#whether to zoom between the characters in a room

[independent-fics]

Leverage (2008-2012)

01x08 The Bank Shot Job

[yokohamapound]

BSD Characters React to Getting Shat On By A Bird 🕊️

No, I'm totally not writing these to make myself feel better after getting bird-splattered on my way home from work. T-T

Characters: Osamu Dazai, Nakahara Chuuya, Kunikida Doppo, Akutagawa Ryuunosuke, Nakajima Atsushi, Sigma

Contents: 💩

Osamu Dazai

Dazai might react in one of two ways.

If he's on his own, it's a muted, annoyed kind of disgust. He just feels the impact and sighs.

"Ugh, really?"

He might shove his head into the Yokohama river to try and wash it out. Whether or not he remembers to pull his head up again is another story.

If he's around other people, however, Dazai hams it up more than a pig in a blanket.

His whole body clenches, his shoulders hunching toward his ears and his hands hovering near his hair but not quite touching it. His face is an exaggerated rictus of disgust.

"Get it off, get it off, get it off! Eww!"

He runs at Kunikida and tries to wipe it off on him, only to get himself punted across the room. That isn't enough to stop Dazai, though. He'll theatrically pour water over himself, retching, gagging, and bemoaning his bad luck and the cruel fates for doing this to him.

Nakahara Chuuya

Thankfully, Chuuya's lovely red hair is safe from the bird shit thanks to his hat, but on the other hand, his hat. He freezes as soon as he feels the splatter against his hat. Reaching up slowly, he takes the brim of his hat between thumb and forefinger and lifts it off his head.

Chuuya's face contorts with anger and disgust. There's shit on his hat. There's shit on his hat.

He resists the urge to drop the hat in disgust, since that might damage it further. Instead his ire snaps upward toward the bird that just ass-bombed him. Little does it know that its victim is not bound by the laws of gravity. Chuuya can follow it.

And that he fucking does.

He shoots into the air, cracking the asphalt underfoot, and goes gunning after the hapless bird, which is probably terrified to find a pissed-off ginger zooming after it at mach speeds.

Later, once the bird is 'taken care of' Mafia-style, Chuuya will take his soiled hat to a specialist cleaning place. Yes, he's got a hat cleaning place—this is Chuuya we're talking about.

Kunikida Doppo

Kunikida does not have time for this. Perhaps it is a personal failing, but he didn't account for the potential of being shat on by a bird en route to the office in the morning. Now he's standing there with egg on his face and crap on his hair, regretting his life choices.

Frustration builds in him like a volcano, but he forces himself to take a deep breath. As long as he is calm and rational about this, it should not impact his precious schedule too much.

Thankfully, he does have all manner of supplies to hand. Namely a water bottle and a handkerchief to try and clean himself off as best he can in the nearest reflective surface. He uses his handy dandy notebook to conjure up a solid shampoo bar and cleans himself up.

All in all, he only ends up being three minutes, thirty-seven seconds late to the office. No one even notices, but Kunikida is left irked for the rest of the day. Also, he doesn't know how but he's sure Dazai is behind it somehow. Maybe he's been teaching the birds how to target blonde men with glasses, preparing months in advance for just this day.

Akutagawa Ryuunosuke

Akutagawa goes still, and his eyes go very, very wide, until you feel like you're staring down tunnels into the Abyss. The bird guano is stark white against his dark hair. His nostrils flare.

"RASHOUMON."

A tendril of darkness slices from the back of his coat and slashes the bird in midair, sending feathers spiralling down to dust the earth around him.

He stares down at the offending creature's carcass like an god of dark justice.

"Foul beast."

Growing up in the slums, Akutagawa was used to being dirty, covered in mud, blood, and all kinds of filth, but he will not take the disrespect of any man nor beast, least of all a pigeon.

Nakajima Atsushi

This is not the first time for poor, unfortunate Atsushi, and probably not the last. He flinches when the splatter lands on top of his head, automatically closing his eyes. He's used to being spat on or having food poured over his head.

"Ah, jeez."

At least the bird crap isn't personal.

Atsushi probably just snips off the locks of befouled hair and then scrubs his hands. His hair is already a tufty mess, and he's usually too busy running around for the Agency to run home and shower again. That is, until Kunikida hears what happens and sprays him with disinfectant.

Sigma

Poor Sigma. Doesn't he have enough on his plate without being target practice for a bird who doesn't eat enough fibre? He's under enough stress already.

The bird shit is the tipping point, and he might just cry.

His face twitches when he feels it. The cold dollop on his head, ruining his pretty hair, making his neck want to retract back into his spine. His eyes widen as he looks upward to see the feckless offender flying away, soon lost to the horizon as it flies beyond the reach of the Sky Casino.

Sigma gags, his hands fluttering a little as he doesn't know what to do. He's only three years old and this has never happened to him before.

He runs toward his private quarters, lest anyone see the General Manager looking so undignified. He flings himself into his bathroom and sticks his head directly under the shower, running the water as hot as he can stand.

He washes it twice. Thrice. Then wraps it in a hair mask and huddles in his quarters with a stiff drink and his hair in a towel. Poor thing.

[homestuckreplay]

Jack Noir, Star Of Hit Movie École De Rock

(page 949-973)

The slow zoom out of Homestuck is very fun. It’s hard to believe that a few hundred pages ago we were confined to a single room, and now this story switches back and forth between planets. In these pages, we cut from John exploring Dad’s room over to what Dad’s actually doing and back, meet some loser monarchist, and poke further at the meta layers.

So all those years, while you believed he was out busking up the corners with hilarious antics, he was working as an ordinary business man all along. He was just a man trying to make a good honest living for his son. Maybe he was too embarrassed to tell you the truth? Or maybe it was just that you'd never bothered to ask? You guess you always just assumed... (p.949)

This really reads like it’s setting up a growth moment for John, when he realizes the truth about his dad and the different ways he should have acted towards him, and I am NOT buying it. This sketch of Dad in a jester’s hat and tie juggling on the street is masterful, and John has lived with Dad and spent time with him for 13 years, and John’s image of Dad based on that time spent together is real and meaningful, and I don’t like that the narrative is suggesting that it isn’t?

Son. If you are reading this, it means you are now strong enough to lift the safe. You are now a man. As such, you are entitled to what is inside. I know you will take this responsibility seriously. I am so proud of you. (p.546)

For some reason, Dad is associated with lifting safes. He can not only lift them, but launch them through walls, and take down guys who can lift even bigger safes. Being strong generally, and safes specifically, are not culturally associated with either dads or businessmen, both of which are more often seen as sedentary. Bakers, harlequins, even street performers are not especially physical. If Dad was just a businessman his special skill would be typing really good or memorizing schedules or processing spreadsheets super fast. And yet.

From there we meet Archagent Jack Noir, overseer of a ‘dark kingdom’ also known as an ‘ominous planet’, who has a spade on their clothes. They are not named Spades Slick, but the similarity is explicitly acknowledged. A few panels later we see one of Jack’s ‘burliest agents’ (p.957) who has a heart on their outfit and looks exactly like Hearts Boxcars, also from the Midnight Crew (p.833). Possibly the Midnight Crew are the ominous agents’ LARP characters.

The Midnight Crew is a comic within the Homestuck universe, and it’s bleeding outwards, its characters entering the main story. At the same time, a set of yellow fingers types commands from the position I’ve been calling the ‘player’ – this player is bleeding inwards to the main story. And both things happen right as Jack Noir’s fourth wall has been stolen. (Jack looks directly out of where this wall would be, at the reader, when he rejects the name Spades Slick, and the yellow hands appear as though in a POV shot).

Jack Noir is the opposite to the Wayward Vagabond; he has a blind devotion to the monarch (who we also get a glimpse of!) and considers them a ‘wise and just leader’ even while disagreeing with them. But they both have a lot of interiority, compared to the imps which don’t appear to have much thought or personality beyond the prototyped clownish spirit. The imps also had their harlequin garb appear automatically (p.424) while Jack was ‘ordered’ to wear the clothes (p.956) and could decide whether to obey. He also doesn’t appear to have adopted a jester’s personality. So I think we have two types of Sburb NPCs, the minions and those with wills of their own.

I was thinking about the names ‘Jack Noir’ and ‘Spades Slick’ and the idea of being an archagent for an ominous planet or plotting a heist in an underground hideout and how this is a very different genre to the rest of Homestuck. So I looked up the Wikipedia page for ‘noir fiction’ and found this interesting quote, which, if this genre is played straight, could be the type of story that unfolds with Jack Noir. It tracks so far with his position between the monarch and the minions, but it’s very early days.

A typical protagonist of noir fiction is forced to deal with a corrupt legal, political or other system, through which the protagonist is either victimized and/or has to victimize others, leading to a lose-lose situation.

John gets more birthday gifts!! I love this. In real time John has been waiting months to open these. And he loves all three of them, just like he loved the Little Monsters poster, showing that for the most part Dad knows what John likes, and the harlequin doll is the one exception. The photoshop job on the fetch modus control deck is so good, this absolutely looks like a real product (possibly an edit of a Star Trek toy?) and the idea of combining the properties of different fetch modi is so chaotic. Do NOT give this to Jade. If she combines memory + operation + ouija it’s all over for us. It is also funny that there is a modus (array) that just works and is easy to use, and everyone willingly opts for worse options (‘array of distinct queuestacks’ is ridiculous).

I think fetch modus technology is the backbone of Homestuck worldbuilding. Right now it’s not super plot relevant, but it establishes rules that other aspects of the world follow too – and this idea of combining properties is something we’ve seen with alchemy too. In the same way that the pogo ride and hammer could be combined in two different ways (adding or subtracting) to give different outcomes, these fetch modi could be moved around in the deck and reconfigured into a queuestack of distinct arrays.

John getting excited about a Gushers birthday gift is perfect, no notes, fits perfectly with how I see him. But I was surprised at first by his excitement about the suit. John does have ‘a lot of clothes’ (p.115) but never struck me as a fashion guy, until I remembered his movies. I think John is excited about owning a suit because a lot of movies feature Cool Characters In Suits, and now he can pretend to be a Nic Cage in Face/Off or a Matthew McConaughey in A Time To Kill.

Dad beating up the ominous planet’s agents, lifting safes and breaking out of jail is also a cool action movie thing, and a lot of John’s movies do feature fathers who go to extreme and heroic lengths for their kids – notably, Con Air’s whole plot is a father trying to get home in time to give his daughter a birthday gift, while imprisoned on a plane with guards and maximum security criminals. So I don’t know what’s going on with Dad specifically, but I do think John’s action movie dreams will come true.

> John: Take important phone call from the President.

[mariyekos]

New DMC Anime Trailer Breakdown Part 2

Hit the image limit on Part 1 so to a new post we go!

This guy that Dante punches has a bunch of metal on his face, and what might be a prosthetic, might just be a metal glove. What's interesting is this anime has Dante fighting a lot of humanoid characters, which is a little bit of a departure from some of the games, but honestly not that crazy. He does fight people from time to time across various media, and in the DMC1 Novel we even hear about the people who hunt him down. What has me interested here is whether this guy is fully human, or if he's been modified in some way, and if he's been modified, if he'll have any demonic traits or it'll just be the metal. It would be interesting to contrast a human trying to transcend normal human limits through human means (by making themself into a machine) with Arkham, who is a human trying to transcend humanity by using demonic power to achieve godhood.

Skipping a bit so if you want to see the things between the last two images please go to my previous post where I ran out of room. As for the two green/turtle-like demons Dante fights on the rooftop, I've got to say I'm a little disappointed in some of the demon design. I love how creepy/demonic a lot of DMC demons are, and while some of them would probably be hard to animate, I feel like they still could've been more...I don't know. Creepy looking? Compare it to the Hell Gluttony from DMC3, which is a much creepier/more scary DMC cloaked enemy. Not sure if the demon above was meant to call back to these guys, but I think it would've been fun to have some references to DMC enemies even with the generics.

As for the shot above this, seeing this shot all I could think was "infested chopper" and I haven't even played DMC2. I've just seen the memes. '

Zooming in I'm not sure who this guy is supposed to be. (Right image comes from later in the trailer). It can't be Agni because we've already seen him and the blade doesn't match. This demon wields a sword and has something in the middle of his chest though. I have a feeling that's going to be important. (Also complete crackpot theory: this guy's hair is a similar color to the pendant(?) from earlier, but surely this can't be related). He looks mutated, with more spikes emerging from his right arm, so I wouldn't be surprised if this was a human turned demon or something.

Looking at the gatling gun and missile heading toward an armored truck, I wonder if the military is going to get involved in this one. Police officers showed up a few times in the old anime, and the military DID come for the Qliphoth incident in DMC5, so it's possible the military may intervene in this one. That the missile is heading for an armored truck is interesting though. Are there two human factions at war with each other? Will this missile be deflected? Will it be just the military, or will there be groups like the ones we see Dante fighting that may get involved? The giant portal to Hell that opened up in the sky could definitely draw attention.

Then we have red eye/ red sclera Dante while fighting mysterious red guy from above! Interesting. We see that in the DMC3 manga too (assuming his sclera are meant to be red here instead of black). Both he and Vergil do it.

I'll probably also do a write up on overall thoughts, but I'll cut it here so I can link these posts. Edits to come!

[kastlenetwork]

Hi! So I'm pretty new to the kastle fandom and wanted to know if there are any like- classic fics or interviews or memorable moments in panels and cons (with the actors) that I should know about? I know about the interviews that are on the kastle wikifandom page but only because I've read them.

helloooo! welcome to the family! it's been quite quiet lately, but frank and karen are always in our hearts lolol and every now and then there's a little resurgence, so that's nice. umm first up interviews. there's a lot of little quotes here and there that were a big deal. we didn't get many interviews of the two of them together, if i remember correctly. i think two comic cons were pretty exciting.

here are some interviews from comic con 2017 yup

this is a cute clip from last year, where deborah talked about how jon's intense but really uplifted her. and that they want to work together again.

(i'm looking at kastle's wikifandom and, really, the big interview quotes all seem to be there.)

“ … just in terms of whether this is Jon’s story to tell or my story to tell, you just want to kind of be respectful of everybody’s contributions. Jon and I have certainly felt that there is room for a romantic story in there. And there were certainly scenes where we took it farther in some takes than we did in other takes. We’ll have to sort of wait and see what the editors chose, and how far they decided to push it. But we as actors allowed for that possibility.” -deb cinemablend

deborah and jon were both supporters, but deborah was always including frank into karen's romantic potentials:

“But all of the romance I’ve gotten to play, with any of the characters in the series, whether that’s Frank or Matt, they all come from a need. From a lonely person, a person who doubts whether she is deserving of love.” -deb collider

**

“I like that Karen can say, ‘How far down this road of violence of revenge do you go before you’re ripped apart?’ and he can look at her and go, ‘I’m already ripped apart. And you are, too.‘” -deb 92.1 bobfm

**

“When professor [Jeph] Loeb [Marvel TV head] told me we were gonna do a series on The Punisher,” Bernthal continued, “first thing i asked him is would I have the pleasure and the honor to work again with one of the most honest, the most kind, and the most talented actors I’ve ever had the privilege to work with.” --jon ew

oh! karen page being announced for the punisher. very cute.

"i just want to say, you guys don't love him as much as i do" was very exciting when it happened lmaoooo. the hope for kastle was high.

*****

i'll be honest up front and say, i tend to forget a lot of stuff? so, basically, i can read a fic and then read it again months later and it's like a brand new experience. which is both a blessing and a curse. so, i basically just zoomed through my bookmarks to try and find some things?? 😩😩

(i'm scanning my bookmarks and.............a lot of them are basically just smutfdjklgsdfjglkdfjglkdfjg)

ballads for a dead man ❤❤ [three parts, unfinished] Safe up in the mountains with Frank following a bloody showdown in Hell's Kitchen, Karen wonders just how much more complicated things between them can get. She's about to find out.

these heavy words, your open heart 😘😘 (this was a kastlechristmas gift to me from @carry-the-sky 😊❤) “You told me once that I was honest. That I don’t lie to you. But the hospital—you asked me to start over, and I said I didn’t want that.” Karen sucks in a breath. Frank’s eyes are still on her, wide and bright. It’s the most vulnerable she’s ever seen him look. “I lied,” he says.

The Reporter  [kinda iconic ❤👀] Force Recon missions keep Marines isolated, entrenched for long periods in covert locations. They rarely received visitors, and in Frank’s long experience, the visitors were almost never civilians, let alone gorgeous blondes with mile long legs and sky blue eyes. Frank was trying not to stare. They all were. Well, everyone except Bill, who’s face had just split into a shit-eating grin.

The Flower Cam [oh god, the flower cam! i just remembered!! ❤] It had been a long time since there had actually been any flowers in the window. She must have trashed the white roses after his latest bullshit at the hospital with Madani and the kid. Good. Good for her. She should forget about him. But still… Frank couldn’t help but check every once in a while.

actually just, everything in their ao3. i have all this bookmarked.

(..................god, my bookmarks are really all smut. this says a lot about me.)

Castle’s Auto Shop ❤❤ yes. yep. Karen Page is in need of a car mechanic. Castle’s Auto Body Shop seems a reasonable choice. There’s just one problem: This little auto shop has become a well-known spot where less than honorable people to go get their car fixed…only to have justice find them at the next stop light. Having her brother’s truck fixed there means Karen will have to own up to a few secrets in her past.

Blood and Bone ❤❤❤! this is the fic that has seared itself into my brain. i've never once forgotten this. iconic. Frank Castle is a boxer at the top of his game. Laconic and anti-social, he has a reputation for being an incredibly-tough interview. Karen Page is a sports reporter trying to prove herself in a male-dominated field. She's done playing games--trying to be the "Cool Girl" who caters to the male fantasy--and now she's on a mission to take no shit. "For a while, the fact that an interview with Castle lasting longer than 5 minutes even existed was big news. Splashed all over the message boards—circulated among boxing and Castle fans alike. The very concept that someone actually got the man to sit down for more than a breath of time and give multiple-sentence answers to a question—it was huge. Massive. It was the only thing Castle fans could talk about. Until three months later, when Frank Castle disappeared. Then that was the news. It was the only news."

this is hard lmaoo how ludicrious. i have about seven collections from some of our events, as well. there's loads of good stuff in there:

kastlesmutweek 2018

kastlesmutweek 2019

kastlechristmas 2018

kastlechristmas 2019

kastlechristmas 2020

kastlechristmas 2021

kastlechristmas parent collection

[mumms-the-word]

Dark Future, Dark Reality

Part 1

Characters: Solas x fem!Lavellan, Varric Tethras, Dorian Pavus, Leliana Summary: When Iren Lavellan is cast into the future via Alexius's spell, she wants to believe everything is just a temporary nightmare. But as she encounters and speaks with Solas, the details of the dark future become all too real to her and she struggles with how much the future has changed her friend. Solas is not the man she has grown to care for in their travels up to this point. Torn between longing for the man she left behind and the man she must leave behind soon, she fights her way through Redcliffe Castle, wrestling with guilt, fear, and a desire to save a man who refuses to be saved. A/N: Did you want Solavellan angst just a week before Veilguard comes out? of course you do. I'm zooming through my new inquisitor's game before the next game comes out but I couldn't let In Hushed Whispers go by without writing a bunch of pining and angst and so on. You know me. Part 2 is here, but the whole thing can be read on AO3 here!

Your spymaster, Leliana. She is here. As are your companions.

Where? Are they all still alive?

I do not know. But you must find them. If you can.

Fiona’s words repeated in Iren’s head as she stepped softly over the cracked flagstones of the Redcliffe Castle dungeons, peering through the gloom. The dungeons were more shadow and frigid water than stone and wood, illuminated only by weak, blue torch flames and the hazy glow of red lyrium. It was difficult to see much of anything, but even so she searched, looking through the bars of every cell she passed. She had to find them. Whether dead or alive, she had to know.

She had dragged Solas, Varric, and several Inquisition soldiers into this mess. Whatever their fates were, they were on her head.

If Dorian and Fiona were to be believed, Alexius’s spell had cast them an entire year into the future, into a world so bleak and broken it was difficult to make sense of. The evidence of catastrophe was all around them, in the red lyrium all over the place, in the way the air felt mutable and wrong, in the heavy, howling emptiness of these dungeons. As though every soul in Thedas had already perished. Each time they passed another cell without any signs of life, the feeling of her and Dorian being the last two people alive in the world increased, pressing down on Iren like a millstone around her neck.

Some cells were empty, their occupants long since dead and disposed of. In others, the dead remained, curled against the floor, their faces cast in darkness, or they stood as twisted, desiccated statues out of which red lyrium grew in abundance. Iren forced herself to study each body, dread churning in her gut, just in case it was someone she recognized. Thus far, Grand Enchanter Fiona and the young elven mage, Lysas, were the only living occupants. Neither were in any state to help. Both were more dead than alive.

She pressed on, stubbornly placing one foot in front of the other to keep searching. More empty cells. More darkness. More silence. Keep searching. Keep looking. Leave no space unchecked. You must find them.

But would she find them dead or alive? Which was worse, in this hellscape?

Keep searching.

She approached yet another room of cages, her cold hands stiff as she pushed the heavy door open. At first, she heard and saw nothing. But then something shifted in the far corner.

“Is someone there?”

Her heart leapt into her throat.

“Solas,” she breathed. She would recognize his mild tenor anywhere. She set a hand on Dorian’s arm as he tried to draw his staff, stopping him. “Wait. That’s Solas.”

“Who?”

But Iren didn’t answer. In the far right corner cell, a pale hand gripped one of the metal bars and then disappeared back into the gloom. She wanted to rush over, but cautious sense prevailed, and she crept forward quietly instead, glancing at the other cells to be sure. All empty.

But she had heard him. She had glimpsed him. There, in the last cell on the right. As she drew even with the bars of his cell, she saw him moving within, his pale form appearing ghostly in the darkness.

“Solas.”

He didn’t hear her. He paced and shifted restlessly in his cramped space, like an animal in a cramped cage. Huge shards of red lyrium grew out of the walls and pointed toward him like dull blades, a constant threat, but he moved around and through them without thought. Dipping a shoulder to pass beneath one large crystal that jutted out at neck level. Turning his head just before a sharp fragment would cut his cheek. Stepping around a cluster of crystals that grew out of the flagstones. Each motion a habit, a series of muscle memory movements that spoke of weeks, months of confinement in this one small space.

How long had he been here?

The heat from the red lyrium seemed to pulse as Iren drew nearer to the bars of the cell, the crystals the only source of warmth, twisted and unnatural, in this freezing cold dungeon. The red haze coming off the corrupted lyrium made the air swim as if she were in a dream, but he was no illusion. This was Solas, in the flesh.

What was left of him.

“Solas,” she said again, softly, taking hold of one of the bars. “Can you hear me?”

He turned at the far wall, dragging his gaze up from the floor, and then jolted to a halt, his eyes widening in shock. For a moment, he couldn’t speak, and then—

“Iren,” he breathed. He took a step closer, lifting an arm as if to take hold of the cell door again, and then halted once more, his arm dropping back to his side with a clenched fist. “You’re alive?”

She nodded, tightening her hold around the bar. His eyes glowed with a strange, sickly red light, but any other detail about him was lost amid the darkness and red lyrium miasma surrounding him. “I’m here, Solas.”

He shook his head in disbelief. “We saw you die.” His voice rang with a strange metallic echo, warped and wrong. “Yet you are no spirit. No illusion. How is this possible?”

“We traveled through time. I can’t explain it. I…”

“Allow me,” Dorian said, producing a key they had plucked off a Venatori jailer’s body. He unlocked the door and pulled it open, speaking as he worked. “In brief, no, we’re not dead. Not yet anyway. The spell Alexius cast displaced us in time. We just got here, so to speak, plucked directly from the throne room one year ago and dumped here. Simple, really.”

As Dorian explained, Solas emerged from the darkness, out into the blue light of the nearby torches. Iren stifled a gasp.

The red haze from the lyrium clung to his body, flickering around a frame that was dangerously thin. Already a slender yet lean man, now his wool shirt hung off him as though he were little more than bone, the knuckles of his hands like sharp peaks, his cheeks sunken in. Beneath his pale skin, turned bone white and ashen in the strange light of the dungeons, his veins stood out stark and bright red. Each beat of his heart sent a crimson glow webbing outward from his core, nearly in time with the pulsing of the red lyrium crystals around them. The blood vessels and pupils of his eyes shone with that same crimson light, and beneath his eyes, his skin had turned gray and black, bruised by exhaustion and months of torment.

He was a dead man walking. A corpse holding onto the barest thread of life.

But his focus was on Dorian. “Displaced in time,” he repeated, as if to himself. His focus sharpened, a sudden, almost frenzied urgency tinging his voice. “Can you reverse the process? You could return and obviate the events of the last year. It may not be too late.”

“That is the plan,” Dorian said. “You catch on quick. Good to know someone understands me around here.”

Solas frowned. “You would think such an understanding would stop me from making such terrible mistakes. You would be wrong.”

Iren was barely listening. She couldn’t tear her eyes away from him. His body bore the subtle signs and markings of a year’s worth of living as some madman’s prisoner, but the damage ran much deeper than the surface showed. The red lyrium haze, the glow that pulsed in his veins, that shone out from his eyes…it went far beyond any healing spell she knew, beyond any herbal remedy that she had memorized.

“Solas…what happened to you?” she asked quietly.

His ashen lips twisted in a grim, humorless smile. “Red lyrium. It kills, but slowly. I am dying.”

“Dying?”

She didn’t want to believe it, but she had never seen anything like this. He was…changed. Though he carried himself with the same somber gravity that he often adopted back at Haven, when all eyes were on him, he no longer stood as tall as before. The bend of his shoulders and the gauntness in his face spoke volumes. He was exhausted, worn down to nothing. All traces of his subtle humor and gentle kindness had been destroyed, replaced by cold detachment. His mind may be as sharp as ever, but physically, he was no more than a shadow of his former self.

It made her heart ache with a pain deeper and heavier than she dared name.

She reached out a hand to touch him. To do what, she didn’t know. Offer him comfort. Attempt a healing spell. See if he was even real. But he took a step back, out of her reach.

“Do not.” Though warped by the metallic tone, his words were firm and unyielding, almost sharp. “This is not something your healing magic can alter.”

“There must be something I can do. Or something I can try.”

“No. There is nothing. My death is inevitable. And there are more important things at stake.”

There was no room for argument in this tone. As if his death were no more than a minor, immutable fact. The evidence was carved into his body. Bruised deep into his skin. Radiating within his blood. He was dying.

But Iren pressed her lips together. “You’re not dead yet. Maybe I can—”

“No. I do not matter here. You do.”

A familiar exasperation rose up within her. “So there’s nothing I can do? Nothing at all?”

“No.” His jaw hardened and he clasped his hands behind his back, all sharp angles and steely silence. She clenched her hands at her sides, swallowing frustration that was little more than thinly veiled despair, and glared at him. For a moment, they merely gazed at each other, Solas’s usual grim sobriety weighed against her stubborn stare. Neither budged, until at last he sighed softly, relaxing a fraction.

“What you can do is this: return and make sure none of this ever occurs,” he said. “And if—when you succeed in returning to your own time, it’s best that you do not bring anything from this time back with you. This red lyrium is a slow poison without a cure. I cannot let it affect you, too.”

Her eyebrows drew together. “Can the effects of red lyrium spread so quickly? Just by touch?”

“Perhaps. It is better not to risk it.”

“So you don’t actually know.”

A flicker of irritation crossed his features, a ghost of the man she had befriended back in her timeline. It was good to see that that Solas still lived, buried deep within this new corrupted form. That somewhere beneath the unrecognizable frame he now bore, her friend was still within, with all his stubborn pride and ridiculous opinions.

It hurt as much as it comforted. This was no mere dream of the Fade. This was a new reality, a potential future. This Solas, with all his wounds and pain, was real. What he had lived through was real. All of this was real.

And in this timeline, she had abandoned him. He had every right to act coldly toward her.

It was her turn to relent. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. But Solas merely shook his head, silent.

“As charming as all this is,” Dorian interjected, glancing between them, “we should get back to the matter at hand. Alexius? Remember?”

“Alexius is not the one that need concern you,” Solas said. “He serves a master, the Elder One. He reigns now, unchallenged. After you stop Alexius, you must be prepared.”

“Prepared?” Iren asked. “For what?”

“To stop the Elder One.” He focused his glowing gaze on her, more serious than she had ever seen him. “I will tell you all I know. But remember this future, Iren. It may help you prevent it.”

—————

Solas spoke low as they moved through the remainder of the dungeons, checking for other survivors. He spoke of the Elder One assassinating Empress Celene and of the chaos that descended on Orlais. He spoke of an army of demons, pouring out of the rifts that only grew more numerous and more unstable without Iren there to close them. Even more gravely, he spoke of the Inquisition and Ferelden armies attempting assault after assault on Redcliffe Castle, always working separately, only for the Ferelden forces to retreat after three failed attempts. But not the Inquisition. In their final assault, only a few short months ago, they were overwhelmed by the demon armies of the Elder One and slaughtered, down to the last man.

“Even Cassandra?” Iren asked. “Cullen? Our friends?”

Solas shook his head. “I can only assume based on what I have heard, and what little I have seen. I have heard of no other survivors, other than myself, Varric, and Spymaster Leliana. Why they keep us alive now is a mystery. The Elder One has already won.”

“Don’t say that,” she said, sharp. “Anything can be stopped.”

Solas let out a short, rough laugh. “You would not say that if you had experienced these things firsthand. Any hope of stopping this Elder One died when the Veil was torn asunder.”

“You’re talking as if all of this is inevitable, even if I do make it back to my time,” she argued. “I can’t afford to think like that. I have to believe he can be defeated.”

“He can be defeated, but not by fools who ignore the dangers even when they are staring them in the face.”

Iren’s face flushed as her temper rose. “So I’m a fool now?”

“Yes, if you continue to treat this world like some dark fairy tale,” Solas snapped, anger flashing through his words. He stopped to face her. “In this world, the Elder One has already secured his victory, and the world has spiraled into chaos as a result. I am not telling you this to pass the time, Iren. These. Things. Happened.” He paused, searching her face, and then added firmly, “You cannot hope to defeat him if you close your ears to the truth now.”

She clenched her jaw, refusing to back down from his stare. But he was right. As was so often the case, he was right, even when she wanted to argue the finer points with him.

Pretending all of this was a dream would help no one. No matter how much she wished to convince herself that this could all be washed away, the evidence was all around her. Even if she did make it back to her timeline, she would have to carry these memories with her. The more tangibly they lingered in her mind, the better prepared she would be to predict the Elder One’s next moves. It made sense.

Much as she hated it.

Dorian, several paces ahead, turned to look back at the two of them. “I’ll just search the next room alone, then, shall I?”

They both ignored him. He shook his head and disappeared through another door, leaving them to their silent staring.

“All right,” she said quietly, after the silence had stretched on too long. “Then tell me everything. Starting with how I died.”

For the first time, a flicker of genuine pain crossed his face and he looked away. “No. Do not ask me that.”

“Solas, I’m not a child. There is no need to protect me.”

“You misunderstand. And it is of no benefit to you.”

She threw one hand into the air, exasperated. “According to who? You’ve talked of nothing but what has happened to everyone else, to this world—”

“Because it is the world that matters!”

“—but never once have you said how I died or what happened to you and Varric,” she continued, raising her voice over his. “How am I supposed to save you, or save myself, if I don’t know what I’m up against when I get back? How can I guarantee anything if I don’t know what I might face?”

“We do not matter so much as the world at large,” he said, his voice rough.

“You matter to me,” she snapped.

He shook his head again, turning his face away, and fixed his gaze on the far wall, his eyebrows lowered. Light and darkness cast his profile in stark relief, black and white, sharpening the planes and angles of his face. Pools of shadow gathered in the hollow of his cheek, of his throat, darkening the bruises beneath his eyes by contrast. In the flickering blue torchlight, the line of his jaw was honed to a knife’s edge. The only color came from the glow in his eyes, a scarlet shade the color of rage, a rage that was not his own but had been forced upon him, sinking into his blood, consuming him from the inside out.

For a moment, he looked lethal, a predator, ready to bear sharp fangs and lunge for the kill. And then the shadows shifted, and all she saw was the hollow death mask of a dying man running out of time.

This world had changed him. He was all shattered glass and ragged edges now. Sharp, brittle, trying to be strong and resolute but shredded raw by months spent in one small dungeon cell while corrupted lyrium slowly ate away at his body, his mind, his will. This whole time, whenever he spoke, his tone had been steely, almost cruel in its coldness. He was less patient here, more frenetic. No more the mentor or the teacher, the wisdom-giving friend, but a dread harbinger.

But the Solas she knew was still in there somewhere. She had seen him, a glimpse, flickering at the edge. And that faint specter of the man she had grown to care for was what kept her tethered here, grounding her in this reality, even as it wrung out her heart to see this world so horrifically twisted and empty. The Solas she knew would want her to equip herself with as much knowledge as possible to stop this Elder One. Even if it hurt. Perhaps especially if it hurt.

And whether this Solas or that Solas liked it or not, she would use that knowledge to save as many people as she could, starting with him.

She took a step closer to him. He flinched faintly and took a step away. Always keeping her just beyond arm’s reach.

“Please,” she whispered. “Tell me what happened the day I di—I disappeared.”

At first, he pretended not to hear her. But then he released a breath through his nose, glancing sidelong at her. It only took another second or two for him to cave. “Very well. I had forgotten how stubborn you were.”

She smiled slightly. “Indomitable focus, remember?”

A hint of a smile passed over his lips. The first real smile, however faint, she had seen in this dreadful world, other than Dorian’s cavalier smirks. His eyes softened. “I do.”

It was the hint of encouragement she needed. She took another small step closer, prompting him with a quiet, “So…?”

This time he didn’t step away. But his expression grew somber again as he lowered his gaze to the floor between them. It took him a moment to find his voice.

“The magic Alexius used to transport you to this time appeared to us as a tear in the fabric of reality. It ripped apart your body in seconds before sealing itself closed, leaving behind nothing more than scorch marks and silence. It was…” He swallowed, his throat bobbing. “Swift. Swift and unstoppable. There was nothing I—nothing we could do.”

Iren said nothing, letting the severity of the memory settle over her. She tried to imagine it from his perspective…and failed. He had painted the scene in so few brushstrokes…

A realization washed over her with a cold shiver. His hesitancy, the pain that had crossed his features the first time she had asked, his resistance…it all suddenly made sense. It wasn’t her he was trying to protect from the memory.

It was himself.

“With you gone,” he continued, not noticing her sudden chill, “Alexius unleashed his forces upon us, ensuring that none would escape. Varric and I fought to the point of exhaustion, down to the last crossbow bolt and wisp of magic. But Alexius’s forces were too numerous. They wasted no time chaining us to our cells. There, we have remained. Until now.”

“Solas…I…”

He passed a hand over his eyes as if shielding himself from seeing the past. “Forgive me,” he whispered. “If I had been stronger, more powerful…none of this would have happened.”

“Don’t talk like that,” she chided quietly. Creators, what she wouldn’t give to touch him, red lyrium or not. She felt so useless standing there an arm’s length away while he tore open old wounds to sate her foolish curiosity.

She shouldn’t have asked. She shouldn’t have pushed for answers. Wasn’t that how they ended up in this mess? In every mess? Because she couldn’t leave anything well enough alone? If the blame had to be laid at anyone’s feet for all the horrors of the last year, it should be at hers, not his.

She chanced another step closer. “None of this is your fault, Solas. You can’t blame yourself for what happened in this world.”

He dropped his hand with a mirthless laugh, shaking his head. “You say that with such conviction, but you have no idea what I have—” He cut himself off, turning his face away, his hands clenched at his sides. He took a deep breath. “What I have experienced. You know nothing of this world. It is far worse than you understand. To you, this will be nothing more than a terrible dream. But in this world, an entire year has passed, the people crushed beneath the whims of the Elder One and his armies. If you had seen what I have seen…endured what I have endured…”

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, and then again, stronger this time, “Solas, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked. I didn’t mean to cause you more pain.”

“No. There is nothing you can do or say to cause me any more pain than I have already endured.” And just like that, his vehemence cooled, leaving behind only weary acceptance. “And you are right. You must know what you are up against.”

He took a slow breath, meeting her gaze once more with careful detachment. She struggled to hide her disappointment and her guilt. Any ground she had gained moments ago was lost. He was back to grave business once again, the Solas she knew buried deep down where he could no longer be hurt.

“Now…I trust your curiosity is now satisfied?” he asked. Without waiting for her answer, he turned toward the door Dorian had disappeared through some time ago. “We must find Varric and a way to reach Alexius. That is all that matters here. We should waste no more time.”

Then he stepped through to the next corridor, leaving her alone in the cold darkness of the dungeon chamber.

She struggled with herself a moment, wrangling guilt and shame and embarrassment into something she could swallow. She was such a fool. Silent, she followed after him, heading past yet another row of cells trying to focus on the tasks ahead.

They found Varric shortly after, safe and sound. Or as safe and sound as one could be after a year spent in a dungeon cell surrounded by red lyrium. Like Solas, he looked gaunt and pale, a dying man’s husk for his normally stocky and well-built body, but he spoke with his usual casual levity. Though it seemed more forced and less vibrant than usual, he acted as though none of this horrific future had actually affected him.

But Varric had always been a very good liar.

“Solas told us everything,” Iren said. “The Elder One, all that he’s done…”

Varric nodded. “Yeah. To say it’s ‘bad’ out here is an understatement. The past year has been a damn nightmare.”

“Are you all right?” she asked. She heard Solas snort quietly behind her and winced. “Right, stupid question.”

But Varric just gave her a crooked grin. “I think I look pretty good for a dead man, honestly. Just saying, the not-dying version of this red lyrium stuff? Worse. Way worse.”

“Were you in there with the red lyrium this whole time?” she asked cautiously. She knew how much Varric hated it. How much it had cost him.

“The red lyrium came later,” Solas answered for him, his face carefully blank. “After the first few methods of torture proved insufficient to produce any new information about you.”

Torture. He said it in a tone so matter-of-fact, she nearly missed it. She stared, speechless with muted horror, but he was already moving on. Already gathering himself up and drawing away toward the door.

Varric grimaced. “Aw, Chuckles, you don’t have to scare her like that.”

“She wants to know,” was Solas’s distant answer.

“You were tortured?” Iren whispered, looking to Varric for an answer. But Varric just shrugged.

“These Venatori don’t appreciate a good story,” he muttered under his breath. Then he followed Solas toward the door.

Iren learned to stop asking questions after that.

—————

Iren caught a glimpse of the torture methods of the Venatori firsthand as they burst in to save Leliana. If anything, she looked worse than the others, her skin mottled and unnaturally gray, her blighted flesh hanging off her bones as though all the strength and vitality had been sucked from her body by some vampiric demon. She bore no traces of red lyrium corruption, but she was dying as surely as the others. Everyone was dying here.

Leliana had even less patience for rehashing the details of the past than Solas, though it was Dorian attempting to ask for details this time.

Enough! This is all pretend to you. Some future you hope will never exist. I suffered. The whole world suffered. It was real.

Iren’s eyes had been on the bloodied and rusted torture elements when Leliana spat those words out to Dorian. Though they lay inert now, all she could see were the brands blazing white hot, inching toward her friends’ bodies, the sharp pokers and tools with which they could cut, slice, stab, tear…

What marks did her friends bear that she couldn’t see? Scars healed by time, or possibly even magic, as Alexius forced them to stay alive in hopes that they would reveal some secret about her, even after she was supposedly dead.

Torture. Red lyrium. Demons. Death.

It was real.

Her words rang in Iren’s head as they made their way, stoic and silent, through the rest of the lower floors, creeping ever upward and forward toward the surface. She was only half-paying attention when Dorian opened the door leading out into the courtyard, only distantly aware of the green-tinted light spilling through the doorway. She heard Dorian swear in Tevene and dragged her gaze up to see what had alarmed him.

She stepped out into the courtyard with a gasp.

“The Breach! It’s…”

“Everywhere,” Dorian finished. He looked shaken for the first time in that dark future.

What had formerly been just one ugly, green-glowing wound in the heavens had spread, the very sky rippling and churning with sickly-looking clouds and ribbons of Fade light. Colossal columns of stone hung suspended in the air while whole chunks of buildings and ruined towers floated over their heads, as though bits of the Black City that hovered just out of sight in the Fade had been brought to bear down upon the mortal, living world. The grass at their feet bent not from the brush of a natural breeze but from hazy washes of magic that swept around them like filmy curtains, thin but tangible even to the naked eye. All around them, flakes of ash and small rocks floated skyward, drawn in by the pull of the Breach, by the gravity of a sky so shattered there was nothing solid left to rely on.

The overall effect was so disorienting, Iren nearly lost her footing simply standing just beyond the doorway. More than anything else she had seen so far, this nearly brought her to her knees. Her mind struggled to make sense of where the world ended and the Fade began, where the Veil was supposed to be, which parts were meant to be mutable Fade structures and which were the hand-hewn stones and walls of Redcliffe Castle. She stared up at the broken head of an Andraste statue, larger than any statue she’d ever seen for any Creator, god, or prophet, as it hung suspended and slowly rocking in the sky. No such carving existed near Redcliffe, of that she was certain.

The world was warped, shifting, neither Fade nor not-Fade but something in between that refused to make sense. The longer she gazed up at the sky, the more she felt as though she would fall into it, her feet lifting from the ground like the small stones around her, the whole world tilting as she was dragged upward into that sea of green and gray.

She staggered, catching herself with her staff, and forced her eyes onto something that wasn’t moving. The flagstones at her feet. “I don’t understand.”

“The Veil is shattered,” Solas said, joining her outside and staring up at the sky. He leaned more heavily on his staff now for support, the shadows beneath his eyes darkening in the eerie green light.  “There is no boundary now between the world and the Fade.”

Shattered. There was no Veil here. Nothing keeping the Fade from spilling over and twisting the world, rewriting the rules, and leaving only chaos in its wake. No more Thedas apart from the Fade. No more Fade apart from the world. It was all one and the same.

And it was hell.

She saw Solas’s jaw clench. “It is not supposed to be this way.”

“Understatement of the age, Chuckles,” Varric muttered, but Solas ignored him. He turned to Iren instead, red-glowing eyes intense in the fluid light of the broken sky.

“This world is an abomination,” he said, every word weighted. “It must never come to pass.”

She nodded. Something in his tone spoke of warning beyond the threat of the Elder One, but she couldn’t discern what. And with very little time on their side and the Elder One the most immediate threat, she elected not to ask.

“I’ll do everything I can to keep this from ever happening,” she said solemnly. “Ever again. I swear it.”

“Good,” he murmured.

“Let us put those words to the test, Herald,” Leliana said, drawing her bow and notching an arrow. Iren followed the point of the arrowhead over to the upper level of the courtyard, where several demons prowled, eager for something new to hunt and devour. “There are still many obstacles between us and the throne room where Alexius cowers and hides.”

Iren readied her staff with a nod. Even here, demons could be killed. First them, then Alexius, and eventually, one day, the Elder One. Simple.

For now.

[angelictaffy]

WELCOME TO STARFALL ! ☆

starfall is the town in which my waiting room resides in / my highschool desired reality. its a place for me to chill and have fun in between different realities while also live out the picture-esqe teenage life that i always wanted to live!!

i actually really like the idea and thought it would be fun to share because its a pretty simple template that anyone can use for a relaxing reality. (whether it is for an idol school reality, a highschool reality with your favorite characters, etc)

—

starfall, new jersey is a town with an ideal suburban vibe to it. it is cozy enough to inhabitate a small community of people who all are connected, while also being big enough to have a ton of shops, restaurants, activites, and scenery..

… THE WORLD RULES !

this reality is set in an alternate timeline where modern social media does not exist. for the most part, the world is technologically the same as it was in 2010. however, all of the same inclusivity, equality, fashion, and slang is still the same as it is in 2024. despite all these changes there is no butterfly effect and the world is the same as it is in the cr.

the only social media that is used are online forums. the internet still exists but is mostly used for online forums, e-mailing, aol instant messenger (which is still a thing). video chats like zoom do not exist.

highschools still have cliques such as popular kids, loners, skaters, emos, goths, etc. but they are different from the 2010s in the sense that they all follow the modern trends of the time for their specific clique.

online subscription based music platforms do not exist. instead people tend to use physical forms of music such as cds and vinyls. but ipod classics still exist and are used primarily but they have the same setup as they did in the 2010s.

people still go out to malls to hang out with their friends.

most cellphones are only able to send text messages, make phonecalls, read e-mails and nothing else. since there is no camera feature on phones, people tend to carry around disposable cameras with them, digital cameras, or instant cameras.

magic / witchcraft exists in this reality. (i believe in witchcraft here but its a more flashy form of witchcraft in starfall.) the magic here is more so the tv type of magic where it is dramatized with sparkles and effects and stuff. the magic is practiced lowkey though and it originates in starfall so it isnt a big thing in the world.

racism, homophobia, transphobia, etc has just fizzled out over time to the point that it was completely gone by the 1990s.

global warming does not exist because scientists have found a way to counteract it and eliminate it without damaging the earth, natural habitats, or changing the way we live in society. we have found a way also to safely dispose of garbage.

[divinekangaroo]

Based on your reading of the characters I have a few questions if you dont mind answering them

Will Tommy have a new love in the movie?

Did S6 make it clear that Lizzys trajectory and her relationship with Tommy has ended?

Sorry for taking so long to get to this!!

I hope not? In 3 hours max, there is so much else I would like to see than giving him a romantic arc. I also don't think erotic or romantic love is all that much of a driver for him, so to devote time to a new erotic or romantic arc would feel very strange - *familial* love is important to him. I hope the movie is about family, especially Charlie. And given the era of focus as just prior to WWII, I think there's opportunity for some very interesting setup that takes Tommy out of the claustrophobia/inner focus of the last few seasons and starts to more cleverly use the zoom in and zoom out of family and political context. I mean, I *do* think they'll probably throw Tommy into bed with someone because that, too, is a significant part of who Tommy Shelby is, but I just don't see all that much room for a "love" arc. (Also I hate the idea of "find the right woman = all his problems solved!" because of what it does to women as well as an outcome that just doesn't exist in the real world -> I think if they did throw in a new love arc in 3 hours it would be very difficult to avoid that shortcut of Fix the Broken Man with the Love of a Woman being made. That's such a crappy motif :/)

Hard to say. Structurally, Lizzie was in every season, and we know end of S6 still left her with significant power in the business as well as custodianship of Charlie, so I really hope she's still in the movie - except with a major power shift. CEO Lizzie is absolutely my bag and that's what I would totally want to see, and her moving up the social/economic ladder in every series would structurally support that kind of leap in the movie. That in itself necessitates a relationship between her and Tommy, but I'm kind of impartial as to whether it's sexual, whatever - what I'd like to see is a different relationship, because every season also showed a very, very different evolution of a Lizzie & Tommy relationship. To show a final evolution where she is the one with the power would be interesting. I think a 'marriage' arc for them is done, though. Personally I never like arcs that end in marriage as the 'goal' - I've been more interested in how S5 and S6 showed marriage as a daily thing not as a goal - so to move beyond that and show a very different relationship filter would make structural sense as well as be interesting to me. I think if Charlie comes into the movie, it'd be hard to cut Lizzie out, too, but I can also see a scenario where she doesn't come back, because within that time constraint of a movie they'd have to be really careful picking a focus.

[ncisfranchise-source]

Katrina Law's Jessica Knight is back with the NCIS Major Case Response Team. At the end of the NCIS Season 22 premiere, "Empty Nest," Knight has to make a choice between taking another promotion or returning to her team. In an unsurprising move for fans, she chooses to come back to the office, which means we are going to be seeing Law regularly this season.

The doubts about whether Law would indeed be part of the cast going forward can all be traced back to Knight's decision in the NCIS Season 21 finale to accept the NCIS REACT Chief Training Officer job at Camp Pendleton. The fact that she was even considering the job proved to be too much of an issue for her boyfriend, Jimmy Palmer (Brian Dietzen), the Chief Medical Examiner for the NCIS Major Case Response Team. So, Palmer decided to break up with Knight before she could break up with him.

Considering Palmer was one of the main reasons Knight was even considering staying in DC, that made her decision to leave much easier. The Season 22 premiere picks up six months after the fact, with Knight now settled into her job at Camp Pendleton and seemingly doing well. That is, until another member of the team, Nick Torres (Wilmer Valderrama), goes missing while on an undercover operation, and Knight's former boss Alden Parker (Gary Cole) comes knocking on her door asking for help. Because if there's one thing Jessica Knight can't do is leave her team hanging.

Even if that involves a little light treason and kidnapping to get what she needs. And that's exactly what Knight does, locking herself in a room with the presumed head of the Cartel that has Nick hostage, and making sure to request the lawyer she suspects is involved. All is well that ends well, even if it was touch-and-go for a while, as the ruse ends with Torres free and Knight being recommended for a promotion. It's at that moment, however, that Knight decides all she wants is to get her old job back. Parker is very quick to say yes.

While on a break from filming, Law jumped on a Zoom call with TV Guide to discuss Knight's return to her NCIS team, Jessica Knight's relationship with Jimmy Palmer, and what we can expect to see from her character in Season 22.

Season 21 of NCIS ended with Knight taking the job of NCIS REACT Chief Training Officer at Camp Pendleton. Did you feel like, as a woman, she had to take the job? That she couldn't give up all that she'd been dreaming of because of her relationship with Palmer?

Katrina Law: I think for Knight, that comes with ambition, whether you're a man or a woman, right? A job is offered to you that's a step up the ladder and you take it because it's just going to lead you to the next thing. And I think that comes along with ambition and with wanting to further your career and whatever it is that you do. And Knight is a very ambitious person. So, it just made sense that she would take this job. I don't necessarily think that she had the active thought of, "I can't stay here for a man." But I definitely think she thought, "I can't sacrifice my career and myself for anyone," unless it's her own wants and needs.

The way she and her father had curated her detailed climb up the ladder, it climbed pretty high. So, for Knight to agree to that, to adhere to that for so many years, that's something within herself. That wasn't all her father. And when she talked about her job to Jimmy, obviously she was very happy about it. And she was trying to figure out, like, do I want this job? And I think she was probably leaning toward yes. And I think she was leaning towards, "Well, how do we make this work," right? But I think she was also going into it knowing that this isn't a forever job. She's not going to be going to Camp Pendleton and stay as the REACT Training Officer forever. She was definitely viewing it as, well, this is just another step on the ladder. And eventually, it will bring me back to D.C. and that we, as a relationship, are strong enough to make it through that rung to the next rung.

But when Jimmy kind of had his meltdown and broke it off with her, I think it brought to focus some of the issues that the two of them had been having that they hadn't ever really talked about before and maybe not even quite realized. And they were issues of abandonment, issues of loss that both of them had experienced. And both of them also have a very people-pleasing, a little bit of that toxic trait in them, that can self-sabotage them both. And I think she just realized, I can't keep trying to fix things for you. And I can't keep living in fear of losing like I did my REACT team.

And so, for her, I think it was a no-brainer. She just had to take this job because when she looked at Jimmy, I think she just realized these are things that you need to work out on your own. And I need to do this for me, because I can already tell that this will be an instant regret if I don't take this job. So yes, and no to your question.

But now she's coming back to the NCIS Major Case Response Team, and we see at the end of the premiere that Jimmy is very excited to have her back. Where does Knight currently stand on that? Is she thinking they're going to pick things back up where they left off? Or does she need some time? Because the issues are still there.

Law: So, this is how much the issues aren't resolved. In true Jimmy and Knight fashion, they don't talk about it for several episodes. They actually completely ignore everything. And it's awkward and it's a little strange, but they're just kind of like, yeah, we'll just talk about this later and we're just going to function like nothing has happened. So, he doesn't say, "Hey, I'm really excited you're back." I don't say, "Good to see you again." We just kind of go back to work and pretend like nothing happened. 

But then there is Episode 4 where the two of us get caught in a situation where we are together and we can't get out of the situation. And we're finally forced to have that talk. And it's an amazing scene and episode. It's heartbreaking, it's wonderful, it's charming. It's the two of them. So, yeah, they do finally have that talk and it's really beautiful.

There's a moment near the end of the premiere where Knight tells Parker, "This wasn't for me," about the REACT job. And some of that is obviously about missing Palmer, but not all of it is. How did you conceptualize that for Knight? What is she missing?

Law: Yes, as much as she loved being at Camp Pendleton, as much as she loved her job, there was definitely an aspect that was missing for her. And I don't know whether she was aware of it at the time, but there was something kind of gnawing at her going, "I'm not quite settled here." And maybe she just kind of shucked it off as it's a new city, it's a new state, new job, new friends, new everything. But as soon as Parker comes back into play, she sees his face, things start to click for her pretty quickly that she's missing the adrenaline rush. She's missing the camaraderie and the love and family that she's built up over the past four years.

And even though technically going back to NCIS is a demotion for her, I think she just has come to the realization for the first time in her life that climbing up the ladder is not the most important thing for her. And that, yes, she might not stay at NCIS forever. Kind of like the REACT job, maybe this is just a little bit of a blip, but this is where she wants to be right now. And this is where she needs to be. She needs to be with her family. She needs to be where the love is. And she needs to be where she feels fulfilled and the most useful.

Katrina Law, NCIS Sonja Flemming/CBS

You teased a little bit about Palmer and Knight and what we're going to see from the two of them going forward. But is there something you can tell us about Jessica Knight's individual journey of growth? What can we expect to see from her this season?

Law: I think this is the beginning. Episode 1 is the beginning stages of a big personal growth spurt for Knight. She's been in the shadow of her father for years and very happily doing so. But now that she stepped out into the sunlight on her own, making decisions and making career choices with nobody else's feelings attached, it's very freeing and it's liberating for her. But that also means that whatever mistakes she makes are also 100% on her own shoulders, including regrets.

And I think this season you're going to see Knight discover who she is without the influence of her father and without the influence of Jimmy. And I think she is a wild card and she's always been that adrenaline junkie. She's always loved the chase, but she kind of started to try to sculpt and mold herself to fit more into the corporate structure that she and her dad thought she should be in. And then mold herself into a good girlfriend who takes care of her man and her man's kid. And all of a sudden, she's going, you know what? I couldn't make my dad happy. I couldn't make Jimmy happy. So, I'm just going to do my own thing. So, I think you're going to see Knight kind of wild out a little bit this season on her own. And I think it's going to be a fun journey to see, to discover Knight.

[dedicatedfollower467]

while i'm on the subject of ori and the blind forest, one of the biggest differences, for me, between ori and hollow knight, is that ori really doesn't have boss fights.

for the most part, ori isn't really a combat game the way hollow knight is. all of the challenges are really speed and platforming challenges. there are enemies and you do have to kill them, but they're really not the focus of the game - the platforming challenges and puzzles are. there are two characters i would consider "boss-like," in that they are antagonists that you have to defeat to move the story forward, but you never fight either one directly, you just work around the environmental/platforming puzzles they present to you.

whereas hollow knight is like. MOSTLY bosses, mini-bosses, and combat encounters. the only real platforming challenges in hollow knight are all technically optional - they unlock special characters and certain endings and give you achievements/rewards, but they're not necessary to complete the actual main plot of the game.

what's interesting is, i would say this is actually reflected in the visual design of both games!

in hollow knight, the backgrounds and scenery are gorgeous, yes, but they're mostly very muted, dark colors, and it's pretty easy to miss your first time round when you're focused on fighting enemies and trying not to die. each area has a sort of "standard" platform look that's essentially a tile set that gets repeated. certain visual elements from the background, like the round cobble-like texture, crop up in platforms in almost every location. areas that are off-screen or beyond the scope of the room are just pure black.

in comparison, the enemies are all extremely varied and unique, and the solid black outlines in the 2D art style draw a lot of attention to them. they are usually more brightly colored than the backgrounds, and while there are certain reoccurring enemy behaviors (for example, the flying enemies that wind up before shooting rapidly at you, or the patrolling enemies with weapons who take big swings at you) they all have unique designs for the different areas. all the bosses and mini-bosses have unique designs, attacks, and behaviors, each presenting a different kind of challenge to the player.

ori's visual approach to enemies and environment is almost the exact opposite of hollow knights. as far as i can tell, there are maybe a dozen or so basic enemies in the game, who are essentially just re-colored and given a couple of attack and hp upgrades depending on what area they're in. they aren't rendered particularly differently from the background, with about the same color saturation and level of detail, meaning that it's actually fairly easy, imo, to accidentally run into enemies because you just didn't see them. movement is pretty much the only thing that distinguishes them from being part of the background, and some of them don't move very much until they're attacking. ori's camera is also fairly zoomed-out compared to hollow knight's, which means it's harder to see details on the enemy designs.

however, the broader perspective that the camera gives you means that you see much more of the environment and setting at one time. backgrounds in ori are lovingly rendered - as are the platforms and levels themselves! where hollow knight has floating platforms which just grow out of nowhere, almost everything you can walk on or cling to in ori and the blind forest has a logical reason for being there, whether it's a branch or a mushroom or a platform suspended by rope or magic. there aren't many repeated or repetitive elements to the platforms, either, especially when it comes to "natural" platforms like branches. off-screen or inaccessible areas are artistically rendered with texture appropriate to the environment - hidden areas can be found behind background elements that blend seamlessly in with the rest of the scenery. ori and the blind forest feels like you're walking through a painting, not a video game level.

oops this was a very long rant.

TL,DR; i just find it very neat that the visual design of both games tells you what you will be focusing on - hollow knight's emphasis on character design tells you that enemies are going to be your main focus, while ori's loving devotion to the setting lets you know that this is mostly going to be environmental puzzles and platforming.

[waiting-on-a-dream]

𝐏𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐫 𝟎𝟎𝟗: 𝐌𝐢𝐲𝐚𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚 𝐊𝐢𝐲𝐨𝐬𝐡𝐢

"Jailcells are a familiar sight. Being in one, not so much."

𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐥 𝐢𝐧𝐟𝐨

Name: Miyahara Kiyoshi / 宮原 淳 (The kanjis in his last name mean "constellations" and "meadow", while his first name means "pure".)

Status: Prisoner 009

Gender: Male

Age: 42

Birthday: October 19 (Libra)

Height: 185 cm

Blood type: O

Image color: #899499

Occupation: Policeman

Personality: Kiyoshi is friendly and level-headed, always willing to extend a helping hand to anyone in need. Anyone he's close to, whether it be his parents, friends, or coworkers will shower him with praises if ever asked about him. He's such a good man.

He is also pragmatic and responsible, being a captain of the police force and all. Surprisingly, he has a set of ideals that he would love to talk about if anyone cared to ask him about it. He doesn't bring it up often because he thinks his morals are a tad childish.

He gets uncomfortable whenever he is asked about his crime. He claims it was self-defense. The prisoner lounged at him and he was forced to take action. Only Haruto can be the judge of that.

𝐌𝐮𝐬𝐢𝐜 𝐢𝐧𝐟𝐨

Which canon Milgram song he would cover: Bring it on (You already knew, the whole time; You can’t escape; How do you like the taste of punishment?)

Which DECO*27 song he would cover: Ghost rule

If he could cover a song by a different Vocaloid producer, which one would it be: Bitter choco decoration by Syudou (Ironically, I didn't know what to do with his personality until I matched him up with this song and Ghost rule.)

His MV description: The colour grey would appear a lot in his MV, taking up most of the frame. Characters are be highlighted with blue, yellow or red. Glitchy effects appear sometimes too.

The MV starts with Kiyoshi running through the streets of a city. He's dressed in his uniform and highlighted a bold navy blue, bumping into a few people in his way as he chases down another man (highlighted yellow). He catches up to the guy eventually, pinning the guy down onto the ground and handcuffing him.

The camera cuts to him and the guy in what looks like an interrogation room. They're sitting on opposite ends of a table, facing each other. A shot of the yellow guy smiling serenely. A shot of Kiyoshi with a grim line set onto his face.

Kiyoshi asks a question, waving his hand in a gentle arc. The guy shrugs carelessly, rolling his eyes to the ceiling like he's bored. Kiyoshi frowns, getting impatient.

The lights flicker.

The guy tilts his head, a wide grin spreading across his face. The camera zooms in on his deranged expression, glitchy effects distorting his smile slightly. The camera then cuts to Kiyoshi leaning back in his chair, swallowing nervously.

The guy lounges forward, his yellow palette flashing red for a split second. Kiyoshi reacts quickly, grabbing the guy by his collar before he can be pushed to the ground. The shot slows for a moment.

The camera cuts to Kiyoshi sitting on his chair in the dull grey interrogation room again. The yellow guy is nowhere to be seen. The camera slowly pans out. The frame glitches, switching between the interrogation room and a jail cell in which Kiyoshi possesses a yellow gradient to his blue. The MV ends abruptly.

𝐕𝐨𝐢𝐜𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬

-- 𝐈𝐧𝐭𝐫𝐨 𝐯𝐨𝐢𝐜𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬

(Laid back) I'm Miyahara Kiyoshi, 42 years old. I'm a captain in the police force. So you're going to be doing detective work. If you've having trouble, I'm happy to help. But what's this about verdicts?

(Disbelief) *t a** ha**e*ed s* f**t.

-- 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐯𝐨𝐢𝐜𝐞 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐫

I just want to know...what happened. Now tell me the truth.

𝐓𝐫𝐢𝐯𝐢𝐚

His favourite colour is navy blue.

His favourite food is salmon roll.

He used to play soccer with his friends every Saturday during his high school years. He still has his old cleats.

He likes mystery books and movies. Especially the whodunnit ones where he'll try and guess the culprit.

𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬

I cannot draw. So picrew saves the day once again!

My oldest milgram prisoner, woo! Old man.

[thorntonkrell-blog-blog]

PERSONAL SHIFTING

As I get older, I find it easier and easier to slip into the third person to relate an “out of mind” story about myself as the “character” Ice Rivers. Shifting out of the first person has some great advantages for a story teller but the one that I like the most is how it affects the identity of the narrator. It becomes difficult to tell whether I’m the narrator talking about myself in the third person or that another more objective narrator is telling the story which leads to the suspicion of who that narrator might be and how credible he/she or it is.

Shifting to the third person when writing about myself is a deliberate creative strategy that offers me a unique way of exploring both the "narrator's" identity and the broader narrative experience. At its core, this shift creates an intriguing tension between the "I" of the first person and the "he" or “she" or “Ice Rivers” of the third, allowing me to step outside of my own subjectivity and view my actions, thoughts, and feelings with a certain distance and objectivity. It becomes a way of giving voice to an almost fragmented self, one that’s constantly in flux, oscillating between the personal and the detached.

One of the most compelling aspects of this shift is that it introduces a kind of ambiguity regarding the narrator's credibility. When I step into the third person, the reader is left questioning whether the story is being told by Ice Rivers looking back at his life with a certain introspective awareness, or if it’s being narrated by a more objective, perhaps unreliable, figure. This uncertainty creates a space for the reader to question the authenticity of the narrative—how much is the character distorting their own story, and how much is being shaped by the narrator’s own biases, desires, or limited perspective? The line between reality and interpretation blurs, and the reader is forced to navigate this murky territory, much like "we" do when reflecting on our own lives.

This shift also opens up new emotional landscapes. By distancing the narrator from their actions and thoughts, the “writer “creates room for reflection and reinterpretation. It’s like looking at a photograph of a moment in time, where you can see the image clearly but also sense the layers of meaning that might have been missed in the immediate experience. In the third person, the narrator becomes a kind of witness to their own life, capturing not just the events but also the emotions and motivations that may not have been fully understood at the time. The character of Ice Rivers, for example, can step outside of himself and view his actions with a clarity he might not have had in the moment, while also leaving room for the ambiguity of self-perception.

Another key benefit of this shift is the ability to explore multiple facets of identity. It’ like I'm stepping into different shoes, each time seeing myself from a slightly different angle. In the third person, there’s a broader canvas to paint upon, as the “narrator” can zoom in on particular moments or zoom out to provide context or perspective, and this flexibility allows for a richer exploration of selfhood. I can explore not just one version of my character but many versions, all coexisting in the same narrative space. This is especially powerful when the narrative is complex or fragmented, as it invites the reader to experience the character's internal contradictions and contradictions within their environment.

Ultimately, shifting to the third person is a strategy that allows me to inhabit the story in a more fluid and multi-dimensional way. It’s a way of stepping back from the immediacy of the first-person experience and embracing the ambiguity of perspective. This shift isn’t just a change in narrative voice—it’s a reflection of the shifting, elusive nature of identity itself. By using the third person, the writer invites both the character and the reader to explore the story from a place of reflective distance, while still keeping the emotional core intact.So, by moving between first and third person, I’m not just altering the narrative voice—I’m engaging with the very nature of perception and identity, giving both the "narrator" and the reader a chance to reflect, reinterpret, and experience the story from multiple angles. The creative strategy is about fostering a deeper understanding of self through the narrative, acknowledging that who we are isn’t always fixed, but constantly evolving through the stories we tell ourselves and the perspectives we choose to adopt. It’s a technique that not only allows for emotional depth but invites a philosophical exploration of selfhood, truth, and perception.

When I move into the third person, there’s a subtle shift in the way time, memory, and self-awareness are handled. In the first person, there’s often an immediacy to the narrative, a sense that the story is unfolding right in front of you, as though you're living through it in real time. But once I transition to the third person, something profound happens: the moment becomes part of a larger temporal landscape. I’m no longer just experiencing it; I’m able to step back, reflect, and reframe it from a higher vantage point. This kind of reflective distance can be both liberating and destabilizing. It gives me room to rethink the events of my life—giving a kind of intellectual clarity that wasn’t available when I was in the thick of it. But it also brings with it a new layer of vulnerability. The more I step away, the more I begin to ask questions like, “Who is telling this story?” and “How much of it is the truth?” In this space, the narrator—whether it’s Ice Rivers or anyone else—becomes a character within their own story, often divided between the person they were in that moment and the person they have become in hindsight.

This fracture creates a kind of tension that goes beyond narrative structure. It speaks to the way we experience and understand our lives. Memory, after all, isn’t a static thing. We revisit past events, reframe them, reinterpret them, sometimes even reconstruct them entirely. The third-person shift mimics this process. I’m looking at my past from a different angle, and in doing so, the past itself is constantly in motion. What happens in the third person is this kind of loop: the more I step back, the more the story becomes something outside of me, yet still tethered to my past self.

There’s also something deeply existential about this. By switching from first to third person, we’re acknowledging the elusiveness of the self. Identity isn’t fixed, and this fluidity in perspective mirrors the way our internal sense of self changes over time. As we shift in and out of different perspectives, the narrator becomes less of a definitive figure and more of a question. It’s almost like you’re inviting the reader—and yourself—to question: Who is telling this story? And, by extension, Who am "I" in the context of this story? This opens the door to what I see as a kind of self-deconstruction. The third-person shift allows the writer to play with the idea that identity is not a singular, unchanging thing. I'm not just telling a story about Ice Rivers—I’m exploring what it means for Ice to be Ice, in all of his contradictions and complexities. And that complexity isn’t just for the character to navigate; it’s for the reader to unpack, as well. It forces both the writer and the reader to confront that tricky space between who I am and who you think I am—and, of course, the space between what I’m telling myself is true and what might actually be true.

This strategy also ties back to that unreliable narrator aspect that I touched on at the beginning of this outburst. Shifting to third person can put the narrator in a more objective light, but it can also make them more unreliable in the sense that we’re never quite sure what’s real. When we step outside of ourselves, are we seeing ourselves more clearly, or are we interpreting everything through a different lens that distorts the truth? The unreliable narrator isn’t just unreliable in what they say about events, but in what they say about themselves. This paradox creates room for a deeper, more philosophical examination of truth itself. After all, if the narrative voice is in flux, how can we trust anything—except that the act of telling the story itself is what shapes the reality? This shifting between perspectives creates a bridge between the subjective and the objective. In the first person, the narrator is so immersed in the experience that they can only show it through their eyes. But when you zoom out into third person, that subjectivity becomes visible as a process, something to be watched as much as it’s lived. This turns the story into a metaphysictional exploration of what it means to exist, to experience, and to try to make sense of it all.

So, when he shifts from first to third person, Ice Rivers is doing more than changing the voice of the story. He’s destabilizing the notion of self entirely—bringing the reader along on a journey that isn’t just about a character, but about the nature of perception, time, and memory itself. The deeper he gets with this the more he invites the reader to grapple with their own selfhood, their own shifting identities, and the unreliable narratives we all tell ourselves.

The story uses the framework of a pulp detective narrative to explore deeper questions of control, perception, and the nature of storytelling itself, making it a perfect example of metaphysiction—

The story operates on multiple levels:

A gritty detective tale with all the classic tropes—murder, cryptic notes, a labyrinth of suspects, and a protagonist grappling with forces beyond his control.I used the story to engage my students in a deeper discussion of narrative structure, audience engagement, and meaning-making.Through the pulp story, I raised existential questions: Who controls the narrative? What drives people to commit atrocities? How do systems of power perpetuate chaos and injustice?

I blurred the line between author, narrator, and character by narrating the story of Malkin and Diaz while reflecting on its construction even as I addressed the students directly to deconstruct the narrative in real time while highlighting the artificiality of the story’s breadcrumbs, suspects and misdirections which draw attention to how all stories are crafted to manipulate the intended audience.In a power struggle between author, narrator and character, the author always wins.

The anonymous tip, the staged evidence, and the killer's manipulation of events suggest a puppeteer controlling not just the crime but the narrative itself. This mirrors broader questions about agency in life—how much of what we perceive is shaped by unseen forces? Malkin’s journey reflects a quest for truth in a world whose natural entropy resists clarity. His failures underscore the futility of seeking absolute justice in a corrupt system, much like readers seeking definitive answers in an ambiguous narrative or students in a multi-comprehendible classroom wonder wtf.

I pushed the students (and readers) to engage actively, encouraging them to connect the dots, question motives, and consider implications beyond the surface story and the five minute jam that activated the whole thing.

While the story adheres to pulp conventions, it subverts them to provoke thought: The killer isn’t a typical lowlife but a figure representing systemic corruption, emphasizing institutional rather than individual culpability.The resolution is intentionally unsatisfying: the killer walks free, and another murder occurs, reinforcing the cyclical and unresolved nature of systemic injustice. Malkin’s failure becomes the story’s emotional and philosophical climax, inviting reflection on the detective’s role as both a seeker of truth and a victim of the system.

My classroom setting acted as a microcosm of the relationship between author and audience: The students’ skepticism mirrors the modern reader’s cynicism about “highbrow” interpretations of popular genres. By weaving pulp with philosophy, I try to demonstrate how accessible stories can be vehicles for complex ideas, bridging the gap between entertainment and intellectual engagement.The applause and reluctant acknowledgment from the students reflect the triumph of metaphysiction—it captivates and challenges its audience, even if they don’t fully embrace it.The unresolved ending serves a dual purpose; it critiques the justice system and power structures, highlighting their capacity for perpetuating violence and evading accountability.It reinforces my philosophy that stories are not just about resolving plots but about leaving audiences/readers with questions that linger beyond the final page.

Through its layered narrative, self-aware commentary, and philosophical underpinnings, this story about a story within a story exemplifies metaphysiction. It uses the framework of pulp fiction as a Trojan horse, smuggling in existential inquiries about power, agency, and the human condition. My students may start skeptical, but the story's multifaceted approach ultimately demonstrates the power of blending genre conventions with introspective depth. The “meta” isn’t just a flourish—it’s the story’s engine.

Gotta make sure not to flood the engine unless we’re trying to get away from a nut with a chain saw and we want more drama and less security.

[parksaversnews]

Walt Disney World's Magic Just Got More Enchanting: Future Stay Offer Extended!

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What's New with the Future Stay Offer?

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How to Snag This Magical Offer

Here's the scoop: if you're currently staying at a Disney Resort hotel, you're eligible for this pixie-dusted deal. The best part? You now have up to 7 days after your check-out date to book your future stay. It's like Cinderella's fairy godmother giving you an extended deadline!

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So, as you enjoy your current Disney vacation, let your imagination soar to your next visit. With savings like these, it's the perfect time to start planning your return to the place where dreams come true. After all, in the words of Peter Pan, "All you need is faith, trust, and a little bit of pixie dust" – and maybe a Future Stay Offer to make your Disney dreams a reality! Read the full article

[homestuckreplay]

GRAND SNACK FUCKYEAH: Radioactive DLC

(page 679-695)

9/23/2009 Wheel Spin: Dramatic Irony Verdict: There's A Light Dusting

9/24/2009 Wheel Spin: Movie Reference Verdict: Movies Aren't This Good

I found that the 500s in pages dragged a little, but the 600s have honestly FLOWN by. Getting 32 pages in 4 days doesn’t hurt that. The Wayward Vagabond is such a fun character to read about, and also to look at - a little guy wrapped up in rags with only their beady, darting eyes exposed is the absolute peak of character design.

As well as being fun, I’m wondering what this WV section is doing for the story. After cycling through three human teenagers with lives that are strange but still grounded in reality, what does it mean for the story to be taken over by someone who’s not human, isn’t living in our time and place, and doesn’t hit the typical beats of ‘having a name,’ ‘having interests’ or ‘having a family member’? What does it mean for someone who previously gave story commands to become their recipient? What does it mean in a story called ‘Homestuck’ to suddenly center a character who is defined by their ability to wander?

In part, I think this is establishing mechanics for temporality and causality in the story. In much the same way that Homestuck took time to establish inventory and alchemy mechanics, we are now seeing the ability of the future to impact the past. (And all three of these mechanics relate to programming – you can tell this story was written by a computer science major). WV’s world is a future state of something, possibly Earth – although this could be leaving room for another twist – and it seems like their interactions with the Sburb terminal and possibly the bunker in general will contribute to causing this state. It raises more questions about how WV’s actions in the future will intertwine with John, Rose, Dave and GG’s actions in the present to cause this future, and if it is definite, or if it can be avoided.

WV’s perspective also zooms the story out further. Act 1 began by zooming in very close on John Egbert in a single location at a single moment, but Act 2 has zoomed out to show other people’s lives, across space, time, and even species – the only link between them being Sburb, this all encompassing throughline of the story. Going from John’s very real and relatable experiences (for many), to Rose and Dave whose lives are less likely to match those of any given reader’s, to WV’s post-apocalyptic location and alien biology, feels like a story signposting that things are constantly getting weirder and further away from reality.

The mentions of the etiquette book being eaten (p.679) and inquiries regarding a can opener (p.682) neatly clarify where we are relative to John’s timeline, so we can slide quickly onward to what WV gets up to when they’re not playing games on the computer. And that something is constructing a beautiful world made of and for cans, where cans of all contents can live safe and happy lives, celebrating the best mayor a can could ask for.

It’s SO good, and it’s so reminiscent of games I played as a kid. It makes me wonder if any of our other characters played games like this when they were younger – I think John, Rose and Dave are on a borderline generationally as to whether they’d be more likely left to entertain themselves or more likely surrounded by technology and activities. I can definitely imagine Rose playing pretend games, left alone to explore a huge house with her love of books and creative writing.

Regrettably, most of WV’s troupe of diverse citizen cans are foods that are actually sold canned, though some are more appetizing than others. I couldn’t find any evidence of mayonnaise being sold in a traditional can, although to my horror it has been sold in a spray can.

Common Can Items: BEANS, GRAVY, SHRIMP, ASPARAGUS, RICE, CORN, PEAS, HAM, POTATOES Rare Can Items: MUSTARD, BREAD, CHEESE, FLOUR, CHESTNUTS, SQUASH Legendary Can Items: MAYO

Can Town feels like a distraction from some more important foreshadowing that’s being done around it, and it works as a distraction because Can Town is the coolest shit ever and I would like to build it too. However, here’s a few other things I think will be important in future.

WV’s knife is ‘an old rusted one of those red mailbox arm-swing flappy doodads’ (p.683) while the ‘little red arm-swingy-dealy thing’ of John’s mailbox was highlighted on p.28. Are these from the same mailbox?

WV discusses their hatred of kings (p.687) with a black king chess piece stamped over their head. WV has probably had a previous run-in with the king of the ‘kingdom entrenched in darkness’ (p.424) which has led to their being a runaway.

WV finds four objects conveniently placed in a circle at one end of the bunker (p.688) – a firefly encased in amber, a can of motor oil, a box of chalk, and a nugget of uranium. These potentially all have use in this bunker – firefly to provide light, motor oil to open the storage units(?), chalk to track time(?), uranium to power the battery – some of those feel like a reach, but I’m guessing these objects will have other relevance later.

WV has a favorite color!! They eat a green-stemmed pumpkin (p.668), a potted plant (p.678), the uranium nugget (p.689) and two green sticks of chalk (p.691). Previously, WV said that a potted vegetable in John’s kitchen ‘LOOKS DELICIOUS’ (p.277) and that ‘THE GREEN TEXT WAS ATTRACTIVE’ (p.294), referring to GG’s messages. Eating the green things always happens so fast after noticing them that it loos instinctual. This inability to hold back from eating green things might be deployed for plot reasons later.

[eccentric-ocean]

This was a realization that made my spirit pause. The problem was not that I still kept wishing for her to fill in story gaps, driven by swells of curiosity and impatience and some notion that a finished story would organize my feelings and settle me. I did not know how to tune into the quieter melody of my mother; how to listen beyond what was plainly "said" for the underthings.

The filmmaker Hayao Miyazaki would call this quieter melody "ma." In Japanese, ma is the word for pause, interval or even emptiness. There is no direct translation, but the kanji characters that form the word show a sun peeking out in the space between two gates.

In an interview with Roger Ebert, Miyazaki once illustrated the concept to Ebert by clapping. "The time in between my clapping is ma. If you just have non-stop action with no breathing space at all, it's just busyness. But if you take a moment, then the tension building in the film can grow into a wider dimension." According to Miyazaki, American movies with their frantic pace and obsession with plot are often afraid of that silence, that ma. Yet life is filled with empty spaces and details that aren't directly "useful" to the story but have their own emotional brio. That is what Miyazaki is always telling us with the lulls and quiet moments in his films. Two characters riding a train in still- ness, silently watching a landscape at sunset or observing the slow performance of a spinning leaf remind us that dialogue is not the only way people talk.

I have always loved how Hayao Miyazaki does rain. How Terrence Malick does grass and Andrei Tarkovsky does wind. I love the lovingness toward the long image and the plotless moments when ground overtakes figure and, zooming out, we're suddenly allowed to see human drama in its proper proportions. Instead of every moment being dictated by the human story, this sealing up of the overlooked is a great reminder that we are, in fact, minuscule in the cosmic scheme of things, just one part and particle of a larger picture.

There is no real proxy to the moving, mute camera in written text. Silence must be declared through words that sometimes sit on the page with too much presence. Silence proclaims itself as "thick," "fleeting," "heavy" or "noisy." It is not the sinuous and indeterminate silence of film; a silence that can be subliminal and suggestive rather than stated. To appreciate filmic silence, imagine the nervous clatter of dishes or other quiet incidental sounds taking place outside a room while a family sits down for an awkward meal. Feel the emotional pressure and renderings that carry into wordless, unvocalized space.

Whether we call this a quieter melody or ma, it is powerful to feel the presence of what is not openly declared, what lies beyond persona's grip, the promise and possibilities on the outskirts of any story. If the gap, particularly the gap between self and other, is intrinsic to the story, it is possible something is lost when we fill it with supposition, chatter, conjecture, even artistic flourish. But what is it? What is lost when we dissolve a gap for the sake of smooth tale-telling?

Ma is frequently equated with "negative space." I have also seen it described nicely by Jerrold McGrath as a "free zone that allows for dissimilar things to co-exist." Likewise, it can refer to the distance between two fighters. In karate, knowing the safe or suitable distance ("ai") between oneself and an opponent based on their reach is considered "understanding ma-ai."

One weekend, I sat with ma and did not ask a single question. I did not try to tug up my mother's memories by their pointed tips or forage her life. My mother and I watched several Miyazaki films together. Her favorite was My Neighbor Totoro. Maybe it was the way Miyazaki stopped to take in the view or how he made a character of trees, sky, insects, water. Maybe it was how he pointed to the ghosts living easily within daily life. Or maybe it was just all the flowers.

—Unearthing: A Story of Tangled Love and Family Secrets, Kyo Maclear

[gentlemanjimcraddock]

Wanna Try Star Trek? 4 - Bad Makeup and Bad Acting

John Startrek reporting in for our newest entry of Wanna Try Star Trek, where we’ll be looking at The Next Generation for the first time. TNG ran for seven seasons between 1987-1994, and was a genuine cultural phenomenon. The Original Series was more of a cult success, and the movies were certainly successful, but it wasn’t until Picard and co started boldly going that Trek truly entered the cultural mainstream.

So far we’ve had some fairly high concept shows, but TNG’s setup is quite simple. There’s a ship. It’s called the Enterprise. There are people on it. They have adventures.

Our story today is Too Short A Season, from Season 1, which was 26 episodes in total. I dunno, seems long enough to me.

So, whether you’ve boldly gone down this path before, or you’re just Star Trek-curious, get yourself a cup of Earl Grey, hot, and join me on this journey.

We open with Captain Jean-Luc Picard narrating his Captain’s Log, that the Enterprise has been assigned to pick up and escort Admiral Mark Jameson to negotiate a hostage crisis on the planet Mordan IV. 

Jameson is an 85 year old wheelchair bound man, being played by a 30 year old man in a pretty shoddy makeup job. To be honest, I’m not very interested in critiquing that aspect. I’ve seen enough shoddy sci-fi effects to find them kinda charming. A much fairer criticism is of Clayton Rohner’s old man acting, where he’s engaging in just about every cliche of a young actor playing an old character. It’s a little much, even for me.

With Jameson on the bridge, Picard mentions that he’ll need to undergo a medical procedure, which Jameson isn’t fond of, but Picard insists it’s a routine procedure. Gee, I wonder if this is foreshadowing. The governor of Mordan IV, a man named Karnas, calls the Enterprise and says that if Jameson isn’t present, the terrorists will kill the hostages. Picard discusses the call with Jameson and his crew, with Counsellor Troi saying that she detects that Karnas is holding something back. Here, Jameson shows his shrewdness by giving a pretty incisive read on Karnas. Don’t underestimate your elders, kids, they’ve picked up a few things.

Medical Officer’s Note: Troi is a Betazoid-Human hybrid. Betazoids look almost to humans, save the eyes, which certainly helps keep the makeup budget down. They’re also telepathic, which would be a super handy power for a counsellor to have. Sadly, Troi lacks this due to her human heritage and instead possesses an empathic sense. Luckily, it can even span lightyears if she’s having a space zoom call.

Now, time to repeat the previous scene in a new location. They’re in Picard’s ready room, a little office just off the bridge, talking about what the terrorists could want. Lt Commander Data posits that they’re unhappy with Karnas’ leadership, and want to join the Federation. Jameson instead suggests that they want the Federation to arm them so they can restart the civil war that devastated their planet. A civil war, you say? Gee, I wonder if that’s foreshadowing.

Jameson goes back to his quarters where his wife Anne is waiting. She notes that he’s looking stronger and healthier since they came onto the ship, but Jameson gets a sharp pain in his chest. Anne wants to call sickbay, but Jameson insists that it’s a complication of his medical condition, although Anne doesn’t seem completely convinced. Gee, I wonder if this bit is getting old yet.

Speaking of sickbay, Doctor Crusher (who is Picard’s situationship, to make an understatement) has an important issue to bring to Picard’s attention. See, Jameson sent over the results of a medical examination from two days ago, so clearly he doesn’t need a checkup. Except, these results are two months old, not two days. Picard suggests it could just be an age related slipup and accidentally insults Crusher, before backpedalling and asking her to observe Jameson from the bridge for the next few days.

Back on the bridge, Picard offers Jameson the chance to pilot the ship for a while, and Jameson surprises everybody by getting up and walking the length of the bridge to the Conn. He puts this down to some new therapy he’s been doing lately, but Crusher takes Picard aside and says that’s simply not possible. Jameson’s condition is irreversible, and there is no therapy that can roll back the effects.

That night when he returns to his quarters, Jameson’s not only up and walking about, he’s trying to get frisky with Anne. She remarks that he’s even looking younger, which he is, thanks to a relaxed makeup job. Before they do the do though, Jameson’s pain flares up again and this time Anne does call sickbay.

Crusher is flummoxed, and tells Picard as much. Jameson must have ingested some kind of wonder drug that’s not only reversing his ageing, it’s also cured his incurable Iverson’s Disease.

An even younger Jameson, swaggering about his quarters with the energy of youth, tells Picard just how he managed this turnabout. He visited the remote planet of Cerebus III in search of a mythical drug. Turns out it’s real, and Jameson procured two samples, one for him and one for Anne. There’s a few caveats, however. You have to tailor the doses to the individual, and take them over the course of months. But when Jameson got the call, he decided to take both samples as is.

Anne hates that he’s kept all these secrets from her, and gone to such extremes just assuming that he’s right. Picard is more concerned with why Jameson felt it so necessary, which Jameson pointedly doesn’t answer.

Later, from a darkened meeting room where we can’t see Jameson’s face, Jameson calls Karnas to ask more questions about the terrorists. Pretty quick, Jameson starts to realise there are no terrorists, and Karnas is the hostage taker, wanting revenge on Jameson for some unspecified reason.

He goes to the bridge, looking quite young by now, where he orders the ship to speed up. This is, notably, Jameson overstepping his bounds. See, something I glossed over earlier is that they make a point of saying that Jameson is in charge of the mission and any away teams, but Picard is still in command of the ship itself. So Picard pushes back, and Jameson tells him he plans to personally lead an armed rescue team to free the hostages.

We transition to a shot of Jameson in the captain’s seat as he goes through his plan with Picard, who urges a more cautious approach. Jameson’s ego, anger, and magic space drug induced mania are clearly driving his actions here.

Anne, meanwhile, is talking to Troi & Crusher about how hurt and betrayed she feels. A particular sticking point for her is that Jameson gets to live his life anew, while she’s still an old woman. Crusher has to break it to Anne that, actually, the drug is killing Jameson.

We’re in another darkened meeting room now, with Picard coming to get some answers out of Jameson. See, Jameson had previously negotiated a hostage crisis on Mordan IV, where he famously talked down none other than Karnas himself. While Jameson did manage an impressive victory, the planet soon descended into 40 years of civil war with Karnas as one of the leaders.

At least, that’s the official story. Karnas wanted Federation weapons to wipe out his rivals with. Jameson agreed, but then secretly armed the other side with the same weapons. This was his interpretation of the Prime Directive - though he had interfered, he’d left the situation equal. Unfortunately, those weapons formed the core of the bloody civil war that engulfed Mordan IV. That’s Karnas’ motivation, revenge against the man who made their war quite so bloody.

First Officer’s Note: The Prime Directive is a very important and famously inconsistent piece of Star Trek lore. It’s actually two directives - 1) do not interfere with the development of a culture that has not reached a certain level of technological development 2) do not interfere with the internal affairs of civilisations that have reached that point - the problem is that it’s never kept consistent, and characters and stories will interpret it wildly different over the years.

Picard tries to mollify Jameson’s guilt, even though he’s clearly in the wrong. Jameson, rightfully, realises that the deaths of millions are on his head, and says he sees this as his do-over. So this time, he’s going in guns blazing.

With the away team ready to beam down, Picard makes it clear he’s not happy with this plan. Tough titties, Jameson says, you can’t stop me. I can’t, Picard replies, but I can go with you. So Picard beams down with Jameson and the team. 

They arrive in a series of tunnels underneath the city. Jameson insists that he knows a direct route to Karnas’ palace, but Data says their scans show no such passage. Jameson insists, and when they reach a dead end where an open connection should be, they’re forced to cut a hole in the wall with their phasers to proceed. 

Karnas predicted something like this, however. Gee it’s almost like he’s a leader with forty years of wartime experience or something. A large group of soldiers set on the away team, forcing a firefight. The team is pinned down, and Jameson’s pain returns. Picard takes charge and orders an immediate transport back to the Enterprise.

On the bridge, Karnas calls up, livid over the attack, and says he’ll start killing hostages if Jameson isn’t beamed down in ten minutes. Jameson is dying, but insists he be sent down to try to set things right.

Karnas, of course, doesn’t believe that this shaking and shivering young man really is Jameson, and Picard has to try to convince him. Even with Jameson’s intimate knowledge of what happened 40 years ago, it’s a no-go.

Crusher says that Jameson is fading fast, and Anne should beam down so they can say their goodbyes. Picard allows it, and tries to show evidence of Jameson’s regression, in the form of a series of still photos. Somehow, this doesn’t work. Nor does a great big Picard speech. What does is Karnas insisting on seeing “the scar”, which Jameson shows him.

Instead of shooting him, Karnas decides that letting him live out his life in this terrible pain is much more fitting. It takes maybe a minute or two, and Jameson gets to spend a few sweet moments with Anne before he dies.

Karnas releases the hostages, and Jameson is buried on Mordan IV.

So, did y’all realise that the entire plot changed partway through there? Jameson’s ageing turning him manic and arrogant goes completely out the window when he calls Karnas, and instead becomes a story about war crimes and redemption. It’s an odd switch, and one that doesn’t work.

Either approach is fine, and fertile ground for a Star Trek story, but trying to do both means that one story doesn’t get an ending and the second is underexplored. 

There’s not a lot for anybody not named Picard or Jameson to do in this story, it’s less an ensemble piece and more a story all about its guest. I mentioned Picard, Crusher, Data, and Troi, but I didn’t even mention Worf, Riker, La Forge, or Yar, who all do appear in this episode and do get a few lines.

The other major problem is that, when it does turn into a political drama, it’s curiously unwilling to take a firm stance. Our lead, Picard, tries to defend him, and Karnas is shown to be in the wrong, if only in his actions if not his feelings. It’s a very late 90’s “end of history” viewpoint.

Common wisdom is that every Trek show from this period has a weak first two seasons. It’s hard to refute that, but for all its flaws, Too Short A Season is still one of the better stories of this inaugural season. While it’s not a waste of your time, there’s certainly a lot better you could do with this franchise.

Like, hopefully, our next episode. Great Wheel of Trek, don’t fail me now.

Ho boy, we’re gonna have to talk about Chakotay.