicals are very difficult to do, an original musical, there are so many layers to it, but with this one, creating an original musical from scratch was actually for me a dream, and I’ve never done it before and to be able to create it with this beautiful company was exactly what I was hoping for. The guiding message of this film about finding light in the darkness is honestly what drew me to it and kept guiding me throughout the whole process including until this very moment, when people are actually now seeing the film. And I’m just speaking for myself, but I feel people need this film now. I knew that I wanted to live in that world and be part of sending that message out into the world now of looking for hope and light in a dark time.

On how Emily Blunt came to the role: Emily Blunt: I got a voicemail from Rob, who is my dear friend and we have known each other a long time, and the voice mail certainly had a sort of charged energy to it. I was like, “Oh my God, what is it? What is this project?” And when he called me, he said, “We’ve been digging through the Disney archives and by far their most prized possession.” And I was like “What, what is that?” And when he said Mary Poppins, I thought the air changed in the room.

It was so extraordinary, such an extraordinary, rather unparalleled moment for me because I was filled with an instantaneous “yes”, but also with some trepidation, all happening simultaneously in that moment because she is so iconic. She had such a big imprint on my life and on everyone’s lives, you know? People hold this character so close to their hearts. And so how do I create my version of her? What will my version of her be? No one wants to see me do a sort of cheap impersonation of Julie Andrews because no one is Julie Andrews. And so she should be preserved and treasured in her own way for what she did. I knew this was going to be something that I wanted to take a big swing with and I knew I could do it with this man who is the most emboldening, meticulous, brilliant director in the world and I was in safe hands with him. However much I knew I had my work cut out for me.

Rob Marshall and Emily Blunt on set.

On how Blunt sought to differentiate her Mary Poppins from Julie Andrews’ take on the character in the 1964 film: EB: What I decided to do, even though I’d seen it as a child, was not watch the original so close to shooting our version, I think probably because she is so beautiful and so extraordinary, I would have maybe tried to accommodate in some way, and let that sort of bleed into what I wanted to do. So I just decided to go on my gut instinct from the book because she is rather different in all of the books [by P.L. Travers].

If I’m going to carve out new space for myself, it was gonna have to be without watching the details of what Julie did so close to shooting. I have this searing memory of Mary Poppins, but not of all of the tiny details of how she played the character. And so as soon as we wrapped I watched the original. I was just floored by it, and probably relieved that I hadn’t watched it because I was all, “My god, she’s amazing!”.

On how Lin-Manuel Miranda came to be involved in the project: Lin-Manuel Miranda: I remember going to the midnight premiere screening of Chicago at the Ziegfeld Theater [in New York], and seeing the greatest modern movie musical I’d ever seen in my life. So when I got a call from Rob Marshall, and [choreographer] John DeLuca saying, “We’d like to talk to you about something,” that became an immediate priority.

They came to buy me a drink between shows. I was still in Hamilton at the time and I had a two-show day. So I finished the matinee, rolled across the street to the Paramount Hotel and I met them for a drink and they said, “Sequel to Mary Poppins,” and I said, “Who’s playing Mary Poppins?” And they said, “Emily Blunt,” and I said “Oh, that’s good”.

I can’t give them enough credit for seeing this role in me because there is no childlike wonder in Alexander Hamilton. He has a very traumatic early life. He goes on that stage and he wants to devour the world and he wants to move so fast and he wants to do everything, whereas Jack in this movie, as they pitched him to me, has this childlike sense of wonder. He’s in touch with that imagination you all see in your kids when they can sort of play in their own imagination for hours. Jack never lost that and that was I feel so humbled that [Rob] saw that in me. From that moment, from that drink, I was in. It came along at the perfect time for my family too, you know. We had finished a year of performing Hamilton and then I chopped my hair off and left the country and jumped into Mary Poppins’ universe. It was like, beautiful. On rapping in a Disney movie: LM: I would urge you to re-watch the first film. Because everyone who is like, “Wow, there’s rapping in Mary Poppins Returns,” forgets that Bert has a 30-second rap about all the women he dated before Mary Poppins. You’ve forgotten it, but Jolly Holiday is one big flirt between Mary and Bert.

Lin-Manuel Miranda (top center) as Jack.

On balancing reverence with innovation: RM: I really felt that everyone who was a part of this needed to have the first film in their blood in some way because that’s what we were following. I use myself as a barometer because I thought well, what would I want to see? If I came to a sequel to Mary Poppins I would want to see an animation sequence with live action and I would want it to be hand drawn in a 2D world. I would want Cherry Tree Lane to have a curve to it because that’s the Cherry Tree Lane we all know. It was as simple as that, although we were finding our new way. There were sort of goal posts or sign posts throughout that we needed to hold on to because it’s in the DNA of the material.

I knew there needed to be a big huge production number with athletic dancers with Mary and Jack, Jack leading the entire piece. That needed to be in there in some way. I would feel that if it wasn’t there we’ve gone off track. It was this insane balancing act of honoring the first film, but at the same time forging our own way. Marc and Scott were incredibly careful about making sure that we didn’t abuse using [musical] themes from the first film. It’s so easy to use. We used it in very strategic places throughout the film. Most of it actually very much at the end where we feel we’d earned it by then. And that’s what Marc was very careful about doing. I did feel that we were coming from the right place and that was the key.

‘Mary Poppins Returns’ is in cinemas from December 19.

[purging-foxfire]

Prompt: Theme C: Legacy

Length: Around 1′825 words

Notes: I thought about writing something little around 500 words, but I got to excited... Also sorry for Al... Tomorrow’s prompt is family so he definitely gets his spotlight!

“Who are you?”

Dark eyes that speak of many tales, bore into him, almost as if they could look through him into his soul.

“Edward,” he mutters, before he straightens himself and speaks up, louder than before. “Edward Hohenheim.”

He hates that name, but if he wants to achieve his goal, he must use it in every way possible.

“Hohenheim… Hohenheim the Light’s son?!”

Mutters fill the hall and now thousands of gazes settle on him, searching for answers to their questions. Answers he might have – or might not. The man with the darkest orbs he has ever seen, looks at him with an unreadable mask.

“What might the great Hohenheim’s son want here?”

Besides the hall in which everyone was standing, there were only ruins. Ruins of houses and places, that once stunned and stole the breaths of every person, that took a step into this forgotten city among a sea of the clearest water he has ever seen.

“I’m seeking for something,” he answers, but doesn’t bother to specify. If everything goes his way, the people would end up with a reconstructed home, and he would have the information, and maybe even, the means to get what he wants.

The dark one narrows his eyes, but soon his expression is once again devoid of anything.

“And you mean to find it here? In nothing but mere ruins?”

“No,” Edward speaks, nothing but truthful. “I won’t find it here. Though a way to find it…”

And he doesn’t end his sentence, because he knows the other understands what he’s saying. It’s silent for a while, everyone too curious to disturb their conversation. Suddenly, a woman with blond hair steps forward, her brown eyes staring at him, like steel, unwavering.

“Riza!” the dark one whispers harshly. There is concern hidden in the voice, and Edward knows this woman is important.

“How do you plan to get whatever you want? You don’t believe someone will just tell you anything?”

Her voice is unforgiving and cold, but he can hear the curiosity in it. He snorts, surprising a lot of the people. “Of course not, I have thought this over though. There is something that I could offer.”

Now everyone’s face is filled with wonder and suspicion. They don’t trust easily, a good quality to have.

“And what would you offer be,” speaks the dark one, now standing in front of the woman, trying to shield here.

Edward smirks, as his eyes shine in the light of rays, that come through some gaps in the roof.

“The restoration of your city; in simple words, I’ll reconstruct every building here.”

Gasps fill the hall now, and everyone starts whispering. Even the dark one looks mildly shocked.

“How…,” whispers a man in the back, with blond hair and blue eyes.

“Hohenheim’s legacy,” he answers simply, and everyone understands, because they all have heard about the legends and tales of Hohenheim the Light.

“Well? What’s your answers?”

The people look at each other for some minutes, before the dark one speaks up.

“I’m Roy Mustang… and we’re willing to handle with you, if you show us prove.”

And showing them prove he does, once he clasps his hands and pretty building stands in the middle, of what once has been dirt and stones. Before he knows it, there are people cheering, shouting and laughing, as they stand in the middle of a gorgeous city with shining buildings.

Roy and Riza stare at him with the most grateful gaze he has ever seen.

“Tell us what you want to know – anything.”

And thus, he tells them about corpses, red stones and a dead little brother.

It started when they were kids, Alphonse nine, and Edward himself ten. They had a loving mother and hardworking father. So hardworking and absent, that he didn’t notice how his wife was rotting away, in only the company of their children. Or maybe, he noticed, maybe he knew all along. Edward wouldn’t put it past him.

Like mentioned, the mother, Trisha, was dying slowly and painfully – though very good at hiding it despite the pain. And one day, when they last expected it, she collapsed – and never opened her eyes again. It was one that fateful day, where they father came back, every intent to make things better, as he showed them a red stone (oh, how much Edward hated that stone, despised it to it’s core). He didn’t make things better – he made them so, so much worse.

There is always price for everything, anything. And like a fool, Hohenheim believed his life would be price enough for his beloved Trisha – except that it wasn’t. It never could be, and never would be.

Truth, the probably cruelest and yet wisest god he has ever met, doesn’t take too kindly to people, who try to verify the price of a live.

“A life for one? Don’t make me laugh! What about the memories? The experiences? The age? The amount of love and everything? You see a life is unpriceable.”

A speechless father and two scared children. Truth took his price.

“A man, a child and two limbs – there you go, have your beloved wife back.”

And Edward woke up to a deformed corpse, missing two limbs, and with only the last words of his father and brother to remember them by.

“Destroy them – this was a horrible mistake; how couldn’t I see? Destroy them all, Edward! Do you hear me? Des..tr.. the.. all – th… red.. sto…”

“Brother!! Don’t… do… anything stupid… I love…y…”

Edward doubted he would ever try to repeat what his father did.

“My best friend, Winry, and her grandma, Pinako, found me and gave me two metal limbs upon my wish. Then we buried the corpse – Pinako and me, Winry shouldn’t have to see… it… - after that, I searched through the things in my father’s studies. Those stones… there were a lot of them… I found his notebook with the location of every stone… He never put them in the same place… too scared someone might find them and take them all.”

“Obviously, people found them and tales were told. As for the notebook… some of the papers were torn and it was clear, that not every location was in the notebook… but I promised myself and Al – heck, even that bastard of a father, that I would destroy them all. And the one I’m searching… it’s the last one, and I heard people here would have legends and…”

He doesn’t finish speaking – too exhausted, too tired and they respect that.

They give him the knowledge he wants – the last red stone’s hiding place. In the middle of a desert of course, and Edward - something cold and dark settling in his stomach – already knows which one. Of course his bastard of a father would hid it where his hometown once resided. Stupid, he chides himself. He should have known.

“Thank you,” he says, ready to leave. But they stop him. Roy, Riza and four other guys.

“We’ll come with you,” Roy says, and there is determination in his voice and fire in his eyes. Fire that could burn worlds.

“And don’t you dare to protest,” Riza speaks, and there under the shining light of the sun, besides Roy, she is water. The water that could drown worlds, that holds Roy’s fire in check – and Edward agrees, too stunned to say anything else.

They travel some days and he gets to know them. He gets to know Havoc with his driving skills and cigarettes, he gets to know Breda with his funny jokes, he gets to know Fuery with his knowledge about technology and his shy manner and he gets to know Falman with his knowledge on everything.

He sees Riza’s gentle side, as she gives him her jacket when she thinks he is too cold, and he gets to see her strict side, as she chides him from injuring himself – even if they are mere scraps and scratches.

He sees Roy’s serious side, as he explains the danger of some actions to Edward and commands him to stay by their side, but he also meets Roy’s fun side, which is all about teasing and ruffling Edward’s hair.

And Edward notices – of course he does – they behave so weird around him, almost like - like parents.

But he ignores it, because he doesn’t have parents, and he certainly doesn’t have a life after this.

They find the stone among ruins (how funny) and Edward destroys it. The legacy of his father is gone. It’s that simple.

But it gets difficult once he turns around, facing the people that spend the last weeks with him. Which he grew to like – which grew to like him. He doesn’t know what to say, but he knows what he wants to say – goodbye.

(Or does he?)

He tells himself that it’s better soon – to vanish completely, too take that terrible knowledge with him into the depths of nothing, but forgetfulness.

But then he looks up and six pair of eyes stare at him with happiness and relief for him, with love. And he wants to cry so badly and he remembers.

“Hey, Ed? How old are you even?”

“… 15. I’ve been doing this for five years.”

And he remembers how they always used to ask him what he would do once he was finished – as if they didn’t doubt he would finish.

“Well, Pinako and Winry live somewhere else now… we were the only ones in that town and after – I guess they wanted to see some new sights… And I guess… I have no idea what I’m going to do after this.”

He was always too scared to tell them, that he planned to die after everything.

“Hey… Edward…”

And now Riza is standing before him, a hand on his shoulder, looking at him with… uncertainty and something like fear?

“Would you like…” Roy continues, and Edward is too used that those both simply know how to end each other sentences. They do that often and he knows that comes with their knowledge of each other and time.

Roy wears the same look as Riza, and Edward is worried.

But then Havoc grins, as he lies and arm around Roy shoulders.

“Come on!”

And Fuery smiles encouragingly at Riza. Then both, Roy and Riza, stare at each other, communicating with each other, before looking at Edward.

“Would you like to live with us?”

“We have a spare bedroom.”

But he hears the words hidden in their sentences – Would you like to start off new? We wouldn’t mind looking after you.

Like parents, like family.

And suddenly he knows he can cry. He does, in front of them, and the panic.

“Brother!! Don’t… do… anything stupid… I love…y…”

Don’t do anything stupid.

“I… I would love that… living with you.”

A new legacy to carry one. A better on.

A family.

[tinymixtapes]

Feature: Wrong in Different Ways

“An accurate memory of the past would be depressing, probably.” – David Lynch One of the best jokes in the pilot episode of Twin Peaks occurred when Agent Cooper and Sheriff Harry Truman, at the end of a long day of detective work, return to the Sheriff’s Office to find a mounted deer head laying on its side. The odd response from a minor character (“Oh, it fell down”) underlines a lot of the initial appeal of the series: A seemingly innocuous moment executed with comedic pacing and an absurdity designed to relieve the tension built up from a string of traumatic plot revelations. It’s weird, but not “too weird.” It’s, in today’s language, quirky. The first two seasons of Twin Peaks are full of these kinds of moments. We have the legendary “damn fine” cups of coffee. We have Major Briggs’s extraordinary wisdom. We have Cooper’s played-for-laughs lesson on the nation of Tibet and the mystic knowledge he draws from it. And, as the second season burrows into its bizarre middle and late periods, we get super strength, aliens, and Confederate soldier amnesia. It’s a show whose metaphysics hinge on a dwarf who speaks backwards. These bits have lingered on as a 25-years-running set of passwords. How there was “a fish in the percolator” or how the owls are “not what they seem” or how “it is happening again.” These phrases have been passed along, referenced, parodied, remixed, rebuilt, paid forward into other works that have absorbed the show’s legacy. This tone — humorous, mysterious, offbeat — has been perhaps the most visible product of the show’s brief initial run. Nearly every beloved television series of the intervening generation, from Lost to True Detective to even Glee, has at some point been described as “like Twin Peaks.” But, within these sometimes scattered ideas about what the series may or may not represent, there begs another question: What do we mean when we say something is “like Twin Peaks”? --- Animation: Korey Daunhauer Other things that are like Twin Peaks: Wind blowing through a stand of Douglas Fir. A traffic light changing from yellow to red in the darkness. A ceiling fan turning, frighteningly, forever. When Twin Peaks first aired, I was four years old. I remember sneaking into the living room to see my mom watching the show and, on other nights, hearing Angelo Badalamenti’s music lurking outside my bedroom door. I remember catching a glimpse of Cooper in the Sheriff’s station, his eyebrows up in fear, and hearing synthesizer chords hanging in our hallway, moments that made my mom “afraid.” I remember being up later than I should have been. I remember the lights being off. All mundane, average things somehow made wrong by what was on TV. This, for me, is what I think of as being “like” Twin Peaks. Because when you talk about Twin Peaks, you are also talking about much more than its plot. Because when you talk about Twin Peaks, you are also talking about much more than its plot. There is the TV series, its companion movie, and their various release formats throughout the year. There is the fandom that blossomed around these two pieces of media and their various tie-ins (books, cassettes, merchandising). There is the career of one of its creators and how this single storyworld may or may not speak for the entirety of their body of work. There are GIFs, memes, theme parties, Etsy art, and SXSW pop-up events. There is Log Lady cosplay. In all this, it’s easy to lose track of the show’s plot: the murder mystery of teenage Laura Palmer, the small-town homecoming queen whose private life was (like those owls) not what it seemed. Alongside its endearing cast and twilight-Borscht Belt sense of humor, it was this mystery that first lured a large network audience to the series’s first season. And, as the reasons for the killing became more elliptical and less grounded to Earth (though maybe more poetically drawing from the show’s interest in the earth and nature), many of those same fans moved on to other fictional universes. In the immediate clearing wrought by Twin Peaks, we got Northern Exposure — also a show “like Twin Peaks” that my mother watched at night, though one that made her less “afraid.” Offbeat, quirky. Weird, but not too weird. --- Animation: Korey Daunhauer Also like Twin Peaks: A poker chip. The sound of neon crackling through a bar sign. Rope tied around a wrist. I have a screencap on my desktop of James Hurley — the series’s sensitive bad boy, as opposed to its other criminal bad boys or its demon-possessed bad boys — sitting on a hilltop overlooking the breathtaking view of the mountains bordering the town of Twin Peaks, his motorcycle parked next to him. In the context of the show, James and his motorcycle are sort of a duo (a theme explored with great detail in his much-derided road trip in season 2). In another scene from the pilot, when James drives off from his uncle Ed’s “gas farm,” he slips on a pair of sunglasses before riding away, like it’s no big deal. For a series whose aesthetic can feel so unique, so precisely defined, much about Twin Peaks feels like an echo of something else. James prefigures Nicolas Cage’s words from David Lynch’s Peaks-contemporary feature film Wild At Heart, where he declares, wonderfully, that his snakeskin jacket is a “symbol of my individuality and my belief in personal freedom.” Hurley, in his leather jacket, on his hog, wearing these shades, wearing his square jaw handsomeness, speaks just as clearly, and ridiculously, and earnestly, to his belief in personal freedom. For a series whose aesthetic can feel so unique, so precisely defined, much about Twin Peaks feels like an echo of something else. Twin Peaks often feels like it is either making fun of something or being deadly sincere about that same thing, oftentimes both at once. Even from the beginning, the dialogue is corny (“Quit worryin’ and start screwin’, Mr. Touchdown”) and many of the jokes don’t “work” in the way one might like them to. This, of course, is also much of what is “like” Twin Peaks: the gap, similar to irony but something much weirder, between what we expect and what we get. It’s disarming. It makes one pause and wonder. It messes deeply with one’s bearing for what, if anything, we’re supposed to be taking seriously here — and why some of these things might be taken more seriously than others. Why do we allow some of this to resonate and not the rest? What does it say about us if we can’t totally “go there”? What will people think of me if I don’t get it? --- Animation: Korey Daunhauer Another example from Lynch’s pilot that is “like Twin Peaks”: the scene when Laura’s friends first learn of her death in the middle of class. When this discovery comes — illustrated, crushingly, by Laura’s empty desk — her best friend and confidant, Donna, is moved to an explosion of grief. This meme-ready image, of actress Lara Flynn Boyle’s head tilted back in despair, openly weeping, has become an icon of something core to the identity of the Twin Peaks universe: the intrusion of a deep sadness into “normal life.” Maybe more than any violence or supernatural evil, it is this quality — the stuff that brings us to tears — that both disrupts and defines life in Twin Peaks. There are few other television shows or films that allow its characters more frequent and intense displays of things so easily repressed, of actual crying, of more opportunities to react to trauma with not just inner pain but a pandemonium of feelings: terror, rage, screaming. How does James react in this same scene? James, stone-faced, snaps his pencil in half. It’s quirky, and it’s somehow placed at exactly the wrong moment, the timing completely off. Also in this scene, which feels equally “like Twin Peaks” despite its seemingly frivolous nature: a poster on the back wall of Abraham Lincoln. --- Animation: Korey Daunhauer A lot of what we remember about Twin Peaks now is environmental. The red curtains of the Black Lodge and the roadhouse stage, the zig-zag of black and white, tall trees filtered through fog. All of its objects. Rewatching the series, I tried to make a list of every “object” that felt important. Three episodes in, this list began to feel psychotic: ashtrays, gas pumps, jukeboxes (plural). I wrote the word “lumber” a dozen times. Everything — every “thing” — seemed to carry another meaning. Even the most basic details, after a few hours, vibrated differently. Each lamp felt ominous. Twin Peaks has hung around for almost three decades partially for this reason. The lasting mystery of the show is less in the question it was marketed under — “Who killed Laura Palmer?” — but in that question of what, exactly, we’re even seeing. Its audience returns to these episodes again and again, because something about them feels unfinished. That creeping feeling that something is not right here, that things have gone terribly, cosmically wrong — and that it still (as James puts it) “makes some kind of terrible sense.” The lasting mystery of the show is less in the question it was marketed under — “Who killed Laura Palmer?” — but in that question of what, exactly, we’re even seeing. That the series often asks you to largely throw away logic and to be swept up in its senses, “terrible” or otherwise, is also what has given the show its long life. Lynch and creative partner Mark Frost don’t seem interested in telling the story of Laura Palmer’s murder to “say” anything about her death, or about death in general. They tell this story because it feels a certain way. The haze of American upper-middle-class suburbia — caught temporally between the era of the show’s premiere, the 80s, and that of Lynch’s own childhood, the 50s — is used for a texture of banality, the “normal world” terrorized by the show’s supernatural forces. Like much of Lynch’s work, this resonates the deepest as a kind of dream place, perhaps his attempt to rebuild and remake the specifics of his own youth in order to reveal the sensations he felt buried in there. And yet: while Twin Peaks may not be the real world, it’s also not only fantasy. And it’s certainly not universal. It is a specific vision with precise references to an era its creators grew up in: neon diner signs, girls in sweater sets, sleazy rock & roll, wall-to-wall carpeting, cassette tapes, the highly stylized signifiers of a mid-century middle-class American culture. These references don’t belong to everybody, but they do belong to the person who dropped a teenager’s murder into the middle of them. They resonate not because they’re ours, but because we can tell they are somebody’s. Many of us might like the chance to revisit and rebuild our childhoods; Lynch just has the privilege of giving us his childhood back to us. Twin Peaks might not always ask you to think, but it always asks that you feel — deeply, confusingly, uncontrollably. Fitting for a story about spirit possession and a community unprepared to deal with it, when Twin Peaks works, it can seem like a thing that is being done to us, intruding in our own normal spaces, flipping them. Creeping down the hallway. Driving us to host costume parties. Still making us “afraid.” Twin Peaks’s power is that it makes things wrong, but it never makes them right again. The show just continues making them wrong in different ways. http://j.mp/2rc7ghY