#although i have briefly considered the idea that A doesn’t exist and is a subtle projection of mello’s feelings

[theoldworldsrunnerup]

I’m curious as to what other people think about this so

You don’t have to but I’d like everyone who participates in this poll to reblog this and explain their reasoning in the tags

[iceeckos12]

time travel snippet

little time travel au oneshot. season 5 jon travels back in time to season 1. from the perspectives of tim, martin, and sasha. 3.5k.

i dont think i need to tag anything, but please let me know otherwise.

Tim wakes up that morning, and it’s just like any other day.

Well—no, okay, that’s a bit misleading. Today is his first day working as an archival assistant, so he’s one part nervous, one part that breathless, exhilarated feeling you only get when you’re about to do something unfamiliar that may or may not redefine your life for the foreseeable future. When he says “it’s just like any other day”, he means that he wakes up, and he’s a normal person doing normal people things like eating a healthy breakfast and going to work.

(So, no. In short, he doesn’t realize that today is the day when It happens, that big, life-changing event that you think will Never Happen To You.)

He gets out of bed, stumbles into the bathroom. Washes his face of whatever residue that’d built up during the night, tries to scrape away the evidence of his nightmares, smiles big and bright at the mirror to see how successful his efforts were. He’s betrayed by the traitorous bags beneath his eyes, but that’s okay. Sasha taught him how to wield concealer as a shield whenever his past wore down his armor.

He shoots twin finger guns into his reflection, making soft pew, pew! noises that are almost too-loud in the hush of the bathroom. Then he turns on his heel and walks away, sauntering and humming along with the chorus of Dolly Parton’s 9 to 5.

He gets to the Institute twenty minutes before he’s supposed to—not because he’s trying to impress his boss or whatever (he and Jon have known each other long enough that there’s no point). It’s just, Jon will probably want to make some sort of game-plan before the actual workday starts. 

The poor man had been relieved to an almost comical degree when Tim had said yes, I’ll come with you to the Archives. It’s painfully obvious how out-of-his-depth Jon is with the whole “Head Archivist” thing. Tim’s honestly baffled as to why Elias had singled him out for the position in the first place, considering his lack of qualifications.

But, whatever. It’s fine! Tim and Sasha will be there to help him—although the third assistant is a bit of a problem, considering that they know absolutely nothing about him. There’s no guarantee that this Martin Blackwood won’t report inadequacies or mistakes back to Elias. If that’s the case, Tim and Sasha will have to be Jon’s safety net, which is partially why Tim is hoping to talk to Jon before anyone else gets there.

He also wants to talk to Jon because he just knows the man is probably working himself up over all of this. Maybe reassurances won’t do away with the source of anxiety entirely, but at least it’ll remind Jon that he’s not alone, and that he can count on Tim and Sasha.

As expected, when Tim gets there he can see a sliver of light pouring out from the cracked door of the Head Archivist’s office. He selects a desk and sets his bag on top of it, noting a set of strange gouges in the fake wood with a raised eyebrow, and then an internal shrug. The Institute issued laptop is near the far edge of his desk, and his collection of pictures are strategically placed so that he can see them all clearly.

His eyes linger over the image of him, his mother, and his brother. Their smiles are almost perfect replicas of each other, like someone took a mold of one of their faces and recreated it twice over.

Briefly, he closes his eyes. Then he shakes himself, releases a slow, steadying breath, and goes to check on Jon.

Tim’s not sure what he’s expecting to see when he goes into Jon’s office.

(That’s misleading too, though. He’s not sure if Jon will be visibly calm or upset, if he’ll be on his laptop, if he’ll be picking at the skin around his fingernails, as he so often does when he’s stressed. He is expecting Jon as he is and always has been—a twenty-some year old going on sixty, who wraps his gruff, grumpy demeanor about himself to protect the soft, vulnerable core he likes to pretend doesn’t exist.)

He comes up to the door, and the soft rectangle of light that emanates from beneath the door paints the tips of his shoes gold. “Jon?” he calls softly, rapping his knuckles against the frame. There’s a soft rustling noise—papers maybe? but no audible response, so he shrugs and pushes the door open. “I’m coming in.”

Tim steps inside, a quip instinctively readying itself on his tongue—but then his gaze lands on Jon, and he freezes dead in his tracks.

Even years later, he still vividly, viscerally remembers the moment he saw Danny standing on the stage underneath the Royal Opera House, the way he’d looked...not quite right. The wrongness had been subtle, so much so that it had been unnoticeable upon first glance, upon second glance. The longer Tim had looked though, the more obvious it had become, exposing all the little faults in that almost-perfect recreation of his brother.

Looking at Jon now, it’s the first and only thing he can think of. Because—yes, there’s the long, silver-streaked black hair, there’s the rich brown eyes, there’s the pair of spectacles that make him look far older than he actually is. But that’s where the similarities between the Jon he knows and this Jon end.

Jon’s always been a small man, but his feigned haughtiness makes him seem much bigger than he actually is. Except—except this Jon looks smaller somehow, his shoulders curved protectively inward, like he’s trying to present less of a target. And there’s something about his face, too—his expression is too sharp, too much—

But the worst of it is his eyes. There’s something very wrong with his eyes.

Who the fuck are you, and what have you done with Jon? He doesn’t say it out loud though, just keeps staring at Jon, a heady mix of terror and horror making any sort of reaction impossible.

After a moment Jon’s lips thin, contorted by some distant cousin of displeasure, and he rises to his feet. Tim stumbles instinctively backward, his breath escaping him in a sharp gasp that’s immediately swallowed up by the apathetic stacks of books and papers surrounding them. He’s struck by the fact that if he dies here, it’s unlikely anyone will notice; he’ll become just another set of marks gouged into the desk, willed away with an uneasy shrug.

Jon freezes, lips parting subtly, as though he were about to speak. Tim feels his breath catch in his chest, unable to shake himself out of the clouded stupor his mind has fallen into.

In the end, Jon says nothing. Just releases a long, slow breath of air and sits back down, pushing his chair close to his desk. The motion looks heavy, tired, as though it takes far more energy than it should.

“You—you should go,” Jon rasps, and there’s something off about his voice too, though Tim can’t put his finger on why. He can’t cobble together enough of a train of thought to make sense of any of this, all he can think of is that clown ripping Danny apart—

He stumbles out of Jon’s office, sits down at his desk. Stares down at the cheap, fake wood, at the gouges that have marred the otherwise pristine surface. Puts his head in his hands, and tries to will his heart to stop pounding in his chest.

-0-

Martin’s heard things about Jonathan Sims.

He’s not usually the type to pay attention or encourage gossip, as the vivid memories of his classmates tittering cruelly whenever he walked by still leaves a sour taste in his mouth.The problem with the Institute is that the employees get bored pretty easily. Though most would consider academic research into the esoteric and the paranormal to be fairly interesting, it’s still academic research. And the subject content can get to be a bit...repetitive. There’s only so many gruesome statements you can read without thinking, oh great, more meat.

So the employees gossip a lot, and while Martin usually tries to keep his head down and avoid it, it’s difficult not to overhear some things. And from what little he’s heard, he’s...a bit concerned. Rude and unsociable has frequently been mentioned, as have arrogant and unnecessarily finicky, and worst of all, a bit of a stuck-up know-it-all.

Normally he tries not to put too much stock in office gossip—he’s well aware that the grapevine tends to exaggerate one’s most undesirable traits—but if any of it is true, then he might just be in trouble. It was hard enough being a library employee when his boss wasn’t even paying attention most of the time. If Jon is as exacting as they say, it might be enough to expose the fact that Martin has no idea what the fuck he’s doing. And if that happens, then he might get fired, and he can’t get fired, he needs this job, he can barely keep up with his mum’s medical bills as it is—

Calm down, Martin tells himself firmly, pressing his hand against his sternum, as though that will be enough to quell the rising panic. It’s only your first day. Maybe he’s nice, and we’ll actually be good friends.

(With his luck? Yeah, right.)

The Institute looms in the distance, growing closer with every terrified, grudging footstep. A shiver runs up his spine at the sight of its imposing presence, a dark, ugly blot of a building against the backdrop of the iron grey clouds.

If there’s one thing he’s good at though, it’s keeping his head down and muddling through until he’s able to figure out what is actually expected of him. He can twist and fold himself into whatever role they need him to fill, as he has done so many times in the past. Not easily perhaps, but he has always managed. The alternative is untenable, after all.

So he takes a deep breath, and shoves his panic down as deep as possible. Lifts his head and forces a smile onto his face, like a good attitude will be enough to protect him from his boss’s wrath.

He could really do with a cup of tea.

Martin trudges down the stairs, giving the blank walls, the old-fashioned carpet, a dubious look as he does. The Archives themselves are as he remembers it—he’s been down here a couple of times when Gertrude made a request for something specific, but—

He pauses when he notices a man sitting at one of the desks, his face buried in his hands. His shoulders aren’t shaking and his breathing is even, so Martin doesn’t think that he’s crying? He’s just….sitting there, his stillness so perfect it’s almost inhuman.

“Hello?” Martin calls softly, cautiously, shifting his weight to the balls of his feet.

The man looks up, revealing a very handsome face and brown eyes so dark they may as well be black. His cheeks are dry but his eyes are bright and a little wild, and his mouth is pressed into a small, tight line. He doesn’t speak, just keeps watching, blinking dazedly in Martin’s direction. Martin gets the feeling that this person isn’t entirely there at the moment, like a house in which every room is lit, but there are no people inside.

He swallows and shifts nervously back and forth, trying to decide whether or not to call for some backup. Eventually he sets his bag on the floor and shuffles a bit closer. “Um—are you—is everything okay?”

The man blinks rapidly, some semblance of awareness creeping back into his gaze. He shakes his head slowly, pushes his short, gelled hair back from his head. His hands are trembling. “I’m...yeah, I’m fine. It’s—everything’s, it’s…”

But then his gaze lands on something over Martin’s shoulder, and all the color drains out of his face, his mouth shutting with a painful sounding click. Martin quickly spins around, searching for whatever could’ve scared him so much—

There’s someone standing in the doorway of Gertrude’s office.

There are so many things that one normally takes in upon first meeting another person: their hair, their skin color, all the little wrinkles and marks that give you the briefest insight into their life. Martin looks at posture first, tends to check if a person is intentionally looming, or if they’re making themself smaller.

But all Martin can see are the eyes.

There’s—two of them he thinks, but two is such an arbitrary number when the thing you’re applying it to doesn’t ascribe to human values (he’s not sure how he knows that—how does he know that—?). That horrible, terrible gaze is an unerring arrow, all-encompassing, all-consuming, piercing the deepest corners of his mind. It hurts in some distant, nebulous way he’s not even sure he comprehends—

Then he blinks, and the sheer terror, that feeling of the horrible, violating exposure of everything that he is, abruptly snuffs out. What’s left is just a person, wispy and small, his slight frame fairly drowning in a chunky, cable-knit jumper. He’s leaning against his doorframe, his eyes—two big brown ones, rich and unfathomably sad and more than that, human—drinking Martin in, his lips parted in a soundless gasp.

“Um—” Martin glances over his shoulder, and almost leaps out of his skin when a land falls heavily on his shoulder. The man who’d been sitting in the chair is standing just behind him, a strained but polite smile on his face.

“Hi Jon,” the man says, an undercurrent of a warning in his voice.

Martin glances between the two, his confusion growing with every passing moment. This is not what he was expecting when he first came into work today, and the uncertainty makes him feel strange and off-kilter.

The person in the door swallows once, twice, then straightens, one hand still gripping the doorframe like it’s the only thing keeping him upright. When he speaks, his voice is soft, tentative, a little ragged around the edges. “Tim. It’s, um...it’s good to see you.”

“Martin Blackwood, was it?” Tim continues, injecting a bit of cheer into his voice. It takes Martin a moment to realize that he’s being addressed, and he shoots Jon—this is Jonathan Sims?—an uncertain look before nodding slowly. “We’re happy to have you on the team.”

“O-Oh?” Martin squeaks, then grits his teeth and bodily forces his voice back into its normal range. “I’m—um, I’m happy to be here?”

“Good,” Tim says through a grin that looks more like a grimace, giving Martin’s shoulder a friendly pat. The look he shoots Jon is a dark, mistrustful thing. The look Jon gives him back is fragile, vulnerable, that winds the tension in Tim’s shoulders so tight it has to be painful.

Jon’s gaze flickers to Martin, just for a second—and then he disappears into his office, leaving the door cracked behind him.

Tim and Martin stand there for a second, staring at the door. Tim’s still tense as a bowstring, and his grip on Martin’s shoulder is almost uncomfortable. The air in the Archives feels stuffy and too warm, and there’s a strange prickling sensation on the back of Martin’s neck, like he’s being subjected to close scrutiny.

Then Tim sighs and lets go of Martin’s shoulder, a little of the tension bleeding out of him, and without it he looks small, deflated. He goes back to his desk and sits down, booting up his laptop without a word of explanation to Martin.

Martin stares at the back of Tim’s head for a moment, a number of questions clamoring around in his brain—what the fuck was that? What’s wrong with Jon? Why are you so obviously suspicious of him?—but the words won’t come. Breaking the silence feels...sacrilegious, somehow. Every breath of air sticks against the back of his throat.

In the end, he doesn’t say anything either, just sits at his desk and takes out his Institute-issued laptop. Stares blankly at the screen as the machine slowly, laboriously, comes to life.

-0-

Sasha’s not entirely sure how to interpret the tense atmosphere that has descended over the Archives.

The first day she’d arrived a couple of minutes before she was supposed to, prepared to follow Jon’s direction and help him adjust as best she could. (Her feelings about Jon’s promotion...didn’t matter. She didn’t like it, but it wasn’t his fault that Elias was an old-fashioned misogynist.)

But when she’d come down the stairs, Tim and the assistant she didn’t know, Martin, had been seated quietly at their desks. They’d both had the same distant, shell-shocked look on their faces, like they’d received some shattering, horrible news. Sasha had sent Tim a confused look, but he either hadn’t noticed it, or hadn’t wanted to explain.

She hadn’t even seen Jon that first day, just received a polite email asking her to start organizing the statements according to the system which he’d devised.

It’s been almost three days, and nothing has changed. Oh sure, they’ve all started organizing the statements as directed. Tim cracks jokes, Martin tiptoes around them and makes copious amounts of tea. That strange tension that makes the hair on the back of her neck stand up, like the world is holding its breath in anticipation, hasn’t faded though. And while she doesn’t know Martin all that well, she knows that something’s still up with Tim. He seems more subdued than usual, keeps sending uncomfortable looks in the direction of Jon’s office—

—which hasn’t been open since that first day. She hasn’t seen Jon at all either, no matter how early she arrives or how late she stays. The only proof she has that he’s still alive is the polite email she periodically receives, detailing some specific task that he wants for them to do.

Even then, his emails are...odd. She’s not sure how she can tell, but they feel...awkward? Stilted? Like he’s only half-aware of what he’s typing, or like he’s only asking them to do things because he feels like he should, not because he has any actual goal in mind.

Normally she’d be frustrated by this, would complain bitterly to Tim about Elias passing over her for someone who obviously doesn’t properly appreciate the position they’ve been given—except that she knows Jon. He’d made a point to explain the situation to her himself, an apologetic twist tucked into the corner of his mouth. More than that, he’d asked her to follow him to the archives, saying that he wanted the two people he trusted most, her and Tim, to come with him.

He respects her too much not to take this job seriously.

The strangeness of the archives is only emphasized by Jon’s complete and utter lack of presence within it, but she doesn’t—she doesn’t buy that. She doesn’t believe that he’d just suddenly decide not to do the job he’d been so anxious to excel at. 

More damning than anything is Tim’s complete, utter silence regarding Jon’s strange behavior, but whatever he knows about it, he isn’t saying anything. Martin is willing to talk, but he seems to be as lost as she is.

“I—that first day, Jon…” Martin shrugs, shooting a nervous glance toward the door leading to the archives. He’s been spending a lot of time hovering in the break room making tea, not that she can blame him. “He—I mean obviously I don’t know him very well, but he seemed...upset?”

“Upset,” Sasha repeats dubiously.

Martin lets out an exhausted sigh and turns away, waving a dismissive hand. “Look, I’m not entirely sure how to explain it. He just—okay, so, bear with me for a second, but he reminded me of this guy who used to live in my neighborhood.”

Sasha backs off, folding her arms and leaning against the counter. “Okay?”

“There was this little old couple that used to live in my neighborhood. They were—they were really sweet! The husband used to give candy to us younger kids. But um—sometimes you’d see him sitting in the rocking chair on his porch, and it was like...he wasn’t entirely there? Like, he’d just sit there for hours, rocking and staring at nothing. That’s—that’s what Jon’s expression reminded me of.”

Martin gets more animated the more he talks, Sasha notes; his hands move in broad, sweeping gestures, his expression twisting into an expression of extreme concentration. The moment he finishes he deflates again, tucking his hands into his armpits self-consciously, a hedgehog curling protectively in on itself.

“So, yeah,” he finishes eloquently.

“Huh,” Sasha says thoughtfully.

She gets back to her desk. Looks over at Tim, who’s studiously working through a box of statements, his mouth set in a neutral, concentrated frown. Takes a deep breath, letting the taste of dust and old papers sit heavy on her tongue.

Then she opens her laptop and starts looking through the catalog of cursed items that are currently being held in Artifact Storage.

(She doesn’t think that she’ll find anything, but—but just in case.)

-0-

They all get the call the next Monday morning: Elias Bouchard was found dead in his office.

[novantinuum]

Fandom: Steven Universe

Rating: T

Words: 1.3K~

Summary: His family’s not present, the third time he runs away. They never see the creature he becomes.

Early corruption AU.

I’m back! Future updates are likely to be slower as I am starting a new job soon, but at very least I have now settled into my new home. I share some writer’s meta on the AO3 version.

If you read this and enjoy, I’d greatly appreciate your support through reblogs here, or kudos/comments on AO3 as well. Thank you! <3

____

“So, I’ve been doin’ a lot of thinking,” Amethyst begins one day, propping her chin against the raised lip of the lava pool as she lounges on the floor at the center of the temple’s burning room, which they’ve started to use as their meeting space again.

Pearl— standing beside one of the lower branches of crystal pipes— tiredly glances her direction, nodding for her to speak. Even Garnet’s head tilts in interest, which is quite an accomplishment given her recent uncharacteristic silence. She suspects that she’s been busying herself scouring through whole galaxies of possibilities, although she’s not sure what good that will do without any reasonable intel to guide that vision. It’s been well over a week and a half since Steven’s gone missing, and beyond the existence of what they suspect is a corrupted Gem and footprints leading towards the water, they have no further clues. No inklings as to where Steven might have disappeared to, no hits from Greg’s posters, not even any leading tips from Homeworld or any of the outlying Gem-inhabited planets. And as for this particular creature... they’ve only met a single eyewitness. A human, who briefly caught its silhouette against the backdrop of sunrise. Perhaps if it ran further inland it would’ve tripped one of their old corrupted Gem surveillance sensors, but they never placed any in the oceans. They barely have any means to survey the oceans.

“I’ve been talkin’ to all sorts of people the past few days, right?” Amethyst says, widely gesturing as she rolls onto her back. “All Steven’s friends. People in town who knew him pretty well. And pretty much everyone agrees that he was actin’ pretty weird these past few months. Sadie described him as overly-tense. I called up Lars on his ship, and he kept saying that he was genuinely worried about his mental health, or whatever. Greg told me the same thing. And Connie. And basically everyone else.”

Pearl rhythmically flexes her fingers in and out of a fist against her side, her features rapidly curling into a scowl. “And what does that have to do with his disappearance?”

“Uh, potentially everything?” she snips back, throwing her hands in the air above her. “Y’guys, you’ve been making so many assumptions, but we barely know anything! You can’t just blindly throw out the idea that the whole corrupted Gem thing and Steven are linked without at least considering it.”

She grimaces, not even bothering to filter out the full intensity of her bitterness in the audience of such a ridiculous, illogical notion. “Amethyst, we’ve talked about your little ‘theory’ already. And everyone agreed that it’s impossible.”

“And yet it’s true that Steven has defied the impossible before,” Garnet comments suddenly, adjusting her visor.

“Are you defending her?” Pearl gasps, turning towards her old friend with her mouth agape with shock.

She crosses her arms, evidently unbothered by the weight of her subtle betrayal as she lounges back against the entryway. “I’m not defending nor rejecting, merely acknowledging a possibility.”

“Yeah, see?” the younger Gem chimes right back in, quickly pushing herself to her feet to rise to her full height. (Which blessedly— if she’s aiming for intimidation— isn’t much.) “Garnet gets it! Steven’s different than us. Always has been. His powers just do what whatever the hell he’s feeling, right? He feels happy, he floats. He feels spooked, bam! Bubble. He feels like an old man, he literally turns into one. And recently, it seems like he’s been feeling pretty crappy, which probably wasn’t helped by us getting all up in his business after he crashed the van.”

She squints. “Is this going anywhere?”

“Yes,” Amethyst stresses, peering right up at her, her eyes flaring with an urgency and passion Pearl admittedly hasn’t seen her wielding in quite some time. “Because I also talked to Jasper the other day. And she gave me the last piece of the puzzle I needed.”

The quartz steps back to address them both, hands nervously fidgeting with the frayed stitching of her missing sibling’s wool jacket.

“I gotta admit, this isn’t easy news, but it has to be shared.” She inhales tightly, briefly closing her eyes as she does so. “I’m pretty sure the reason Steven had her in the bathroom is that he was trying to heal her with the diamond essences he keeps there. Because he shattered her, in a duel.”

Pearl freezes. The kinder reality she’s stubbornly nurtured within her mind ignites and burns to cinders in an instant, hard light thrumming through the thin circuitry of her extremities at such an unimaginable pace that her form barely manages to keep up with the strain. She nearly crumples to her knees upon the sheer anguish of the revelation, only narrowly catching her fall to remain upright. Across the room, Garnet appears to be on the brink of splitting apart. She... shards, her primary instinct screams for her to violently discard every last bitter tasting word Amethyst has spoken into the furthest recesses of her mind, to rot and decay there for the rest of this cursed eternity, and yet still her picture perfect memory chooses to taunt her with details of the recent past... with the hauntingly damning fact that— when she checked the bathroom after watching Steven warp away, the last moment any of them laid eyes on him— the bottles of diamond essence had indeed been sloppily spilled into the bathtub.

“Her words, mind you, not mine,” Amethyst continues, no amount of stabilizing calm in her tone able to mask the slight tremor under the surface. “You can ask her yourself, if you want.”

“No,” she whispers, hot tears budding in her eyes as she presses her hands to her mouth. “That’s not what happened, it can’t be...”

“So, returning to my theory, you have a kid who’s already feeling terrible, someone whose powers do whatever he’s feeling. A diamond. And then he makes the worst possible mistake: he shatters someone. Accident or not, it don’t matter. Because maybe then... he starts feeling like a monster. Becomes a monster.”

“No,” she shakes her head vehemently. “No, no. Corruption doesn’t work that way, you—“

“Like, think about it!” Amethyst interrupts, striding towards her again. “Really think about it! All we know for sure is—“

“Amethyst, you have to STOP, this—“

“—corruption was caused by the Diamonds, but besides tha—“

“—you have absolutely no idea what you’re talking abo—“

“—how it actually works is like a total mystery!”

“NO!” she explodes, plunging the room around her into a dreadful silence. “You weren’t there, but I WAS!!” The burdens of her personal history grow heavier still as she jabs a decisive finger square at the center of her chest, continuing her impassioned tirade with water trailing down her cheeks in thin rivulets all the while. “I watched as that horrid corrupting light slammed against the surface, nearly obliterating any living Gem in its path, I watched as my friends and allies lost all control over their forms and became a twisted shadow of their former selves, I watched all of that!! So you don’t get to tell me what I do or don’t know about corruption!”

Amethyst’s expression sobers considerably in the audience of her outrage. Pointedly, as if expecting rescue, she turns her gaze to Garnet, who has her arms hugged around her middle as if holding herself in one piece. Quite honestly, after the horrid news they’ve just become privy to, she probably is.

“We should move on to a new subject,” the fusion states frankly, once again avoiding any clear stance on the topic. “This is clearly making Pearl very upset.”

The quartz’s eyes alight in clear indignation. “Y’know what? Fine,” she spits, shoving her hands in her pockets and storming towards the doorway. “If both of you are gonna be that sensitive, I’ll take my ideas somewhere else. But just for the record?” she says, whirling back to face them mere inches before passing through the temple’s threshold. “The reason Steven keeps running away is staring back at us in the mirror. You just refuse to see it. And that’s not my problem.”

[transsexualbloodlust]

Shrek and SPN an analysis

okay i said i would do a shrek and dean arch analysis and i’m here to deliver

before we ~get into it~ i’d like to say that this started out as being based on my head canon that dean likes the first shrek movie and the musical (secretly) but instead it just became it’s own analysis of the parallels, I will be doing a very short explanation of why i think that after this.

okay let’s do the obvious parts: the both have layers, and they r both bisexual and homophobic (i will not take criticism on this i’m right and u know it)

in regards to the layers:

In the shrek musical we get to see shrek’s childhood and back story. The basic summary is that on his 10th birthday his family abandons him and tells him he has to raise himself, that society will never accept him so he needs to “build a wall” (emotional) and find somewhere no one can get to him (emotional and literal). Shrek grows up knowing he is hated by society and although he doesn’t try to outright conform his choice of being the monster everyone wants him to be and living alone was conforming in itself, we learn later in the movie that shrek is lonely and wants friends but is afraid of vulnerability and how people view him. Now I’m sure we’ve all read a million and one essays on Dean’s personality but you’ll be reading one more. Dean also gets metaphorically thrown out, especially emotionally, by his father and is forced to fend for himself, except (and this is why shrek and dean’s personalities r so different) dean has sam and is forced to raise him. (dean is the woman coded version of this arch and shrek is the man coded version, once again i take no criticism). Dean is forced to live on the outskirts of society, constantly hopping schools, knowing about monsters and hunting, and he embraces that role as a form of protection for himself. This of course mixes with the way J*hn villanises dean to himself, he’s verbally abusive (and almost definitely physically) and holds dean to such a high standard he can never see himself as good enough. Not to mention how his bisexuality is likely seen as something disgusting. So in order to save himself he embraces that roll that his father has layed out for him, to the point where (like shrek and his roar) is very much a performance.

okay so how are the plots similar/something dean can relate to??

well dean and shrek both exist within the outskirts of society, never really wanting to enter and seemingly content with the performance they give. However (in very different ways) their ability to uphold the performance is tested and they embark and a journey to be able to go back to normal life. Shrek has to deal with the fairy tale creatures, and Dean has to save his father. (I genuinly think a lot of deans dependency on j*hn had to do with how much he based his identity on the man, and even though he does care about him and wanted to save him, his dependence on john and inability to recognize the abuse was a part of the performance he had to uphold). They then both get side characters , both Sam (no he’s not the main character stfu) and Cas for dean, and donkey for shrek. Who push them emotionally and force them to explore the possibility of life outside of that performance. They then both assume the roll of heros, something that their self image never truly allowed for. And when they get back to their old lives/rolls they realize it’s not something they truly want anymore, and that maybe it never was. Deans is much more subtle because he always feels the obligation to continue being a hunter wich is so heavily tied to the imagine J*hn projected on to him that he couldn’t move away as quickly as shrek did. But we start to see it in season 10. Then we ofc get to see the parallels between the love confessions. 😀😐

Okay so there’s the obvious “oh no they hate me what will i do” nature to both shrek/fiona and deancas but there’s literally so much more holy shit.

Cas/Fiona parallels:

The way Cas and Fiona r similar has a lot less to do with backstories and more to do with the essence of their arch’s, how they’re used, and how they’re coded. Cas and Fiona have Very different lives, however they where both agencies of the status quo. Fiona wants to be this maiden in her tower and be saved, and she actively reinforces that by following the ideas of a fairy tale even though she truly doesn’t understand the purpose of what she’s going through. Cas on the other hand is an actual soldier of god, he actively fights to uphold the bible and bring about heaven winning, he works to reinforce heavens power. However both he and fiona don’t fit the model of their stories perfectly and in doing so r rebelling against the story. Fiona is Quircky TM, and a whole ogre, she doesn’t fit into the basic model of her story and the fact that she’s different is what causes her to rebel against the story. Her very existence is what caused her to question the narrative. Cas’s very existence defies the narrative because he, unlike most angels, cares about humanity (dean, like humans but mainly dean). He is supposed to be an unfeeling soldier of the lord but instead he ends up being gay for a repressed kansas boy which throws a cog in the narrative he’s supposed to play out and causes him to question it. And on top of that their personality is what pushes their love interest to confront the parts of themselves they aren’t really willing to embarrass. Dean being bi and Shrek being an ogre. 

Okay so the actual confession parallels:

Obviously they are different, for one shrek is canon reciprocated in all countries (that i know of). But thematically?? what the characters r saying to eachother?? girl i’m loosing it.

Shrek is about accepting ones self as who u truly are and recognizing that that doesn’t need to be changed for u to be lovable. And Cas’ speech does exactly that, it tells dean that even though he views himself as a monster who’s driven by hate, even though he see’s him as his enemies do (think shrek seeing himself through the townsfolks eyes) he is actually driven by love and that he, without changing, is lovable in every sense of the word. More than that he’s lovable by what common society would consider to be the Ideal (angels being like 🤩 and princesses being 🤩). In this confession of love Dean/Shrek r moved to accept themselves as they are, Shrek in the moment and Dean later when he doesn’t kill chuck. And their loved one has their final closure to their story. Fiona is forced to accept herself as an ogre as well and Cas shows that he’s, like Dean, fundamentally driven by love even though he was told he shouldn’t be.

This is where we once again see the whole “dean and shrek have the same arch but dean’s is woman coded” thing which I will be getting into in a separate essay. But the basic idea is that Shrek comes to the realization partially on his own and gets final validation from Fiona where as Dean gets confessed to. 

Then after the initial confession both lovers are pulled apart, deancas have the empty, and shrek/fiona are briefly pulled apart by lord farquad. In both instances the characters are punished for the fact that they’re in love. HOWEVER shrek understands good story telling and has the lovers come back together.

And then ofc both Fiona and Cas get enveloped :D (Cas in goop and Fiona in light)

But this where we get into the exploring where Supernatural’s narrative SHOULD have gone, (as shown in shrek):

After the love confession we finally get to see Shrek realize that he isn’t the monster society painted him as and that that requires absolutely no change on shreks part, he’s accepted himself and realized that he can tear his walls down. Dean goes through the tearing down of walls much slower throughout the seasons, because Dean has the woman coded version of this narrative he already understands found family but he doesn’t understand that he is worthy of his family’s love in return. 

So in Shrek we see shrek live out his life with his found family, he’s had his arch he understands his worth and he realizes that he doesn’t want to be alone. Now as a finale denialist I will not be talking about what happens in the finale but we’ve all seen it and you know how supernatural doesn’t follow through.

This was so much fun i will be doing more later but I hope y’all enjoyed this <3

[connan-l]

All right, so now that I finally digested the final a little I have some random messy thoughts about Fruits Basket 2019. It got really long lol, but this has been stuck in my head for a while so I needed to get it out!

Honestly, it was a very good adaptation and I’m still in awe I was able able to see the whole manga animated. Fruits Basket is pretty important to me, as I read it for the first time when I was around twelve and it was definitely one of the series that impacted me the most — the way it tackles themes of cycle of abuse, loneliness, grief and moving forward still feel very special to me even now (I briefly wrote a post about it months ago after rereading the manga), so of course I was delighted upon hearing the reboot announced and for the most part, it didn’t disappoint. I’d never truly thought I’d be able to see characters like Rin or Machi actually move on screen in my lifetime so in a way it still feel surreal lmao (RIP to Komaki though). It was really refreshing to revisit the story in that way, especially given amusingly enough I am myself in the middle of some big changes in my life where I have to leave things behind so it felt sort of... well, I won’t say empowering per se, but quite encouraging and satisfying to watch Furuba, and especially its final, at this timing, in a way. It wasn’t perfect, there are certainly a lot of flawed directive choices that I question and unfortunately quite some important cut contents — but even at its lowest it stayed all in all good. I’m genuinely a bit stunned there are people who thinks the entire thing is worthless or a failure, because man, I have seen what a bad anime adaptation looks like, and Fruits Basket 2019 definitely isn’t one. Natsuki Takaya herself was clearly very invested and satisfied in that adaptation — I mean, just the fact she drew arts for every single episodes or for the season 3 ending really shows that I think. And while there’s a part of me who will always have a soft spot for the 2001 anime, there’s no contest that the 2019 one is the superior one and more representative of the original manga as a whole.

I believe some people really don’t realize how... uncommon it is to get such a consistently good-looking and complete anime adaptation for a shojo manga? Shojo really aren’t lucky in that prospect usually; they rarely get animated, and when they do they’re usually very bland or outright bad, or they get one short season of like 13 episodes that never receive any follow-ups — even shojo considered like classics tend to get poor treatment, unless they’re Sailor Moon of course or a long-running magical girls franchise like Precure (and even then we could have a discussion about the way Sailor Moon’s treated compared to say Dragon Ball for example, but that’s another topic entirely). So yeah it is quite awesome we were able to get this kind of anime adaptation that covers the full manga with good quality from start to finish, and I am so, so glad it exists and that it managed to revive and makes the series so popular again. (Hopefully its success means we’ll be able to get more good anime adaptation of shojo manga from now on!)

But yeah, that doesn’t mean there wasn’t problems with it and I also understand why some of the manga fans had issues. We were kind of hyped with the fact this would be a complete adaptation and in the end we only got a... sort-of-complete one lol. The art and animation stayed fine during the run (there certainly were some episodes that were uhhh, lacking in that sense, but that’s just how it is sometimes with productions and budget), but I admit I was a bit letdown regarding the direction, where it often seemed… a bit uncreative or heavy-handed. There was some very beautiful and smart shots here and there, but on the whole I really had an issue with the adaptation failing to actually take more ambitious decisions on its visual aspect, especially compared to the pretty pannelling of the manga — and when it did take these decisions it just was… kind of obnoxious and in-your-face, like the show is trying to hold the watcher’s hand (with unnecessary things like Kyo’s father record player derailing or the whole big ropes symbolizing the curse that often slapped you all over the screen, which usually just made me want to roll my eyes because of how annoying it felt.) Multiple people also pointed out the overdramatization of some scenes like the Kyo and Tohru’s confrontation at the end of season 1 or Akito and Ren’s fight which was, indeed, not very good and a weird choice. Fruits Basket is already a pretty dramatic show and these scenes are already intense, there was no need for such over-the-top theatrical display of emotions that only made them comes off as comedic. I’m probably nitpicking here but it also bothered me some characters’ expressions didn’t feel properly retranscribed (Shigure especially, whose characterization depends a lot on that, really suffered from this), or that odd habit of making some big panorama plans instead of focusing on the faces and bodies, which particularly sucks during emotional scenes (like the backgrounds were pretty I guess, but that’s not what was important here lmao).

Also that might be just a personal thing, but can I point out that the openings were pretty disappointing to me... They're not bad, but they all looked so... bland. The songs are fine but the rest feel so uninspired and it's kind of sad... I dunno, I wasn't asking for much but I just think they could've done more than just scrolling each character looking vaguely melancholic or making them walk randomly one after another :/ The endings have at least pretty illustrations and I'm okay with them (I liked what they did with Kyoko’s photo in season 3 too), but the OPs kind of feel as if they ran out of budget and ideas for them or something. I kind of feel the same with the OST as well, where they’re generally fine but were a bit lackluster, and sometimes… they were kind of played at bad times? I remember the Rin episode in season 2 were the music felt a bit out of place and took me out of the immersion, which is a shame cause it was otherwise a pretty good episode. But that might just be a me-thing here lol. The voice actors were awesome though! (The Japanese ones, at least, I didn’t watch any other dubs). I’ve said it before but special kudos to Maaya Sakamoto cause damn she’s so perfect as Akito, and Shimazaki as Yuki and Toyosaki as Rin truly delivered too. I didn’t know Manaka Iwami at all but I was really impressed by her Tohru, especially in season 3 — she really was good at capturing her character’s subtle emotional turmoils (I think she makes a better Tohru than Yui Horie too, although I admit I missed Horie a little lol.)

Anyway, on the topic of lack of ambition, that might be an unpopular opinion but there’s also the fact that I’m sad they didn’t actually... try to change or add more original scenes. By which I mean, obviously we had some changes, but not ones that were really interesting (when they’re not actively detrimental to the story). For example, I was really hoping that we’d be able to get at least one original episode focused on Ritsu (and Mitsuru too why not) in season 2 or 3, or on Kagura or Kisa; I dunno, it would’ve been a good occasion to give something more to the characters that got sidelined in the original manga, or add some moments that would’ve been nice to develop like about Akito post-cliff confrontation, but we never got that. And well, that makes sense now that we know they seemingly had an episode restriction (at least on season 3), but, yeah, that’s still a shame. Honestly in the end Ritsu’s character made even less sense in the anime, because like, it was nice they tried to adapt his introduction episode so that it feels less “you have to adapt to gender norms to feel better about yourself,” (the gender non-confirmity is definitely one of the bits that aged the less well in FB) but then they still made him cut off his hair and give his feminine clothes to Kagura at the end so why lol. (And speaking of his episode introduction, I dislike that they cut off his conversation with Tohru after the suicide attempt, not only for Ritsu but also for Tohru cause it is one of the small instances bringing up her issues that is set up early on and that is crucial to her, but I’ll come back to this later.)

And now about the biggest problem to me being, the cut content and episodes rearangement. So, just so we’re clear, I definitely don’t think an anime adaptation needs to be a page-by-page adaptation of the manga to be good. Every decent adaptation needs to have changes, and the ones that tries to just follow the source material without any heart often tend to get pretty bad. So changes are good! Cut content are needed sometimes. But in Furuba 19, it really... wasn’t the case.

And the most unfortunate thing being that the one suffering the most from this is the show’s main character herself, Tohru.

So, obviously other characters also got done dirty by this; Yuki and Machi’s relationship was so incredibly shifted in the background and rushed it’s almost funny. I’m one of the people who thinks that, while I do think they’re cute, I definitely agree on the fact their relationship was a bit underdeveloped in the manga — and that Machi’s character especially suffered as a result by being a bit reduced to just "Yuki’s love interest" when she was a character with so much more to offer (and as a whole I also tend to agree with the fact that Yuki probably didn’t need a romance at all and that his arc is more meaningful while focusing on his platonic relationships, but that’s another topic entirely) — but man, if the manga already underdevelopped them, then ohhh boy, the anime just completely dropped the ball. It feels very odd because to me it seemed like season 2 was taking their time with setting them up, so if they knew they had only 13 episodes for season 3 then they should’ve started the changes there; instead we got 1 nice Yuki/Machi/Kakeru episode, and then it’s like "Yep, they’re in love, just trust me." (It does makes me wonder if season 3 wasn’t originally supposed to be longer but then got restrained because of budget or covid or something…) Kakeru also very much suffered because of them cutting off his girlfriend and his complicated relationship with Tohru… Now, to be honest, I’ve always found the Kakeru/Komaki/Tohru subplot pretty... contrived and useless, and Komaki’s not so much a character more than a device for Kakeru’s development, but it does have some good moments relevant to the story’s themes (I like the ‘‘you can’t play suffering olympics with people’s pain’’morale) and it is important to his character (and Komaki is cute, I admit), so it was still sad they shafted it entirely. (Also I kind of like the tense relationship between Tohru and Kakeru. The fact they both seem to not appreciate each other even afterwards feel sort of refreshing even if it’s never explored unfortunately orz.) I was still surprised they didn’t actually try to make a Komaki cameo at the end? Cause I think it would’ve fitted and Kakeru’s girlfriend had already been mentioned in season 2 but... for some reason they... didn’t. (Mayyybe we’ll get an OAV like with Kyoko and Katsuya? Who knows.)

One scene that was skipped/rearranged that I’m very bitter over is the whole Tohru/Kagura confrontation and Kagura/Rin scene — it might not seem like much, but the moment of Tohru refusing to forgive Kagura is very important, and I was pretty annoyed they turned Rin’s trauma response to Kagura’s violence and her subsequent apology/hug to a gag, it legit felt tasteless. The Tohrin scene they removed at the very end too was frustating; it was great they managed to fit in the "Rin doesn’t want to forgive Akito" bit at least (I was afraid they’d cut it off entirely), but it was so essential for her to say to Tohru, not to Haru and Momiji (plus the way they put it in felt very random and awkwardly placed there, when they were initially talking about Tohru before orz). OH AND the Akito/Hana friendship too! Yeah I know it’s not a Big deal but I absolutely love the little glimpses of their friendship and it’s very important to me so I’m disappointed over them not including the ‘Ah-chan’ scene… (It was kind of weird that the show sort-of implied Hana and Kazuma got together too cause that’s… not the vibe at all from the manga… oh well.)

Most people I’ve seen generally only bring up season 3 regarding the cuts/rearangement because it’s the most obvious and the biggest offender, but I personally think there were already problems with season 2 and 1. At first glance I didn’t have much issue with some of the rearrangement, because early Furuba can indeed be pretty episodic, but thinking back on it as a whole I think it might’ve been better to leave some stuff, like Hana and Uo’s episodes for example, to season 2 (I do wonder if they did this specifically so the reboot would offer original content and differ from 2001 early on...) and cut off other not-so-important things from S1 & S2 — because as a result season 2 kind of suffer a bit by being The Yuki Season, which, for as much as I love Yuki, did end up being a bit annoying and made his development feel less natural and gradual, as well as the fact it sidelined the other characters a little and left them with not much conclusion in its final. So this added to how much they ended up cutting in season 3, it makes the show as a whole feels really unequal. I think they did overall a good job in season 3 with what they had, and they really nailed some of the dramatic and Kyoru moments (the sheets scene, cliff confrontation and post-hospital confession were practically perfect), but it is a shame that it ended up as an extremely marathoned emotional roller-caster rather than a more well-paced watch that we would’ve had if it had been 20 or so episodes. (I know others argued that season 3 was what it was because there wasn’t enough content left to cover for 22 or 24 episodes, but I disagree and even if there weren’t, it would’ve been the perfect occasion to add original episodes then. But I think it was more of a budget and Covid issue personally.)

But anyway, all of this isn’t actually what I’m the most annoyed with (and YES that’s a already a lot lmao), those are stuff I can live with, but like I said earlier the most problematic is what they cut off from Tohru’s character. And that indeed includes her parents’ backstory.

So, just so I get this out of the way; yes, I do understand why people were relieved to not see Kyoko and Katsuya’s relationship play out on screen, and yes the age gap and teacher-student thing is creepy and I do kind of wish it hadn’t been written that way. (Though I was a bit amused by people who thought we didn’t get the backstory because of the questionable age gap when, uh... you know I very much doubt the anime industry has an issue with that. Like, to start with, we wouldn’t have had Uo and Kureno’s romance if that was the case (even if Uo and Kureno is less problematic, it’s still the same basis of a underage high school girl/20+ adult man relationship), and second there was a literal romcom anime about a high school girl and an adult man that was broadcasted at the same time as Furuba season 3 lmao. So nah, it wasn’t there the problem to them, it was just time and episode restriction, which was pretty much confirmed with the announcement of the OAV focused on them.)

So, Kyoko and Katsuya is definitely Problematic and I agree on their relationship being uncomfortable; however, I’m a bit baffled that people were literally cheering on not having that part in the show, because it is... it is not just like a small bit of family trivia, it is Extremely important and actively essential to Tohru’s character and Fruits Basket’s themes and narrative as a whole. It’s very important to understand Kyoko’s character, of course; to humanize her and finally present her as a very flawed person and not just the idealized mother that Tohru project upon her, and it is extremely important simply to understand Tohru herself as well; to understand where her way of thinking, her trauma and attitude stems from, and this in a way that just isn’t possible to see with the little fragments of that flashback we got or the bits of Kyo and Kyoko’s interactions.

See, Tohru’s character is principally constructed around two things; her grief over her mother and her almost-pathological selflesness and people-pleaser needs that comes from her abandonment issues and loneliness, and her arc is very much about letting go of both of these things and finally moving forward and letting her life change. There’s this perception of Tohru I see sometimes that she’s not a very interesting character especially compared to others like Yuki or Kyo, or that she ‘‘stays the same kindhearted, naive girl from start to finish,’’ and while I deeply disagree with this I know where it comes from. The thing with Tohru is that she is firstly an extremely emotionally repressed character, and so a lot of her depth and development is made through small, gradual details scattered throughout the manga. It’s done in such a way that except for some obvious scenes those small, apparently insignificant moments are easy to miss or disregarded, and unfortunately it is a lot of these details that the 2019 anime cut, or rearanged in a way that feel less impactful or makes less sense; such as, like I pointed out earlier, her conversation with Ritsu after his suicide attempt. As I’ve seen others point out, this result in altering Tohru’s portrayal and rendering her character mostly about her romance, undercutting and downplaying all of her small, subtle character moments and developments, and miss a bit the second part of the story where the narrative actively challenge the ‘savior/therapist/mom’ that other characters and Tohru herself projected upon her.

And as a result it also means undermining things like her parallel and relationship to Akito, which idealistically should’ve been slowly built up throughout the last season but because of how rushed season 3 was in the end felt a little flat. (Akito’s character in general had some issues also because of the unequal pacing and rearranged scenes, though admittedly I think this was also an issue present in the original manga.) Kyo’s character and his romance with Tohru is the one element that managed to get out of this mostly unscathed (although Kyo also does suffer a bit from it), but because of what was removed from Tohru’s character it still inevitably impacted them by making their characters as individuals lacking. It’s not like it is a complete failure, mind you; I think the anime at least did a decent job at showing Tohru is Not Okay even at the beginning in season 1 (they certainly did a better job at it than the 2001 one lol) and managed to roughly portray her issues well enough overall, but it is just… lacking in the subtlety and nuances that, to me, makes her character and writing really special and unique.

(This post explains what I’ve tried to say here in a much more eloquent and better way that I ever could, and this all put into perspective what I basically love so much about Tohru and Fruits Basket in general.)

And, you know, it would’ve been sad but comprehensible with any other character, but here we’re talking about the story’s literal protagonist, which is why it is the part of the adaptation that makes me feel the most bitter. Tohru and her story is truly amazing and well-written, the thing I was looking forward to the most with this reboot — and while I do understand the episode restriction and I do believe they still did their best with what they had — her arc still deserved to receive a full proper adaptation, not a kind-of-half one.

So, yes, I am at least glad they’ll adapt Kyoko and Katsuya’s story in OAV, but the fact that it will never be included in the actual main narrative is still actively detrimental to it, and it will never have the same effect that if it had been played out before the Kyoru sheets scene where it should’ve been. (I hope they also won’t cut the fact that their story is narrated by Kyo, because that is also a very important detail for both Kyo and the story, but I have the feeling they will…)

Welp, that was quite a long, messy rambling. Not sure if anyone will actually read all of it but if you did then congrats lol. I feel in the end I’ve been really harsh and negative with the reboot… I do love it a lot! If someone asked me I would wholeheartedly recommend it (though I guess I would still argue to read the manga first if you really want to experience the story in all its nuances). I think they truly did an impressive job — even with season 3, which a lot of its episodes were beautifully done and did make me tear up a few times lol. I’m just sad it couldn’t actually offer a better, more nuanced delivery of the story’s depths and of one of my favorite manga protagonists that means a lot to me. But that’s an adaptation that so many fans wanted for years and I’m happy and grateful it’s here cause Fruits Basket deserved at least that much!

[the-desolated-quill]

If You Don’t Like My Story, Write Your Own - Watchmen (TV Series) blog

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

If You Don’t Like My Story, Write Your Own feels like a tale of two episodes. One has well written characters, emotive storytelling and exciting possibilities, whereas the other contains ham-fisted, painfully obvious subtext and annoyingly long infodumps told to the audience with all the grace and subtlety of a brick to the face. 

Let’s start with the positives. At the beginning of the episode, we’re introduced to the character of Lady Trieu, played by Hong Chau, who buys a farmhouse from an Oklahoma couple by offering them a genetically engineered baby. I love this scene so much. It’s by far the most tightly written and engaging scene so far this series, and serves as a perfect introduction to a genuinely interesting character.

Lady Trieu is a Vietnamese born trillionaire industrialist who absorbed Adrian Veidt’s company after his disappearance and seems to take heavy inspiration from him, even going so far as to have a gold statue of him in her complex. It’s unclear whether she knows about his involvement with the squid (how could she possibly know?), but she clearly shares his vision of making the world better. 

Or... does she?

That’s precisely what I love about this character. Trieu is clearly the secret mastermind behind whatever is going on here (more on that later) and it would have been easy to just simply have her be a carbon copy of Veidt, but she isn’t. There’s a subtle, but clear distinction between the two. In my review of Look Upon My Works, Ye Mighty, I talked about the paradox of a liberal capitalist and how it’s often not enough for Ozymandias to simply save the world. He needs to be seen to be saving the world. He wants something with spectacle in order to appeal to his own vanity. This is true of Trieu as well, except, despite all his flaws, Ozymandias clearly at least wanted to help people, albeit in an incredibly flashy way for his own aggrandisement. Trieu doesn’t even want that. She just wants the attention and the good will. 

The opening scene is a perfect illustration of this. Giving that married couple their own DIY baby was one thing, but all the crap with the hourglass and the silly monologue and everything, there was no need for any of that. And lets not forget, she didn’t give this couple a baby out of the goodness of her heart. She did it solely because she wanted their land so she could claim a fallen object from space. The same is true of this Millennium Clock she’s building. I’m pretty sure its purpose isn’t just to tell the time, but that’s not the point. It’s described by her daughter as not the Eighth Wonder of the World, but rather as the First Wonder of the New World. Plus, of course, she is a trillionaire. If she just handed out even a small portion of her vast wealth, it would make a huge difference, but then there would be nothing in it for her. Nothing to gain. Unlike Veidt, Trieu is a character driven by pure cynicism. She has no interest in saving the world, but rather the attention and adoration of the world around her. She wants the world and the people around her to rely on her to save them. Basically if Ozymandias is an altruist tempered with narcissism, then Lady Trieu is a narcissist tempered with altruism. It’s a beautifully realised character and one I’m most excited to see more of in the episodes to come.

I also like the connection she has with Angela. Both were born and raised in Vietnam, except Trieu’s mother was a native to Vietnam before the US invaded and absorbed the country, turning it into the fifty first state. This puts Angela in an interesting position. Being an African American, her family obviously has history of being the victims of colonial oppression, but in this alternate history where Vietnam is part of America, Angela is also now in the role as one of the colonial oppressors. A settler in a country stolen and plundered from the natives. It’s an interesting position for her character to be in and I’m very curious to see where the show takes this.

After taking a backseat in the previous episode, Angela mercifully gets to take the lead again this time around and she’s great. With the FBI breathing down her neck, Angela continues to get to the bottom of the mystery involving her grandfather, the murder of Judd Crawford, and the Seventh Kavalry, and I really like where this is taking her character. She privately confides in Wade about what she has learned, even asking him to hide Judd’s Klan robe. This is the kind of character stuff I wanted to see in the previous episode during the funeral. How do you react to the knowledge that one of your closest friends was a hateful bigot? And from the looks of things, it seems as though Angela is doing her level best to protect Judd’s memory, at least until she gets to the bottom of what the fuck is going on here. I love this because it feels totally believable.There’s still a part of her that doesn’t want to accept Judd’s racist ties to white supremacy and clinging onto the idea that he might be misunderstood or that there’s something else going on underneath. This is an excellent internal conflict that has so far been handled exceptionally well. You don’t think less of Angela for not wanting to accept the truth because it’s totally understandable and believable.

Also I just want to briefly talk about what we learn about Wade, aka Looking Glass, in this episode. The man’s a doomsday prepper, living in a bunker in his back garden, preparing for another squid attack. I LOVE this so much. It makes total sense in the context of Watchmen and, like with Lady Trieu, it serves as a really nice inversion of an existing character. Like Rorschach, Looking Glass is a paranoid conspiracy nut, but unlike Rorschach, there’s actually some truth and logic behind his paranoia. Again, it’s a subtle distinction, but it’s enough to allow the character to go off in his own direction.

Here’s the thing. The bits I like about this episode, I really like. Unfortunately the bits I don’t like, I really don’t like.

Let’s begin with Laurie. What is she even doing here? Not only is she so utterly divorced from the character in the graphic novel, she doesn’t even contribute anything meaningful to the plot, other than to bicker constantly with Angela (which, considering this is the first time in Watchmen that we’ve had two female characters together interacting with each other, it feels immensely disappointing that this is the best the writers can come up with) or to spout gratuitous fanwank and pop psychology. The pop psychology in particular irritates me because it simply doesn’t gel with the tone and themes of Watchmen. I’m really hoping all that stuff about trauma and wearing a mask to hide the pain doesn’t in fact apply to Sister Night, otherwise I’m going to be extremely annoyed. Not only is that cliched beyond belief, it also stands directly against the whole point of Watchmen as a concept. Alan Moore’s intent was to scrutinise the reasons behind why someone would put a costume on and fight crime. Some just want the attention, others want to compensate for their own inadequacies, and some just want to live out their own violent, hedonistic fantasies. Only Rorschach fits the trauma model proposed by Laurie, and even then it’s not really accurate. Rorschach uses his trauma more as an excuse than a motivation. Watchmen serves as a deconstruction and criticism of superhero archetypes, so to potentially give Sister Night an obligatory tragic backstory would feel like a grave disservice to the source material.

The pop psychology also represents another problem this episode has. It seems to spend an awful lot of time telling its audience about its themes and commentaries rather than just showing them. One of the things I loved so much about the second episode was that it respected the audience’s intelligence. The connections it was making between the police and mob psychology, the superhero genre and its roots in US propaganda, and the KKK and the moral absolutism of most comic book heroes were apparent in the episode’s visual language and symbolism. It didn’t try to highlight them in fifty foot high neon lettering, instead trusting the audience to make the connections themselves. Here, however, completely the opposite. At numerous points, it feels as though the episode is sitting me down like a naughty school child and straight up telling me the plot, rather than trust that I’m a grown man who is perfectly capable of following this by himself, I pinky promise.

Take the whole subplot with Adrian Veidt for example. By watching the previous episodes, you can deduce that he’s trapped in a prison of his own making and is trying to escape (although admittedly it turns out that the clones aren’t in fact his creations, which is a pity because I think that’s less interesting, but still). Awesome idea. Love it. But showrunner Damon Lindelof is clearly worried that the idiots sitting at the back of the class didn’t get this, so Adrian spends his limited screen time here just explaining his subplot to the audience. It’s really annoying.

Or what about the Millennium Clock? The Seventh Cavalry are clearly in league with Trieu for some unknown reason, and in their video message to the police in the first episode, they say ‘tick, tock’ a lot, which is clearly a reference to the Clock. All a bit goofy, granted, but do you know what’s even goofier? Will getting up out of his wheelchair, staring dramatically into camera and saying ‘tick, tock’ for no fucking reason whatsoever other than to spell out the connection for the slow people in the audience who didn’t make the link. Dude, I promise you, we are following this. It was just pointless. But not nearly as pointless as...

Good God, do I hate Lube Man!

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not against there being humour in Watchmen. The original graphic novel had moments of dark humour, but there’s a time and a place. It just feels weird and kooky just for the sake of being weird and kooky. And again, it serves as a less than subtle reminder to the audience of the themes of the show. The police are abusing their powers and letting smaller crimes fall by the wayside, but rather than let that come up naturally in the story, we get a random excerpt from the Silver Slider here. All I can say is Lube Man had better play a vital role in the episodes to come, otherwise I’ll be pissed.

See, when Good Lindelof is writing the scripts, I’m enjoying this show immensely. When Bad Lindelof takes a turn at the keyboard, however, that’s when I start to get worried. 

[trifoliate-undergrowth]

Happy pride y'all let me tell you about some bullshit

So when I was still half-asleep this morning I heard my mom talking to my dad, she sounded pretty upset about?? Something, and I thought I overheard her wanting my dad to back her up with taking to me in the car or something

So I shrug it off, my dad and I are taking a brief mini trip within this larger vacation while my mom stays with my grandma to keep an eye on her, mom is driving us to the train station and she starts talking. Which is not unusual for my mom. But she's got an agenda this time. And it's pretty heckin obvious, because it's my mom.

So she starts talking about boy scouts and how girls are allowed to join now. And I honestly can't tell what she thinks of that because she sounds like she thinks it's a horrible idea but then she's like 'well when I was younger I was always jealous of the cool stuff the boy scouts learned while us girl scouts were just crocheting...'

And then she proceeds to tell this... Interesting story about herself

When she was 'very little, 3 or 4' she remembers a parent telling her 'no you can't wear that, that's for boys' and being a very small child with no conception of gender roles she goes 'why? There's a difference??' and the parent goes 'yeah boys and girls are different. Boys will grow up to be men like Daddy and girls will grow up to be women like Mommy.' and my mom goes 'oh! Ok, that's cool' and then after this starts becoming self-consciousness about femininity and appreciating that there were things 'for girls' (flowers!) that she liked and things 'for boys' (such as dinosaurs! She says, though afterwards adding, 'although dinosaurs, and flowers, are really for everyone'), like her older brother, which she didn't like.

(hilariously--to me anyway--this is actually interesting in a 'how much of gender is social expectations rather than built in' way which I'm SURE she didn't mean)

Anyways then she goes 'but, [Trefoil] didn't have a brother to compare herself to!" And kind of looks back at me to see what I say

And with the most innocent smile I go "is that why you didn't like me liking dinosaurs when I was younger?" And so she derails into her 'no it's because I think they look demonic' (or something?? Idk tbh) talk

Anyways

.... Did she think she was being subtle? She knows she's not subtle. Does she think she's being nice? I mean, this isn't as flat-out confrontational as a certain email some of you have heard me rant about, which she sent before I myself had even consciously started questioning my gender and which said things like 'Sodom and Gomorrah' and 'we would be losing a daughter, and not gaining a son-that's not how that works!' (so. .. What.... Are you saying I'd be dead to you? That sounds like what you're saying here)

Keep in mind I received this email with zero warning, when I myself wasn't consciously really doing anything strange or even that different, but she felt the need to just chime in out of the blue and inform me, preemptively, that she'd pitch a fit if I ever WAS trans

(Which, in a hilarious turn of events, made me consciously consider how I dress and go 'huh, yeah, it's kinda androgynous. I like it like that. I'm gonna start dressing EVEN MORE ANDROGYNOUS')

Anyways we had a big fight about that email. Because it was horribly rude and the whole thing was very accusatory. And, for once, I got through to her and she realized that we haven't had a good relationship in a long time. So now she's trying to be nice and make me like her again. And, yeah, she's pretty nice until she gets stressed, then she starts snapping at me. so, the usual.

But now she's more likely to be passive-aggressive rather than just flat out aggressive, because she's trying to pacify me. I think I like this even less than the simple aggression. I find complete genuine honesty somewhat redeeming even if it annoys me.

What does she want from me, anyway? Does she want confirmation of my gender in writing?

I'm comfortable being female, I think, I just want to do it on my own terms. I guess that'd be 'gender non-conforming'? I'm still learning

But, but here's the thing, my mom is pretty gnc herself

She just can't abide a slightly different strain of it appearing in her daughter

Neither of us regularly wear makeup or wear the popular kind of feminine clothes

But my style is a bit more androgynous and OH NO, WHAT IF MY DAUGHTER WERE TRANS

she feels the need to freak out about this continually, rather than be concerned about, oh I don't know, the fact that I was suicidal in college and am still crushingly depressed and occasionally think about just not wanting to exist

Does she give a single fuck about my depression huh

Like she had seemed concerned and supportive before, briefly, but she doesn't bring it up, she doesn't ask how I'm doing or how it's affecting me

you know what she DOES bring up?? The way I dress and how uncomfortable it makes her

Honey

Friend

Listen

Shouldn't you be just a bit more concerned that I stay ALIVE maybe

Like she gives the impression she doesn't even want to talk about my mental health, but how I dress????? That's

SOOOOOOOO

Important~

[sequoiann]

❦️ liqhtmas ┊ to you

❆ 25 ; soft fluffy kisses ❆ 27 ; “you’re really gonna go this to me on christmas eve?” 

pairing; seventeen woozi x reader

genre; fluff, angst, drabble

synopsis; jihoon calls to tell you that he can’t make it back home for christmas bc of work and you get mad and two get into a fight. in the end, it gets fluffy bc you decide to bring christmas to him instead after you’ve cooled down. (literally quoting the anonnie who requested this hsdkjfhs ily)

word count; 1.6k words

notes; the first drabble for the liqhtmas series !!! let me know wht you all think, sorry if it’s a bit long for a drabble hehe but most of the drabbles would be approximately this length !! 

; prompts for liqhtmas

“What do you mean you can’t make it back?”  you asked puzzledly as you pressed your phone to your ear, trying to cover up your subtle unhappiness with worry and concern. It was 7pm in the evening, and Jihoon’s call was unexpected. “Is something wrong?”

“No,” Jihoon spoke, clicking his tongue quietly as he ran his fingers through his already disheveled hair. “I just need to stay in the studio. I haven’t finished up the work I’m supposed to do.”

“Can’t you postpone it till later?” you tried to persuade, sitting down on the edge of your bed as you picked at your bedsheets.

“No, Y/N, I can’t,” Jihoon snapped impatiently, making your blood boil. “It’s something important, and you of all people should understand that I can’t neglect my career.”

“I would understand if it wasn’t Christmas, Jihoon!” you exclaimed, throwing your arms in the air in frustration as you raised your voice. “You promised you’d come  back!”

“And now I’m telling you I can’t! I’m sorry, okay!?” Jihoon shouted into the phone, and you froze for a moment, surprised and dumbfounded. He rarely raises his voice at you.

“You’re really gonna do this to me on Christmas Eve?” you muttered, your voice lowering in volume. You heard Jihoon sigh, and you could almost picture him pacing back and forth.

“I’m sorry, Y/N,” Jihoon said softly, sensing a mix of sadness and anger in your voice. “But I can’t do anything about it.”

“Yeah, fine. Good luck with your work,” you said, mild sarcasm lacing your words. You didn’t want to hurt or make anything harder for him, but your displeasure couldn’t suppress itself entirely which lead to your acrimony. “Bye.”

Jihoon sighed again on the other end, muttering a soft ‘bye’ before hanging up.

A deep frown of irritation was written all over your features after the call was ended, and you threw your cell onto your bed, the phone landing with a soft, almost soundless ‘thud’. Yes, you were annoyed. You and Jihoon had not been able to meet for the past 4 months due to his busy schedules of being a celebrity although the both of you really just live an hour away from each other, and he had promised months ago that he would, for sure, make it back home for Christmas to see you, but he’s going back on his word a day before the actual day of the festival. He had said his assurance so sincerely at that time that you didn’t even doubt him or think that he would cancel on you the last minute.

The expectations and excitement you had been feeling while waiting for this day to come had piled up so much that Jihoon telling you those words just made everything come crashing down so hard, your disappointment converting into anger that you had let out on Jihoon.

You huffed and lay down on your side, turning to face the wall. Countless thoughts raced through your mind as you replayed the conversation you had with Jihoon on the phone previously.

He did sound as frustrated as you did — probably even more than you were. You knew that he had been stressed about his work lately. He had mentioned something about not being able to think of any ideas for the composition of a new song during one of your video calls, but he always brushed the negative topic off, switching it to asking how you were doing and if you were eating well. His eyes showed the concern that a parent would possess, and if you were having a bad day he would talk in such a soft and soothing voice that would, more often than not, lull you into peaceful sleep.

Even when you weren’t in the best mood, attempting to tell him to not call for the day, he wouldn’t listen. The fact that you were unhappy gave him an extra reason to call you; he never wanted to see you upset. Most people avoided you on your bad days — everyone knew the monster that would literally take over your personality. But Jihoon never did that, he always gave you warmth, consistent love and patience. That was why you love him so much so; your nature trusted him before your mind could. His affection was of real help for you to heal. Even if he did not pamper you directly, you’d feel it. He’s funny even when he doesn’t try to, and he was perfect with his idiosyncrasies.

You felt guilty at the thought. He himself had been keeping his worries and concerns to himself; he wasn’t one to complain to anyone. You should’ve considered your actions — you could only imagine seeing how profoundly they had affected him. Your unkind words were probably floating around in his head at the moment, distracting him from his work even more. You slapped yourself mentally, before an idea popped into your mind.

The next day, you were on your way to the company building after getting permission from Seungcheol. You had texted him, asking if everyone was going to be in the studio in the morning, to which he replied with a confused ‘yes’ and ‘why?’. You explained the situation that came up with Jihoon, and he immediately caught on to your ideas, sending you countless numbers of smirking emojis along with requests to sneak in some festival treats. You laughed and agreed — you had already planned to do so before he asked.

When you got to the building, you chirpily greeted the staff members who recognized you, trying to hide the paper bag of prohibited goodies as you hastily make your way to the elevator at the corner of the lobby.

You heaved a sigh of relief when you got into the elevator safely without any of the managers questioning the bursting, overflowing, suspicious-looking bag you were holding on to. You quickly pressed the button with the number ‘3’ on it, and when you got up to the level, you put on your full guard on, poking your head out of the opened elevator doors and turning left and right to look for any source of a being. A surprise had to remain a surprise.

When you made sure that the hallway outside was clear, you stepped out, constantly looking all directions to make sure that Jihoon wasn’t randomly roaming around the level. You swiftly and noiselessly scurried to the main practice room that Seventeen usually used, pressing down on the door handle so slowly that your palms were starting to sweat. You pushed the door open just a crack, enough for you to peek into, and you briefly scanned the open dance studio. There were a couple members around, but Jihoon wasn’t in sight. Good.

You pushed the door open entirely with care, knowing that the door would sometimes creak if swung open. Some of the members nearly screamed your name when they caught sight of you; Hoshi was the first, but Seungcheol was quick to clamp a hand over his mouth. The other members, who either had a slower reaction or saw you later, quickly understood your expression of widened eyes and frantically waving hands which translated to “shut-up!”

Seungcheol quickly pointed to a corner of the practice room where a door was located; it was the entrance to Jihoon’s personal music studio. You nodded and had to stifle your laughter when Seokmin and Seungkwan came scurrying over and reaching for the bag of food from you after catching a glimpse of its contents. It was easy to guess what was inside the bag, anyway — the legs of an upside-down gingerbread man was literally poking out from it.

“Just take it all, but don’t finish it! It’s meant for sharing!” you said in a hushed whisper, and you saw their eyes sparkle like a child’s, making you chuckle. You shooed them away with the goods, before making your way to Jihoon’s studio.

You pressed down on the door handle again, completely re-enacting what happened with the studio door, quietly pushing open the door. Jihoon still doesn’t know of your presence. His elbow was propped on the armrest of his chair, his head rested on his fist. His hair was messy, but there were traces of it being attempted to be groomed. Or maybe it was just him running his fingers through his hair again.

You took a step nearer towards him before throwing your arms around his neck, hugging him tightly from the back. You felt him jump a little in shock, so you quickly let go, laughing as he stood up from his chair, turning around in astonishment. For a split moment, Jihoon wore a face like he was expecting anger from you, anger that just doesn’t exist. When he saw you laughing, his gaze softened almost instantaneously as he instinctively moved in front, toe to toe, before wrapping his arms around you and pulling you close.

“You came,” he said, before letting out a bubbly chuckle.

“I couldn’t bear not seeing you for another day,” you joked. Jihoon’s arms around you squeezed a fraction tighter, and your body melted into him as every muscle of yours lost its tension to the surrounding air.

“Sorry, love,” he muttered apologetically, and you shook your head.

“Merry Christmas, you idiot. Oh, and, the food’s outside. And your present is in my bag, which is also outside.”

Jihoon laughed. “This is more important.”

He lets go of you, before leaning down slightly to press his soft lips to yours. There was something so heavenly about a kiss that hadn’t happened in a long time, a tender moment that just won’t wait. It is that burst of love that is expressed from the longing that both of you had been feeling, a connection that showed the strength of the emotions. You felt him smile on your lips, making you do just the same.

[womenartistszine]

“I don’t think I know Rose very well…” – Musings on; Power for the People (an exhibition of works by Rose Finn-Kelcey at Firstsite, Colchester)

Exhibition Review by Alison Humphrey 

As an exhibition, Power for the People is nearly perfect. There are few things I would change beside the inclusion of more work. Not to fill this space, but in further galleries. I want to see twice as much work in twice as much space, with twice as many people shouting more than twice as loud about the quality of the concepts on display. On the whole it’s aesetically minimal, characterized by order, simplicity and harmony. It is also conceptual, spacial and in truth I relish this opportunity to look, alone, around the exhibition, without the visual and aural interruption of other visitors, or other artworks. To quote Guy Brett, “no two works of hers are physically alike; each represents a fresh challenge…” * 

Installation images Photo: Wilf Speller, Courtesy Firstsite

Finn-Kelcey explores power and agency, there are political works, photo and video works, objects and interventions. Some works span these genres, including her striking ‘wind dependent objects’, or flag works. Fog, flown from Alexandra Palace in 1971, and Power for the People, hoisted briefly at Battersea Power Station in 1972. I like these artworks. I find them impactful, relevant and affecting. I’m reminded of political works by Vallie EXPORT and Yoko Ono, the text works of Jenny Holzer, Barbara Kruger even. The idea is the most important aspect, and the artwork exists in multiple times and in numerous guises. Although I like the interventions, performances and the photographs I’m drawn more to Finn-Kelcey’s intimate works, those which I feel, have a greater subtle poetry and poignancy.

Blushing Book Vol 1  1977 
Leather, paper, cardboard, dye
. Unique
. Approx. 16 x 23 cm

There is a quiet piece, Blushing Book Vol 1 (1977), which I feel excellently represents many of the artists’ key interests; feminism, spirituality, commodity culture and individual empowerment.  This piece demonstrates Finn-Kelcey’s faultless commitment to her concepts, where each page of the Blushing Book is individually hand dyed, each page coloured a shade of pink to simulate the intimate act of blushing. Blushing is involuntary, an emotionally or psychologically triggered chemical reaction, which might itself be considered a biological artwork, one which the artist has sought to catalogue in this piece. In The Expression of the Emotions in Man and Animals Charles Darwin described blushing as "... the most peculiar and most human of all expressions." Although I cannot think of another artist who has attended to this particular visible manifestation of feeling. Finn-Kelcey bound the pages from light to dark, and was inspired by the work of feminist writer Anis Nin. Attractive and ahead of its time, in ‘millennial pink’, this object is balanced in equally striking aesthetic and concept. One of the most beautifully understated artworks I have had the pleasure of seeing.

 Installation images Photo: Wilf Speller, Courtesy Firstsite

Finn-Kelcey appears to have created a body of work which looks to investigate relationships and condition of being human. The performance piece and photographic documentation; Bulls Eye (1985) and Untitled: Bullfighter (1986) challenge relationships and conceptions to, and of, gender. There is feminism here, over femininity. The work is confrontational but not aggressive. Finn Kelcey appears to be encouraging us, or rather me, to engage with my own ideas and preconceptions, about gender and the environment.  The work conveys a sense of self-empowerment, reminiscent of something Marina Abramovic or Alexis Hunter might produce, arguably both contemporaries of Finn-Kelcey. Broadly the works encourage viewers to explore the perception of self-identity, theirs and the artists’, as many questions are posed as they are answered.

Untitled: Bullfighter 1986 
Black and white photograph of the artist as a matador performing a Rebolera or cape pass. 
Unique
 W 42 x H 44 x D 3cm

It Pays to Pray (1999), is simultaneously ironic and stirring. It invites participation, at least I think it does, although there is tension in the ‘not quite sure’! It’s neon message whirls on repeat, attractive, captivating even. It asks for money, in return it says it will display a prayer. Gallery interpretation informs me that each prayer is named after a chocolate bar, the ultimate aid to quick fix chocoholic consumerism. It is a neat and tidy concept, intended as a public sculpture. I hope its installation in a gallery is the only factor which renders it’s neon invitation unclear. Perhaps in order to be complete this work and some others displayed here need an additional force, an audience, to be complete. In fact, the flag works in particular rely on this intangible natural force, the wind. This exhibition is full of ideas, concepts and thoughts which the artist appears to be presenting for the audience to take up and use as intellectual weaponry. Finn-Kelcey makes suggestions, floats ideas and the audiences’ activism is bought to question.

It Pays to Pray in 2000
 Four vending machines
 LED’s, metal, glass, electronics. As installed at 
River Walk, Millennium Dome, London

I purposefully save the collaborative sound piece; Truth, Dare, Double Dare (1994) for last and I’m glad that I do. It’s moreish, I cannot give up on it or give in to it  or give it up, until every last scrap of sound has fallen on my ears. There is something poignant about the fact I’m alone in this empty gallery, entered though glass doors, closed off from the main space, staring at blank walls, devoid of all visual stimulation, sat on a gallery bench, the generic type, alone apart from the man mirroring my position on the opposite side of the room. I stop listening for a second to wonder if he is noticing how perfect this feels the sound piece comprises of voices reading statements. At first, a female voice (Rose) recounts sentences about a man (Donald) and then a male sounding voice (Donald) monologues a series of statements about a woman (Rose). I hadn’t read the wall text and manically note down some of the things Donald is telling me. In short, simple statements, he tells me; ‘Rose is an enigma, she fears her body, is neat, doesn’t get excited, that this collaboration was her idea, Rose believes in the paranormal, he loves 60s Tamla Motown, wishes he was happy and cried at It’s a Wonderful Life.’ I am struck by how universal these statements are. I am focused on the words spoken, a conversation which allows no time for retort, a stream of unconscious thinking which represents a relationship between two people. On opening the door and retuning to the main space, on leaving the world of Rose and Donald to continue to turn without me, I read the wall text and learn that the work is an exploration of the artists ego, and confrontation of their incompatibility. The work feels intimate yet ubiquitous and omnipresent, I could be listening to my parents, my friends, my internal (or often external) monologue with my boyfriend. It’s conceptually simple, minimal but there is such depth that I find myself choked with the emotion, and I’m probably blushing.

Sensitively curated to allow maximum thinking space or listening space around the intimate works of art on display. Firstsite is a wonderful gallery for this type of minimal, conceptual art. Although, I have said the exhibition is spacial, on reflection I decide it is not. Certainly, it is devoid of clutter and in fact contains few physical artworks. Objects are installed as prompts, to spark and ignite, because all the areas and spaces between these works are actually filled, pervaded with the ephemeral intangible, individual ideas and thoughts of the gallery inhabitants. This, I think is Finn-Kelcey’s greatest concept of all.

*Rose Finn-Kelcey Obituary, Guardian newspaper, 24 February 2014.

 Power for the People is on at Firstsite Colchester, until 4th March 2018. It brings together over four decades of work by British artist Rose Finn-Kelcey, who first came to prominence in the early 1970s as a central figure in Performance and Feminist art.

Images courtesy of the artists website:

http://www.rosefinnkelcey.com

[jerevino]

Sink In - Chapter 4

Pairing: Ryan/Gavin Plot: Vampire AU based on the post “vampires always like “i could kill you if I wanted” like? yeah? so could another human being. so could a dog. so could a dedicated duck. you arent special”

Chapter 1 / 2 / 3.  AO3 here.

Ryan wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting.

He knew that his incredibly ludicrous plan had been a long shot, forming a list of possible outcomes in his head until he’d watched Gavin Free flee the bar. The first option had been the police; it was the most sensible solution for any normal man, but the slow reaction time had given Ryan hope. He was grateful that he hadn’t had to pack up and leave again, but it meant that the clearer options were slowly being crossed off.

The second had been blind hatred. Gavin had not seemed entirely angry, although Ryan also assumed that the Brit didn’t have much of a hateful bone in his body, from the few minutes they’d spent talking. The third was cool hostility, bribery, and manipulation to test and play at how much of a non-killer he really was.

What Ryan hadn’t anticipated was the cold shoulder.

He knew that it would take Gavin time to process all of the information, and that he likely wouldn’t hear from him at all for a few days. But days turned into weeks, and after twenty long days of no contact, Ryan was beginning to question his choices more so than he already had in the days previous.

Seriously - What kind of childlike dickhead cut off all contact after all that had happened. In all his years, and all the times he’d foolishly tried to let someone in on his lifestyle, not once had anyone been catty enough to ignore him without a big blowout first. It was getting on Ryan’s nerves, and he wished he could just track Gavin down and confront him. But intruding on Gavin’s life would only do the opposite in gaining his trust, so Ryan succumbed himself to a tense game of waiting in frustration.

Ryan hadn’t told someone in eight years. He hadn’t told someone because of what happened eight years ago; the discovery, the explosion of rage, the fear, and then -- the running. He’d had no choice but to up and leave, horrified by the disgust he’d caused in his girlfriend’s eyes. Since then, he’d always considered the best option to be silence and seclusion.

But something about Gavin Free had stuck, the stupid taunting and the reluctance to just turn him over ingrained in his head on a loop. The Brit was obviously horrified by the entire situation, but there was something else, something Ryan had clung to, something he hadn’t seen in years. Beneath all the disgusted looks and gulps of fear (something Ryan was used to) had been a layer of curiosity. And that was more than he’d gotten a taste of in decades.

Ryan needed Gavin to know, to understand, and he wasn’t even sure where the strength of his need had come from. He was desperate, and impatient, and just really goddamn lonely.

And so he waited.

~

Gavin was losing his mind.

After his meeting with Ryan, his world had done a complete one-eighty. Geoff was concerned by the entire situation, but seemed wary of bringing it up with Gavin. He dropped subtle hints, wondering what Gavin was going to do - He couldn’t stay with Geoff forever, and if his apartment wasn’t safe, what then? But Gavin was an expert at deflection, and promised Geoff that things were being worked out.

Things were most certainly not being worked.

His thoughts were plagued by this sudden new reality he was living in; a world where vampires might exist, and serial killers could be surprisingly friendly, and that someone as simple as Gavin Free could end up in the middle of it all. He wasn’t sure what to think, and the more he thought, the more he panicked. The problem was that he was being forced to think about the situation at all, to consider the possibilities and make a decision from there.

And the worst was that he was starting to believe it. Belief was conditional, though, for his own sanity. Maybe Ryan Haywood was the anomaly, a freak of nature and the only one of his kind. He could handle one strange being, one person with a curse found only in young adult novels and horror stories. His thoughts strayed to something else Ryan had said, you might be a lot safer knowing we’re out there.

No. One vampire. He could stomach one vampire. Start there, Gavin.

The next issue was his apartment. While some of his concerns had been quelled, Gavin still wasn’t sure just how safe he’d be on his own. Maybe Ryan insisted that there was no need to worry about him, but Gav figured it was smart to wait before trusting the words of a deadly killer. Maybe he could get some new deadbolts, or a machete, or a guard dog. That would put some of his unease to rest.

He knew he should have called, if he wanted to sate the rest of his curiosity. Ryan had given him a number for a reason, and Gavin should have taken advantage of his new source of information. But the very thought of making any contact just yet made his stomach turn, so instead, he focused on other things; friends, work, vampire research. His film shoot had gone well, and he’d gotten some uncut footage back from the director. It might have only been a small indie film, but this was a step in the right direction. He wondered briefly if his career would come to an end if he got tangled up in the lives of vampires. That was another thought that put him off.

So he’d called up Jeremy for real this time, asking him to go for drinks. Anything for a distraction. Anything to get away from Geoff’s silent judgement. Anything to forget about Ryan bloody Haywood and his shitting vampire curse.

~

“The movie’s gonna be ten times better with your slowmo, dude. How much are they paying you, anyway?” Jeremy was grinning at him over a rum and coke, cheeks tinged red as he trespassed into drunk territory. It was nice to see him, Gavin decided. It had been far too long, and Jeremy had a way of making people feel a lot lighter. Bouncier. Good.

“Its nothing spectacular, but its more than the last shoot. A much better film, too, from what I’ve seen. They hired a couple of bigger actors, who’ve actually been on TV. Should be pretty good - might make it into a few festivals, even!” Gavin nursed his own drink, shrugging softly. He hadn’t signed on to the shoot for the publicity of it all, even if it was a bonus. He just loved filming, and hoped to do it on a more professional scale some day.

Jeremy tilted his head thoughtfully, although there was a glazed look in his eye. Must’ve been the rum, Gavin decided, before a split second later Jeremy spoke again. “How long was the shoot? You look exhausted, Gav, must have taken a lot out of you, huh?”

That threw Gavin for a loop. The shoot had ended a few weeks ago now, a detail he’d conveniently left out. It was easy to mistake Jeremy for being a bit slow - the muscles, the occasional frat bro attitude, and his tendency to use like as often as he breathed. But in truth, Jeremy was incredibly observant, and Gavin shouldn’t have as been surprised by the comment as he was.

“Oh, uh…” Gavin started, rubbing sheepishly at the back of his head. “It sure did.”

Jeremy raised a brow, sipping noisily at his drink, and Gavin suddenly felt like he was being scrutinized with an all too careful eye. “You good, man? If you’re too tired, we can head home. I’m pretty fucking gone, so I don’t mind.”

Gavin had never wanted to tell the truth so bloody bad in his entire life. Jeremy was good, and kind, and understanding despite what appearances might suggest, and he was one of Gavin’s best friends. He would get it, he would help figure out what Gavin was supposed to do. He ached with the strength of it, words getting lost in his throat.

Instead, he flashed Jeremy a brilliant smile and ignored the urge like usual. “That might be a good idea. Lookit your little cheeks, all red, ooooh Jeremy, you’re right buggered up, aren’t you?”

Jeremy rolled his eyes, but it was with good humour. He plopped a bill down on the table for the drinks, and moved to shrug on his jacket. Gavin was grateful that the conversation had moved away from him, because he wasn’t as strong as he wanted to be, and a slip-up like that could be costly.

“We should do this again soon, Gav. And you should get more drunk, ‘cause I’m doing too much of the work. You good to get home?”

Gavin nodded, already requesting an Uber. He smiled, waved at Jeremy as he left, and then instantly deflated. He shrugged off his jacket, and decided to order another drink to gather up the right amount of bravado needed to go through with his decision.

To Haywood, 9:42 P.M: Clementine’s, on Government. Now. We need to talk.

~

Geoff wasn’t fucking stupid.

He knew there was something going on, because as much as Gavin tried to pretend that he was a ball of god damn sunshine, Geoff could see right through it. He didn’t know what exactly, but he had a pretty strong sense that it had to do with witnessing a fucking murder. Which, for the record, Geoff still thought he should have reported. Who doesn’t do that? Who sits on it and lets it eat them up inside?

Gavin fuckin’ Free, that’s who. And it was driving him crazy.

Geoff didn’t want to push it, because he knew that as much as he could be stubborn, Gavin had a surprising resilience himself. But the Brit’s stupid mind was set, and Geoff wouldn’t be the one to tattle; he just wished Gavin would. Staying at his place was fine, but Geoff couldn’t house him forever, and he had a sneaking suspicion that Gavin hadn’t thought of a solution just yet.

And now he’d gone out for drinks with Jeremy again, and while Geoff wasn’t the jealous type, he couldn’t help but wonder if Jeremy was in on it, too - and the thought left a bitter taste in his mouth. Was Gavin sharing information with him, because he trusted Dooley’s opinion more? It didn’t seem fair, considering all that Geoff had done already. He wanted inside Gavin’s head, so that he could stop fuckin’ worrying, but Gavin was a conniving little shit and his ideal end goal seemed pretty impossible right now.

He supposed he’d just have to give it time.

~

Gavin was far too many drinks in by the time Ryan showed up.

The more he drank, the more his brain muddled and the less he thought about the possible implications of his decision. He’d briefly considered that Ryan might not show up at all, but he’d washed away the thought with another Moscow Mule. Gavin had no game plan, no structure to follow, aside from the questions raging in his head and the bravado of a lot of alcohol. He was lost in thought, staring deep into his drink as though it could solve his problems, when the clearing of a throat roused him from his inner monologue.

“I was beginning to think you’d forgotten about me.” Ryan said smoothly, sliding into the chair opposite him where Jeremy had been sitting an hour beforehand. “You seemed pretty urgent. Has something happened?”

Gavin stared at Ryan for a few seconds to long, eyes bloodshot. When he spoke, his words were slurred and slow, betraying his current state. “You’ve driven me bloody mental, is what’s happened. I can’t stop thinking about it all. You… You’re an arse, Haywood, and I think you owe me a flippin’ drink for this.”

Ryan quirked a brow, devilishly so, and it pissed Gavin the ‘eff off. “You asked me here… To buy you a drink?”

Gavin spluttered, reaction time slow and sluggish. “No! Well, yeah, that’s part of it, but I’ve got questions, too, and you owe me for the mess you’ve made.”

Ryan nodded sagely, forgoing a response in favour of flagging down a waitress. Gavin was too busy fuming to hear what he said, but when he turned back around, the git was smiling.

“What do you want to know?” He asked finally, offering Gavin a casual shrug as though to say, ‘I’m an open book.’

“Well, I… For starters, I want to know how many bloody people you’ve killed. I’m trying to see both sides here, but its hard when I know people die, innit?”

Ryan paused, lips pursed in discomfort. Gavin couldn’t believe he’d struck a nerve so early, but the other man was quick to recover. “I don’t know. I used to keep count, but it… It did me more harm than good. I’ve lost track.”

The sorrow in Ryan’s voice might have been a trick of Gavin’s drunk ears, he decided. Losing track of how many people you’d killed sounded awful to him, but it led into his next question. “So… How long have you been one, then? A vampire, or whatever.”

Ryan gave a wry smile at that one, waiting until the waitress had set their drinks down before answering. “Twenty four years. I was turned in 1985, and the rest is history.”

Gavin’s eyes widened. “You’re thirty-two, then? You said last time you’d be fifty-six. Thirty-two’s not a bad age to be forever, is it?”

Ryan was surprised that Gavin had remembered that detail, given the glassy look in his eyes, but he decided not to comment on it. He supposed the shock of something so foreign would make anyone analyze all the details. “Its not awful. I’d rather this than twenty-two, or sixty-eight.”

Gavin tilted his head, expression thoughtful. “So.... You were alive in the seventies? You experienced disco, and the wars, and - You’re ancient.”

Ryan scoffed, taking a long sip of his drink before answering. “Fifty-six is not that old. You’re basically a child, anyway, so you don’t get to talk.”

“I’m twenty-four! That’s completely adult.”

Ryan laughed unabashedly, a sound that had Gavin spluttering all over again. He knew inwardly it was wrong to enjoy this, because odds are that the Brit would turn tail and run the second things got uncomfortable again. But it was nice to laugh, and forget, and enjoy himself for a few moments.

They went silent for a while, Gavin carefully sipping his drink and Ryan alternating between watching him or the people around them. When Gavin spoke again, his voice was far quieter than it had been previously, and there was a distant look in his eye.

“Do you have to kill them?”

Ryan did his best to hide the flinch, hoping that Gavin was drunk enough not to notice. His voice was tense when he responded, and hoped that that was also lost on the inebriated Brit. “What do you mean?”

Gavin frowned, shifting nervously in his seat. “Well, I mean - Do you have to suck all their blood out? Couldn’t you just… Take a little and go? Why do they have to die?”

Ryan supposed that was a fair question; one that he himself had wondered time and time again, after each and every kill. Why did they have to die? “The curse, it’s… It’s not easily controlled. After I’ve fed, I feel pretty normal. But the desire builds, and becomes hard to ignore, and when I finally do taste the blood, its - I can’t control it. And I’m not satisfied until I’ve had every last drop.”

Gavin grimaced, slurping up the last of his drink with a disgusted look on his face. “Oh… So it’s like taking a piss.”

Ryan balked, brows high on his forehead in confusion. “I-- What?”

“You know! Like, when you really gotta piss, it’s hard to ignore. And once you start going, stopping is super difficult. Its like piss, but you’re sucking up instead of spewing out.”

Ryan stared at Gavin with a gaze so intense, it made the Brit shift uncomfortably in his seat. In truth, Ryan couldn’t believe how carefree the response was, disgusted but not horrified. Gavin had taken it so easily, and maybe that was just the alcohol talking, but Ryan had not experienced something so close to acceptance in decades. He clung to it like a lifeline, soaking it in for as long as he could before something terrible happened.

Finally, when Gavin looked as though he was ready to run out of the sheer discomfort of it all, Ryan laughed. It was hearty and good, and the relief that flooded across Gavin’s face only made him smile more.

“Yeah, sure. Its just like taking a piss, if you want to put it that way.”

They talked for a long while after that, Gavin getting progressively more drunk, asking Ryan a plethora of ridiculous vampire related questions that shouldn’t have been as funny as they were. Ryan obliged him each and every one, taking the obscurity of them in stride. Gavin grew increasingly more interested, words slurring together, but never losing his enthusiasm.

Finally, two in the morning rolled around and they were forced to pack up and leave. Ryan offered their server a kind smile, and paid off the whole tab, while Gavin struggled to get his jacket on. Ryan hadn’t realized the extent of the Brit’s intoxication, because he couldn’t stand without wobbling dangerously, and the look in his eyes was far away from there.

In a moment of poor judgement, Ryan reached a hand out to steady him. Gavin tensed, but did not push him away, so he took that as his chance to carefully lead Gavin out of the building and into his car.

“You can’t drive…” Gavin said in a moment of clarity, glaring down at the vehicle.

“I’m not drunk.” Ryan said simply, carefully lowering Gavin into the passenger seat.

“But-- You were drinking.”

“Diet Coke. I don’t drink alcohol.”

Gavin looked like he was about to protest, but Ryan was already circling the vehicle to climb into the driver’s side. The Brit didn’t say anything else, on the verge of sleep in his seat - And didn’t say anything again until they pulled up outside his apartment, and Ryan was helping him out of the vehicle. “Wait - This is my place.”

Ryan frowned quizzically, guiding Gavin into the elevator. “Yeah, I’m taking you home. You’re very drunk.”

“I-- Okay.”

Ryan had to wait for Gavin to pull out his keys, but he managed to get him inside and into bed with his shoes off, and a glass of water on the night stand. Maybe he was pushing his limits, but he wasn’t an asshole, and leaving Gavin to suffer in his drunken state wasn’t in his nature. He turned to leave, when Gavin grabbed his wrist.

“You’re real.” He said firmly, before his eyes closed and his hand fell limp against the bed.

Ryan smiled, turned heel, and let himself out of the apartment, while Gavin dreamed of a smiling face with canines glinting.

[50cyg]

id love to see the other 3 original chosen but i mean they only have one movie left... how well do you think they will resolve everything?

Me too! I’d love to get a glimpse of the other 3 members ofDaigo’s team.

Unfortunately, hiring 3 more actors would be rather costly(depending on the actor), so I’m not sure if Toei would be able to afford thecost. 

In addition, like you said, there is only one movie left sointroducing three new fleshed out characters is impossible at this point. Plus,we have so many characters to keep track of already and I don’t really want 3more stealing away screen time. 

Honestly here is my ideal situation:

I’d love to see all three of them introduced very briefly, andcontribute something very small to the plot. Example is you see one of themexplaining the current Digital World situation to some government officials ata board meeting. Another one shows up to help the Chosen Children in some way(like bringing them a device of some kind or helping to keep mobs away fromthem). The last one is seen beating a Bakemon in the face. I dunno, justsomething small, a two second cameo that shows that they exist and care aboutwhat is happening. Alternatively, it would be cool to see them kind of in a MonsterMaker type role, where they are seen helping with the situation from the insidein some way. Realistically all you need to do is take any minor backgroundcharacter that does or says something useful and make it obvious that they areone of the former chosen. That’s all I want.

As for how well I think they will resolve everything, I’mhonestly not sure. The only questions still left unanswered, that I can thinkof, are:

Where are the 02 kids?

Who is dark gennai really?

Where is the real gennai?

I feel like all three of these things could be answered prettyquickly. It only took symbiosis a few minutes to answer how Meicoomon was thesource of the infection and why. Heck you could answer two of these questionsin one go, because I’m still not fully convinced that Dark Gennai isn’t the realGennai. Seriously I am 100% in favour of Gennai being a villain, that guy issuper sketchy in my opinion. I have theories regarding Dark Gennai. I’ll do apost later.

Otherwise all they have to do is have an ending that makes itplausible to see a future where the Digital World and Human World will be ableto work in harmony. In fact, I could see both worlds fully colliding with eachother and becoming one unified world within this universe.

As far as I remember the Tri staff only said they were workingwithin the framework of the epilogue. Which means they don’t have to have Trifit into the 02 epilogue perfectly, only that the general concept needs to bethe same.

As far as I’m concerned, the only parts of the epilogue that arecrucial aspects (and therefore classify as the framework) are as follows:

“Everyone has a Digimon partner.”

First off, this takes place 25 years down the road so Tri doesnot need to end with everyone having a partner, because we have no idea howlong it took for that to happen. Plus, 02’s ending already created theframework for that to be the case with all the Digidestined around the worldand the fact that Oikawa and all the spore children also had partners.Logically, to me, this means everyone has the ability to obtain a partnerand/or already has one even if they don’t know it.

“The Digital World has been recognized by peopleall around the world.”

Tri has established that government officials knowabout the existence of the Digital World, and Kyosei specifically has shown thewhole world recognizing and learning what these creatures are and where theycome from. As far as I’m concerned, it would only take a short scene where thenews explains what this world is, or something, for Tri to have this epilogueline effectively covered.

“However, reaching that was not easy.”

Tri has already illustrated this pretty well.

Then there is also the fact that, although notexplicitly said, it seems like both worlds are working in harmony with oneanother. So, Tri has to have an ending that sees this as a plausible future.

And that’s it, nothing else matters. I do notconsider the careers or spouses of the children to be a part of the framework.When I think of the framework of a story I think of its essence and keyfocusses. Who these kids married or what they are doing doesn’t change theessence of the story or the key message, not really. Whether Takeru and Hikarior Koushiro and Mimi got married doesn’t add anything to their character arcs. Soraand Yamato being married doesn’t matter either, in my opinion.

Even if Tri does decide to keep all the careersthe same, they’ve done a decent job at subtly hinting to that already anyway.Mimi has at least a passing interest in weird food combinations that could hintat her future cooking career. Sora shows an interest in fashion. Takeru has a blog,etc etc. Minus Taichi, Yamato, and Hikari, the future careers have beenaddressed. So, really, they just need to hint at Hikari, Yamato and Taichi’scareers still and that should only take a few minutes if we go by the subtlehinting system they are currently using.

As for the future couples, I will address that inanother post since two other people have asked me my opinions on it.

[5160763]

Fries, chips, & jagabee

It is hot enough out that when Saguru had taken a single step out past his front door, he had nearly turned around and gone back in immediately, braving Tokyo’s public transport be damned in this weather. The family car - Baaya’s car, really, God save your soul if you as much as left a grimy fingerprint on it - was still in the workshops for repair work, and Saguru doesn’t think it’s an over exaggeration if he said he would die if he walked to the nearest station (which was, for the record, fifteen minutes by foot and therefore not near at all).

His phone was in his hand. It wouldn’t be difficult at all to send a text to the group chat begging off sick and staying home in his air-conditioned room to watch the rest of the documentary series he’d been hooked on. Squinting at the cloudless sky, he considers his options.

Point to consider: There is no telling that the rest of his friends wouldn’t simply call off their plans to come bother him under the convenient excuse of taking care of the sick, drawn more by the lure of his air-conditioning units than out of a genuine concern for him.

Point to consider: His friends are detectives (with the sole exception of Kuroba, who simply doesn’t want to be a detective).

Point to consider: Kuroba isn’t going to let him hear the end of it if he ever finds out.

Hakubas are not raised to be cowards.

He calls a taxi.

::

“ - thought we agreed on this - “

“Shut up, Kuroba.”

The sound of heated arguing stops Saguru in his tracks, pausing out of sight near the traffic mirror around the corner. It’s rare to hear Hattori this pissed, his accent noticeably pronounced when his focus is directed elsewhere, rarer still when he realises it is Kudou that he is arguing with. A fat tabby emerges out of the water cool shadows of an elm, and winds about his ankles mewling while he wonders if the world as he knows it is ending.

To delay the inevitable - them turning their hot tempers onto him for making them wait in the hot sun for ten minutes past their agreed meeting time - he digs into his pockets for spare change and considers the various cold drinks on offer from the vending machine.

“ - is objective.”

“Says you.”

A string of unintelligible words from Hattori quickly follows, Saguru scratching gently under the tabby’s chin with a fingertip as he fishes for the cans of drink out from the machine slot.

“ - wouldn’t hurt you to say nothing - “

“I suppose there is a good reason that they don’t meet up together all that often. It’s just too bad we’re friends. But like attracts like, hmm?” Giving the cat one last affectionate pat on the head, Saguru straightens up from his crouch just in time to hear his own name being mentioned. Best face forward, he hurriedly steps out from where he had absolutely not been hiding around the corner and calls out to his them. Kudou is the first to spot him from where he is sitting on the low bench, his expression one parts relieved and two parts pissed.

“You’re late.” Kudou states flatly, snatching the can from him when he offers one to him. “What took you so long?”

“I got lost switching lines.” Saguru lies smoothly, distributing the rest of the drinks. “The car broke down, so I had to resort to public transport.”

“There is a lot of condensation on these cans.” The soda fizzes over the rim the moment Kudou cracks the tab open, sticky sweet liquid spilling over his fingers to wet the concrete at their feet. Unbothered by the accusing look directed at him, Saguru smiles him insouciantly.

“It’s a hot day.”

Kudou looks unimpressed, but seems willing enough to let the issue go without further challenge on his end. Saguru has long pegged Hattori to be one easily appeased by food, which leaves Kuroba to watch him thoughtfully, mouth pulling up into a lopsided smirk when he catches Saguru considering him.

“Punctuality is a demonstration of character, mm?” He falls into step next to Saguru as the group shuffles back into the sun, Kudou in the lead with his phone and map. “You probably should walk up front with Kudou.”

“With Kudou? Why?” Immediately suspicious, Saguru narrows his eyes at Kuroba. “As for my lateness, consider today to be an exception.”

“I’ve never had high expectations of you, if that’s what you are worried about. You’re always at your worst around me.” Briefly, so quick he could have missed it, a flash of honest concern from beneath Kuroba’s usual vexing display of vapidity. “With how unsafe Tokyo is these days, I had worried that something had happened to you.”

Quiet, the distant blare of passing traffic as they wound their way from one building to the next, more concerned with staying beneath any possible shade than efficiency. Each time Saguru thinks he had gotten used to Kuroba’s capriciousness, he knocks him back off kilter. “I doubt they would pick someone with as high a profile as I keep.”

“All the better for publicity.”

“For a fast track to jail? Undoubtedly.” The corner of Kuroba’s mouth curves up into a smile, and Saguru pretends that he doesn’t see it. “I heard the lot of you arguing earlier, while I was getting the drinks. Did something happen?”

The way Kuroba hesitates is mildly concerning. “Let’s just say that some people have strong opinions about potatoes and leave it at that. I don’t want to start another argument.”

“I’ll have you know, we can hear you loud and clear up front here.” Hattori gives them both a dirty look from over his shoulder, one that Saguru immediately deflects towards Kuroba. “Not exactly subtle, Kuroba. Just so we’re clear: I wasn’t the one who started the argument.”

“That’s not - “

“You’re blaming me, now?” Kudou cuts in sharply, Kuroba’s attempts at diverting the topic away from the proverbial minefield swept clean aside. “If you didn’t insult me in the first place - ”

“Which I did not.”

“Ask Kuroba then - “

“I’m uninvolved.” Kuroba says quickly. “I don’t know anything. I plead for my right to remain silent.”

“You had to bring my prefecture into this. You.” Hattori jabs a finger into Kudou’s shoulder, the other slapping the offending hand away immediately, and oh, Saguru can sort of see where this is going. “It was uncalled for. Even as a joke, you should have known better.”

“Maybe when you know your potatoes and stop insulting my eating preferences, I will.”

“What’s this about potatoes?” Saguru had no idea Kudou was this passionate about potatoes. Or Hattori, for a matter. Is there a new food trend going around like hay fever that he has yet to catch wind of?

“It’s really stupid, if you’re asking me.” Careful not to draw any attention from the arguing pair, Kuroba falls back a step and keeps his voice low. “They were having a discussion about the best kind of potatoes to make fries with because Kudou visited some potato farm in Idaho. It turned to a discussion about the best kind of fries one could ever eat, and as you can see, they are still having a disagreement over shoestring and soggy Mcdonald fries. I’m this close to leaving them for a park.”

“Fries?” Glance back towards the front, Hattori and Kudou both pushing on into each other’s spaces and trying to stare the other down, and then Saguru finds himself grinning as he deliberately raises his voice (to Kuroba’s horror). “What do you mean, fries?”

It draws the attention of Hattori and Kudou, as expected, Kuroba hunching down and muttering,”I’m really going home.”

“Fries,” says Kudou, a frown creasing his pretty face. “Like - “

“Oh! Chips! You meant chips. Sorry, I was a little lost back there.” Saguru says brightly, in the tone he usually reserves for entertaining grandfather Hakuba, who often has many opinions about who Saguru should love and what kind of job he should get and what he could do to better the Hakuba name. “You really can’t compare potato sticks to chips. Chips are the better deal, although you can’t get any decent ones in Tokyo, more’s the pity.”

“Chips,” Kudou repeats weakly, the first to recover from the aghast silence Saguru had put them all in. “Chips aren’t fries. That’s… different.”

“Chips.” Saguru says firmly, dialling up the same I’m-a-dumb-foreigner act he had seen from Jack countless times. “I also like Jagabee.”

“That’s a different can of sardines, Hakuba.”

“A different can of worms.” Hattori corrects, Kuroba sniffing at the correction. “Chips are… okay. Chips. I’ve never had an actual chip.”

“Are chips a relative to the steak fry? Or - what I’m really curious about is this thing called a chip butty.” Anger sufficiently derailed, Kudou looks thoughtful once again, to everyone’s relief. “Do you actually eat those things? Or do they simply exist inexplicably, like fortune cookies in China?”

“I saw it once on a menu in an English pub… “

“Jagabee?” Kuroba, clicking his tongue reprovingly when the attention has clearly been redirected elsewhere to safer topics, the corners of his mouth upturned into a half smile. “You can’t solve everything by pulling the gaijin card every time, Gaijin-san. They’re going to figure it out eventually.”

“What, that I hate chips?” Saguru feigns ignorance, mischievous. “Preferences can change.”

“And the fact that you’re born and raised in Tokyo?” Kuroba cuts him a look, fondness and exasperated rolled into one, and he doesn’t complain when Saguru takes hold of his wrist, pulls him close:

“You,” Saguru says, and his voice is quiet with repressed laughter. “Are the only one who knows.”

>> I had another fic planned for how Saguru is absolutely Japanese in his blood but eh. I’ll get to it when I finish my super long re-write of a fic

[ciathyzareposts]

Game 111: Ringworld: Revenge of the Patriarch (1992) – Introduction

Written by Reiko

The last game I played through for the blog was Dune (let’s pretend Rome never happened), which was more or less based on the famous science fiction novel, and before that was Gateway. Up next, I have the opportunity to present another game based on a famous science fiction novel: Ringworld, by Larry Niven. I’m seeing a theme here.

Front cover of the original release.

Ringworld: Revenge of the Patriarch was released right at the end of 1992 by Tsunami Games, early in their career (they’d only just been founded in 1991 by designers originally from Sierra, according to both Wikipedia and Mobygames). One name that appears a lot in its credits is Chris Hoyt. Listed for both game design and programming, he’d already had a lot of experience before this by programming for King’s Quest IV and V and Police Quest 2 and 3, among others. Another big name was Ken Allen, who wrote the score for Ringworld’s music, after having also composed for a number of Sierra games.

So there was some talent involved with this game, which shows in its colorful graphics and detailed character and setting designs. The graphic design actually reminds me somewhat of the 1994 strategy/adventure game Alien Legacy, but it’s possible that it’s just the level of the tools available at that time.

Front cover of the CD-ROM release.

Sometime in the next year, a CD-ROM version was released (the original was on floppies), but I haven’t found much information about the differences. The CD-ROM was supposed to contain several tracks of music, but the archive.org description indicates that the tracks didn’t seem to exist on the disk, or were written in a non-standard format.

As with the other games based on science fiction novels, adapting the setting and concept to a game format meant changing the plot and characters, often significantly, or taking a completely different perspective on the plot. I haven’t read much of the original novel, but some copies of the game shipped with the book, which seems to be implying that it might be a good idea to read it. Ringworld ties in with Niven’s “Known Space” setting, in which he wrote several other books and stories, so the setting is well-developed and complex. I read up on it in preparing for this game.

Artist’s concept of the Ringworld

At any rate, I was already familiar with the concept of a “ringworld,” since that has been carried over into other science fiction settings since then, including multiple 4X space games like Stellaris. A ringworld is a huge ring-shaped structure built along an entire orbit around a star. Instead of a planet orbiting around the star, the whole structure just rotates around it.

It’s a cool concept for an alien structure in theory, but in practice, it’s completely silly. I have no idea where you’d get enough physical material to even build that large of a framework, never mind all the organic material needed to make it habitable. Niven’s Ringworld was supposedly large enough to have the surface area of millions of Earths. Even Jupiter only has the mass of 318 Earths, and quite a lot of that is gaseous, so even if you (somehow??) spread it out relatively thinly into a flat ring structure, I’m not sure you’d have enough. But “aliens did it” and that’s all you need to know, apparently. It’s the science fiction equivalent of “wizards did it.”

Title screen

After the title screen displays, we get the option to see the introduction or just start the game. The introduction starts with a credits listing, including an official credit to Larry Niven. Then we get a cutscene introducing the main conflict. So far, this game is rather plot-heavy, so I’ll do my best to summarize. Also, it feels like a sequel to an existing story, which doesn’t help. Actually, I noticed the back cover mentions Larry Niven himself saying that it’s a sequel to the first two books. So I guess we’re jumping into the middle of the story. Whee!

Back cover of the box

Let me start with the characters. The introductory cut-scene is between the Kzinti king, or Patriarch, and his trusted centurion Shachra. The Kzinti are a violent race of male-dominated felinoid aliens. Niven’s setting involves several wars between humans and Kzinti, although I don’t know exactly where in the timeline the game is set. I suspect it’s fairly late, because the first thing the Patriarch says is that he wants to destroy the Puppeteers for their audacity in using the Kzinti in a breeding experiment. Hence, “Revenge of the Patriarch.”

The Puppeteers are a very strange race which I’ll describe more later if they show up on screen, but they’re highly technologically advanced, very focused on the safety and preservation of themselves and their race, and like to meddle in other races’ social and genetic development. So the Kzinti want to destroy them because the Puppeteers deliberately instigated the wars between humans and Kzinti in order to kill off the more aggressive side of Kzinti society. (The experiment didn’t extend as far as the Patriarch yet, I guess.)

The throne room decorations look rather Aztec to me, appropriate for an aggressive race.

In the Ringworld novel, the main characters are Louis Wu and the Kzinti Speaker-to-Animals, also called Chmeee, who end up on a mission to Ringworld at the request of the Puppeteers. But the game starts off with Louis Wu’s mercenary friend Quinn and Chmeee’s son Iacch-Captain, who must find out what happened to Louis Wu and Chmeee after they mysteriously disappeared. The Patriarch mentions Louis Wu and “the traitor Chmeee” as having acquired a new and improved hyperdrive (which in the novel is a reward from the Puppeteers for escaping Ringworld), which the human government immediately used to construct a fancy new exploration vessel. I assume Chmeee is considered a traitor by the Patriarch for working together with a human.

So the Kzinti (at least the Patriarch’s faction) want to destroy the Puppeteers and strike a blow at humans as well. Somehow they’ve managed to duplicate the human exploration vessel. The Patriarch expects his centurion to captain this duplicate and accomplish three tasks: kill everyone at the Chmeee family home, find and destroy the entire Puppeteer homeworld, and take over the human ship. I had to wonder very briefly if we were supposed to be controlling this centurion, but no, I’m sure we’ll have to thwart these plans, so it’s important that the player knows about them.

I should mention that the backstory of the human-Kzinti wars isn’t all explained in this introduction. If you’re familiar with the setting, you’ll likely know it, but if not, I think it would be rather confusing being dumped into the middle of this conflict. It’s not very clear to me, either, especially when it comes to what Louis Wu and Chmeee have already done before the game even started.

Quinn’s motivation for being here

Gameplay begins at the Chmeee family home with Louis Wu’s mercenary friend Quinn, who is over 200 years old, thanks to something called “boosterspice” (presumably no connection to Dune’s spice), which halts aging for a period of years. Louis Wu was 200 at the beginning of the original Ringworld novel, too. Quinn muses briefly about how Louis Wu is the only one who would have the foresight to send a “just in case I disappear” message before he actually disappears. Convenient, that. So Louis Wu has disappeared and Quinn has to track him down.

Now I have to pause for a minute to show the interface. It’s more or less a tidy reskin of the familiar Sierra interface, with a few subtle differences that make it slightly more awkward to use. The right-click button will bring up the menu in a compact triangular-ish design right on screen, rather than in a menu bar at the top. The top button is the look action; the next two are move/walk and use/touch. Bottom left is talk, bottom middle is inventory, and bottom right brings up the utility menu, including save and quit.

Interface with initial inventory

It’s all pretty standard for adventure games of this era, really. Very intuitive. Except that, with the exception of look (and move), the other actions (touch, talk, and using an inventory item) all shift back to the default move cursor after you click on something. That means that, as far as I can tell, you can’t try using multiple things on-screen in a row without going through the menu every time. And you can’t try using an inventory item in multiple places without bringing up the item again every time.

In Sierra games, the cursor would stay on a particular mode until you shifted it with the right mouse button or clicked on a menu item. Here, the right mouse button shows you the whole menu. And the clicks aren’t as responsive as I might like. Sometimes the right-click doesn’t work right away, and sometimes I right-click and end up with the wrong menu option selected.

The entrance to the Chmeee family home

I mention these interface difficulties because I’m a little worried that there might be a bit of pixel-hunting. The first gameplay screen shows Quinn outside the front doorway of the Chmeee family home. The door is blocked with a laser doorbell system. The laser is only a couple of pixel-widths high. It took me an embarrassingly long time to determine that to proceed, all I had to do was touch the laser to block it, which basically rang the doorbell and alerted the family that they had a visitor.

Quinn’s inventory starts out with three items: a stunner weapon, some kind of scanner, and a signet ring from Louis Wu. I spent far too long trying to scan that laser before I figured out how to trigger it.

I’ll pause here, with Quinn having gotten the attention of the Kzinti in the home. Next time, the plot will thicken and we’ll have to make a run for it.

Ringworld can be played from archive.org or downloaded and played through DOSBox if you’d like to play along with me.

Note Regarding Spoilers and Companion Assist Points: There’s a set of rules regarding spoilers and companion assist points. Please read it here before making any comments that could be considered a spoiler in any way. The short of it is that no CAPs will be given for hints or spoilers given in advance of me requiring one. As this is an introduction post, it’s an opportunity for readers to bet 10 CAPs (only if they already have them) that I won’t be able to solve a puzzle without putting in an official Request for Assistance: remember to use ROT13 for betting. If you get it right, you will be rewarded with X CAPs in return. It’s also your chance to predict what the final rating will be for the game. Voters can predict whatever score they want, regardless of whether someone else has already chosen it. All correct (or nearest) votes will go into a draw.

source http://reposts.ciathyza.com/game-111-ringworld-revenge-of-the-patriarch-1992-introduction/

[rdpnda17]

Twelves

One morning, a youngish man awoke on a hard floor, with just a blanket to cover his thin body and a few old clothes under his head serving as a makeshift pillow. The room he was in was very small. It was a rough square of at most five metres by five metres. The walls were completely bare and the ceiling was high. They had a rough texture to them and they had been neither covered nor painted.

He rolled from his side onto his back, one hand shifting to lie across his chest while he unglued his sticky eyes with the other. He lay, corpse like on his back with his hands folded, for a few minutes. Shortly, he opened his eyes fully and sat up. Looking at the space around him, it did not take long to notice the one change since he had gone to sleep seven or eight hours earlier. The door to the room, with its sliding flap just above head height, had been left open. This was, one could only assume, some sort of mistake or joke.

He sat up and leaned against the back wall of the cell with the blanket covering his knees and waited. Somebody would soon bring him some food, or some water, or some form of paperwork to fill out and realise they had accidentally left the door open for a brief period. It would then be locked again and he could return to his usual life.

He sat, counting the ridges of the knuckles on his left hand using his thumb, advancing in groups of twelve. He was soon approaching 324. He decided if he got to 600 and nothing had yet happened, he may stand up. Surely somebody would come soon. He had seen mistakes made before, but never like this and never quite so fortuitously in his favour. 360.

He had lost track of the amount of time spent in this room but it had certainly been enough to invoke an almost primal kind of faith in the ritual and routine of the day. The door being open was already far off the beaten path of the daily schedule. If he got up and investigated, he would only be straying further. 432.

Although it may be some kind of test. If it was a test, what answer was he supposed to give? Was it a test of his obedience or his initiative? Were they looking for him to prove that he knew the system and to remain sitting exactly where he was or for him to show that he understood this was some sort of mistake and to use it? 492.

He considered briefly lying back down under the blanket and pretending to be asleep until everything went back to normal. He wasn’t a late sleeper though and this may just drag him further into the general aura of abnormality. 540.

He settled on settling with things as they were. The world would always revert to the mean and this wrinkles would smooth out given time. A brief flicker of worry crossed his mind as he considered how fundamentally this thought contradicted the universal law of entropy. 588.

He pulled his feet in minutely closer and the muscles in his legs tightened subconsciously. 600.

He stood up. He had not really thought about it but the deadline he set himself earlier seemed to have enforced itself without him needing to consciously effect it. He walked over the door and as all his focus was drawn by the task ahead of him, the his internal monologue slowed to a halt. Looking nervously and very slowly around the door frame, he let some air into the back of his throat.

“Hello?” he said. His voice came out small and quiet, like a ventriloquist, holding the noise somewhere in his lungs. He coughed to clear the passage and let the sound out.

“Hello?” he said again. He looked down the corridor both ways. He was surprised to see rows of doors identical to his on both sides of the hall. Although the idea of his small room being the only room in the entire building that he was in, he had never actually considered the tangible existence of other cells in such close proximity.

“Hello?” he said. This time there was some force behind the question as the lack of response imbued him with some confidence in his freedom to make sound. Looking to his left, the hall came to a dead end very shortly and so he stepped out and began unsurely moving up the corridor to his right. He walked nervously, trying to look at the doors to the other cells with only his peripheral vision. He was very aware of every sound he made and concentrated hard on walking down the exact centre of the corridor in order to be as far a way as possible from the rooms either side.

Reaching the end of the hall (a longer period of time later than was really necessary given its length) he slowed down even more to peer around the upcoming ninety degree corner. Ahead, the narrow corridor ended, opening out into a large lobby. There were automatic doors directly ahead of him and above them stretched out vast windows, the entire facade of the building being made of glass.

To his right in the lobby was a long, black, faux marble desk. To the left were two leather sofas in a deep brown cover. The floor was tiled in a subtle off white, eggshell patterning. Behind the desk sat a lady in her mid fifties. She had grey hair pinned into a bun and she was no more than five foot. She was of quite a slender build and her thin fingers, capped in nails of dark blue, tapped away at a keyboard.

He took a very nervous step forward. The slight sound echoed in the open space and the woman looked up for a brief instant. “Yes?” she said. He froze. He stepped back, debating whether he should shrink around the corner and out of sight.

“Well, what do you want?” He tried to cough quietly under his breath to ensure his answer would come out properly.

“My room -” he said. It hadn’t worked and his voice was simultaneously gravelly with an odd squeak to it. He cleared his throat again.

“My room… Well, it was left unlocked actually.”

“And it shouldn’t have been?” she said. She didn’t seem as if anything in the world could draw her attention away from the keyboard or surprise her in any way.

“I don’t think so, no” he said.

“Just sit down.” she said. He moved over to the sofa very cautiously and perched himself far forward on the cushioning, sitting straight backed, not wanting to be seen to relax or make himself comfortable. The room felt very silent now the echoes of their voices had left. The tapping continued and without more than a minute pause, the woman pressed a button on the phone handset next to her computer. He looked to his left, admiring the way the light fell through the glass of the doors and the mixed shadows it cast in the entrance.

It did not seem a particularly special, beautiful or noteworthy day outside, weather wise. However, when you have not seen any natural light, weather, or anything other than some rough stone walls and a thin woollen blanket for an untraceable amount of time, it may well have been a sunset over Mount Everest or the flight of an albatross crossing the aurora borealis.

He was transfixed for the moment by the few low clouds he could see, shuddering across the distance, and the thin sun that peered out above then. There was also one bare tree, whose bare branches hung downwards, giving the impression of long hair lightly brushing the back of a neck. Occasionally the wind would rise slightly and the branches would shiver. If a bird had entered the scene at this point, he might have died of happiness. Luckily, for narrative reasons, one did not.

This transfixion lasted close to ten minutes before a noise broke the spell and he remembered the few events of the day leading him up to this point. A man was entering through a side door, just off the desk, which he had not taken notice of before.

“Come on then” he said. He was wearing black trousers with a number of large pockets and a thick black jacket, zipped to the very top. His head was shaved and his hairline receded almost a third of the way down his scalp. The man stands automatically and follows.

“Which number are you then?” this new man said. “Thanks, by the way” he adds, aiming it back over his shoulder. The woman gives a low hum of acknowledgement.

“Number? I’m afraid I wouldn’t know.”

“Room number, come on, you must know your room number.”

“No, no, not at all” he answers with a nervous voice, wondering whether it is his mistake not to know the answer.

“I can show you, it’s just down here - it was left open you see.”

“Oh that’s alright then.” They continue walking in silence. This new man seems confident in the situation, not feeling the need to add anything else. The poor roommate wants to try and explain himself further but doesn’t want to give off the impression that he thinks this man hasn’t understood what’s happening. They reach the open door quickly. It is not a long corridor and now they are covering the distance at a much more usual pace, the hall seems shorter than it was fifteen minutes previous.

“This one I take it?” He nods in response, not trusting his words.

“Room 12, by the way. In you go then.”

He steps back inside and looks at his guardian, expecting some sort of explanation or at least a comment on the general situation. The door is closed on his wide eyes and the questions they are full of only bounce back at him off the familiar sight of the white wooden frame and the plastic flap.

There is a clunk as a key is turned in the lock and the sound of footprints and faint whistling. The man sighs heavily and sits down against the wall again pulling the blanket over his knees.

612.

624.

636.