#bygone footage

[ancientbygone]

don't you even dare forget about this picture btw don't you fucking Dare

[vox-anglosphere]

A nostalgic folk song from the era of protest music.. enjoy.

[bleachification]

⸻ EVERYTHING IS BLUE

pairing: dabi x reader

word count: 2.2k

synopsis:  when life gave you a second chance to meet your supposedly dead childhood friend, you never expected it to be in the form of a villainous encounter. your once beloved toya is now dabi—a cruel, twisted silhouette of the gentle boy he used to be. 

note: includes mentions of grief and insomnia

+ + + + + + + + + + + +

There is a very famous saying: Love conquers all. 

Supposedly love transcends time. 

Space. 

Death. 

It buries sin and cures suffering, lightening the world and its burdens. It is presented with such a peculiar resemblance to what some herald as Heaven’s gift from above—a sublime feeling only justifiable by the overpowering divine or mystical. You see it in the stars; unreachable. In the sunsets and dawn; dazzling.

But you also see it in the darkness; for the act of love has made fools of many, robbing them blind of reason and humanity. It has made liars and killers—corrupted and instilled madness. And it seldom lets its victims go. 

Love creates weakness. 

You vowed to never let it make you weak again. 

After all, the last time almost killed you. But who could blame you? Toya was dear to you. Toya was special. The closest thing to a soulmate you could ever fathom. The boy was your childhood best friend and the earliest memory of happiness you can recall. Now, that is all he is—a distant, fleeting memory that whispers of fractured promises and bygone dreams. He is never more than a nostalgic breeze tickling your skin, or a particularly bright star on an early winter night. 

He exists between the lines of your past. Simply there. But never next to you. Never in arms reach. 

As time passed agonizingly, you had slowly begun to forget the most basic things, such as the bright tenor of his laugh and the soft sound of his steps—sensations you used to know by heart. 

Sometimes, you can only remember the features of his face by looking at an old photograph you had kept. It is one of black and white film, stained on the back and crinkled at the edges from the wear of time. In it, Toya is smiling, a small hand raised up in a wave at whoever was behind the camera. You can’t remember. 

Was it your mother? His? You hope it was the former. She always adored Toya.   

His left arm was slung over your shoulder and the both of you had cake and icing smudged on your faces, courtesy of one another. 

That day—your birthday—is one of the last times you saw him alive. 

So why on earth do you see that little boy in the eyes of a villain?

The face of a young man covered in gnarled purple scars is plastered across the city. Video footage from a high speed chase is being shown in an emergency broadcast on every single screen covering the downtown core. 

His name is Dabi. Prominent member of the League of Villains. It is an organization the Pro Heroes—your colleagues—are adamantly trying to dismantle. 

The man’s picture is blown up on the big screens alongside three other criminals, each involved in the chase currently carving through the city blocks.

Something about him is so familiar, but you can’t grasp exactly what. 

Grief and nostalgia must be playing tricks again. To see a dead child’s face in a villain’s visage is ridiculous.

Laughable. 

But it wouldn’t be the first time you had… hallucinated Toya’s image. 

With a sigh, you peel your dry eyes away from the ward’s television and shut the channel off. The room is eerily silent in the late night, void of the tv’s noise. You like it. Silence helps calm the mind. Settles the chaos. 

You stand and make your way out of the ward, down the empty hallway, and into your personal office. The room is clean and tidy, the only thing out of place is a stack of research papers strewn across your mahogany desk. You round the corner and settle into the soft velvet seat of your armchair before running your right hand along the underside of the table. A familiar click sounds as you locate the button and a small cabinet pops open from the left shelf. 

Three bottles sit inside. Unassuming white ones with generic labels. You pop the smallest bottle open and dump a pill out. The red medication tastes like chalk as it grazes your tongue. 

After a second of consideration, you take another, hoping these sleeping pills will be strong enough to stave off the nightmares and vivid hallucinations. 

Hope. It’s such a small word, but also such a large one. Hope was all you had at one point. It was the only thing grounding you to a reality without him. You had hoped it was all a mistake—a joke, even. Toya would pop his head from the corner and yell: “Gotcha!”

He would be fine. Alive. 

Anything but a husk of a human, burnt beyond recognition, suffocating in the flames of his own blood.

Now, hope is nothing but a pretty word to throw around when meaning is lost. 

You close your eyes and lose yourself to a dreamless sleep. 

✧ ˚ 　· 　　 . 　  

You are experiencing a startling sense of deja vu. The television glitches, interrupting regularly scheduled programming. A familiar figure appears. 

I, Toya Todorioki, was born as the eldest son of Endeavour. 

The world—your world freezes. The only thing you can comprehend is the man on your screen.

You stand up, shaking. Then, you run. Heroes and medical staff alike shout after you, but it all fades into a blur. There is only one destination in your mind—and it is a dangerous, painful place. 

It doesn’t take long for you to locate him. The city is in turmoil, buildings have been razed to the ground and rubble covers the once bustling space. You spot Shoto and his father up ahead, mere steps away. And in front of him stands Dabi—no—Toya. Your Toya. 

His hair is white now, the natural color no longer concealed once he revealed his identity. The scars have spread from the last time you saw him online. No matter. You knew it. You knew it was him. How could you forget?

Enji rasps out something in disbelief. 

Toya only smiles wide and responds with a sardonic confirmation. You could see it in their eyes—a living nightmare had come true for the Todoroki family.

But you? All you cared about was reaching Toya. None of them have seen you yet, so you take advantage of that by quietly making your way closer. The muffled voices turn clearer as the distance shrinks. Toya is speaking to his father and brother, words spilling out in frantic turmoil. The rawness of his voice rings through. Such intense anger and hatred cannot be faked. The two others are stricken by Toya’s address. You don’t blame them; the brutality of his language guts even you. 

Shoto notices you first. His eyes widen, almost imperceptibly, but Toya notices anyway. Your old friend whips around in your direction. You freeze as his eyes land on you. Recognition immediately flashes across his face.

His face. You feel as though you have been hurtled through space and time, brought back to simpler days. A scraped knee on the playground. Food fights in the cafeteria. A million pinky promises made.

A kid you called your best friend, reduced to ash and bones. 

These memories, both awful and radiant, wash over you with so much force you almost collapse. You silently praise yourself for keeping upright against the emotional onslaught. 

“Y/N, get out of here!” Shoto yells out, urging you away in a panic. 

You ignore him. Nothing else exists right now. Not Shoto. Not his father. Only him. 

“Y/N.” The way Toya says your name is almost questioning. As if he can’t believe you’re even here. 

You’ve somehow ended up right before him. Inches separate you, if barely. 

“Hi Toya,” you breathe, voice barely above a whisper. It would crack otherwise. 

He’s stunned, looking like the air was knocked from his lungs. Seconds fade into forever as his familiar gaze locks onto yours, searching—but for what, you can’t tell. It takes a moment for him to seemingly gather himself. The cynical persona quickly slides back into place.

“This is a nice surprise, but I’m afraid you have me all wrong. Toya is dead, Y/N. Dabi is all that is left—all that I am.”

You swallow. The air tastes of blood. “Somehow I don’t believe that.”

Don’t? Or won’t?

He shrugs, feigning nonchalance. “Well, it doesn’t matter what you believe. C’mon, Y/N! Don’t tell me you still have faith in who I used to be. That kid you knew is dead. Gone forever.”

You shake your head, refusing to take in his words.

“And yet, you’re standing right in front of me… how…?” Without thinking, you raise a hand up to touch his cheek. You’re operating on instinct, not logic. It's the instinct to comfort him—just like he did for you when you were children. 

But you stop yourself right before making contact with him, unsure. Toya’s gaze flits to your hand for a split second before returning to your face. There’s a question in his eyes—one you aren’t sure either of you can answer. 

“Why pretend you care? It’s cruel,” he murmurs, a subtle accusation coating his tone.

“What are you talking about? Of course I care.” You answer, bewildered. 

Pretend? How could he even begin to think that? When you’ve spent your entire life missing him?

“Then why did you move across the world the second you hit adulthood? You couldn’t even stay.”

“I thought you were dead. I mourned you. I grieved until what felt like my last breath. I left because every single second I stayed felt like reliving your death all over again.”

“And when you finally came back you were, what, healed? Moved on?” He laughs bitterly, arms spread in mockery. 

“Moved on?” You shake your head, the pain in your throat almost suffocating. “I saw you everywhere. Not just in dreams and nightmares. Hallucinating a dead person… I thought I was losing my mind! Even right now I’m praying this isn’t some sick, twisted nightmare.”

He drops his arms as well as the smile on his face. “Well, you’re in luck, Y/N. This is very much real. See, I thought things could change. That the consequences meant something to them. They lived my death and nothing happened! They saw what it did to me—the power, the ego, the fucking obsession that ruined this family—and did nothing!

“He’s a disease, don’t you get it? They all are. I’m simply here to rid the world of that sickness. I’m the cure, Y/N. I’ll burn the rot right out of the earth.”

Endeavour scrambles. “Son, don’t do this! Don’t—!”

“Son? Son?” Toya sneers. “You lost that right a long time ago, oh mighty Number One Hero.”

“Toya, please.”

He turns back to you. “No. Sorry to disappoint, Y/N, but you don’t get to participate in this dance.”

“What? No, Toya wait–”

An arm circles your waist before you can get another word out, and all of a sudden, you’re being carried away at breakneck speeds. 

Your screams are lost to the wind. 

An explosion in the distance. Red taints the sky and fills your vision. 

You have never felt so helpless.  

The next time you see Toya—the little that is left of him—is at the end of it all. He is confined. Half-alive. Burnt beyond recognition. It is like he is dying all over again. 

“I should hate you.”

You sit at his bedside, speaking your turn after his family just left. 

Toya is… tired. You can see it in his eyes—at the lack of fire. The passionate, ambitious boy you once knew is truly and utterly gone. 

But some of his kindness has returned. Or perhaps he has just accepted his fate, which is all the more heartbreaking. 

“You’ve done… terrible things. Hurt so many people,” you pause, considering your next words. Three tiny things lodged in your throat, struggling to be set free into the world. “You hurt me.”

He doesn’t look at you. You’re not sure if that’s any worse than his silence. 

“I didn’t think you would ever hurt me,” you whisper. 

Silence drags on for what feels like the longest minute of your life. He still has not turned his head. Still has not acknowledged you. Your heart sinks. Maybe this really is it. Maybe there’s no affection left—all of it burned up with the last of his lingering sentiments. 

You stand up, turning your back to him, ready to leave. For good. 

“I didn’t think I would either,” Toya murmurs. 

His soft voice breaks the silence—and it is overwhelming. 

You haven't turned around to face him yet. 

“In another life, would you have stayed?” 

“I…” he swallows, voice rasping. “I don’t want to leave this life. Don’t want to leave you behind… not again.”

Tears are streaming down your face. You don’t care; you sit back down right next to him, where you rightly belong. The ache in your chest is so heavy you think it might pull you to the ground and bury you below its surface to try and muffle your misery. You almost wish it did. 

Despite the pain, you muster out your next question. 

“You think we could be happy?” You take Toya’s wounded hand in yours and gently squeeze, careful not to hurt him. 

To your relief, he doesn’t let go. In fact, he squeezes back. It’s faint but the action is felt. “Yeah. Yeah, I think we could.”

And if another life exists, you are. 

Undoubtedly so. 

[kchasm]

Ryu Number: Don Adams

Don Adams was an American actor, best known for his role as the incredibly skilled yet incredibly clumsy secret agent Maxwell Smart in the secret agent spoof sitcom Get Smart. If you don't recognize the title—which, fair enough, it aired literally sixty years ago—he also notably voiced the dimwitted cyborg police officer protagonist of the Inspector Gadget cartoons.

He has a Ryu Number of at most 4.

The last portion of Space Quest V: Roger Wilco – The Next Mutation features our titular protagonist infiltrating the SCS Goliath, making use of its cramped, labyrinthine maintenance tunnels.

Apparently someone in development thought the passageways a bit reminiscent, video-game-wise: Take the right wrong path, and Roger will speedily crawl in the other direction with an unexpected cameo on his tail.

Space Quest 6: Roger Wilco in the Spinal Frontier is fully voiced, including—as you may know already because @ryunumber—noted disc jockey, announcer, and voice actor Gary Owens. Normally this wouldn't be enough to count the actor themselves, even if they are credited in the game—but persist past the end credits and fade-out and you'll hear the narrator thank you for playing Space Quest 6 before extroducing himself specifically as "Gary Owens, signing off." Totally counts!

Finally, guess who got himself a copy of TV Land Presents Blast From the Past?

Mind, it's such a jalopy of a game I couldn't get it to run on my computer without serious graphical issues...

... but I was able to get it to run just runnily enough to confirm its nature! If you ever wanted to play a game where TV stars of a bygone era ask you trivia questions about the shows they were on... then you're not exactly choked with options, are you?

Gary Owens pulls double-duty here, playing both quiz host and TV star questionmonger, his questions focusing on the sketch comedy show Rowan & Martin's Laugh-In (where he was the on-screen announcer).

Don Adams' questions, of course, have to do with Get Smart. Unfortunately, I couldn't get any clean, non-glitched-out footage of him from my recordings, so have this video I extracted from the game files instead.

You know what? There's a charm to it.

[actuallythatgirl]

The Final Battle Alastor X Reader

The final battle, but instead of Alastor taking the hit, you do.

part 1 part 2 part 3

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

As we sit on the rooftop, a low, ominous buzzing fills the air. I glance up, my heart sinking as I spot a small, hovering drone circling above us. The logo of the VEES is unmistakable—those damn surveillance drones.

“What in Hell…?” I murmur, my mind racing with a surge of panic. I can barely comprehend the situation as my gaze locks onto the drone, its camera lens glinting ominously in the harsh light.

“We need to get off this roof, my dear,” Alastor says, his voice dangerously calm. He turns his head to look at the drone with a mixture of irritation and something darker, more menacing. His usual mocking demeanor has been replaced by a sharp, cold edge that sends a chill down my spine.

I scramble to my feet, my body still aching from the previous ordeal. “Are they—are the VEES recording us?” I ask, my voice trembling. The realization hits me hard—everything that’s happened, every moment of vulnerability, might have been captured and broadcasted. I feel exposed, the weight of their intrusion adding another layer of fear.

“Quite possibly,” Alastor replies, his eyes narrowing as he watches the drone’s erratic movements. “They’re notorious for their relentless surveillance.”

The urgency in his voice makes my blood run cold. The VEES don’t just record—they exploit. The thought of them having footage of this encounter, our injuries, our private moments, is nauseating.

“Fuck me,” I curse under my breath. The situation is spiraling out of control, and the thought of our private suffering being used for their twisted entertainment is almost more than I can bear.

Alastor’s expression darkens further, his usual composure fraying under the strain. “We need to move, now. If they’ve been recording us, we can’t afford to stay here.”

He struggles to stand, his movements still unsteady but driven by a fierce determination. Despite his injuries, he manages to help me to my feet. Together, we stumble toward the edge of the roof, our only focus now on escaping the prying eyes of the VEES and getting to safety.

"My dear, this is going to feel quite strange," Alastor chokes out, his voice rasping with exhaustion, almost more of a strained wheeze than his usual confident tone. I hesitate, trying to grasp what he meant, but before I can ask, the world begins to shift. It feels like reality itself is bending. The colors around us deepen unnaturally, as though someone turned the saturation way up, casting a surreal, darker hue over everything.

The ground beneath me seems to melt away as I feel myself sink, the familiar sensations of my body slipping away. My mind fights to hold onto some sense of control, but it’s useless—everything is dissolving. I try to look towards Alastor, hoping for some clarity, but the shadows swallow him whole. For a moment, I’m weightless, floating in some in-between space, detached from my own being. And just as quickly as the darkness consumes me, it releases its grip.

The world snaps back into existence with a violent thud.

I stumble, trying to regain my bearings. Around me, it’s as though we’ve stepped into a different time—a house, old but well-kept, like we’ve fallen back into the 1930s. The architecture is elegant, with polished wooden floors, brass fixtures, and vintage décor that could have come straight from a film noir. This must be Alastor's home—a place steeped in the charm and eerie beauty of a bygone era.

A groan from beside me draws my attention, and my heart skips a beat. I look down and see Alastor sprawled on the floor, his once-charismatic figure now crumpled and drained. His last ounce of strength had been used to bring us here, wherever ‘here’ is.

"Dear God… Al?" My voice trembles, the weight of fear pressing into my chest as I kneel beside him. Even in my disoriented state, I can tell something is wrong—very wrong. His face is pale, his eyes closed. I reach out, but my own body barely has the energy to keep me upright. My muscles scream in protest, and I sway, almost collapsing next to him. “Are you okay?” I choke out, desperately needing a response.

But none comes.

Panic tightens its icy grip around my throat. "Alastor, I need you to wake up… please." The silence is unbearable. My mind races as I realize he might not be conscious. "Now, damn it!" But again, there’s nothing—just the oppressive quiet of the house around us.

Fear thrumming through my veins, I whisper, "Forgive me for this," and carefully roll him onto his back, my heart pounding louder in my ears with every passing second. His normally sharp, mischievous eyes remain shut, his face slack. He’s out cold. I can’t even tell how badly he’s hurt.

The surge of fear becomes a roar, drowning out every other thought. I need medical supplies. Anything.

I spring to my feet, fighting through my own injuries as I rush from room to room, pulling open drawers, cabinets—anything that might hold some form of first aid. “Come on… come on. You get into enough fights, you have to have something,” I mutter through gritted teeth. Desperation turns my movements frantic, but each cabinet reveals nothing useful.

I dash up the stairs, feeling like I’m running against time. The house looms around me in its vintage elegance, each piece of furniture a ghost from another era. It’s unsettling how pristine everything looks—like time stopped in the 1930s. Then, I find it—an old wooden door leading into a bathroom. The décor is still perfectly in line with the rest of the house—white subway tiles, polished brass fixtures, a claw-footed tub—but my focus is the cabinet above the sink.

I fling it open and find a small box tucked inside. Finally—medical supplies. I grab it, but as I turn to leave, the sight in the mirror stops me cold.

I barely recognize myself. My reflection stares back, a grotesque version of who I used to be. My face is a battered canvas of swollen black and blue, the bruises blossoming across my skin like ugly flowers. Deep, jagged cuts stretch from my temple to my jawline, the blood drying in uneven streaks, cracking as I move. Dust and grime cling to my skin, mingling with the blood, while debris clots in my tangled hair, matting it against my scalp with a gritty, uncomfortable weight.

My arms are a tapestry of agony, crisscrossed with deep gashes—some still oozing sluggish trails of blood, the edges puckered and angry. Dried streaks stain the skin beneath my fingernails, and each movement pulls at the open wounds, sending fresh spikes of pain shooting through my body.

I lift my shirt, gasping as my fingertips brush against the large, purpling bruises that blotch my torso. The dark blotches are swollen, throbbing with each breath, a sickening reminder of the beating I barely survived. Every breath sends a ripple of pain through the bruised ribs beneath. This body, this broken shell, feels foreign—too fragile, too damaged, to be mine.

Shaking off the shock, I rush back to Alastor, hoping I’m not too late.

[seat-safety-switch]

Everyone knows me at the dump. I don’t mean this in a bragging sort of way. In fact, I hate this fact. The reason why everyone knows me at the dump is that Mr. Jones, the dump operator, has posted the CCTV footage and blurry cell-phone camera pictures of my face on the break room wall. Even the youngest probie at the dump will look at me, every morning, while they wait for the coffee machine to dispense their mandatory cup of black joy.

You can probably guess why this has happened to me. I love junk, and the dump has a lot of that junk. To me, it is offensive that the dump hoards that junk. They keep it from me, using excuses like “sanitation” and “safety,” but safety is my middle name. If they would just give me a chance, then I would be the best they’ve ever seen. I’d even remove and sort the little lithium-ion vape batteries that haven’t exploded yet, out of gratitude.

Of course, we both know why I’m digging through trash at the dump. I don’t want old Betamax VCRs, or mouldy cardboard boxes heralding products from a bygone era. Well, I do, but I don’t want them more than I want a two-stroke dirt bike, and I’ve seen tons of those over the years get callously tossed into the debris pile by the great unwashed. They’re always getting thrown out for little reasons, like “carb jet plugged,” or “caught on fire,” or “couldn’t get anyone to buy it on Craigslist for septuple the market value so I threw it away out of spite.” I could save these bikes, and to be not allowed to save them is literal torture.

Just like anyone else would in my shoes, I started wearing elaborate disguises to the dump. Sometimes I could loot one, and throw it into the back of my car, and be gone before the dump operators (there weren’t even security guards yet, back then) could catch up to me. I had enough disguises – and enough cars – that I could pull this off for a little while. Then, used cars got really expensive, and the folks in my neighbourhood started using security fasteners to hold on their license plates. I started to escape by tighter and tighter scrapes, until one fateful day.

That bastard Jones figured me out. He came from Chicago, of all places, a city which I’m pretty sure doesn’t even have a dump. And he knew my kind. He set a trap: an agonizingly pristine, 1989 Yamaha XT225. Sure, it was a four-stroke, but it was still love at first sight. It was planted right on top of one of the big piles of disposable diapers, visible even from the highway. Even knowing it was a trap, I made plans for months to grab it.

The joke’s on him, though. I’ve started my own private dump, and I’ve paid the government to start outsourcing dump operations to me. We’re an extremely efficient operation, much more affordable for the taxpayer than the wasteful public dump. How so, you ask? Well, we are much more selective with what waste we accept, and we wrote one helluva contract, which had a bunch of big words that confused the gin-addled politicos that signed it out of desperation to meet their “lower taxes” pledge.

Here’s how it works. We charge the city hundreds of thousands of dollars a month, and we get first pick of any internal combustion engines that are in the back of the garbage trucks. Everything else goes down the road to the regular dump. We’re making a fortune. If we keep putting out numbers like this, I’m sure there will soon be layoffs over at Jones’ shithole. Hell, maybe I’ll even hire him to manage security around these parts. Can’t have anyone walking off with my good trash.

[melodiesofmidnight]

I want to talk about violence in Phantom of the Paradise for a moment.

Paul Williams once said in an interview that:

"You go back to, in our society, we were, as Americans, sitting and watching the footage from Vietnam. There were cameras following the fighting. We're sitting there with our TV dinners watching the war in Vietnam. And, at some point, it felt like something really evolved at this point.

But the news was becoming entertainment. And the line between the two, between the news and entertainment, our reality began to blur. And so when that amazing moment in the movie, when Beef was killed on stage and the kids think it's part of the show, I think that's a really pivotal moment [...] and it just feels like that was basically the heart of the picture."

It seems to me that this truth, which, at the time, may have seemed to be an overly-thoughtful consideration of the film's intended meaning, has now been augmented into something of such formidable magnitude as to seem too obvious to mention: and that is intentional.

*Further commentary under the Read More.*

The "heart of the picture," as Paul put it, however, has only become more familiar to us as Time has steadily marched onward, and may now be so ubiquitous a phenomenon that we suffer the same blindness as those inhabiting said ideal society: we simply do not really analyze the violence. It is hardly mentioned in pertinence to this film in the realm of critical analysis, as that is just standard film fare: we hardly pause to consider its position within the film, or what the depiction of this violence may be trying to say: it is simply not particularly remarkable to us.

In an ideal society, of course, this aspect of the film would be lost to us, a symptom of a bygone and barbaric populace whose methods of entertainment would find themselves comfortably classified as having evolved from those of the Romans.

And why should it be?

Since the advent of the Internet, real violence has become so easily accessible to us that even a quick Google search can bring you within a finger's breadth of witnessing atrocities mankind was never meant to see.

Many of us grew up in the nascent, more unregulated days of the Internet, where kids passed shock sites between them like naughty magazines, and when places like LiveLeak consolidated into one convenient location the truly horrific realities of the world: beheadings, murders, war crimes, car crashes, cartel torturings...if it featured real, unadulturated human suffering, it had an ever-growing audience. People In the Know referenced these videos to one another, winking at the in-jokes made at the expense of real humans whose horrific deaths they had themselves witnessed.

Even in the current age, these things blur the lines between fantasy and reality for modern youths the way war footage may have for the youths of the Vietnam era: death is a spectacle, be it real or simulated.

We tell ourselves vehemently that we can distinguish between the two - between real and simulated violence - and, while this may be true in parsing the difference between fantasy and reality, can we parse the difference between its effect on us personally? Is every instance of real violence we witness truly as raw to us as it was the first time we saw it?

Ostracized teenage boys gather together to idolize school shooters the way horror fans may gather together to admire their favourite fictional slasher. People respond to a low death toll in mass shootings the way they may react to saving nearly all the characters in their favourite horror game: "Oh, just two got killed? That's not so bad."

Sure, it seems silly to us while watching the film that the audience doesn't recognize that Beef was truly killed whilst onstage, because of course they should have -- we would have. However, would we have cared? There have even recently been instances of people continuing to party on while their friends lie dying of alcohol poisoning on the couch, or of people livestreaming the murder of their partner while their viewers cheer them on, or even people who have displayed the body of a celebrity at a nightclub event.

People trample each other over 5% off sales on televisions and shoot each other's children over a perceived slight on the roadway. People commit random acts of violence against each other every single day, and, of late, have been livestreaming it: recording it for people all over the world to watch -- and they do. They gather en masse to watch, and, when a half-hearted attempt is made to remove the video from being accessible, people scour the Internet to find it: to be part of the group In the Know--to have something to talk about. An assassination live on television, coast to coast? Now that's entertainment!

I think the violence aspect of Phantom of the Paradise is terribly overlooked, and such really only speaks to the relevance of that particular criticism against our society, which still rings so true as to be invisible to us. Haha, the person in the movie killed another person with a bird hat, isn't that silly? Haha, the singer onstage got electrocuted to death, that's so absurd. Haha, that girl put on Winslow's mask after he died without even checking on him. Haha, everyone's partying even though four people just died. Isn't that silly?

And why shouldn't we find it silly, rather than horrifying? After all, we saw worse than that when we were six.

[candlemouse]

Warrenessa Fablehaven Edits

except we do not have significant footage and I am not an editor so it's actually me just writing out what I would do if both of those previous statements were not true

Is this insane? Yes. Was my train delayed by 40 min today w/no service? Yes + might be related

Italics are lyrics. Small is my reasoning or film direction! Click below for more

imgonnagetyouback - Taylor Swift

I see this one from the perspective of Vanessa after the betrayal / falling in love again.

I can feel it comin', hummin' in the way you move / Push the reset button, we're becoming something new

Here, the song kind of hits the beats on the syllables of "we're becoming something new," and I would have like those flashes of them from the earliest form we see them, to the betrayal, and to Zzyzx and after. Highlight maybe Vanessa winking at Warren. She would have done this. Or the other way around

Say you got somebody, I'll say, "I got someone too"

I would use the Sphinx + Vanessa here (not Errol bc I don't really interpret their relationship as meaningfully romantic) and maybe Elise bc tbh when I first read these books as a kid, I thought they were together. But, no, Kendra just wonders if Warren thinks she's pretty. That was enough for me when I was 8 though lol. Also could put Dougan in. Not that I think him and Warren have a relationship but bc I think it would be close enough

Even if it's handcuffed, I'm leaving here with you

Leaving the Inverted Tower, when Vanessa is bound by rope, but a clip where she looks at Warren?

Bygones will be bygone eras fadin' into gray (fadin' into gray) / We broke all the pieces but still want to play the game (oh) / Told my friends, "I hate you but I love you just the same" / Pick your poison, babe / I'm poison either way

This last half of the bridge is just so perfect for them I don't even need to elaborate! Pick your poison? Have both scenes of battle between them + kissing!

The Promise - When in Rome

This would be a short edit about longing!

I'm sorry but I'm just thinking of the right words to say / (I promise you)

If you listen to the song, the syllables hit harder/slower/something different after "right." So the beginning is like a couple second scene of them interacting but after "right", on the syllables, there's jump cuts between them. Maybe times when they've been at odds.

I know they don't sound the way I planned them to be / (I promise you)

Now, im using made up footage so ideally here I would use a scene from my warrenessa fic where he talks to her (in the dungeon) after the inverted tower battle, but a shot where Vanessa's Face is framed by bars

And if I had to walk the world I'd make you fall for me / I promise you, I promise you I will

Clips of Vanessa on her field trip w/Seth + the satyrs, literally traveling the world (an outcome is that she sees Warren again)

I will, I will

Here, I would use footage of Vanessa sitting on the beach alone at the lighthouse and Warren sitting down and joining her. It would be a shot from the back with the ocean in front of them and you can't see their faces. This will be a scene in my fic but also could be plausible bc I bet if Fablehaven was a TV show they would show the confrontation between Warren/Vanessa on lighthouse beach instead of just hinting at it. At least in my ideal world

Soft fade to black with the music fading (as the 80's loved to do)

The Black Dog - Taylor Swift

I see this one from Warren's perspective immediately after Inverted Tower betrayal.

I move through the world with the heartbroken / My longings stay unspoken / And I may never open up the way I did for you

Sad clips of Warren -> flashback clips of them being cute in the Knights. I really thinking of them every time I hear that last line. Bc will Warren ever open up like that again after betrayal/deception?

And all of those best laid plans / You said I needed a brave man / Then proceeded to play him / Until I believed it too

Flashback clips again of the Knights era w/Vanessa being strong/kind etc to Warren. She's acting! An actor. This fits so well guys u don't even know

And it kills me / I just don't understand... / How you don't miss me / In the shower / And remember / How my rain-soaked body / Was shaking

"And it kills me" -> scene of vanessa handing Warren the sword in Inverted Tower and then for lines after: Ideally a rain kiss scene! (But I don't know of one) Other scenes work as well

Do you hate me?

Transition where old flashback Warren cuts to sad Warren. You know like where they're in the same kind of position so the transition is like seamless? I've watched too many edits

Was it hazing? / For a cruel fraternity I pledged / And I still mean it

Fraternity -> Knights of the Dawn (I mean like oh my gee yes!!!) This part could have the audio of like Warren reciting the pledge (or Kendra when she was being initiated) underneath

Old habits die screaming

This has the iconic huge like drums or whatever so I think jump cuts of various clips of vanessa + Warren would be perfect, and it's all the really dramatic, big scenes

Six weeks of breathing clean air / I still miss the smoke

Since the song gets quiet, the scenes get "quiet." Clips of mundane things like Warren pouring coffee, waiting at baggage terminal (in GotSP), stuff like that. Also I wrote a fic with this title about Warren too 🫣

Were you making fun of me with some esoteric joke? / Now I want to sell my house and set fire to all my clothes / And hire a priest to come and exorcise my demons

Clips of Inverted Tower Battle, on house we have establishing shot of Warren's cottage, and clothes had a shot of the knights of dawn garb

Even if I die screaming

Warren falling through the air half-dead in inverted tower battle scene

And I hope you hear it

Cut to Vanessa watching him fall and pierce the big cat

Honorable mentions:

guilty as sin by tswift (can you tell a certain album came out when I started writing the warrenessa fic?

bite the hand by boy genius (this is quite literally the title of the vanessa fic. for good, good reason!!!!)

and ofc iconic "always an angel never a god" audio from boy genius's "not strong enough" as well

[scifrey]

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by Nina Dante 🌸🌙 (@thesnakesaidtotheriver)

If I were to do more Hob Adherent stories I would definitely do Hob accidentally becoming a historical food influencer ala Max Miller, simply because he misses the flavour combinations of bygone eras. Matthew is surprisingly good at editing together video footage for having to use his beak to work the keyboard.

[sailtomarina]

Hello, neighbor

Hermione adored the flat, small and “historical” as it was in one of the oldest buildings of Diagon Alley, because it not only looked out onto her beloved Flourish and Blotts, but also because it afforded her close access to both sides of her muggle and magical worlds. The building’s magic revealed its age in occasional fits of energy where the showers gushed soap bubbles instead of water and the shared hallways sported wallpaper from bygone eras. Regardless of the unpredictability, she wouldn’t give up her place for anything in the world.

Until someone moved in next door.

Courtesy notices informed surrounding flats of the new lease and move-in dates. This in itself wouldn’t have been a problem since magic ensured ironclad noise cancellation. What was an issue was the owner’s obvious lack of awareness for available square footage.

Anyone normal would have magicked furniture straight into the flat, preferably exactly into their predetermined spots. There wouldn’t be any need for moving vans, blanketed lifts, and workers hauling in box after box. But this occupant obviously didn’t reconcile the available space with their belongings. The hallway outside of Hermione’s door was crammed full of crates, oak side tables, and authentic Tiffany lampshades. Items flowed out her neighbor’s open door all the way down the hall to the lift, and more continued to appear with little ‘pops’ wherever they could fit.

Today happened to coincide with the release date of Walter Hammervite’s third novel in his ThestralRising series, and Hermione had plans to pick up her reserved copy and spend the entire day reading. Unfortunately, the hall was crammed so full, she could barely squeeze out her door much less make her way to the lift. The only available path was one that required sliding over tables and under what looked to be brand new quidditch brooms towards her neighbor’s door.

This isn’t actually how she planned to introduce herself, but they left her very little choice, didn’t they?

Rifling around her pantry and extracting a dusty bottle of red wine from Godric knows how long ago, she decided to present her gift and kindly ask they clear the shared space as was only appropriate. Wielding the bottle like a wand, she ventured forth through the obstacle course until she arrived sore and slightly out of breath at the doorway.

“Excuse me? In anybody home?” With a bookshelf blocking most of the entrance, she resorted to knocking lightly on the door frame.

“I’ll be there in a moment!”

Was that…but no, it couldn’t be, could it? There’s no way he would live here of all places.

Hermione could hear scuffling and light thumps underneath the music that blared out into the hall just as rudely as the furniture.

“Merlin’s left bollock! This piece of shite shelf…just, can you squeeze through and give a hand?”

The familiar voice encouraged Hermione forward despite her misgivings, and she placed the bottle inside the shelf before pushing through the cramped space into the flat. As she popped into the small opening, she finally came face to face with the voice on the opposite side of the bookcase.

“Malfoy?”

With a complete lack of surprise at her identity, he nodded acknowledgement and waved a hand helplessly at his situation. “As much as I’d love to say ‘Hello, neighbor,’ I think we can both agree there’s a bigger issue on hand.”

“Yes, that being your complete arseheaded miscalculation of how much shit you have—”

“I’ll have you know these are priceless heirlooms, Granger—”

“—and this shit is blocking me from a book whose release I’ve been waiting months for!”

“Well, what would you have me do? I haven’t lived on my own since Hogwarts.”

“Oh, I don’t know, how about using magic like the wizard that you are, and handling this mess?”

He gaped at her momentarily before shaking his head in frustration. “I’m still on probation, Granger. I have another six months before they return my wand.”

Oh, bollocks.

They stood awkwardly in silence for a minute before she reached back into the case and surrendered her wine. “I meant to give this to you as a housewarming gift to welcome you to the building, but now I have a better idea.” Closing her eyes, she brought to memory the spells she needed before waved her wand in a tight pattern, shrinking everything in the hallway down to fist-sized versions of themselves. She continued rotating her wrist, sending it all into neat piles.

“That’s a neat trick, Granger, but how does that help me?” Malfoy raised an impressed eyebrow at her spellwork while simultaneously crossing his nicely muscled arms across his chest. Not that she noticed.

“Now, you give me a tour of your flat and we determine what you actually want to keep and what needs to be returned.”

“I thought you had a book to retrieve?”

“I do, but I also refuse to live a single minute more with an impassable hallway and you obviously require assistance.”

He scoffed at her statement. “You’re not the only witch I know. I could always ask Pansy or Blaise.”

Tilting her head at him, she waited a moment before calling his bluff.

“Alright, then. I’ll leave you to it. There better not be any more heirlooms blocking my doorway when I get back.” She turned to leave and was halfway to the lift before she heard her name.

“Granger!” He leaned out the door, nervously chewing on his lip and blonde hair mussed.

“What?” She didn’t fully turn around to face him, keeping the pressure on.

“How about you come over after you get your book?”

“…”

“I mean, I would like it if you came over and helped…I’m asking you to help me.”

“Why me?”

He stepped out fully into the hallway and faced her, hands now tucked into the back pockets of his slacks. “I’m trying to start over,” he admitted, “and I’ve wanted to apologize to you for a while now.”

Hermione likewise faced him and really, thoroughly looked him over. She should have noticed earlier, but he was wearing completely muggle clothing—worn white sneakers, trousers and a button-up shirt not completely wrinkle-free. Most notable was his expression. She couldn’t recall seeing him so open before, not since early Hogwarts days when she’d see him laughing with his friends at the quidditch pitch before…well, before everything. Before Voldemort. Before “mudblood”. Before all the events that had robbed them of their childhood. He looked tired, but nearly free of all the weight of his upbringing. She might even dare say hopeful.

“Do you like to read?”

“Excuse me?”

“The book I’m getting is the third in the series. If you’re into fantasy, I can lend you the first book and we can talk about it later.”

His grey eyes widened slightly at her offer and he stood a little taller. “I do like reading, if you remember that bookshelf from earlier.”

She smirked at the reference. “I’ll be back in a bit, Malfoy. When I return you better have a detailed list of your belongings ordered by priority.”

“How am I supposed to remember everything I have when you shrank half of it?” He beckoned at the pile in the corner.

”If you can’t remember it, then it obviously isn’t important enough to keep, is it?” She spun back around without waiting for a reply and disappeared into the lift.

He laughed in agreement and looked back at his mess of an apartment. “Well, I guess that’s taken care of.” Waving his hand wandlessly, he summoned parchment and quill and at further gesturing an itemized list started writing itself. He turned to the bottle on the counter and corked it to let it breathe. “Next step, neighbors to friends.”

[golbrocklovely]

Prepare yourself I was in a stream on a react channel on YT today cos the guy was doing a discussion with his followers and the guy who revealed the leaked footage on his YT channel came into chat.

He said he was sent the footage a week ago by his source and he got the video up a week after receiving the footage. He said he was not doing it for clout but he was happy to take the money he was making from the video, he had hoped it would do well because of all the 'effort' he was putting into it. (A load of bollocks if you ask me, he's clearly doing it for clout) He also said it was definitely Sam who spoke the last bit (But it''s clearly Seth's voice and Seth's mouth moving)

And worst of all he said he's in the process of making a follow up video which should be out soon, so the drama is only going to continue and maybe even get worse and I'm already dreading it. What else could he possibly have got his grubby little hands on? Is Kristin coming out of the woodwork to make the drama worse? I'm so afraid and upset, why does this hater channel have to be targeting my favourites?

Sorry I know you said you did not want to talk about this anymore but I have nowhere else to go and I'm so upset, please say something comforting because right now all I see is a descent into fandom hell and I don't want that.

so…. i'm gonna be honest with you, he's most likely just gonna make a follow up addressing what ppl said in the comments, thanking ppl, and *maybe* spilling more tea if he has any. the thing is, first off, this comment came up during the livestream.

this entire situation, to me, seems extremely fishy. first off, how did his source get this footage, bc clearly, if this source gave an actual shit about what happened to kristin, they would have released it after snc went there almost two years ago at this point. it's very obvious that the only reason this footage is leaked now is bc there is heat already on snc bc of the conjuring. secondly, unless his source is kristin, he doesn't know the real truth of what went down.

i'm not one to leak information from xplrclub. i've literally argued against fans that have done it. but i will FULL ON leak the video from the ross house, where kristin was smiling and laughing along with snc and seth, clearly AFTER she had told them about the footage and what she saw the previous night while they were there. after the police were called and everything, she still continued to be in their video and played along with them no questions asked.

so clearly, she let bygones be bygones fast.

they are on good terms with her. the texts, even according to SEG, line up with snc statement… but not his sources. he said that at the very end of his video, and then asked kristin to reach out for further comment.

i'm not being an asshole when i say this, but clearly someone is lying, and i'm gonna assume it's not the one that has direct contact with kristin aka snc.

this whole situation got blown out of proportion. while snc and seth definitely fucked up by breaking the boo buddy and seth saying that inappropriate comment, this was dealt with last year. it is only getting brought up to smear snc's name. and this dude is just enjoying the fact that in a day or so he gained like 2k subs.

ignoring him is the best option. unless he has proof of snc doing something morally wrong, idc what he has to say. and i suggest that's what you do too.

[ancientbygone]

favorite pictures of iii that my cousin (huge shoutout to him) took at Mystic Festival in June 2023. feat. my blue hair and painting in some parts LMAO

[adamwatchesmovies]

Men of Honor (2000)

If Men of Honor feels familiar, it’s because we've seen a lot of movies like it before. This is a historical, inspirational biopic engineered to make you feel good with recognizable actors that ultimately, doesn’t try anything new. You won't dislike it, but you're sure to forget it.

In 1948, Carl Brashear (Cuba Gooding Jr.) joins the United States Navy. His swimming skills get him sent to the Diving and Salvage School in Bayonne, New Jersey. Despite the grueling exercises by Master Chief Petty Officer Leslie William “Billy” Sunday (Robert De Niro), Brashear is determined to overcome the persistent racism at the school and become the first black American Davy diver.

From the premise, I bet you can foresee many of the important scenes in the film. When Brashear arrives at the school, you know there will be - at most - one other classmate who will agree to sleep in the same quarters as him. Everyone else will pick up their stuff and leave. You know there will probably be some nasty hazing, accompanied with threatening notes that make it clear he can’t be flunked solely for the colour of his skin but that the instructors will do everything they can to make Brashear quit. Of course, all of these will only make him more determined to succeed, but can one Black man really be expected to change the whole system by himself?

We’ve seen this sort of movie before because Men of Honor is a story Hollywood is comfortable telling. It’s set in the past, allowing white audience members to see the injustice Brashear faces while distancing themselves from the people who are prejudiced against him. The villains are simply one-dimensional racists who come from a bygone era. The movie is being made so Brashear’s victory over these bigots is assured and that makes us feel good. We're not going to be challenged by this content. Of course, this is a very cynical way to view the film. It's equally plausible that writer Scott Marshall Smith and director George Tillman Jr. were inspired by Brashear’s story and it’s simply that some people’s lives - while inspirational - just aren’t that cinematic. This picture might've needed the tropes (or things might have actually gone the way they did as seen here) to tell a story that yeah, I'll say is worth telling.

Men of Honor has a big obstacle to overcome: diving itself. The film calls for quite a bit of underwater photography and unfortunately, this means a lot of murky underwater shots where you can sort of tell what’s going on but not clearly. There’s also a throughline that’s missing. I suppose in theory, the film is about more than Brashear’s career, it’s also about the relationship between him and his teacher. It begins with Sunday under arrest, looking fondly at some footage of Brashear diving, then flashes back. Brashear decided to become a master diver because he saw Sunday heroically dive with little regard for his own personal safety. During the second half, the two become closer, as an injury threatens to prevent Brashear from ever diving again. The problem is that while the two share a good amount of screen time, you don’t feel like they know each other. You don’t feel like you know much of Sunday at all for that matter. He’s married to a much younger woman, played by Charlize Theron (wasted in this film). What happened there? How do they feel about each other? We don’t know anything except that apparently, she has problems with his drinking. Or maybe it’s just that he chose to go to a bar on their anniversary? There’s a piece missing.

Men of Honor tries to juggle too much with the overcoming of institutionalized racism, the diving, Carl Brashear’s career, his romance with his future wife Jo (Aunjanue Ellis), his relationship with his mentor, and said mentor’s personal life (complete with demons). This amount of content still doesn’t help distinguish a familiar story from all the other similar tales we’ve seen before. That said, these sorts of stories have an audience and there is something inherently watchable about them. Maybe you haven’t seen this template before or something about this particular story will resonate with you. This prevents Men of Honor from being bad, though at best, it’s a middle-of-the-road movie. (On VHS, August 18, 2022)

[aerodaltonimperial]

YOU. YOU'RE THE JUNGLECORPSE BITCH (affectionate). i'm allonsytosherwoodforest on ao3 (a url reminiscent of a bygone era). WHAT HAVE YOU DOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOONE

(Actual footage of me)

OH YEAH THAT IS DEFINITELY ME. LOLOLOL WHAT HAVE I DONE well I will tell you what I have done, I got super invested in that pillars storyline and decided I really liked them as a pairing so then I decided to write a bunch of fic, firstly because that is what I do when I go insane, and secondly because my devious plan is to get other people also shipping it so we are all suffering together. SO IT KIND OF WORKED and I'm very happy about this because I might be able to take over the world with these powers???? ANYWAY YES HELLO WELCOME I am a trash goblin and I welcome you to my squallor!!! ❤️❤️❤️

[iriel3000]

BREAKING Marvel Studios & Disney open to Lawsuits over Misleading Trailers

Now, I'm not saying I agree with this decision, BUT, since it is now law.....let's talk, Marvel.

I feel I was VERY MISLED with the Endgame trailer. Now, I don't want a nasty lawsuit. I want us all to get along. So, how about you just release the scenes in the trailer, that were not in the movie, and we'll let bygones be bygones??

Also, to save time, you may as well releases any footage from the first Avengers movie that made us believe and certain Strike Team were secretly married

pic courtesy of @kurononekochan

Don't think I have forgotten about this.

[spookycrazyhatboxghost]

Joha Fett has some business with the security team

Hearing “Captain Meree ”

Though it is his title;makes Joha feel less like a person and more like a reliquary from a bygone era of Mandalore he was too young to remember. The name carried weight; a history—expectations are a heavy burden.

The two Mandos stationed at the HoloVid security terminal greet him way too enthusiastically for his liking

“Captain Mereel !we’ve been awaiting your arrival —”

His companion elbows him hard and he goes silent under the palpable glare from Joha.

Signing sharply ^Have you set up the footage I’ve asked for?^

The one who had reprimanded their friend nodded.

“Yes Sir—”

Joha held up a hand

^Good—If you would kindly— remind Comander Kode to meet with me —here in half hours time^

They nodded and paused.

^Get out, I’m sure you have something more productive to do?^

Two Buy’ce again nodded in unison and they exited quietly.

The Mando in black Beskar’gam sat in the chair situated in front of the view screen and pressed start.

Leaning forward with this fingers interlocked Joha watched as Xók moved from one monitor to the other. Trying to be as detached as possible as he watched Xók; Buy’ce in his hands -stepping briskly to the kitchen counter; walking faster as This Khal yelled at him—rushed him from behind. Wirh caff in one hand like some overconfident jagyc’kavid.

Xok struggled when the other Mando pinned them together and started to whisper as he pressed his face where it clearly wasn’t wanted.

The audio was crisp and it only made Joha want to illogically reach though and skin Khal slowly for touching what was not his to touch.

As the audio was so nice it caught the best seconds as his boy made a wordless furious noise—and snapped his head back and the crunch of cartilage.

Winching as he watched Xók get half drenched in hot caff.

When Xók turned and backed up against the counter.

Joha hit pause before his brain caught up with his fingers.

His face— the fire in his eyes, the fear, the strength , the way Xók also looked incredibly soft—his mouth as he spoke to his shame that is what Joha focused on the most.

Pressing play he got the rest of the argument; the rough quality to Xók’s Mando’a jolted something in him. The Vid catching the darkness to half of Xók’s suit—the slight trembling.

How much caff had seeped to his skin? How was he talking so calmly?

Commander Kode let him leave and he followed Xók from camera to camera till he got to his door.

At the tears Joha had to backtrack until the crowed of Mando and the kneeling khal were in frame.

He had already memorized everything about Khal—but staring at that bloodied face frozen in fear soothed his want for violence to the point were when Commander Kode hailed for entry— he was civil.

A slight bow as Kode tucked his Buy’ce under his right arm.

“Captain— you wanted to see me?”

His voice halting as he caught notice of what was on the screen.

Kode froze as the man in the chair signed carefully.

^Care to explain yourself Commander? —Deciding to close ranks and deal with this internally ?^

“Yes Sir—”

Joha held up a hand and then signed

^What was his punishment? Solitary confinement? A light whipping before he was shipped away? Banishment ? Surly he isn’t still wandering free—^

With each sugestión there was a little more tension in the Commander’s face.

“— No Sir—we thought it was enough to change their shifts—”

Kode thinks guiltily of Xók and all his questions going unanswered; this was for his protection.

”And —Intervine every time Guard Tor attempts to make contact with Guard Dal-zo—-”

Joha’s Buy’ce vibrates with his muted scream as he rises up from the chair and lunges at Kode but stops with another silent curse.

From his full height Joha glares at the Commander as he signs.

^So —-let me see if I’m understanding this correctly Commander Kode. You all have decided to play catch and release with this—hut’ uun. And leave Guard Dal-zo without answers—without peace—^

Captain Mereel takes a breath to compose himself as Kode starts speaking.

“Guard Dal-zo is hardly blameless—he caused injuries. This was a meaningless squabble that didn’t need the rank and file of a court marshal hearing.”

Joha focused on that line; even as every other word out of his mouth raised his blood pressure.

^Have you viewed the footage?^

“Didn’t see the need to. Guard Tor was more then forthcoming—-”

Smothering the urge to throttle this man Joha gave a harsh laugh behind his T visor.

^Oh Commander I insist— Here. —Sit^

He forces the man into his chair and traps the Commander from leaving by resting against the chair back.

“This is excessive Captain—”

After using both hands to turn the Commander’s head back forward instead of signing. Joha reaches over and starts the clip again; at a little less then full speed.

Kode stiffens horrified; the words and the slow drag of Khal’s hands is just as infuriating to Joha as the first watch but the impeding broken nose is a salve.

When the image is once again khal kneeling— less satisfying now that he knows nothing was done.

“Sir—I’m sorry— Captain I didn’t know—“

Joha turned the chair so they were facing each-other now.

Signing slow as you would for a child;full condescension.

^I am—Not the one who you need forgiveness from Commander—- your actions have made him feel abandoned^

“He’s not said anything—So he’s gone above me to you Sir?”

Joha sneered behind his T Visor at the way he talked; clearly Xók thought highly of the man but the feeling wasn’t mutual.

^I’ve spoken with him yes— I dare say he’s tried very hard to talk to you—

Such a good little soldier that one —Doesn’t even /know/ who I am—^

Commander Kode swallows before speaking.

“What will you do now?”

Captain Mereel tilted his head in mock thought; he had his orders—Xok had his part to play.

^Nothing—Since that has been the official stance thus far.—Good evening Comandar Kode. Get out of my sight^

Joha leaned back and righted his stance; watching icily from behind his visor as the man left.

Looking down at his Comm, he had snacks and food to gather; a sleep-over required fuel after all.

FIN