#Temporal Reverie

[esther-dot]

Jonsa Reunion

Safe and Sound 1k (I just have to highlight that this was posted in 2014)

Sansa escapes Baelish and finds her way to Castle Black.

Kiss of Undeath ficlet by @haraways

Sansa brings Jon back with a kiss.

Without You I Am Nothing 1k by @asbestosmouth

Castle Black is monochrome, but Sansa blazes like the fires of Rh'llor. Jon cannot help but burn.

Gifsets: Jonsa Hug by @joanna-lannister, Jonsa Hug by @c-sand, The Girl in Grey, Jonsa Hug 1, 2 by @kitnjon

Art: Jonsa Hug, Jonsa Hug by @vierverdeen, Jonsa Hug by @themarmic

Jon Comes Back Wrong

grave-dirt 3k by @charmtion

The edge of the world. The yawning dark. In his chest, a strange sluggish beat.

back in the pulse 2k WIP by @chispas-and-broken-bindings

(Who are you?) A dead man. A monster. The mistake of many and one. (And what have you lost?) Everything. (And what have you found?) You. (And what will you do with me?) Protect you. Always.

Made of Echos and Ice 1k by @thewolvescalledmehome

Ever since coming down from the Eyrie, Sansa has had the same dream. A wolf with white paws pacing in the snow. When she learns of the betrayal at the Wall, Sansa decides to do something about her dream.

i fall to pieces (when i'm with you) 70k by usuallysunny

"Go North. Only North. Jon is Lord Commander at the Castle Black. He'll help you." He'd had good intentions, this broken shadow of a man who used to be Theon, and he couldn't have known. Sansa finds a Lord Commander at Castle Black. He has steel-grey eyes, her father's eyes, and a dark beard framing a strong jaw, and he looks and sounds and moves like Jon... But he's not Jon.

Always Her ficlet by @temporal-tempest

Jon Snow came back darker, unreachable until her hand touched his face. This is what happens when you threaten that which has become the only warmth in a dark heart.

At Castle Black

My eyes were wide open 10k by @eruherdiriel

She hesitates, then reaches for his free hand, his other still tangled in Ghost’s fur. Their palms meet, hers warm against his chilly one, and the relief that rushes through him at her touch almost makes him close his eyes and forget the throbbing pain. “Do you remember what happened?” All he recalls are knives in the dark and cold, bitter cold. * It is in dreams that Jon begins to remember who he is.

Kisses Remembered, Kisses Forgotten 2k by QueenOfSloths

She remembers the kiss that he took. The only thing she doesn’t remember is him taking it. There are times when she is almost certain that she gave it willingly.

'cause i know that it's delicate 4k by @noqueenbutthequeeninthenorth

Set during "Book of the Stranger," immediately after Sansa arrives at the Wall. He goes to build the fire back up, and for a few minutes he stays silent, kneeling at the hearth, not looking at her. Finally he clears his throat. “I know,” he begins, “it’s not exactly what you’re used to — ” “You’d be surprised what I’m used to.”

make your fingers soft and light 10k by @ladyalice101

Jon goes quiet again, and his hand retracts, but just as quickly he is touching her again, oil on his fingers. He works methodically, moving from one wound to the next, one scar to another, from the base of her back to the top of her spine. It’s so gentle, so caring, and the longer it goes on the more Sansa relaxes, the safer she feels. Her eyes dip close under his rhythmic ministrations, and her mind goes blank, and she starts to feel the familiar lull of sleep edge around her mind. “This is supposed to make the scars fade?” Jon asks as he finishes up, his warm hands leaving her back, making her feel cold and startling her from her reverie. “Yes.” She isn’t sure she imagines the tightness in his voice when he speaks again. “If you are to do this every night, then I will gladly assist you.” // Jon rubs a soothing balm into Sansa's scars every night. But that's it. Nothing more. Definitely not. He's just there to help her do what she can't do herself.

as the night came down in a Nordic sky ficlet by @miazeklos

During her first night in Castle Black, Sansa reunites with the true North, and Jon welcomes her home.

Cold Nights at Castle Black ficlet by @estherruth-jonsatrash

They were grown now, childhood behind them. Yet they had been sharing a bed more like children, with the cold at Castle Black leaving them in need of warmth. At least at first.

How I wish you would take me for granted ficlet by @trollslanda

Sometimes her hands would shake- Solely in private, when she broke her quiet surface to gasp for air. Around others she still had a mental block, passively guarding her, bringing out the Stark iron. It made her keep her back straight and eyes steady, put up a solid front. Sometimes it felt like she was rusting from the inside and her brittle bones would never be whole again. --- Set shortly after Sansa has arrived at Castle Black, when she's still learning to feel safe. As it turns out, Jon is really good at that kind of thing.

Remedy ficlet by @wildflower-daydreamer

The night Jon and Sansa reunite at Castle Black.

To break and to mend ficlet @dreams-for-spring

In those moments nothing else matters and they forget what they have lost; in those moments they are more than the sum of their broken parts.

In the quiet of the night 4k by dreams-for-spring

It becomes a habit; each night she unlatches her chamber door, and each night Jon enters just as bashfully as before. Some nights he brings terrible sour wine, and others bitter ale for them to share as they sit around the hearth speaking of everything that has happened–everything except what has passed between him and his black brothers. She knows that is a topic he is not ready to share. Still, she does not find sleep when he leaves, but at least for those brief hours she is not alone, and something small inside of her begins to burn brighter with each night that passes. She tries to ignore the voice that tells her it is hope; hope is a dangerous thing for people like them.

Tous Deux On est Repartis dans le Tourbillon de la Vie 1k by @melimelo-ao3

He couldn’t even begin to picture what she had endured, what she had lived through. Yet, hearing her pleading in the night, he would give anything to know, to be able to understand her, to soothe her. He had only ever wanted to soothe her.

Gifsets: Where Will We Go by c-sand, Brienne Reacts to Jonsa, New Dress by @jonstarks How Could We Know, Sansa Tries Ale, Where Will We Go, Sansa Making Jon's Cloak, I Made This for You by kitnjon

Traveling the North

Five Times They Touch 1k by @justchunkit

She doesn’t touch him for days. Weeks. They travel from keep to stronghold, living in close quarters as they’d never done even as children. She is so close, but an icy veneer has covered the exhausted girl he’d started to know, and they can hardly exchange a good morning without it evolving into an argument.

Some Love Stories Need a Little Help 2k @graceverse

Or how Tormund effectively makes Jon share a tent with Sansa

Unnatural 2k by @amymel86

Once he is close enough, she leaps at him, arms wrapping him up and his nose buried in her copper hair. The shuddering exhale he expels is the most amount of sound he’s made in days but all he can hear is Sansa’s sniffling and the way their two hearts talk to one another in beats of the same song.

Gifsets: Arguing, Eye Contact, Jon Reacting to Sansa by jonstarks Side by Side by @baelerion

Pre Battle of the Bastards

we may only have this night 2k by wearycities

She summoned an image of Jon in her mind. When he saw her, at Castle Black. His eyes, his face. His hands letting go of the railing, like it had burned him. She could not stop thinking about his hands. She had turned the memory over and over in her mind on countless sleepless nights, wondering what it meant. After her argument with Jon the night before the Battle of the Bastards, Sansa returned to his tent.

The Madness of Dead and Broken Things 1k by @estherruth-jonsatrash

The first time, Jon tells himself it’s the last time. Jon gives into his feelings for Sansa the night before the Battle of the Bastards, telling himself he'll die the next day. He isn't prepared for the after of survival.

the night before the fight ficlet by @sailorshadzter

jon & sansa spend a night together before the battle of the bastards. pre parental reveal hookup, read at your own risk. nsfw.

Before the Storm 1k

Snowflakes fell from the grey sky, covering the ground in white even more than it already was. Grey and white, Sansa thought to herself. The Stark colors.

A gaze across a field 1, 2 ficlets by fedonciadale

Sansa's thoughts as she contemplates the possible outcome of the battle.

Gifsets: Arguing, You Don't Have to Be Here, I'll protect You I Promise by jonstarks, Pre and During BotB by baelerion, Jon Pummeling Ramsay by kitnjon, Jon Pummeling Ramsay by c-sand

Post Battle of the Bastards

Bloodstains and Stitches Chapter 1 and 2 by @trollslanda

Two scenes set after Battle of the Bastards: 1. In the courtyard, Jons pov. Post-battle calmdown and fluff I guess but also there's dead bodies and stuff. I dunno. 2. Sansa cleaning his wounds and stitching him up, her pov. A pretty sweet scene where they get a moment to breathe.

A Little Friction ficlet by @justchunkit

“You don’t know anything about me.” “Because you won’t tell me anything!” After the Battle of the Bastards, Jon and Sansa try to get to know each other.

Of Justice and Ghosts 1k by @lurikko

He knows his sister is watching him carefully like they are the only two humans left in the world, as they in a way are, and that makes his every remaining piece crumble.

Ghosts that We Knew 7k @the-prophet-lemonade

In the wake of the Battle of the Bastards, and the proclamation of the North's fealty to the Starks once more, Jon and Sansa see the ghosts of their family all-around. Sometimes, it becomes difficult to separate the past from the present when so many that they love are dead. A series of vignettes based around "nostalgia", and Jon & Sansa compared to Ned & Catelyn and the rest of their family.

they say that we’re out of control and some say we’re sinners 14k

Doesn’t have enough time to reminisce on the past because she’s turned around, and he’s seen her face, and it’s her. Can’t be anyone but her even underneath all that smudged dirt on her pale cheeks. Would know the red of her hair anywhere, he thinks. Doesn’t linger on the why, and instead descends down the steps and towards her. She’s turned her body so she’s facing him now, her eyes tracking his every move, his doing the same. They’re so in sync it’s terrifying, really.

Five Kisses 1k by @ben-barnes-is-my-husband

The five kisses that Jon and Sansa have shared.

Undisclosed Desires 4k Nina36

“Why did you stop?” She asked. I was ashamed. He was yours. I was terrified that you saw who I am. He was yours to kill. It was what you needed.

bet you didn't know that i was dangerous 4k by @ladyalice101

“I mean that your brother took a woman to bed, and when he had his way with her, he said your name into her ear over and over again.” // In which Littlefinger tests for Jon's weaknesses, and discovers a secret.

Soiled 5k by @orangeflavoryawp

"'Talk to me, Sansa,' he pleads, voice wavering, and she shuts her eyes to the sound. Like a gale. Like a mountain coming down. This is how it empties from her. 'What do you want me to say?"' she bites out, voice quaking." - Jon and Sansa. The start of their descent.

Dark in Bloom 8k by orangeflavoryawp

"His gravity wavers, the axis of his world tilted to the measure of her lips." - Jon and Sansa. The stain of desire bleeds slowly between them.

Hallowed 5k by orangeflavoryawp

“’Tell me,’ he growls, more demand than he’s ever given her – crown or not – and the feeling is heady in its fervency. Sansa stares him down, mouth a harsh frown. She doesn’t resist his hold, doesn’t ease into it either. ‘He says your affections for me aren’t… brotherly.’” - Jon and Sansa. An encounter with Lord Baelish brings the truth of their desires to light.

but still you stumble, feet give way, outside the world seems a violent place 3k by @parkersedith

When she looks at him, she cannot see anyone other than Jon, especially with him wearing a simple breeches and tunic, divested of all ornaments, even Longclaw. She can only see Jon, not her bastard half-brother, not the King in the North, not the Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch, not a wildling, but only Jon, the Jon who took Winterfell back with her, the Jon who fought their battle, the Jon who has been there, at her side, ever since she found him again. or; instead of roaming winterfell when she cannot sleep, sansa goes to jon, and to jon's bed. it's not quite as illicit as it sounds, and gives them a chance to finally, truly, talk

In the quiet of the night 4k by @dreams-for-spring

It becomes a habit; each night she unlatches her chamber door, and each night Jon enters just as bashfully as before. Some nights he brings terrible sour wine, and others bitter ale for them to share as they sit around the hearth speaking of everything that has happened–everything except what has passed between him and his black brothers. She knows that is a topic he is not ready to share. Still, she does not find sleep when he leaves, but at least for those brief hours she is not alone, and something small inside of her begins to burn brighter with each night that passes. She tries to ignore the voice that tells her it is hope; hope is a dangerous thing for people like them.

love is more than telling me you want it 2k

When he smiles at her, she feels warmth flooding back into her bones. She’d almost forgotten what it feels like, she’s been cold for so long. Sansa and Jon learn to be something other than ships passing in the night.

Gifsets: Jon Looking at Sansa by jonstarks, Sansa Looking at Jon by baelerion, Forehead Kiss by joanna-lannister, Winter Is Here by kitnjon, Forehead Kiss by c-sand

PRE CANON - WESTERN - FAIRYTALES - REGENCY - LITTLE WOMEN - HOLIDAY - next week -> ANNE OF GREEN GABLES

[saunne]

HSR THEORIES - PENACONY ANALYSIS

I guess I'm late to the game, but I'm normally a lore gremlin for Xianzhou lore, not Penacony lore. Anyways, don't expect something very elaborate, but you'll be able to find :

Reflection on the period based on history (Penal Colony)

Reflection on the period based on fashion (NPC in trailers)

Reflection on the period based on architecture (Art Deco)

Reflection on the period based on cultural shift (Railway Mania, Department Stores)

Reflection on lore based on Literature (Jules Vernes, Herman Melville)

Reflection on lore based on Philosophy (Idealism, Utilitarianism, Transcendental Idealism)

Everything under the cut as always since I tend to babble.

The name "Penacony" possibly comes from the phrase "penal colony".

I'm certainly not the first to make the connection, but "Penal Colony" inevitably brings to mind Australia. This idea of "Space Australia" is also reinforced by the names for the characters we know at the moment, with a very clear English etymology : Sunday, Robin, Gallagher, Firefly.

The use of Australia as a "penal colony" by England took place after the American War of Independence, so we start with a period around 1780 to ~1870.

We didn't get to see a lot of NPC outfits in this very short clip, but what little there is could actually correspond to a period like this. However, we had a little more hints in Honkai Star Rail - Penacony Trailer | Game Awards 2023, where we see Acheron at the reception of the Reverie hotel :

This NPC in particular is interesting, because of her gloves. It's called "evening gloves" or "opera gloves". They were popular during the Napoleonic period (1800-1825) but were also very fashionable in the last two decades of the 19th century, i.e. 1880-1900 and before WWI, i.e up to 1910.

In terms of temporality, it is also important to note what concerns the architecture of Penacony.

It was noted on Reddit that the style of architecture could be reminiscent of the French Art Deco style, an architectural movement predominant in the 1910s to 1920s. Art Deco is said to have represented "luxury, glamour, exuberance, and faith in social and technological progress", so quite fitting for Penacony. Key features were : geometric/sleek designs, bold colors, luxurious materials, things that we find in the previews.

We'll have to wait to see more from Penacony, but it might be interesting to see if there is also any inspiration from the previous movement, Art Nouveau 🤔

Another architectural thing :

Look up and see the metal tracks crisscrossing the skyscrapers and the Spheroids rapidly rolling along them. They are the most visible means of transportation in this dreamscape metropolis and guide guests to each and every place around the city. [x]

This part about the Spheroids is interesting, because during this period (starting from 1825, with a peak in the 1840s), there was in France and England what we called the Railway Mania.

This is a point of interest because the Railway Mania saw the the arrival of the railroads in Paris. When it happened, this caused another major cultural shift : the rise of Department Stores. There is even a well-known french novel on the subject, called Au Bonheur des Dames (The Ladies' Delight) by Emile Zola.

The end of the 19th century is also the period of birth of modern advertising and given the number of things that we see plastered all over Penacony, I think I can say that we are on the right track/period.

So, in terms of rough "era", we can go from 1780 to ~1920, so mostly the 19th century (1800-1900).

Speaking of period culture and Penacony in general, we currently have a Relic Set which I will use for the rest of the post: Penacony's Dream-Seeking Tracks

Opening a window no longer show a view of the stars in the deep sky, but of the city's shifting streams of light and shadows, holding up the constant echoes of giant clocks and theaters.

Okay, let's start with some details that I only noticed because I come from a literary studies background. I'm not going to lie to you, it's far-fetched, but stay with me, I promise it's interesting.

Giant clocks and theaters made me think "steampunk" works, whose setting are often set in an alternative history of the Victorian era (~1837 to 1900, so right in our period). One of the pioneering writers of the genre, “proto-steampunk” so to speak, is Jules Vernes, considered one of the "father of science fiction".

Remember Spheroids ? : "Spheroids are regarded as both vehicles and as toys in the land of dreams. However, few remember that the Spheroids are actually imprisonment cages — the vehicle towards dreams are tools originally used for locking up prisoners."

One of Jules Vernes' best-known novels is Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Seas, a science-fiction aventure novel the majority of which takes place aboard the Nautilus, a submarine belonging to Captain Nemo. And interesting thing, "he also tells his new passengers that his secret existence means he cannot let them leave — they must remain on board permanently" ; They are prisoners in the Nautilus.

On another point, Jules Vernes is also considered as having had a strong influence on the surrealist movement "in which artists depicted unnerving, illogical scenes and developed techniques to allow the unconscious mind to express itself. Its aim was, according to leader André Breton, to "resolve the previously contradictory conditions of dream and reality into an absolute reality, a super-reality", or surreality"." Quite fitting for our dream planet.

For the next one... Well. I have no excuse for this one, it's even more far-fetched. But so, we remain in the literary universe.

The water from the spring turn into a giant whale and swim through the halls.

Giant whale made me think of one thing almost immediately : Moby Dick, by Herman Mellville, published in 1851 (once again in our era of interest). Moby Dick is a "sea novel" centered around the figure of the hunt of a whale. It's main themes are the limits of knowledge, fate and free will, nature and man, race, fellowship, and enslavement, madness and religion [x].

I wont copy and paste the whole shtick but I send you check again The Family description from the Data Bank.

With that, we're done with literature... so it's time to move on to something else wonderful and terrible, the greatest enemy of my high school years (when you have to do it for 8 hours a week, it quickly becomes tiring), I named: PHILOSOPHY.

For a transcendent experience, for an inspirational excitement, for the soothing of worries and wounds — guests of the highest caliber come to surrender their pain in exchange for peace and tranquility

I'm not going to dwell on that for too long, quite honestly. I'll just... put that here for you to do whatever the fuck you want with it.

Idealism : "Idealism in philosophy, also known as philosophical idealism or metaphysical idealism, is the set of metaphysical perspectives asserting that, most fundamentally, reality is equivalent to mind, spirit, or consciousness; that reality is entirely a mental construct; or that ideas are the highest form of reality or have the greatest claim to being considered "real"

At some unknown point in time, the small cells cut off access to reality, but people's consciousnesses became linked in dreams. In the midnight bell, that shared dream seemed so real, reflecting the sheer hypocrisy of reality.

Utilitarianism : "a family of normative ethical theories that prescribe actions that maximize happiness and well-being for the affected individuals. In other words, utilitarian ideas encourage actions that ensure the greatest good for the greatest number."

Those who follow the "Harmony" Path admire understanding, support, and cooperative behavior.

In addition to all previously "said", one of the greatest thinkers of the time, who is also the one at the origin of the definition of transcendent, is Immanuel Kant. His best known work is Critique of Pure Reason (1781), with which "he aims to reach a decision about "the possibility or impossibility of metaphysics".

Metaphysics "is the branch of philosophy that studies the fundamental nature of reality. This includes the first principles of: being or existence, identity, change, space and time, cause and effect, necessity, actuality, and possibility."

This work was the founding work of a philosophical doctrine known under the name of Transcendental Idealism. I'll spare you the convoluted explanations but look at that :

The scenery gradually becomes more and more incredulous, and the senses feel as if one has been lifted by silk. [...] The guests finally realize that they were never awake, but are instead witnessing Penacony's true nature in a dream — a place where time stops in a neverending dreamscape.

"Kant means that his philosophical approach to knowledge transcends mere consideration of sensory evidence and requires an understanding of the mind's innate modes of processing that sensory evidence".

"Kant outlines how space and time are pure forms of human intuition contributed by our own faculty of sensibility. Space and time do not have an existence "outside" of us, but are the "subjective" forms of our sensibility".

[philly-cityboy]

In the retrospective corridors of memory,

I recollect vividly, amidst a somber reverie,

The final glimpse of your countenance, so dear,

Imprinted within, remarkably clear.

The ultimate occasion your radiant smile adorned,

Illuminating surroundings, joyfully adorned.

A recollection clung to fervently, never to tire,

A beacon of light amidst melancholic mire.

The last encounter with your gentle caress,

A cherished moment, bereft of excess.

In that tender embrace, solace was found,

Now yearning for its warmth, profound.

And the ultimate intertwining of our love's embrace,

A harmonious symphony, passion's grace.

In that union, our spirits did align,

Forever captured, in the tapestry of time.

Though temporal tides may erode, and recollections blur,

The final sight of your visage, endures.

Enshrined within memory's sanctum, steadfast,

A treasure of love's legacy, everlast.

[magicwingslisten]

I live continually in a reverie of the future. I have no faith in human perfectibility. I think that human exertion will have no appreciable effect upon humanity. Man is now only more active — not more happy — nor more wise, than he was 6000 years ago. The result will never vary — and to suppose that it will, is to suppose that the foregone man has lived in vain — that the foregone time is but the rudiment of the future — that the myriads who have perished have not been upon equal footing with ourselves — nor are we with our posterity. I cannot agree to lose sight of man the individual, in man the mass.... You speak of “an estimate of my life” — and, from what I have already said, you will see that I have none to give. I have been too deeply conscious of the mutability and evanescence of temporal things, to give any continuous effort to anything — to be consistent in anything. My life has been whim — impulse — passion — a longing for solitude — a scorn of all things present, in an earnest desire for the future.

Edgar Allan Poe letter to James Russell Lowell — July 2, 1844 (LTR-179)

[late-to-the-fandom]

Daily Writing Challenge - February 2024

Day 3 of @daily-writing-challenge February challenge was not the fun, 30 minutes tops, carefree writing warm-up I promised myself these would be, but we got there in the end.

Day 3: Bargain - 1kish words, no warnings

The name of the sanctuary was Eon's Fringe. Another time, Renathal would have found this amusing. Now, he felt unpleasantly humbled. Heavy. His mind weighed down by the day's events and the new future they offered. Or, more accurately, the new past.

Leaving Elisewin safely sleeping, he crept out of the cramped inn and back through the small haven's vined and bejeweled archway. He nodded at the defenders on guard, who returned the gesture warily, and let his feet carry him to the stairs cut into the cliff's edge, just before the temperate autumnal forestland gave way to shifting sand.

He looked up. Truly, there was nowhere else to look. The massive, hovering platform - both too far to walk to and too tantalisingly close to ignore - commanded all eyes. And all Renathal's thoughts, as well. He only realised he was sitting when a stag beetle crawled across his hand, now resting on the smooth stone step beside him. He barely registered either sensation, preoccupied as he was.

This place… that staff… the infinite possibilities… the undeniable risks…

"I know what you're thinking."

Startled from his reverie, Renathal swiveled around and found Elisewin sitting on an upper step, watching him blandly, head propped on one hand.

"I knew you would do this. Knew you wouldn't be able to let it go."

There was no reproach in her words; no disappointment, no anger. Renathal returned his gaze to the conflux and contemplated it for another moment before replying:

"Can you?"

Elisewin did not answer, but Renathal felt the hem of her robe brush against his back as she slid closer. He swallowed - his throat was very dry; exactly how long had he sat here? - then finally spoke aloud the idea that had teased, tormented him all the last day.

"You must admit, it is a prospect certainly worthy of some consideration. Imagine - being able to stop all that conflict, that chaos from happening before it ever began. If I could overthrow Denathrius before he joined forces with the Jailer, just think how much destruction could be prevented - how much ruin undone. All those souls, gone, lost for eternity, and I - I could save them all."

Only the sudden, tentative hand on his shoulder made Renathal realise how loud his voice had risen. He broke off, inhaling sharply and superfluously through his nose, and pushed back the loose hairs that had fluttered across his face during his rant.

"Renathal," said Elisewin unaffectedly, sliding down another step to tuck herself next to him on his, "you know it wouldn't be that easy. If we learned anything from today's events, it's that. You have no idea what the repercussions would be, and that's only if you actually pulled it off. Putting aside the fact the dragons would probably catch you, you don't know when to go back to - how far back Denathrius' betrayal began. And even if you did, and by some miracle you managed it, events would likely still unfold just as they have. There are too many players involved, too many moving pieces. It's - it's just ... too enormous an event to try to change."

Elisewin's tone was patient, her arguments pragmatic. Renathal had to bite back the instinct to serve her some biting retort. She was right, and he knew it; his own better sense had run through all these same irrefutable lines of reasoning. But it made the truth no easier to bear. He remained obstinately silent, eyes still fixed on the looming temporal conflux and its tempting possibilities.

Until Elisewin added hesitantly:

"On the other hand…"

Renathal glanced down at her, surprised to find her own face turned to that enticing gold horizon.

"…I know exactly where I would need to go. And when. The exact date and time." She paused, as if debating whether or not to say any more, then continued in a breathless rush," And nothing of any real importance would be altered. Elisande would still die. It would just - just be a few weeks sooner. Everything else would be the same. No one would even have to know. The only difference would be my - my sister… she would still be alive."

"You think that is an alteration of no of importance?" asked Renathal, a slightly bitter edge to his voice. "Her death is the reason we are here at all. Had she lived, there would have been no reason for you to venture into the Shadowlands. No reason to save them - to save your allies - save me. And, certainly, no reason to stay."

"You don't know that," Elisewin argued. "I might have - there - there might have been… some way…" Her hands clenched against her robes in a sudden burst of frustration. "There has to be a way - a way to do both. To save her and you. To save everyone."

Renathal recognised the notes of desperation from his own impassioned speech. He wondered if his face had looked anything like his lover's did now: almost manic as it reflected the light of the conflux's golden glow. He shifted on the step until he was looking directly at her.

"There is... much we might save," Renathal admitted slowly. "And there is much at stake. If we managed to succeed, we risk... this moment. This existence. Is it worth it?"

He asked the question as much of Elisewin as himself.

A beat of silence pulsed between them, heavy with the memories of the last few, impossibly precious years. Then Elisewin, too, tore her eyes from the conflux and reached for Renathal's hand.

"No," she said fiercely, and gripped him like a lifeline. "No. No, it's not. Nothing is."

Some tumultuous emotion rose in Renathal's throat, and he found himself leaning in just as Elisewin looked up. Their lips met halfway. For a time that mattered more for its meaning than its minutes, they simply sat, anchoring each other to the present.

Elisewin broke first, pulling away just enough to meet Renathal's eyes.

"We need to make a pact," she said hoarsely. "A - a promise. To each other. That neither of us is going to - to run off later and - and try."

Renathal's eyebrows quirked in surprise - promises were something Elisewin very rarely offered.

"I will if you will," he agreed.

It took her a few seconds, and a deep, shuddering breath, but at last-

"I promise," she said.

Renathal nodded solemnly.

"Then, so do I."

Elisewin's smile was shaky, but her hands were not as she reached for Renathal's face and pressed her lips to his again. This was less kiss than confirmation, but no less meaningful for it. Bargain thus sealed, they sat, nestled silently together, breathing in each other's presence and the warm, tree-scented air. Then Renathal, suddenly as exhausted as if they fought some prolonged and devastating battle, stood up, pulling Elisewin with him, and together they put their backs to any other possibilities and began to climb the stairs.

[mothwingedmyths]

Cool iterator names stolen from Hawaii Part II lyrics

Delicate Dread

Sparkling Crystal Souls

Pyramids Hologrammed

Impossible Bliss

Limitless Light

Albeit Insane

Imaginary Mind

Glass Labyrinth

Free Floating Temporally

Dreamt Debris

Lucid Sense

Vast Receiving Emptiness

Reverie Endeavor

One Emotion

Invisible To Some

Outside The Sky

Every Tide (and/or Every Tide We're Around)

I might use these for something but I have no idea, and you're completely free to use them even if I do, I am very normal about this album

[apoeticmess05]

dim-lit room as sun sets in its glory,

crimson reds start to fade

charcoal grey unfurled the horizon pokily,

crumbling of papers, scribbling of pen, disappointed sighs echo around the room

sitting near the dewy windows,

wanting to scream, squeal and cry

letting alone the A4 size paper to bleed,

vanilla scented candles, melancholic Spotify playlist on loop set the aura for the thoughts to bewilder,

Next song

skipped the previous song as it didn't match the vibe,

Phir le aaya Dil plays, it's the reprise version this time,

the solemn magic, desolation and slow pitch tones led to reverie,

fragmented lines, rhyming words, long stanzas,

pain, suffering, longing, a cry to reunite was all it took for the poem to end,

Next song

Khoya plays in the background, temporal beats and vocals overshadow the somberness,

relating to the lyrics, reading in between it's lines, existential crisis hits once again,

"What if I could create a version of me who'd listen to me the way I do?" "What if I could clone myself just to treat myself the way I treat others?"

Would it be selfish? or narcissist of me?

ardent urge to create a clone, a voice in the void, a being on a barren land resulting in voraciously reading Dostoevsky forms an eerie synergy

Playlist stops

paused the songs as mom barged in the room,

hid the diary and pen under the pillow

with the uncanny thoughts to rest,

fled to normalcy hushing away the thoughts to doom

~apoeticmess

[dustedmagazine]

Dust, Volume 9, Number 11, Part 2

Eli Winter

We only get ten audio clips per post now, so we've split the Dust in two. Check out the early alphabet entries here.

Colin Miller — Haw Creek (Ruination)

Colin Miller’s songs come from far away, from a physical, temporal, emotional remove, like bits of colored memory or the line from a book that meant something once, but you now can’t quote exactly. The North Carolina-based multi-instrumentalist and home taper is connected to the Wednesday orbit, having played on and produced MJ Lenderman albums and produced Wednesday’s I Was Trying to Describe You to Someone. His own music is softer and more indefinite, but very fine. It is less like listening and more like being enveloped by a cloud. “I Don’t Love You Anymore,” for instance, has all the elements of an indie rocker: strummy guitars, punched out drums, and a catchy, tuneful melodic line. And yet it drifts in through the window like a warm breeze, gently stirring your attention as it moves the air around you. “Paper Roof,” too, buzzes with feedback and blistered bass tones, but very softly. What you notice, first, is the high yearning singing, shaded by the fuzz of lo-fi production. You wonder what these songs would sound like with clearer, more commercially viable sonics, whether they’d land with more impact or less. But here they are, gently pushed forward for you to appreciate best after repeat plays, and they are really quite good.

Jennifer Kelly

Niecy Blues — Exit Simulation (Kranky)

The reason the ol’ “this band is like x meets y” trope is both kind of reviled and yet impossible to wipe out is that as a formulation it’s both weak (unless you’re the person the comparison occurred to, chances are good you won’t hear it) and strong (how else to try and describe something as elusive as music than with something so slippery and paradoxical?). It might be better to imagine a kind of topographical map. Then you could try and chart the impossible hinterlands out where the territories of (say) Grouper, trip hop, and Kelela might converge, and somewhere around there you might find Niecy Blues’ first record. Like all such comparisons though, the intent is not to suggest Exit Simulation is mere pastiche or reducible to parts found elsewhere, but to indicate the heady and diverse contemporaries it shares an atmosphere with. Whether it’s the extended reverie of “U Care,” the hazy float of “Violently Rooted,” or the droning shuffle of “The Architect” the result is a debut of striking assurance and depth. Comparisons fail at some point; you really just have to give it a listen yourself and figure out your own map, like Blues has.

Ian Mathers

Bänz Öster and the Rainmakers — Gratitude (self-released)

This quartet consisting of Europeans Bänz Öster on double bass and Javier Vercher on sax and South Africans Afrika Mkhize on piano and Ayanda Sikade on drums delivers spiritual jazz rooted in the gentler music of Coltrane and Ra. The six long (eight to 12 minute) originals, well-recorded before an appreciative but fairly restrained audience, are uplifting and replete with sophisticated soloing, especially by Mkhize. These guys don’t break any new ground, but the grooves are infectious, and what is described in the liner notes as the “high-voltage connection between North and South” contributes to the good vibes.

Jim Marks

Pile — Hot Air Balloon EP (Exploding in Sound)

In case February’s All Fiction didn’t make it clear, the handful of songs from the same sessions that comprise the Hot Air Balloon EP should drive the point home that Pile is a band at the height of its powers. Recent live shows incorporating a few of these songs into setlists only go to further serve that the distinction between what made the cut for their latest full-length and what got left behind is virtually indistinguishable; some of Hot Air Balloon’s fun is in finding where these songs would’ve best worked their way into All Fiction’s track list. The knotty time signature changes and unexpected rock moments still weave and burst forth, and Rick Maguire’s addictive, meandering pathos carries moments you’ll be left thinking about long after it’s over; me personally, I can’t unlodge the descending chorus of “Exits Blocked” or the very specific line on “The Birds Attacked My Hot Air Balloon” where he sings, “I could see your house from here if I’d bothered to look.” It’s these stories in miniature, like Fitzgerald in The Crack-Up or Felix Feneon, that leave their mark most potently — if, of course, you’re inclined to that sort of thing.

Patrick Masterson

Taiko Saito /Michael Griener /Jan Order — WALD (Trouble In The East)

Free improvisation may be a creative space where an instrument’s baggage can be dropped, but this is easier for some than others. Given its limited and highly distinct sound, the vibraphone’s particularly hard to untether from expectation, but Taiko Saito gives it her best shot on WALD. The Sapporo-born, Berlin-based mallet-wielder, who has worked at length with Silke Eberhard and Satoko Fujii, does not totally play against expectation, but she does keep her instrument’s stylistic mandates at bay by shifting between time and no time, swing and no swing, and steering a middle course between the big wall of sound you might expect from, say, Jason Adasiewicz, and the bebop-derived suppression of resonance pursued by an earlier resonance. This CD documents her first encounter with bassist Jan Roder and drummer Michael Griener, who constitute Die Enttäuschung’s rhythm section, and that association will tell you more about their commitment to the moment than what they actually play. Each of the album’s four spontaneously realized tracks is a world unto itself in which chaos is courted, swing cultivated, or slipstreams ridden. These are woods to get lost in.

Bill Meyer

Skyphone — Oscilla (Lost Tribe Sound)

Lost Tribe Sound has been on something of a jag this year with their Maps to Where the Poison Grows series. This new installment by Danish trio Skyphone is an absorbing and succinct 32 minutes in which attention to detail, texture and instrumental interplay account for a lot. Ideas are introduced then carried through to their natural culmination, with each of the three players sounding present and laser-focused in their creative process. Live drum kit, bass, synths, piano, acoustic guitar, and a whole host of other instruments blown and struck are used to bring vivid color. Think early Mum, Opsvik & Jennings, and Kiln. Six of the seven songs here feel just right (centrepiece “Arbonaught” is especially good). It’s only on final track “Will to Change” that the introduction of heavily effected vocals knock things out of balance and breaks the spell. Elsewhere this is masterful and hypnotic stuff.

Tim Clarke

Stella Siebert/Nat Baldwin — 1.30.22 (Notice Recordings)

This live improvisation set from Stella Siebert — mixer, turntable, objects — and Nat Baldwin playing double bass celebrates special techniques and advanced sampling with chaotic jubilation. Sections are taken out of order (we never get to hear the opener), sculpting the set from free play to intentionality. The recording opens with abrupt samples alongside repeated string pressure. “4” has a bit too much piercing sine tone for my taste, but especially diverting is “9” which features crackling vinyl and ostinatos right at the edge between pitch and noise. The concluding track, “2,” is a 23-minute-long session in which Baldwin plays extended techniques against ostinato samples and handmade percussion. The previous material coalesces into an edgy opus that remains varied and imaginative throughout.

Christian Carey

Tar Of — Confidence Freaks Me Out (sound as language)

Tar Of makes music in brief, bubbly spritzes. Heavy on the keyboards, with giddy abstracted vocal parts, these cuts dance across your field of vision and disappear from view. “Ey Vaay,” the single, adds a bobbling saxophone line to the mix, caroming in from the margins as a dizzy pulse of “ba-ba-ba-ba-bas” push the track forward. “Cardinal” clicks and rattles and swells with wordless counterparts. You’ll need to take a breath when it clatters to a halt. The title track is somewhat more song-shaped, with its stabbing snare beat and woozy woodwinds; it seems to be taking on conventional verse-chorus structure when it breaks apart into vibrating, shimmering atoms. The band is a duo from Brooklyn, made up of two oddball artists—Ariyan Basu and Ramin Rahni—but the tracks have the ecstatic density of large ensemble baroque pop. More is always going on than you can really absorb, and you don’t get a lot of time to get acclimated. Blink and these tracks are over. So, don’t.

Jennifer Kelly

Håvard Wiik / Tim Daisy — Slight Return (Relay)

When pandemic protections canceled all the gigs, Tim Daisy proved particularly resourceful. He turned to musicians like Ikue Mori and Vasco Trilla to respond remotely to his drumming, recorded either before or during lockdown, and realized some intriguing music that demonstrated how improvisation is not just an aesthetic stance, but a way to address life problems. But when the shots came out and the numbers went down, he returned to stages and studios, and his relish at being able to tune into an old friend is evident throughout Slight Return. The album’s name acknowledges that Daisy and Berlin-based pianist Håvard Wiik have been together before; ten years ago, to be precise. There’s a charge to this reconnection that affirms the drummer’s excitement at being able to make new music with old acquaintances once more. It sparks a restless vibe, as the two musicians shift fluidly from restrained exploration to unbridled, jointly generated fracas.

Bill Meyer

Eli Winter — A Day Behind the Deadline (Three Lobed)

Guitarist Eli Winter's latest release continues a changing path in his musical career. His early work (meaning “from four years ago”) worked through a blend of Pauline Oliveros theory and Jack Rose solo playing. He's been steadily expanding his sound since then, working with other like-minded artists to produce music that applies the same sensibility to a bigger palette. A Day Behind the Deadline gives listeners a run-down on this movement, collecting five live tracks from fall 2019 through this spring. Winter's typical intricacy in composition now brings in drummer Tyler Damon and pedal steel guitarist Sam Wagster. The collection mostly moves away from Winter's roots aside from the closing solo acoustic “The Time to Come.” The trio tend to stretch out into odd takes on rock or even Americana (though that has more to do with the pedal steel sound that with the actual song structures). A Day Behind doesn't settle as a proper album (and isn't intended to), even if it does cohere. Instead, it plays like a photo album: here's Winter in transition from his acoustic roots to something else. He comes across as restless, looking for something new, and this release fills the gap while he finds that next thing he's looking for.

Justin Cober-Lake

99Letters — Zigoku (Phantom Limb)

Osaka producer Takahiro Kinoshita AKA 99Letters returns with a new collection of industrial techno built from unrecognizable samples of traditional Japanese music. The word Zigoku evokes “Jigoku” the Japanese Buddhist hell and whilst this album is not as dark sounding as its predecessor Makafushigi, Kinoshita says its main theme is death and the afterlife. At times you recognize the tropes of the early 1980s when elements of industrial music crossed over into early electronic dance music often with global world influences, think 23 Skidoo and Clock DVA. Occasionally the cadences of Japanese music appear, a ghostly presence of traditional, folkloric myths. But in the main, Zigoku exists in its own hermeneutic world interrogating both its sources and its environment. The contrast between modernity and tradition gives Kinoshita’s music a particular tension that is constantly building as he probes cultural and philosophic cracks, seeking to capture those small wavering shafts of hope.

Andrew Forell

[auburniivenus]

[ seductive ] a deep, slow, and deliberately intense kiss filled with passion and desire

LOVE   IS   RIGHT   NOW!   In   the   chamber's   quietude,   with   the   fading   light   casting   its   final   breath   upon   their   interconnected   souls,   they   found   themselves   encircled   in   a   tender   moment.   The   air   vibrated   with   an   amplitude   that   bore   homage   to   their   innermost   yearnings.   A   fleeting   instant,   encrypted   by   an   eternity   of   unspoken   DESIRES.   Their   lips   gravitated   towards   one   another,   as   if   magnets   drawn   by   an   inexorable   cosmic   force.   As   the   distance   between   them   ceased   to   exist,   their   breaths   melded   into   a   shared   entity,   laden   with   unspoken   confidences.   Time   lost   all   relevance,   seconds   dissolving   into   minutes   as   minutes   amalgamated   into   hours.   In   this   relinquish,   the   core   of   each   being   bloomed   with   renewed   life,   their   spirits   mingling   like   Neruda's   waves   merging   in   celestial   unison.

As   Orihime   and   Ichigo's   lips   met,   an   urgency   consumed   their   very   beings   ━━━   a   yearning   touched   each   expressed   emotion.   Enveloped   in   this   pivotal   second   of   adoration,   they   savored   each   taste,   pursued   each   timid   beat   of   their   heightened   hearts.   A   calm,   sedate   tempo   ━━━   yet   overwhelmed   with   fervent   desire.   Their   tender   embrace   swelled   as   surely   as   the   seas,   ebbing   just   as   gently   before   the   next   wave   of   tenderness   would   surge.   For   one   divine   instance,   all   else   ceased   to   be,   only   fingers   entwined   and   lips   connected   held   meaning   within   the   temporal   realm.   At   last   parting   for   but   a   mere   breath's   time,   eyes   locked   in   equal   measures   of   longing   and   reverie.

Mutual   intimacy   radiated   with   every   pulse,   banishing   the   encroaching   night's   chill.   Entrenched   in   that   very   moment,   a   shared   love   eclipsed   the   brilliance   of   any   star   above   them   ━━━   a   slow   dance   between   souls   long   awaiting   union.   Barely   whispered   declarations   simultaneously   attest   that   passion   lingered,   a   reminder   of   love's   immense   potency   within   this   deep   kiss'   lingering   memory.   "I   love   you."   She   confessed,   eyes   glistening   with   unspoken   emotion.  @ikurosakii

[namesetc]

aurora theme

names themed after aurora, specifically her album "the gods we can touch"

artem - artemi - artemis

aur - aura - auro - auror / aurore - aurora

amel - amelio - amelior - ameliora - ameliorate

aim

blood

brief

babe

cure

crawl - crawler

create - creator

creep - creeper

chaste

chimera

deity

danger

dream

divine - divina - divinity

daemon

drag

demure

desire - desiree

daze

delight

exhale

exi - exist

ede - eden

even / evan - evanese / evaness / evanesce - evanescent

forbid - forbidden

fruit

fleet

frank

green

give - given - giver

goal

grail

gem

hope

heathen - heather

hi / high

hera - here - heretic

heal - healer

honor / honour

honest

haze

inhale

inn - innocent

immortal

idol

icon

infidel

interim

ingénue

joy

keep

love

little

matter

moon

moral

marvel

nudge

numen

null - nullfi - nulli - nullifi / nullify - nullifid / nullified - nullifidi - nullifidian

nostrum

novice

naive

notion

pagan

paynim

plonk

pure

pristine

poke

remedy

reverie

stroke

skept - skeptic

savage

slink

stupor

temp - tempo - tempor - temporare - temporary

touch

tap

trail

target

trance

treasure

vino

vision

wine

writhe / wryth / whrythe - writher

wish - wisher

wonder

[sshbpodcast]

Tales from the Holodeck: ENT Fanfic: Chris’s Teleplay

Celebration! We’ve luckily finished Star Trek: Enterprise here on A Star to Steer Her By, and good riddance. There’s only one thing left to do in our typical style: show the writers how it’s really done by writing up our own fanfic stories and teleplays with carefully selected characters from the series. Will they end up better than most episodes of Enterprise? Low bar, folks.

We’re continuing the festivities with Chris’s teleplay/prose hybrid story in our “Tales from the Holodeck” fanfic series. It's actually a sort of continuation of his Voyager fanfic “Harry Kim and the Multiverse of Sadness,” though unlike any recent Marvel movie, you don't really need the background to enjoy it (but why not check that one out too?!). Follow along below and/or listen to the cold reads on this week’s podcast episode (this one starts at 9:58). Haven’t you read Temporal Mechanics 101?

[images © Paramount/CBS]

“A Spat in Time”

By Chris

Random Main Character Pick(s): T’Pol Character Draft Picks: Time Daddy, Crewman Daniels

Earth. Barely one hundred twenty-five years ago its population had nearly wiped itself out in a global nuclear holocaust. But humans are stubborn and held on. Eventually a particularly stubborn, half-mad drunkard of a human decided to turn an unused missile into the world’s first warp-capable ship. And now Earth and its strange, stubborn populace found themselves as key players in a still-fledging galactic alliance comprised of species that, a few decades before, had barely tolerated one another at best and wanted one another wiped out of existence at worst.

Commander T’Pol stared down at that odd, illogical, maddening world, these thoughts and more swirling around. Her life had been calm, ordered, logical. Then an assignment to Earth came along. A microcosm of Vulcan history since first contact with humanity, really.

She turned away from the window to the quarters that had been her room for the past decade. Serving as first officer of the USS Robinson, one of the last NX-class ships in service, had proven to be largely less unpredictable and hectic than her time on Enterprise. Which, frankly, was welcome. While the warp-7 explorers that had largely supplanted the class were out stretching the boundaries of knowledge and making introductions on behalf of the young Federation, T’Pol had found herself retracing old steps as the ship was assigned to a series of missions doing proper, longer-term surveys of areas her former ship had simply taken quick glances at on her initial voyages.

But now even that sort of work needed something newer. Something larger. Something that could be purpose-built rather than refit to work with all the new equipment. Strictly-human equipment was regularly supplanted by the new breakthroughs brought about by cooperation between the still-growing Federation, and at this point it was easier to start over than jury-rig, much to the frustration of the engineers who loved the challenge of making seemingly-incompatible systems function alongside one another.

She had leave coming, and had decided to take it, for once, to try and figure out what to do next. Vulcan was not the world she had been raised on and served for so long. Its rebuilding was going well enough, but if she was honest with herself being a part of that process did not appeal. But did she belong as part of Starfleet anymore? She had been part of the Vulcan embassy on earth for several decades before spending just as long exploring alongside humans. Yet Earth was similarly not a home.

Her reverie was interrupted by a chime from her door. Commander Rivers, most likely. She had barely known him on Enterprise, and he had then transferred to Columbia shortly after the end of the Xindi mission. They had then found themselves both aboard the Robinson and, as humans are often wont, used their very tenuous past association to continually make social overtures. She had, honestly, assumed perhaps his intentions were not purely friendly at first. Even after beginning to wear a Starfleet uniform instead of the standard Vulcan field jumpsuit she had found unwanted attention brought her way by various crewmembers. But his discussions never even remotely veered that way; mostly the Xindi mission still seemed to haunt him, and having someone to discuss it with appeared to help. He also frequently told stories about Trip, which she had to admit was not unpleasant.

T’Pol: Come in.

When her door opened, however, she did not see the man she expected. He was not someone she knew from the ship at all, though he was in uniform.

T’Pol: May I help you, Commander…?

Kim: Harry Kim, ma’am. May we speak privately?

T’Pol: Of course.

He stepped into her room and the door slid shut behind him. He glanced around and pulled something from a sleeve pocket. It was a small, silver disc that he pressed against the door. It chirped and a small light came to life on it. T’Pol thought of her phaser, already packed away among the luggage on her bed.

T’Pol: What are you doing?

Kim: Giving us some privacy. Look, I…you might find this hard to believe…

T’Pol: In my time working regularly with humans I have found many conversations begin in some fashion like this. And they often are very hard to believe, yet they also frequently end up somehow being true. So, Commander, what is your story?

Kim: The Federation is under attack…from the future.

T’Pol: Again?

Kim: Maybe? Temporal stuff is tricky, so it’s a little hard to say if this is something new or actually part of the stuff you and Captain Archer dealt with before.

T’Pol: I frequently find myself wishing that the Vulcan Science Academy had been correct about time travel.

Kim: Right now I feel the same way. I’ve been bouncing all over time dealing with repeated attacks on the Federation’s history across several timelines.

T’Pol: Excuse me?

Kim: Yeah, sorry, they’re also wrong about the whole multiple universe thing.

T’Pol: Is this where you tell me you are from one of them?

Kim: No, I’m actually from your future. Early twenty-fifth century, specifically. But not everyone I work with is.

T’Pol: I doubt it is my assistance you require, then.

Kim: I’ve read your file, I’m sure you’d be a great asset, but you’re right. I’m actually here to protect you. Someone is after you. We haven’t worked out why exactly. The attacks are…well, they don’t make sense. They seem to vary from broad-ranging to very narrow. The goal seems to be the utter destruction of the Federation at one moment and just very specific people the next. It’s, if you’ll forgive me, damned illogical.

T’Pol: What happens next, then?

Kim: Well, the plan for now is to just get you out of here to a safehouse…well, between timelines.

She stared for a long moment at this odd man. She wanted to disbelieve him. Deeply. Yet her past experiences forced her to conclude that his story had at least some merit. He could, of course, still be a madman or a liar, but she could not simply write him off entirely. Had the universe always been so damned odd and everyone had just forced themselves to ignore it? Was this somehow also the result of humanity upending everything?

She decided that she would, to quote many of her human colleagues over the years, play along.

T’Pol: Fine. I was already scheduled for leave, so I am not needed by anyone at the moment. What is next?

A wide smile blossomed across the Commander’s face and he plucked the disc off her door.

Kim: I’ll stick with you until you disembark. I’ve got a ship just out of temporal phase in orbit that’ll get us to the safehouse. Want help with your things?

T’Pol: Thank you, yes.

They gathered her luggage and made their way to the door. It opened, but before they could step through they both stopped short. Rather than one of the Robinson’s corridors they were staring out over a field somewhere. They both turned, and the field was now behind them, as well. The Robinson was gone.

Daniels: Who the hell are you?!

Kim: Huh?

T’Pol turned to face this newest voice and even she could not help but allow a very small groan to escape. She had only personally met him once, looking much the worse for wear, but she still recognized him in his unharmed form.

T’Pol: Commander, meet Crewman Daniels. He was continually haranguing Captain Archer during his Temporal Cold War.

Kim: That would explain the stupid outfit.

Daniels: Wait, Harry Kim? What are you doing here?

T’Pol: I would have perhaps expected you to already be acquainted.

Kim: The Temporal Cold War is one of the biggest headaches across a couple of different universes. Two fringe factions…

Daniels: Fringe?! Now you see here…

Kim: You people just decided on your own how best to handle everything…

Daniels: And what authority do you represent, hmm? The Temporal Integrity Commission? The Travelers?

Kim: Your people have an agenda! We’re just interested in keeping things as…undisturbed as possible. Of course you made a proper timeline impossible!

T’Pol: Gentlemen, I have already witnessed far too many human “pissing contents” in my time than I would care to consider, and I am likely to come across many, many more despite my hopes. So do please kindy resolve this one before I am forced to resolve it for you.

Kim: Sorry.

Daniels: Fine. We probably want the same thing, anyway. Someone’s after you, T’Pol.

T’Pol: Yes, Commander Kim has informed me.

Kim: And I had a plan to get her to safety that you interrupted.

T’Pol: Which he had the decency to share with me first. Whereas you, Crewman, have kidnapped us. You will forgive me if that makes me somewhat distrustful of you.

Daniels: Well, I…

T’Pol: If you wish to regain some of that trust you shall return us to the Robinson. If Commander Kim is amendable you may accompany us.

Kim: Fine by me.

Daniels: Alright. Okay. Sure.

The air suddenly shifted from fresh to filtered, and T’Pol was again looking at one of the Robinson’s familiar hallways. Harry was next to her. Her things were again in both their arms. Daniels stood nearby, out of his bizarre jumpsuit and in a Starfleet uniform. T’Pol gave him a curt nod, and then the trio made their way to the transporter room.

*

The ship was like nothing T’Pol had ever seen. All the surfaces were smooth and white, with the appearance of plastic but a feeling that was not. What it did feel like was somewhat harder to explain. The crew were in a variety of uniforms, tho most wore some variant or another of an arrowhead-shaped pin.

Daniels: This isn’t from your time.

Kim: Not from any of ours. We got it from another timeline. Roughly late twenty-fourth century, but because of alterations made in that universe’s mid twenty-third some of her tech is more advanced than things I was used to in my own. And some of what’s under the hood is bits and pieces from all across times and universes.

Daniels: Under the hood?

Kim: Sorry, got that from Tom.

They made their way to a turbolift and were soon on the bridge. Though still a strange, bright place, there were aspects T’Pol was used to. A big, central chair, a variety of consoles around the edge and a pair up front. There were two chairs flanking the Captain’s chair, which was the only unusual part. Still, plainly Starfleet design ethos. A woman of a species T’Pol did not recognize turned and nodded to Kim.

Gwyn: Captain, welcome back. I see you were successful. Who’s the extra crewmate?

Harry: Daniels. As in Temporal Cold War Daniels.

Gwyn: Oh.

Daniels: Pleasure to meet you, too…

Harry: Commander T’Pol, my first officer, Gwyndala.

Gwyn: Call me Gwyn. We’re going to keep you safe, Commander. Don’t you worry.

T’Pol: Thank you.

Harry took his seat, and Gwyn sat in one of the side ones. While he looked quite natural there T’Pol could not help but be struck by how much his uniform - her uniform - clashed with the surroundings. Tho plainly from a variety of eras there was a much less utilitarian look to all of them. A Starfleet more relaxed, a Federation stable, perhaps? She was, for one of the few times in her life, feeling vaguely self-conscious.

Harry: Alright, let’s get going. Set a course out of the system, maximum warp. Once we’re out of sensor range we’ll engage the Skip.

Crewman: Aye, Captain.

Harry: Commander T’Pol, feel free to take a seat. Or would you prefer a tour?

T’Pol: I can remain here.

Harry: Fine by me.

Daniels: How about me?

Harry: Ah, gee, only the one extra seat, sorry. You can head to the galley if you’d like?

Daniels: I’ll just stand here, if that’s alright by you.

Harry: Just fine, Daniels. Just fine.

She sat and cleared her mind as best she could. The day had taken a turn she should not, in any way, have appreciated. And yet…so long alongside humans. Was a part of her actually enjoying this? She suddenly recalled her elder self advising her on emotions. It felt so much longer ago than it was, and it had truly been quite some time ago now. Did she still exist somewhere, perhaps? Perhaps some new thread existed where that other Enterprise lived on. All those lives and families. Including her own.

There was a small chirrup from Gwyn’s chair, interrupting T’Pol’s reverie.

Gwyn: Captain. Word from engineering. We’re going to need a little extra time to get the Skip up and running. We had a small power surge at one point and it put some strain on the EPS relays. The Chief is trying to get it all straightened out.

Harry: Any idea what caused it?

Gwyn: We were almost knocked out of phase at one point. We weren’t sure what it was before, but…well, it likely had to do with our unexpected guest.

Harry: Mhmm. (sigh) Well. Since I’ve a moment, I’m going to change. Gwyn, you’ve got the conn. Daniels. Maybe…get a tour or something. I’d prefer you be anywhere else when I get back.

Harry strolled onto the turbolift. After a moment of strained silence where everyone save T’Pol pointedly did not look at Daniels he ducked out via the other shaft. Gwyn made her way back to the central chair.

T’Pol: Is it normal for reports to come in that way?

Gwyn: What do you mean?

T’Pol: Relayed to you and then to the Captain? Why did engineering simply not call up here?

Gwyn: Oh. Internal comms are being a bit…twitchy. Probably related to the same surge.

T’Pol: I see.

Whatever Gwyn’s species was, there was definitely at least some telepathy to them. It was not a kind T’Pol could ever remember encountering before; it could be that it was for something terribly specific. Even so, it made reading her easier than when dealing with non-telepaths. She was not being honest. Yet there was no malice. Sadness? Worth noting, perhaps.

*

Kim returned a while later, dressed in a uniform with red shoulders and a glinting, silver badge laid atop two black bars. So many variants. She wondered how many time periods and dimensional branches they represented. It was entirely possible that, despite their entirely different uniforms, Gwyn and Harry could well be from the same branch, merely separated by years rather than the unknowable gulf that separated realities.

The ship made its destination in short order, and the Captain made small talk as they waited for word that the Skip was ready to be used. T’Pol had inferred that this would be what would get them between realities, and Kim confirmed it without her asking. A variant on something called a spore drive, he said, which he admitted even he didn’t fully understand.

There was another message from engineering - again, via text that Gwyn received - that the Skip was ready to go.

Kim: Right, get ready for Skip. Gwyn?

Gwyn: All crew to Skip jump stations. Black alert.

Ship’s Computer: Black Alert. Black Alert.

Kim: I should warn you, Commander, the sensation can be…intense. Brace yourself.

Gwyn: Skip in…three, two…one…

T’Pol had heard humans often discuss their first time transporting. Or times going at high warp with lower-power inertial dampeners. Or the first time they were in zero gravity. They seemed so thrilled to compare and contrast experiences. It was something she had never understood. But now, perhaps, after being on a ship that was diving through the barriers of reality, she could somewhat understand. She had no words in any language she knew to describe what it felt like. She could not say it was pleasant nor unpleasant. It simply was. She was nowhere and everywhere all at once. She could smell time and taste her neurons firing as she struggled to make sense of what she was feeling. The moment was instantaneous and forever. It was the first time she had her emotions unleashed by Trellium-D, it was her mother dying in her arms, it was the anguish at seeing what had been done to P’Jem, it was jazz, it was Trip’s hands on the small of her back, it was the emptiness of his quarters on that last day…

Gwyn: Skip successful. Stand down black alert.

Kim: You alright, T’Pol?

She looked up at the viewscreen, and looked away almost immediately. She was not recovered enough from the jump to try and comprehend the space between realities.

T’Pol: Of course. Thank you for your concern.

Kim: It’s never not at least a little strange, I’m afraid, but I’m told the first time is the worst.

T’Pol: You are told?

Kim: It’s a long story, but these kinds of things affect me less. Most of the crew, in fact. We’re all kind of…refugees, in some what, from other times and places. Gives us a sort of natural sympathy with crossing barriers like that.

CMO: Sickbay to the bridge.

Kim: Yes, Doctor?

CMO: Got someone calling himself Daniels here with a pretty nasty case of Skip-bends. Is he really supposed to be here?

Kim: Supposed to, no. But he is, unfortunately. You can go ahead and treat him.

CMO: Right. Sickbay, out.

T’Pol: I see the internal comms have also been repaired.

Kim: Hmm? Were they down?

Gwyn: Yes, sir. Why do you think I had to relay engineering’s message to you?

Kim: Oh, yeah. Didn’t even occur to me. Anyway, let’s get to…

Suddenly a horrid klaxon split the air and red lights began to flash. The mood of the entire bridge shifted in a way T’Pol was all-too-familiar with. A tactical alert was, it seems, a tactical alert. 

Kim: Right, what’ve we got?

Crewman: Someone else has Skipped in, sir! I think it’s…Romulan?

Kim: Romulan? Do we have a bead on its origin point?

Crewman: Quantum signatures suggest…Deviation .03, 28th century!

T’Pol: What does this mean?

Kim: The timeline you and I come from. Far future for both of us. Except…there isn’t purely Romulan technology by then. They…well, anyway. It doesn’t. It shouldn’t? (pause) Bridge to sickbay!

CMO: Sickbay here.

Kim: Get Daniels up here, I don’t care what state he’s in!

*

Moments later Daniels was on the bridge, looking quite the worse for wear. Apparently all his time travel had not prepared him for the strain of jumping into a space between realities. 

Daniels: What’s going on?

Kim: Twenty-eighth century Romulan tech followed us here. From our timeline. Any ideas? Because if I recall…

Daniels: That’s impossible! The war ended, she was apprehended! 

Crewman: Hail coming in, sir.

Kim: Put it on.

The screen came to life with a swirling, dark apparition standing among a bridge that was blurred and distorted. T’Pol had never seen this figure, but had had it explained to her by Archer in enough detail. The leader of…some side of the Temporal Cold War. One directly opposed to Daniels.

Time Daddy: Give me the Vulcan.

Kim: You’re going to have to be more specific. There’s thirty-four on this ship. Not that you’re getting anyone from my crew.

Time Daddy: Do not toy with me, Captain. You know very well I mean Commander T’Pol.

Kim: And you know I’m not going to just let you run rampant across time.

Time Daddy: Don’t you understand! I’m going to save time! Its greatest enemy has to be destroyed!

Daniels: Something’s wrong…you’re not Sela.

Kim: What?

Daniels: I don’t know who that is, but that’s not Sela’s rhetoric! Someone stole her ship, but that’s not her!

Time Daddy: Ah, Mister Daniels. Thank you so much for your assistance

Daniels: What?

Time Daddy: I knew if I let just enough information out you’d come running. So unable to resist meddling when you think you know better.

Kim: Daniels, you damned…

Time Daddy: Don’t be too harsh on him, Captain. He was an unwitting pawn. A man so loaded down with gadgetry in that idiot suit of his that hiding an interphasic tracker within its endless sea of gizmos and doodads that he would never notice was entirely too simple.

Kim: I never should have let you tag along…

Time Daddy: Now. To business. T’Pol. Now.

Kim: Not a chance.

Time Daddy: Captain, my ship is more advanced than even your fascinating little mishmash of bits and pieces from across lifetimes. And yours has that same, simple, fatal Federation flaw. You believe that everyone, eventually, can be reasoned with. So you are never as ruthlessly armed as you need to be. A flaw the Romulans do not have.

The signal suddenly cut out, and within moments the ship was rocking as weapons lashed out from the massive, green vessel that filled most of the viewscreen and that T’Pol only got a brief look at. She gripped the arms of her chair and pressed herself into it even as Kim shouted orders and the vessel began to spiral into evasive maneuvers. 

Kim: Engineering! Reroute everything you can spare to shields and weapons! 

Chief Engineer: Kinda figured you’d be askin’ for that, Cap’n, already doing it!

T’Pol: No. That is not fair.

Gwyn: I’m sorry, T’Pol. It’s why we had radio silence from Engineering, earlier.

Kim: I need to know what we’re up against here! What are scans showing?

Crewman: It’s hard to say, something’s making it almost impossible to…

Another massive strike and a blast cut the crewman off. T’Pol was thrown towards the deck and thought she heard “shields are down” right before she felt the familiar sensation of a transporter’s grip. The ship she had been on was replaced by a large, gray space. She slowly pushed herself up and was perplexed when she lifted her hand and watched several copies of it have to catch up with itself. She heard a footstep that echoed oddly and looked over to see the dark figure from the viewscreen standing on a glowing plinth.

Time Daddy: Commander T’Pol.

T’Pol” Was Daniels correct? Are you not the same person who continually harassed Enterprise?

Time Daddy: The little fool isn’t right about much, but he did figure that out.

The figure stepped from the plinth, revealing a rather square-faced human that T’Pol did not know. Unsurprising, of course, but the way the day had been going it was almost a relief to have a logical outcome to a scenario.

Time Daddy: My name is Captain Braxton. And I need you to help me save time.

T’Pol: It seems the simplest way to do that would be to simply eliminate me.

Time Braxdy: No! No, none of you understand!” He lifted his arms and T’Pol realized whatever had been causing the strange time distortions in the room had stopped. She slowly brought herself to her feet as he went on. “Look, there is no way to ever restore a non-deviated timeline. It’s impossible. But I can bring us back to .0001 Deviation if I just eliminate her! Do you understand how close that is to actual time?!

T’Pol: As I am from a period with very little research into time travel, no. No I do not.

Time Braxdy: It would be…so easy to just cut off branches entirely to stop her. But that just makes a worse timeline. I have finally, finally figured it out! All it took was Krenim algorithms and Temporal Cold War records! I have figured out how to change it all with the tiniest, tiniest flux. I just need you to dissuade one man from joining Starfleet in fifty years! His career will end up basically meaningless in the grand scheme of things. But his friendship with another cadet leads to two people meeting and having a child. This leads to a series of children who history will largely not miss. But then…then it leads to her.

T’Pol: And who is this woman you so despise?

Time Braxdy: Kathryn goddamn Janeway. In the whole history of Starfleet I can find no one, no one who cared less about the delicate nature of time! The endless fractures, deviations, rewrites…she has brought the fabric of reality to its breaking point more than once! I’m pretty sure I can blame the Mirror Universe on one of her damned jaunts! I hate the Mirror Universe, Commander! Of all the realities it’s the least sane! You’re a Vulcan, you would understand if you saw it! It’s illogical, Commander! The peak of illogical! And she caused it!

T’Pol: I am…sorry for your frustration.

Time Braxdy: Look, I’m being reasonable. I have merely knocked power out on Captain Kim’s ship. In a few hours they’ll be fine. No one has to die. I just need you to remember a name, a stardate, and promise me that you’ll do this one thing. 

T’Pol: Logically I cannot actually prove I will follow through on my promise, so by extension I cannot believe you are going to be so magnanimous. 

Time Braxdy: I’m not bound by normal time like you. I can simply check before you leave to see if you do what I ask. 

T’Pol: And if I do not? It would seem your only recourse is to kill me. You do not strike me as an entirely stable individual, Captain.

Time Braxdy: I was! I was very stable, Commander! Ordered, calm. A fine officer. Janeway, though…Janeway ruined everything!

T’Pol: So you say. But I know nothing of future history. Her importance to the timeline may outweigh whatever it is you so fear.

Time Braxdy: I really thought I could make you understand. Vulcans can think past base emotions so often. I figured you, of all the threads, would see the importance of…

Suddenly there was a familiar sparkle behind Braxton, and the madman spun around just in time to see Trip materialize. T’Pol felt her breath catch in her throat. His hair was a little different, his uniform a darker shade of blue, almost veering towards purple, and his rank pips copper rather than silver. But undeniably a Trip. He took aim with a weapon of some kind.

Time Braxdy: But…but I knocked out your power!

Chief Engineer/Trip: Shuttles ain’t on the ship’s grid.

He fired…and the beam cut right through Braxton. Trip glanced, surprised, at his pistol and looked up just in time to see Braxton lunging at him. A slight haze passed over the bigger man right before he rammed into Trip and they both tumbled to the ground. The weapon Trip had been holding skittered away, vanishing behind a console. She was dashing over to it in a moment.

Time Braxdy: Computer, mode four!

Reality bent again. T’Pol was suddenly outrunning herself, and behind herself. She was still on the floor, she was grabbing for the phaser, her breath was catching in her throat, she was doing mental calculations that would make even other Vulcans blanche, she was firing, the gun was in her hand, Braxton was collapsing onto the floor, she was shouting for Trip to duck, the beam appeared, Braxton was shoved into the path of the beam.

She stood. Her selves coalesced for a moment. She fired at the damn plinth. There was a small puff of smoke and, suddenly, everything snapped back into place.

Trip: Man, this stuff never gets any easier.

T’Pol: I imagine it does not.

There was a pause. The two of them just looked at one another.

Trip: I know…I know you’re not her. The T’Pol I knew, I mean. And…and I ain’t the Trip you knew.

T’Pol: No.

Trip: Still, it’s…it’s nice to see you. A you, I guess. I…yeah.

T’Pol: Why…have you not seen me?

Trip: Well, from what Cap’n Kim tells me we had very similar final missions on Enterprise. Only I guess I did in your universe what you did in mine. I mean, the how sounds a little different. But either way, you saved Cap’n Archer and the whole damn ship with what you did.

T’Pol: I see. It is…also nice. To see you. A you.

Trip: Yeah. Thanks for the help. My rescue mission went kinda sideways.

T’Pol: I believe “just like old times” would apply here nicely.

Trip: Yeah. We…ah, we should probably get back to the Reliant. Cap’n’ll be wantin’ to get things all tied up here then get you home.

T’Pol: Of course.

There was another, even longer pause. And then they ran to one another…

End

—

For more Enterprise fanfic, check out Caitlin, Ames, and Jake’s stories from this year’s “Tales from the Holodeck”! Be sure to keep listening to new episodes every Thursday on SoundCloud or wherever you podcast, follow us on Facebook and Twitter, and remember: nobody can guarantee what's going to happen tomorrow. not even an admiral from the future.

[izzakry]

📍 𝗼𝗳𝗶𝗰𝗶𝗻𝗮 𝗱𝗲 𝗮𝗱𝗺𝗶𝗻𝗶𝘀𝘁𝗿𝗮𝗰𝗶𝗼́𝗻 ( 𝗰𝗼𝗺𝗽𝗿𝗮 𝗱𝗲 𝗯𝗼𝗹𝗲𝘁𝗼𝘀 ). ‘ ´para cuándo piensas comprarlo? ’ aún no era el turno de ninguno de los dos, permaneciendo a la izquierda de rhiannon. el aire a su alrededor era agridulce, mas sabía que sólo temporal. no cortaría contacto con quien consideró su primera amiga en reverie, empujando carmines hacía arriba. carecía de entusiasmo real, no obstante conservó serenidad y simpatía. ‘ no podrás ingresar a la universidad hasta el próximo año, ¿cierto? ’ si sus cálculos no fallaban, pasó la fecha de admisión. ‘ ¿te parece irnos a comer después de aquí? pocas veces lo hicimos sin que las misiones nos suspiren en la nuca. ’ @rhicrim0n

[reveriers]

› Aspirante a detective número #144 detectado. REED MURDOCH, proveniente de ESCOCIA Con 31 años, siempre le han dicho que tiene un parecido con EMMA D'ARCY. Enviade desde la Escuela de detectives SINCLAIR & THORNE como estudiante de intercambio a la Academia Reverie. Fue seleccionade por su impresionante desempeño en COMBATE CUERPO A CUERPO (3) y también mostrar aptitudes prometedoras en MANEJO DE ARMAS (3) y ADAPTACIÓN 2 (2).

AKIRA, como administración de Reverie Academy, queremos agradecerte tu interés. Tienes 24 horas para enviarnos la cuenta de tu personaje. Si llegases a necesitar más tiempo, no dudes en comunicarte con nosotras.

OOC

Apodo:  akira

Pronombres: ella / elle

Edad: 28

Zona horaria: gmt-6

Triggers: abuso sexual, pedofilia, incesto, arañas, non con, dub con

En caso de unfollow, ¿permitirías que usemos a tu personaje en la trama como un PNJ?: Sí

IC 

Nombre: reed murdoch

Pronombres: neutros / masculinos

Faceclaim: emma d'arcy

Fecha de nacimiento y edad: 10 de octubre, 31

Nacionalidad: escocesa

Profesión: ex marine en la marina real escocesa

Año en curso en la Escuela de Detectives Sinclaire & Thorne: 2

Especialización que cursará en Reverie: supervivencialismo

Habilidades de Reverie en las que destacó: 

combate cuerpo a cuerpo: 3 adaptación: 2 manejo de armas: 3

Curiosidades:

i. se identifica como no binario y se siente cómode con pronombres neutros o masculinos, también hizo un cambio en su nombre de nacimiento a los veinticinco años. ii. nació y se crió una buena parte de su vida en una pequeña ciudad escocesa llamada dunkeld. su familia está conformada por sus padres, dos hermanas mayores y un hermano menor. tanto su padre, como una de sus hermanas asistieron a la escuela de detectives sinclaire & thorne. su hermana se graduó y trabaja en londres, mientras que su padre es un militar retirado. al asentarse en dunkeld para tener una vida más tranquila, conoció a su ahora esposa, dueña de una cafetería concurrida en el centro de la ciudad. iii. cuando reed cumplió la mayoría de edad, no estaba segure de qué hacer con su vida. había descubierto que le gustaban los libros desde muy joven, así que decidió estudiar literatura inglesa en edimburgo. ahí conoció a su ex novia, con quien duró dos años y juraba que tendrían una vida juntes por mucho más tiempo, pero en un periodo de intercambio hizo que conociera a alguien más, terminando la relación. las consecuencias de esta ruptura hicieron que reed perdiera interés en todo, incluyendo sus estudios, haciendo que decida darse de baja temporal y decidiera intentar unirse a la marina real. iv. un año dentro de la marina ayudó a despejar su mente, conocer personas nuevas, y encontrarse a sí misme. aún si no era algo que le apasionara, lo disfrutaba, y pudo utilizar sus créditos de estudio para terminar su carrera. aún así, este periodo de tranquilidad no le duró demasiado, pues al tercer año decidió retirarse, al menos de forma temporal. sabía que había cometido un error al intentar olvidar su dolor con otra cosa, lo cual le llevó a volver a dunkeld por una temporada. v. su padre le sugirió probar en la escuela a la que él asistió, creyendo que le vendría bien en su formación. tras meditarlo por algunos meses, finalmente sintiéndose aburride de escocia, decidió aplicar.

[theeverlastingshade]

AMAMA- Crumb

Within the broad, well-trodden world of psychedelic music, artists tend to go one of two routes; they begin traversing stranger, more far-flung sonic realms, or they compress their wide-eyed sense of wonder into more digestible packages that only hint at something beyond the temporal. The path of the New York-based four piece psychedelic rock band Crumb has unfolded somewhere down the middle, with the band showcasing a bolder, more ambitious level of compositional acumen with each subsequent record while simultaneously progressing into a more approachable band capable of writing sharper hooks and more distinctive melodies. Crumb’s first two LPs, Jinx and Ice Melt, respectively, are strong realizations of their versatile psych pop sound that encompass elements of jazz, kosmiche, and trip-hop without ever quite exceeding their depth, and they suggested that Crumb hasn’t come close to saying all they have to say. On their 3rd and best LP, AMAMA, Crumb continue to evolve beyond the reductive Stereolab and Broadcast comparisons into a band with an idiosyncratic allure completely unto themselves.

The general sound of AMAMA probably won’t come as a surprise to anyone who’s followed Crumb up to this point (chunky, gated drums, effects-laden guitars and bass, an abundance of disorienting texture, frontwoman Lila Ramani’s mesmerizing vocals, a creeping sense of unease, etc) but there are still plenty of satisfying new developments that emerge throughout. Whether it’s the frantic cymbal storms that barrel into the mix between the deep organ swells on “Crushxd”, the drum and bass chug along with Lila’s lovely vocal melody on “Dust Bunny”, or the way that “The Bug” achieves liftoff through its dense, effects-heavy guitar solo, Crumb are feeling themselves a little more than usual this time around, and their bold choices add plenty of distinctive flare to what are already dynamic psychedelic pop songs. While AMAMA’s highlights have these dynamic embellishments in spades, it’s hardly relegated to these. Even something as seemingly inconsequential and tossed off as the “Nightly News” interlude is nonetheless a superb sequencing inclusion that takes us from the livelier first half into the record’s more spellbinding second half. Crumb’s sonic parameters haven’t really expanded on AMAMA so much as the band are writing and playing with more ingenuity within them.

While plenty of bands traffic in druggy, downtempo music that prioritizes “vibes” above all else, Crumb have retained a distinctive edge for many reasons, but in large part because of their shrewd songwriting that subverts any preconceived notion of where a song is going, or supposed to go. These songs aren’t necessarily challenging, but they are gleefully unorthodox, unfolding according to their own sense of logic while still exuding a strong pop sensibility. Accordingly, the best songs on AMAMA feel like logical extensions of their sound while simultaneously unfolding like excursions into the unknown. The aforementioned “The Bug” in particular really showcases that sense of limitless possibility through the driving guitar solo taking liftoff well after the music had settled into a dreamy, mid-tempo, low-end shuffle. “(Alone) In Brussels” snaps out of its lush keyboard reverie for a closing suite replete with throbbing bass, chintzy 16 bit synths, and colorful panned effects that imbue the music with quite a bit of additional, immensely vibrant color, while the first half of closer “XXX” is a slow-building breather that tees up the second half for a vivid collage of triumphant guitar work, bright washes of synth, and a massive, strutting snare beat. On AMAMA, the thrill of hearing how Crumb’s songs unfold remains a distinctive, increasingly satisfying pleasure of their music.

Lyrics aren’t the strongest selling point for Crumb, not because they’re lazy or uninspired, but because everything about the actual music itself is such an easy draw. But Lila’s writing has always been imbued with an imaginative, thoughtful touch that pairs superbly with the music Crumb make, and on AMAMA her vibrant imagery reaches a new peak. On “The Bug” Lila references the titular creature as anxiety personified “Two bees can change/The motions still the same/But my wings won’t open wide/ While the bug stays on my mind” while “Dust Bunny” uses the titular object as a stand-in for the gnawing feeling of spinning one’s wheels in place for years “How long ‘til it comes?/Pull the weight off my tongue/In the air above, won’t you watch it erupt/And the dust cover up what it was”. “Genie” finds Lila imaging herself as a genie who begins to question her sense of self and spiral down an existential tunnel “All these roads end up at you/Drive these roads and pass right through/The places that I’ve been before/There’s nothing left for me anymore” while “Sleep Talk” imagines sleep as someone who follows you around once you’ve woken up “She’s movin’ into your home/With all her things/She let go of the past/To be with you”. Lila’s subject matter superbly compliments these richly-rendered compositions while still being capable of standing just as strong without the sonic accompaniment. On AMAMA, Crumb’s immersive, unpretentious music remains a beacon of eclecticism that sounds increasingly unlike anyone but themselves.

Essentials: “The Bug”, “Crushxd”, “Dust Bunny”

[musicarenagh]

Hope and Resilience: Giant Killers' “When This Time is Over” In the labyrinth of today’s sonic soundscape, Giant Killers emerges as your somewhat quixotic guide, wafting through the indie-pop echelons with a buoyancy that smells conspicuously like nostalgia. Their latest creation, “When This Time is Over,” flits into existence like a dandelion seed borne on post-pandemic winds—both an ode and an antidote to times trapped in amber. https://open.spotify.com/track/0JITu6234cEcsassXLgPr4?si=bca79c2524cb4aa9 Jamie Wortley and Michael Brown mix metaphysical paint on this sonic canvas using brushes made from guitar strings and worn brass keys. The track tickles the ears with murmurs reminiscent of 90s pop reveries while refusing to kowtow completely to bygone formulae. It tinkers nostalgically at your auditory doorstep inviting you not just to listen but feel - as time itself curls up around the melody. “When This Time is Over” muses poignantly about shifting sands—the temporal tide washing troubles away leaving gleaming paths forward unburdened by yesterday's shadows. Hope swims through their lyrics; resilience pulsates within every coruscating riff mirroring our spiritual dance between despair and daydreams under prolonged twilight skies. [caption id="attachment_55712" align="alignnone" width="768"] Hope and Resilience: Giant Killers' “When This Time is Over”[/caption] This tune stands proudly atop what we love about scanned emotions turned symphony—an echoing call across timelines where melodies muffle moans until joy intervenes. As they gear towards multiple releases in 2024 backed charmingly by Little Genius, anticipate mural after musical mural painted enigmatically upon canvases yet unfolded. Let "When This Time is Over" pull back curtains widened only by windows of potential futures—a brief insight whirling richly inside simple confines of pop resonance potent enough to snag hearts longing for more than just beats per minute but life breaths remembered fondly when music ends inviting dawn anew. Follow Giant Killers on Facebook, Bandcamp, YouTube and Instagram.

[poetry-assignment]

Nostalgia and Irony: Aesthetic Reverie in Animated Form

Highly inspired by love for anime once again, I drew inspiration from classic anime film : A Wind Named Amnesia Incorporating elements of 80's style art and old film VHS effects within the animation serves as a dual homage to retro aesthetics and a deliberate invocation of thematic irony. The juxtaposition of vintage visual motifs against the backdrop of contemporary sociocultural commentary imbues the animated narrative with a layered complexity, inviting viewers to contemplate the mutable contours of temporal experience.

By infusing the animation with nostalgic evocations of bygone eras, I sought to evoke a sense of temporal dissonance, underscoring the disjuncture between past and present. This stylistic choice serves as a visual allegory for the transience of human experience and the enduring legacy of collective memory. Image of how I wanted to show a character lost in meditation surrounded by nature.

Image from : A Wind Named Amnesia