oh remilia ..

BELLY CONKLIN and JEREMIAH FISHER THE SUMMER I TURNED PRETTY (2023)

speaking of her off-shoulder dresses ............. who is going to give remi marks on her neck & shoulders so others can see when she wears them ..............

now that i think about it .. if her s/o has toned / muscular biceps, she will bite them there — gently of course🥺

remi’s s/o using the petname “my girl” w her …. ohhhhhhh

this is a MESS but .. 🥺

REMICORE ….

The Carnivorous Lamb, Agustín Gómez-Arcos, tr. William Rodarmor (via letsbelonelytogetherr)

what i need to research more in tes lore … a little to-do guide for lis <3

→   the connection & symbolism between moths / foxes, time, the divine, & consequently: remilia (as the dragonborn) 

→   the (very high) possibility for apotheosis / godhood for the dragonborn (aka why i might be writing an apotheosis-based verse for remilia & why it would fit in w canon lore)

→   thoughts on the “official dragonborn greeting” given by the greybeards / “ysmir of the north”

→   what the HECK is the oversoul . 

→ speaking of souls ... who gets the dragonborn's soul after she perishes??????????????

thinking about the line “if i relaxed my body now, i’d fall apart. i’ve always lived like this, & it’s the only way i know how to go on living. if i relaxed for a second, i’d never find my way back. i’d go to pieces, & the pieces would be blown away.” & remilia tonight .

a year or so ago i posted this on my previous blog & have finally found it, so here is part one of the soundtrack to remilia’s life aka before the main questline of skyrim begins .... i hope u enjoy <3

before the title reveal [ . . . ] title reveal. skyrim's main theme by taylor davis (cover).

SCENE . . . begins overlooking a vast flowing field, of soft greens & hazy violets. springtime breezes stir the tall grass & lavender stalks with lover's caress as the beginning of the cover plays. a young woman appears before the camera, back to us as the audience. with dark, dark hair to her hips, braided messily but with care, simplistic dress of white close to body & feet bare of shoes. one hand comes to brush against nature before her, & the camera pans upwards, around, to her face. eyes of green fire meet ours, & the theme picks up, as if saying: ah, here she is! our girl, our hero. camera continues to rise, up up up to the pale blue skies—thus title is revealed [0:41], & then a line from a poem fades in. it reads: CHORUS: o, sad one. some heavy god has put more pain on you than any other human being.

the beginning. talia's theme by two steps from hell.

SCENE . . . begins pitch-black. howling winds, mournful & cruel. night sky is shown, pale stars barely evident under blanket of darkened clouds & blanket of night. howling winds fade & theme begins as we follow a snowbank up to a tiny, ramshackle barn of rotting wood & rusting nails. upon a straw pillow—oh, how scratchy & uncomfortable it looks—& with a lone wool blanket 'round frame, a young woman sits within barn; the same young woman from before, but more frail, more terror-ridden, more frightened prey even with no predator in sight [0:18]. a blackbird with its beady, all-knowing eyes stares from windowsill, cloaked in darkness. her eyes are closed for a moment, then open & lift to the landscape outside. her knees are pulled towards her chest, head leaning on arms, mesmerized by sights & sounds of a rare winter upon the land of high rock [0:25]. lonely, lonely, lonely… she is terribly lonely. is this all there is? is this all there will be? same blackbird is our camera, flying out & back to the sky [0:32], beginning its roam over the village. not a soul is out, & all lanterns are extinguished. then: pitch-black once more.

the dreams (visions?) begin [ . . . ] the divines call! prologue by ramin djawadi.

SCENE . . . where are we? where is that young woman? it is unknown as of yet where we are, what we are seeing; what we are supposed to be seeing. a cave, perhaps? deep within the earth? coal-black walls, yet cracks reveal bright, scarlet fire, or mayhaps molten lava. [0:00 - 0:46] then, a monstrous roar, a shaking of the screen! a voice, a language guttural & powerful & ancient. dovahkiin! somewhere within the depths, there rises a cacophony of a girl's screams & wails & sobs. we, as the audience, know only one concept from what we are given: everything is hurting, everything is burning, & everything is changing. nothing shall be the same again. NOTE . . . this theme plays all the way through, the ferocity of the flames & the shaking of the screen growing stronger & stronger as do the wails.

awakening [ . . . ] where are you, child? fate awaits. eastern path by vangelis.

SCENE . . . the young woman is back in our sights. she is in a restless state of sleep-wake, eyes moving rapidly under thin lids, bottom lip quivering & brow furrowing. expression of terror & despair stays frozen 'pon delicate features, sweaty & flushed. awakening with a startle, her chest heaves & she gasps for air, hand coming to bosom as if heart hurts. despite the almost-freezing temperatures she has lain in, she feels as though she is on fire; as though her body, her soul itself, is aflame. tunic-dress is ripped off with violent, frenzied movements, though nothing is shown except her bare back. a call to run, to move: she knows not where she shall go, but she knows she cannot stay here any longer.

journey begins [ . . . ] fate will not wait for thee. wandering jane by dario marianelli.

SCENE . . . o'er hills, o'er ice-lands. the journey is not pleasant, nor kind. weather does not sympathize, nor do the gods wait. she stumbles, she falls, she rises. she cries into her palms, she skins her kneecaps, bruises her body, speaks to no one but the watching wilderness & watching moons & sun. yet she falters not, for fate is a rope 'round ivory neck, & it pulls her ever-forward.

border of change [ . . . ] border of rebirth. winter by paul halley.

SCENE . . . the crone who took her in, brought her away from death's arms, spoke in prophecies with glazed hues of the bluest blue. in a language unknown to all but the pillars of reality itself, she asks: what is your name, girl? & thus the girl speaks: remilia. secret revealed: it has been her fate since her birth, since before her birth, since before her great-grandmother's birth, before her great-great-great-great-great-grandmother's birth: this prophecy. she feels the heaviness of the world upon her frail shoulders, feels the burn of the rope of prophecy upon the tender skin of her neck, threatening to hang. from past to present to future untold: it is her duty to defeat the great evil that shall follow her to the ends of time. only one shall survive, & it must be her. sobs escape her mouth as she dashes out of the tent. falling to her knees, she lifts her head to the sky & gives a soundless scream of why? why me? i am nothing, i offer nothing. please, this cannot be given to me. NOTE . . . as soon as the woman looks up from remilia’s palms & says but one phrase — you are the last dragonborn, it must be you — in her quiet, slow voice, the scene cuts to the tent flap being shoved open, as if the poor girl cannot get out fast enough.

stages o' grief unfolded, denial [ . . . ] must i truly do this? once upon a december by emile pandolfi.

SCENE . . . she has not written much before. though taught by those in the village that saw & pitied her, she has not had need nor want to simply sit & write. her letters are small & a bit lopsided, the ink messy from where she pressed too hard on certain strokes, & while she tries to angle her head away when tears begin to flow, they too stain the paper. it is a note of leaving: a thank you & goodbye to the woman who saved her life & taught her so much; of the gods, of the land, of survival, of what she must endure.

stages o' grief unfolded, acceptance [ . . . ] yes, i must. under an ancient sun by jeremy soule.

SCENE . . . evidently, some time has passed: perhaps a day or two. dawn arrives, with birdsong & breeze. we see nothing but the whiteness of snow, as far as the eye can see, mountain-tops & pine trees. the crackling of snow underneath footsteps. then, a fur-lined boot comes into view. the camera rises to her face: she is nervous, terrified even. but her mouth is set into a tight line, her brows furrowed. she raises a hand to the amulet of kyne now lain ‘round her neck: a gift from the woman before. with a shaky inhale, her journey begins. NOTE . . . the music is already playing by the time the sun breaks over the mountains. it continues on.

Circe by Edmund Dulac

SPEAKING OF KISSES ... don't think of remi giving her dragons (mainly odahviing & durnehviir) goodbye kisses before she leaves them for a while :(( but also giving them goodnight kisses if she is resting near them & not feeling like her nighttime routine is finished unless all dragons get a lil kiss on their head ...

ohhh isabelle in la reine margot ..... very high queen!remi core ...

every cell in my body greets grief in the morning and yet i keep getting up to live more

The Hill of Slain by Ted Nasmith

remilia: i don’t get why people think i’m strange :(

also remilia: anyone wanna dance under the full moon w me in the fields? anyone wanna talk to the gods with me? anyone wanna walk nude into the river & bathe under the light of the stars?