#your emotions have an echo

[hello-eeveev]

I LOVED how silly Fjord and Jester were in the one shot. One of the (many) things that draws me to Fjorester is that Fjord never got much of a chance to be a kid, what with the sweatshops and the child labor, meanwhile Jester had a childhood that allowed her to hold onto a lot of her joy and innocence.

Throughout c2, we saw Fjord loosen up a lot and allow himself to engage more and more genuinely with the antics of the m9, and it was really awesome to see him 7 years down the line, fully leaning into playing when he wants to. Instead of putting on an accent that he thinks will make people listen to him, he’s dressed like a pulp romance hero and still runs a whole shipping company with 3 (4? I don’t remember) ships because he’s a good sailor, a good captain, and a good leader. He doesn’t bat an eye when Jester calls him Admiral and does the eyebrows and the voice; he responds equally dramatically with “yes, my love!” and I don’t think an early- or even mid-campaign Fjord would have been able to do that. But now! Now he gets to play! And I love that for him!!!

[thisfuckingdork]

Jenna Begay, one of the most emotionally intelligent/repressed people in town

[oneluckydragon]

Thinking about how these two met. Get adopted, idiot.

More human!Echo.

[vaugarde]

havent seen this take in a while thankfully but it popped up in my head and i wanna post this anyways. i think everyone who talks about how siffrin “got off too easy” at the end of isat and his friends should have abandoned him should go read warrior cats if they want an example of a character using their trauma as their god-given jailbreak card to treat their family and peers (a good amount of whom who were completely innocent) like dogshit, and who faces zero consequences from the narrative for it (and in fact bends over to blame their peers). like read all the shit jayfeather does while the narrative sobs over how tragic but awesome and quirky he is and then look me in the eye and tell me siffrin’s ending was poorly written.

[spocks-kaathyra]

I despise any narrative that positions social progressivism as a western concept. why is every immigrant narrative about escaping from the terrible inherent conservatism of the backwards culture your family comes from and being saved by america's unique progressivism. just this disgusting pinkwashing that is exactly the same as any other narrative claiming that the west invented civilization and all those third world barbarians are only just now beginning to learn it from them. america's enemies do not have a monopoly on social conservatism. white people did not invent queer acceptance or anything else of value. death to america idk

[vaguely-concerned]

just going about my day idly contemplating how some of the ways hawke can interact with a romanced anders are not at all unlike how they interact with leandra (and a bit of carver too, especially with a purple hawke), and then thought about my hawke in the timeline where he romances anders and was hit straight in the face with 'was he ever actually in love, or was he just desperately trying to renegotiate with his mother's ghost in any way he could' and now i need to lie down. this is the power of dragon age 2

[practically-an-x-man]

THEY BRING TAI LUNG BACK JUST TO 'STEAL HIS KUNG FU'??? Excuse me???

[lem-argentum]

reminiscing on when i was playing end.walker and got through all the heartwarming scenes before boarding the ragnarok andnh then they justj killed th.ancred instantly

[yaminerua]

I was thinking of the parallel universe again and of a scenario where the two Rimmers have a parallel experience of leaving and then trying to come back home. So Arnold and Arlene Rimmer both leave their respective home dimensions, having been recruited to become the next Ace at the same time, and then at some later point they both decide screw this I wanna go home, so they try to go home but the closest they manage to get is each other’s dimensions. Arnold ends up in Arlene’s dimension, the same one he and the others visited all those years ago and where Jim and Bexley have been ever since Lister had to give them up, while Arlene has landed in his.

At first it seems like the worst outcome. So close and yet not close enough but then Rimmer remembers the Holly Hop Drive and wonders if this universe has an equivalent. It does. Hilly had made a Hilly Hop Drive back then too but it had never been used bc the Boys from the Dwarf had beaten them to it with their similar contraption.

So it might be possible to jump the final distance home after all.

They dig it out of where it was stored and set it up and press the button and sure enough there’s another Red Dwarf, just like before, only this time Rimmer knows it’s home he’s looking at.

They all travel across in Starbug and are tremendously surprised to find that Arlene is there, on the other ship still dressed in the Ace flight suit like Rimmer himself.

So it’s a big old reunion convergence point. The two Rimmers returning to their original Listers at the same time. And also with the added emotional bonus of Lister getting to see his sons again, now all grown up, for the first time since he had to give them up.

[nebulaleaf]

heehee hoo hoo procrastinating things so i rant here

[noxtivagus]

oh my god . endwalker 🥹

[hamletthedane]

I was meeting a client at a famous museum’s lounge for lunch (fancy, I know) and had an hour to kill afterwards so I joined the first random docent tour I could find. The woman who took us around was a great-grandmother from the Bronx “back when that was nothing to brag about” and she was doing a talk on alternative mediums within art.

What I thought that meant: telling us about unique sculpture materials and paint mixtures.

What that actually meant: an 84yo woman gingerly holding a beautifully beaded and embroidered dress (apparently from Ukraine and at least 200 years old) and, with tears in her eyes, showing how each individual thread was spun by hand and weaved into place on a cottage floor loom, with bright blue silk embroidery thread and hand-blown beads intricately piercing the work of other labor for days upon days, as the labor of a dozen talented people came together to make something so beautiful for a village girl’s wedding day.

What it also meant: in 1948, a young girl lived in a cramped tenement-like third floor apartment in Manhattan, with a father who had just joined them after not having been allowed to escape through Poland with his pregnant wife nine years earlier. She sits in her father’s lap and watches with wide, quiet eyes as her mother’s deft hands fly across fabric with bright blue silk thread (echoing hands from over a century years earlier). Thread that her mother had salvaged from white embroidery scraps at the tailor’s shop where she worked and spent the last few days carefully dying in the kitchen sink and drying on the roof.

The dress is in the traditional Hungarian fashion and is folded across her mother’s lap: her mother doesn’t had a pattern, but she doesn’t need one to make her daughter’s dress for the fifth grade dance. The dress would end up differing significantly from the pure white, petticoated first communion dresses worn by her daughter’s majority-Catholic classmates, but the young girl would love it all the more for its uniqueness and bright blue thread.

And now, that same young girl (and maybe also the villager from 19th century Ukraine) stands in front of us, trying not to clutch the old fabric too hard as her voice shakes with the emotion of all the love and humanity that is poured into the labor of art. The village girl and the girl in the Bronx were very different people: different centuries, different religions, different ages, and different continents. But the love in the stitches and beads on their dresses was the same. And she tells us that when we look at the labor of art, we don’t just see the work to create that piece - we see the labor of our own creations and the creations of others for us, and the value in something so seemingly frivolous.

But, maybe more importantly, she says that we only admire this piece in a museum because it happened to survive the love of the wearer and those who owned it afterwards, but there have been quite literally billions of small, quiet works of art in billions of small, quiet homes all over the world, for millennia. That your grandmother’s quilt is used as a picnic blanket just as Van Gogh’s works hung in his poor friends’ hallways. That your father’s hand-painted model plane sets are displayed in your parents’ livingroom as Grecian vases are displayed in museums. That your older sister’s engineering drawings in a steady, fine-lined hand are akin to Da Vinci’s scribbles of flying machines.

I don’t think there’s any dramatic conclusions to be drawn from these thoughts - they’ve been echoed by thousands of other people across the centuries. However, if you ever feel bad for spending all of your time sewing, knitting, drawing, building lego sets, or whatever else - especially if you feel like you have to somehow monetize or show off your work online to justify your labor - please know that there’s an 84yo museum docent in the Bronx who would cry simply at the thought of you spending so much effort to quietly create something that’s beautiful to you.

[disconinjacircus]

I’m not accepting feedback at this time

(Yes, yes I am, I desperately want attention and outside validation to fill the void)

[vaugarde]

sorry ive been a negative nancy abt ranger 1 so far, dont mean to be, but man im not looking forwards to the subtle misogyny in this series

[thebutchprinxe]

my dad just sold his townhouse (my primary residence for the past ? year ish ?), feeling very :/