#dimensional tides

[jvzebel-x]

🦋

[collecting--stardust]

Listened to quite a lot of maneskin's songs when I was doing my notes for my basic stats class and l'altra dimensione is so bez and valentine is cele coded for me

[zot3-flopped]

Sylvia Plath did not stick her head in an oven for this! When Taylor Swift took the Grammys stage last month to claim her award for Best Pop Vocal Album for Midnights, she saw that spotlight as an opportunity to announce her 11th studio album: The Tortured Poets Department. The follow-up cut to audience members—Swift’s music industry peers, mind you—told us all that we would ever need to know, and the collective disinterest across the crowd echoed through our TVs.

Folks from all walks of life took to social media to express a multitude of reactions. Swifties clamored to their beloved monarch’s forthcoming era, while others lambasted the terminally cringe title and artwork and ridiculed Swift for making a night recognizing musical achievements across an entire industry about herself—knowing perfectly well that it would send her fanbase into a surge that would, no doubt, overpower the excitement around the ceremony itself.

Quite a few people questioned whether or not that moment suggested that a critical—definitely not commercial—tide would turn against the world’s most-famous pop star. And, perhaps it has—but, to most, it will look like nothing more than a single ripple in Swift’s ocean of successes.

Swift remained relatively hush-hush about The Tortured Poets Department up until its release, leaving her fans, admirers and haters alike with nothing but an album title to ponder about. And it’s a bad title.

If you have never been in Swift’s corner, her taking the route of labeling her next “era” as “tortured” was likely catnip for your disinterest. If you are a fan—not necessarily a Swiftie, but even just a casual lover of her best and brightest work—you might be beside yourself about the first Swift album title longer than one word in 14 years.

In terms of popularity—certainly not always in terms of quality—no musician has been bigger this century than Swift, which makes it impossible to really buy into the “torture” of it all.

This is not to say that Swift being the most famous person in the world makes her immune to having multi-dimensional feelings of heartbreak, mental illness or what-have-you.

But, she has made the choice—as a 34-year-old adult—to take those complex, universal familiars and monetize them into a wardrobe she can wear for whatever portion of her Eras Tour setlist she opts to dedicate to the material.

Torture is fashion to Taylor Swift, and she wears her milieu dully. This album will surely get comparisons to Rupi Kaur’s poetry, either for its simplicity, empty language, commodification or all of the above.

And, sure, there are parallels there, especially in how The Tortured Poets Department, too, is going to set the art of poetry back another decade—as Swift’s naive call-to-arms of her own milky-white sorrow rings in like some quintessential “I am going to take pictures of a typewriter on my desk and have a Pinterest mood-board of Courier New font” iPhone fodder. 2013 called and it wants it capricious, suburban girl-who-is-taking-a-gap-year wig back!

Soaking our book reports in coffee or having our moms burn the edges with a kitchen lighter cannot come back into fashion; the cyclical notions of culture cannot make the space for such retreads.

There is nothing poetic about a billionaire—who, mind you, threatens legal action against a Twitter account for tracking her destructive private jet paths—telling stadiums of thousands of people every night that she sees and adores them.

Tavi Gevinson says it well in her Fan Fiction zine: “When 80,000 people are also crying, you become less special, too.” If Swift can return to one of her dozen beach houses across the world, kick up her feet and say “I’m a poet of struggle,” then who is to say that millions—maybe billions—of people with access to a notes app and a social media account won’t dream that dream, too?

Maybe that looks like a net-positive, but it’s inherently damning and destructive to take an art form that has long stood on the shoulders of resistance, of love and of opposition to power, systematic injustice and climate warfare and boil it down to the new defining era of your own 10-digit revenue empire. “My culture is not your costume,” yada, etc.

The Tortured Poets Department does begin with a shred of hope that, just maybe, Swift knows what she’s talking about—as she sneaks in a cheeky “all of this to say,” textbook transitional phrasing for poets, on opening track “Fortnight.”

But “Fortnight” unmasks itself quickly as a heady vat of pop nothingness, though it isn’t all Swift’s fault. “I was a functioning alcoholic, ‘til nobody noticed my new aesthetic,” she muses, attempting to bridge the gap between a behind-the-scenes life and on-stage performance—only for it to occur while propped up against the most dog-water, uninspired synth arrangement you could possibly imagine.

Between producer Jack Antonoff’s atrocious backing instrumental and the Y2K-era, teen dramedy echo chamber of a vocal harmony provided by out-of-place guest performer Post Malone, “Fortnight” chokes on the vomit of its own opaqueness.

“I took the miracle move-on drug, the effects were temporary,” Swift muses, and it sounds like satire. This is your songwriter of the century? Open the schools.

The Tortured Poets Department title-track features some of Swift’s worst lyricism to-date, including the irredeemable, relentlessly cringe “You smoked then ate seven bars of chocolate, we declared Charlie Puth should be a bigger artist / I scratch your head, you fall asleep like a tattooed golden retriever” lines glazed atop some synthesizers and drums that just ring in as hollow, unfascinating costuming.

Aside from the Puth nod, which I can only discern as a joke (given the fact that he is one of the 150-most streamed artists in the world and is one of the blandest pop practitioners alive—I don’t care if he can figure out the pitch of any sound you throw at him), I think Antonoff should stick to guitar-playing. Get that man away from a keyboard, I’m begging you.

Synths can be, if you use them correctly, one of the most emotional and provocative instruments in any musician’s tool-box. There’s a reason why keyboards defined the 1980s; they rebelled against the very oppressive nature existing outside of the cultural company they kept. There’s resistance in electronic music that, while they brandish an aesthetic that, to a layman’s ears, seems like technicolor hues for any infectious pop track, it’s a genre that aches to tell its own story. That is simply not the case here, and that electronica hangs Swift out to dry when she drags us through the lukewarm “I laughed in your face and said, ‘You’re not Dylan Thomas, I’m not Patti Smith’ / This ain’t the Chelsea Hotel, we’re modern idiots” lines, only to hit us with a softly sung F-bomb that sounds like a billionaire’s rendition of that one Miranda Cosgrove podcast clip.

I used to rag pretty heavily on Reputation—mostly because I thought (and still do, mostly) that it sounded like Swift had given up on making interesting, progressive pop music; that, in the wake of her (arguably) best album, 1989, it seemed like she’d lost the plot on where to go next. But as she’s put out Midnights and The Tortured Poets Department back-to-back, I find myself clamoring for the Reputation-era more than ever—at least seven years ago, Swift wrote songs like she had something to prove and even more to lose.

That was the always-obvious charm of Reputation, even despite the downsides—that she took a big swing from the echelons of her own musical immortality, that the comforts of winning every award and selling out the biggest venues in the world were no longer pillowing her aspirations. Even though that swing didn’t land, she still made it in the first place—and Swift is at her best either when she is clawing upwards (Reputation) or faced with nowhere to go but into the studio and noodle with the bare-bones of her own sensibilities (folklore).

You get something like The Tortured Poets Department when the artist making it no longer feels challenged, where she strikes out looking.

The mid-ness of The Tortured Poets Department will not be a net-loss for Swift. She will sell out arenas and get her streams until she elects to quit this business (a phrase decidedly not in her vocabulary, surely).

She will sell more merch bundles than vinyl plants have the capacity to make, and rows of variant LP copies will haunt the record aisles of Target stores just as long as Midnights has—if not longer.

Perhaps, in five or six years’ time, we will speak of this record just as we now do of Reputation. But right now, it is obvious that Swift no longer feels challenged to be good. The Tortured Poets Department is the mark of an artist now interested in seeing how much their empire can atone for the sins of mediocrity.

Can Swift win another Album of the Year Grammy simply because she released a record during the eligibility period? The Tortured Poets Department reeks of “because I can,” not “because I should.”

On “I Can Fix Him (No Really I Can),” Swift tries stepping into the shoes of the country renegades who came before her—the Tammy Wynettes and Loretta Lynns of the world. But her self-aggrandizing inflation of importance, glinting through via a seismically-bland bridge, is backed by a minimal set dressing of guitar, drum machine and keys.

“Good boy, that’s right, come close,” she sings. “I’ll show you Heaven if you’ll be an angel—all mine. Trust me, I can handle me a dangerous man. No, really, I can.” On “Florida!!!,” Swift calls upon Florence + the Machine to help her sing the worst chorus of 2024: “Florida is one hell of a drug / Florida, can I use you up?”

Even Welch, who is a fantastic pop singer-songwriter in her own right, delivers a grossly watery verse: “The hurricane with my name, when it came I got drunk and I dared it to wash me away.”

Not even the typos on the Spotify promotional materials for this album could have foretold such offenses. I won’t even get into the sonics, because Antonoff just rewrites the same soulless patterns every time.

What separates The Tortured Poets Department from something like Reputation is that, on the latter, Swift made it known what was at stake and who she was making that album for—herself, in the aftermath of her greatest long-standing criticisms (“Look What You Made Me Do” triumphs exactly because of this).

On The Tortured Poets Department, there is a striking level of moral nothingness. The stakes are practically non-existent, and the album sounds like it was made by someone who believes that they had no other choice but to finish it, as if Swift fundamentally believes that her creative measures are firmly embedded in the massive monopoly her name and brand currently hold on popular music. That’s how you get meandering pop songs about hookups, wine moms, Stevie Nicks comparisons, Jehovah’s Witness suit mentions, hollowed-out, tone-deaf nods to white-collar crime in lieu of empowerment and, topically, Barbie dolls.

(Don’t even get me started on the Anthology lyrics, which feature these absolute barn-burners: “Touch me while your bros play Grand Theft Auto” and “My friends used to play a game where / We would pick a decade / We wished we could live in instead of this / I’d say the 1830s, but without all the racists / And getting married off for the highest bid.”) This album and its hackneyed grasps at relevance exist as “Did I just hear that?” personified, but in the most derogatory sense of the notion.

My Boy Only Breaks His Favorite Toys” features another low-point in Swift’s lyrical oeuvre, as she sings “I felt more when we played pretend than with all the Kens, ‘cause he took me out of my box”—perhaps a measure of her capitalizing on the Barbenheimer mania that none of us could escape, not even the musician who spent most of 2023 flying across the world from one country to another.

But you, us, the listener—we want to believe that Swift makes these records because she has the artistic will, drive and interest to continue giving us parts of her story in such ways that they exist as an archival of her life.

But the problem is that, on The Tortured Poets Department, Swift is packaging her life into a form that is easily consumable for the 17 or 18 years olds who pour over her music. Just because her Eras Tour film is on Disney+ doesn’t mean she has to strip her songwriting (which we know can be, and has been, phenomenal) down for the sake of it being digestible by a wide spectrum of ages.

And, sure, maybe that makes the work accessible. But on The Tortured Poets Department, Swift makes Zoomer jargon her bag—titling a song after one of the most popular video games in the world and conjuring flickers of “down bad” and “I can fix him”—and it feels like she’s cosplaying because the Fountain of Youth was out of order.

Now that Swift is in her 30s, it sounds like she is infantilizing her own audience more than ever before—that singing to them at a level that could force them to reckon with something more akin with adulthood would be some kind of kink in the coil or her consumeristic threshold, that writing lyrics that sound like they were penned by a 30-year-old would, somehow, deter the interests of the billions of people who adore her.

If making one, continuous coming-of-age album is what Swift has been doing for 15 years, folklore and evermore were hiccups in the timeline—existing as the most fully-formed renderings of Swift’s own insecurities and concerns. They mirrored our platitudes towards an uncertain future with sweet, stirring remarks about isolation and heartbreak and the unavoidable, hard-worn truth about getting older. On those records, her larger-than-life living seemed, for once, to truly feel as close to the ground as ours.

Now, though, Taylor Swift is at the top of the mountain. Far better artists have made far worse records than The Tortured Poets Department, but you can’t read between the lines of this project. There is nothing to decipher from a place of quality.

Sure, Swift’s fan base will pour over these lyrics for the rest of their lives—insisting they know, for certain, which song is about who. But you cannot place a bad album on the shoulders of lore and expect it to be rectified.

We are now left at a crossroads. Women can’t critique Swift because they’ll run the risk of being labeled a “gender traitor” for doing so. Men can’t critique her because they’ll be touted as “sexist.”

And, sure, Swift is probably too easy a punching bag in this case—and most of the time, I would argue she is undeserving of being a victim of such barbs. But, you cannot write about someone being a “tattooed golden retriever” and get away with it and still retain your title as the best songwriter of your generation. You just cannot.

Sisyphus should be glad he never got the boulder to the top of the mountain—because Taylor Swift is showing us that such immortality and success ain’t all it’s cracked up to be. And, when you’re standing on the peak alone, who else is there left to hit?

In a recent interview with The Standard, Courtney Love said that Swift is “not interesting as an artist,” and I think The Tortured Poets Department proves as much. She has nothing to fight for, no doubters left to drown.

So where does she turn? Well, to boredoms of celebrity thinly veiled as sorrow everyone and their mother can latch onto—because we’ve all had to “ditch the clowns, get the crown” at some point in our lives, right?

The billionaire is having an identity crisis, but there are no social media apps for her to buy up. So she sings like Lana Del Rey and writes meta-self-referential songs about looking like Stevie Nicks.

What’s hollow about The Tortured Poets Department is that the real torture is just how unlivable these songs really are. No one can resonate with “So I leap from the gallows and I levitate down your street, crash the party like a record, scratch as I scream ‘Who’s afraid of little old me?’ You should be.” And normally, that wouldn’t be an end-all-be-all for a pop record—but when your brand is built on copious levels of “I’m just like you!” as the demigod saying it to their fans does so from a multi-million-dollar production set, it’s hard to not feel nauseated by the overlording, overbearing sense of heavy-handed detritus we’re tasked with sifting through on The Tortured Poets Department.

Love’s words to Lana, her advice to “take seven years off,” should be applied to Swift. Now, that doesn’t mean that, to make a good album, you must sit on material for years and labor extensively through the sketching, shaping and recording in order for it to be transcendentally landmark. But it’s obvious now that not even Taylor Swift wants to be the head of an empire—that she, too, can’t outrun the damning fate of being plum out of ideas by hopping in her jet and skirting off to God knows where.

See you at the Grammys.

****

[littlepawz]

“This was the hardest thing I’ve ever painted. I was literally beat up by the waves and rising tide and forced to stop before it was finished. I could have done better, but between the blowing sand and wind, splashing waves, burning hot sun and the fact I’ve never painted a shark before or painted on a 3 dimensional surface like a rock…. I think it turned out OK”

~Jimmy Swift, graffiti artist~

[fruitytrollroll]

scratching the walls, running laps, I actually barked out of excitement. ( RUFF, BARK, BARK, RUFF, RUFF, GRRR, GIMME MORE )

Okay okay, one more but that's it, I don't want to spoil anyone's appetite. 😏

u get a pickle cellar excerpt

🥒🪲✨

Prismo leads Scarab to a dim, greenlit cellar, where the air is cool and pleasantly damp. Enormous barrels line the walls, above which are equidistant embedded shelves, packed with orderly lines of gleaming, sealed jars. The faint scent of brine drifts on the air, like Prismo has brought him to a brackish tide cave.

When Scarab had begun his inspection in earnest, he had observed the trash and sundry littered about the Time Room with disdain, and had automatically sneered when he began to imagine how the rest of the Cube might look. But he hadn't expected this.

"Haven't been down here in a while," Prismo idly volunteers, which may go a ways to explaining that discrepancy.

"Is that why it's so much cleaner?" Scarab dryly inquires. He sees no reason to hide his censure.

Prismo smiles sheepishly. "I was about to clean right before you showed up! That's why I closed the doors. Wouldn't wanna sweep any 'shorts' into the bin by accident." He laughs unconvincingly.

The reminder of Prismo's strange verbal slip earlier only serves to convince Scarab of the necessity of this inspection.

"Go on, then," Scarab invites with a gesture of eloquence. "Regale me with your process."

For the first time since Scarab arrived, Prismo actually looks somewhat enthused--though it's a far cry from his usual energy. He must be incredibly hungover.

"Okay, so the cool thing about pickling is that it's totally shelf-stable..."

--

"... And the longer you wait to eat them, the better they taste!"

Scarab hums, lifting one of the jars and examining it under the acidic lights. "I was under the impression that time didn't move forward, as such, in the Time Room."

"Right?" Prismo gushes. "Just a little trick I figured out."

"Do tell," Scarab says, interested despite himself. As frivolous a pastime as this is for the guardian of the entire multiverse's continuity and continued stability, Scarab is aware that sometimes turning one's powers to unexpected purpose can yield discoveries which lend one greater control of over those powers, and greater flexibility in their use. Perhaps that is the appeal of having a hobby, he muses.

And if he is to one day be Wishmaster, then hearing Prismo opine on the nature of his powers will ensure Scarab is adequately prepared to do the job more justice than Prismo ever did.

"As Wishmaster," Prismo ostentatiously begins, "I basically have control over every dimension in the Time Room. Like, I may just be a two-dimensional being, but I can still move the walls, and any inanimate three-dimensional objects in this space."

Or me, Scarab thinks with a thread of unease--though fortunately Prismo can only hold him, not move him.

... As far as he knows.

"Making time pass in the Time Room is as easy as moving a wall, once you figure out how to manipulate the fourth dimension!"

"It's that simple, is it?"

"Well," Prismo says modestly. "It took me a while to get the hang of it. But hey! Who can argue with these results?" He gestures proudly at his crop of jars. "You wanna try some? You seem like a 'hot and spicy' kinda guy to me."

"Hm," says Scarab. Against his better judgment, he's considering it.

Then Prismo heaves a sigh, rather disproportionate to Scarab's answer, in his opinion. The god-auditor turns to look at the Wishmaster askance, and finds him staring at the floor, looking positively downtrodden. Surely he's not that invested in Scarab trying out his pickles?

Scarab almost opens his mouth to ask what in the world is the matter with the Wishmaster, but before he can, Prismo mutters dejectedly, "That's the last time I make an unauthorized universe."

Scarab goes very still.

"... An unauthorized universe?" he softly says.

Prismo's eye widens, and he looks guiltily at his god-auditor guest.

"Ah... crap."

[blondiest]

rating: T | chapters: 3/4 | words: 15k

Near has Mello under siege, dragging him into a battle of wits, strategy, and stealth, one that has him in a state of constant vigilance, ever-ready for an attack. With his dignity and his ego on the line, Mello throws himself head-first into psychological warfare against his longtime rival, trying any tactic he can to help him turn the tide in his favor. The game is as complex and mind-bending as four-dimensional chess, and Mello has to think twenty moves ahead just to keep up, but he’ll be damned before losing to Near at this. ---- In which Near accidentally gaslights Mello into being his boyfriend, and Mello does Olympic-level mental gymnastics in order to read Near’s actions as sinister.

[read here]

[victormalonso]

ARAÑA NEGRA DE MIS NOCHES XIV | © víctor m. alonso, for the photo and poem

en las dimensiones del silencio está la noche, estás tú; el mar se inunda de luz lunar, y tu boca, y tu cabello negro, y tus ojos, que reflejan el otro lado del espejo que imagino, que invento para ti: allí está la luna, sumergiendo la mar en luz, de su luz improbable, luz imposible: luz del espacio infinito que somos, del espectro cósmico de tu boca, universal marea, sal ruidosa del océano que nos baña y nos llena, oleaje salino que empuja la costa, marino ensueño de tú y yo, que empujamos, tiramos en el silencio milenario, araña negra de mis noches, mujer C, deseo de mis ensoñaciones.

BLACK SPIDER OF MY NIGHTS XIV in the dimensions of silence there is the night, there is you; the sea is flooded with moonlight, and your mouth, and your black hair, and your eyes, that reflect the other side of the mirror that I imagine, that I invent for you: there, it is the moon, submerging the sea in light, with its improbable light, impossible light: light of the infinite space that we are, of the cosmic spectrum of your mouth, universal tide, noisy salt of the ocean that flood and fills us, saline waves that push the coast, marine dream of you and me, that we push, we pull in the millennial silence , black spider of my nights, woman C, desire of my dreams.

[rwac96]

No Plan is Perfect (A Crossover Shitpost)

Mad Scientist: *cackles insanely* "I've done it! I've finally done it! I created the perfect device: The Dimensional Tide!" *he steps back from the device*

*he steps back, and the machine lights up and turns on, making a giant rift, in reality, appear*

Mad Scientist: "With this, I'll hold the nations of the world hostage with the horrors from the worst of dimensions. Nothing in this world can stop me!!"

*suddenly, a swarm of black-skinned monsters with bone-like armor, The Grimm, escapes the rift as the machine sparks with ominous electricity*

Mad Scientist: *blinks, gulping as screams and explosions can be heard* "Oh, it seems my device had malfunctioned and opened multiple rifts...Well, it can't get any worse."

*THOOM!....THOOM!!*

*The rogue scientist runs towards the window, seeing an unmistakable beast*

"SSSKKKREEEEOOOONK!!!"

Mad Scientist: *grimaced* "I...I spoke too soon."

[thrown-away-opinions]

Seeing a bunch of whiny children cry about tiktok possibly being banned and trying to spin it as "THE GOVERNMENT IS ATTACKING THE YOUNG PEOPLE" is almost funny. These braindead zoomers think tiktok is like the highest form of education, keeping them informed on complex topics, media, literature, and science... And despite tiktok being the fucking site that has been repeatedly verifiably proven to be algorithmically tuned to fucking destroy a regular user's intellect and mental health, they still think this is so the young people (being misinformed by mentally deficient childless 30-somethings) can't get all the real information (propaganda) about world events, the latest psudo-science, or the trans genocide that's going to start any day now.

Tiktok users convinced themselves they could learn to dimensionally travel the multiverse so they could fuck Harry Potter characters. Tiktok had people faking Tourette's syndrome so aggressively that they gave themselves actual uncontrollable ticks. Tiktok, where retarded jackasses invented the fun game of forcing their way into random people's houses. FUCKING TIKTOK, HOME OF THE TIDE POD CHALLENGE.

And that's not even getting into the ways that tiktok is legitimately some of the worst fucking spyware you can put on your phone. The goddamned thing uses photogrametric data to map your house for fuck's sake. But let's pretend it's the public square and that the young people are being attacked because they might receive a slightly smaller dose of endless sludge content. They'll just have to go somewhere else to get groomed by pedophiles and sex offenders. How fucking horrendous!

[buffshipper8490]

Rating Mature

Chapter Summary

As the tide turns for the Resistance on Coruscant, Rey makes her last stand against the rejuvenated Emperor Palpatine on Exegol...

Excerpt

Silence. That was what death was like. A silence so pure Rey had never heard anything like it. And darkness. An all consuming black that threatened to swallow her whole. But then... A light.  Weak.  Filtering through her eyelids. That light grew and grew, incrementally, until it was nearly blinding, even through the protection of her closed eyes. And then as abruptly as it came, it rose to a crescendo and winked out.  Rey blinked awake. It was a strange kind of place, bright but not overwhelming like before. Energy flickered, things materializing into actual objects. A door. A wall. It was like she was floating above it all, detached from anything as concrete as a body, but as soon as she pondered that, her body appeared, almost as if she’d willed it into being. She flexed her fingers, rolled her shoulders, stretched her legs, marvelling at how the pain had simply disappeared. It was like she was brand new. In the distance, three of those glimmering lights started to grow larger, taking shape into something more humanesque. She walked toward them, the ground solidifying into a bridge of light beneath her feet with each step. By the time she made it to the three beings in front of her, the very air had taken shape around her into three-dimensional black, starry space. A small green being in the center spoke up, his voice high and his diction strange. That had to be Master Yoda. "Taught us much, you have. Mmmhmm.” “I’ve taught you?” She blinked at him in confusion. What could she have possibly taught them?  The three men looked at each other a long moment before the one on the right turned to her, his silver beard and warm eyes declaring him as Luke’s first master, Obi-Wan Kenobi. “Succeeded where we have failed," he said, his voice as gentle as his eyes. The lilting accent he spoke with nearly matched her own. "Narrow was our point of view.” Well that didn’t clear things up much.  The man on the far right smiled, seemingly understanding Rey’s confusion. His face was as familiar to Rey as her own these days, though for once Master Luke wasn’t looking at her with concern or disappointment on his face but a fondness so intense she nearly had to look away. “You chose to embrace the Dark Side and the Light,” he explained, his voice soft and even. “To find balance within.” At his left, Master Yoda nodded. “Co-exist, they must, as such feelings do in all of us.” Oh, so she’d done something right after all. Though in the moment it hadn’t been much of a choice, more of an instinct, pure reaction. But they still hadn’t answered her most pressing question.  “Is this death?” “This is the plane of existence between the living and the dead. A world between worlds, if you will,” Obi-Wan explained. "Your connection with Ben Solo is what allowed your consciousness to come here instead of passing on." "He's still alive?" Rey asked, hopeful. Obi-Wan nodded. "Anchored to him, your essence is. A bond not easily broken, a Force Dyad is," added Yoda. "Two beings you may be, but One in the Force you are." Rey felt a rush of gratitude for Ben and their bond. The power of their Dyad never ceased to amaze her, now more than ever. “Now, a choice you must make," continued Yoda. "To return or to remain.” “Here, there is serenity. Knowledge. Peace. Those lost, but not forgotten,” picked up Luke. She looked out into the darkness, where those specks continued to glimmer in the distance. Calling to her. A pull so intoxicating she was having trouble focusing on anything else. “And there?” “There, you will face a galaxy in turmoil,” answered Obi-Wan, his gentle voice only somewhat softening the blow of his words. “Pain, suffering. The loss of those you love.” Rey’s heart squeezed in her chest. She’d had just about enough of loss. More than a lifetime’s worth. Though Master Yoda wasn’t done. “But living you will be.” He stepped forward, using a gnarled walking stick. A smile transformed his ancient features. “Love, you shall...”

New Fanfic Link! Likes ❤️ and Reblogs 🔁 are much appreciated!

[goldenteaset]

8 hours until Heart of the Sun is released and all I can think of is Djeeta and Lyria waking up from whatever happens in Part 1 to find Lucilius and Belial "not arguing, don't be ridiculous" over what to give them for breakfast...

Lucilius: They need a balanced diet if they're to take down God.

Belial: I mean, sure, Cilius, but they've had a tiring day. Let's give them something sweet to tide them over, hmm?

Lucilius: And then they'll run laps (in the Dimensional Rift) until they pass out again. I know your methods.

Belial: :) You really do~.

Djeeta and Lyria: D:

[sarafangirlart]

Poseidon

Do you bring fresh tidings from some god, from Zeus, or from some lesser power?

Athena
From none of these; but on behalf of Troy, whose soil we tread, I have come to seek your mighty aid, to make it one with mine.

Poseidon
What! have you laid your former hate aside to take compassion on the town now that it is burnt to ashes?

Athena
First go back to the former point; will you make common cause with me in the scheme I purpose?

Poseidon
Yes, surely; but I want to learn your wishes, whether you have come to help Achaeans or Phrygians.

Athena
I wish to give my former foes, the Trojans, joy, and on the Achaean army impose a bitter return.

Poseidon
Why do you leap thus from mood to mood? Your love and hate both go too far, on whomever centred.

-The Trojan Women, Euripides

Bruh Athena is so interesting I hate it when she’s portrayed as a one dimensional villain.

[twopoppies]

I absolutely love all of your fic recommendations. Thank you so much for this. Do you know of any fics, especially lesser known, where H &/or L have blue collar jobs? Construction, assembly line, mechanic, farming, etc? Thank you for your service to the fandom! 💝

Hi, darling. Oh, that’s a fun question. I think I can pull something together for you.

Ever Since I Tried Your Way by flowercrownfemme / @lesbianiconharrystyles (E, 26K) I loved everything about this fic, from the setting to the characterizations to the slow way Harry discovers himself and how Louis supports everything about him. It’s just beautifully written and wonderfully moving. Rancher Louis / eventual rancher Harry

An Invincible Summer by Brooklyn_Babylon / @twopoppies (E, 45K) this one is mine, I hope you like it. Farmer Harry / Temporary farm hand /author Louis

Never content to stay in one place for long, a few months down south researching for his novel seemed like an idyllic, slow-paced summer to Louis. He wasn’t ready for the blistering heat, the backbreaking work of watermelon picking, or how stifling the attitudes in rural Georgia would feel. And he definitely hadn’t anticipated falling in love with the farmer’s son.

The summer of 1946 would turn out to be everything worth writing about.

our little corner of the world by brownheadedstranger (E, 30K) This fic reads like original fiction in the best sort of way. The whole fic makes you feel like you’re stuck in the hot, dusty little town along with the boys. It’s beautifully written – slow and wistful – and I really need to re-read it now that I think of it! Line cook Harry / diner worker Louis.

The Road Less Travelled by freetheankles / @anymerrylilthought​ (E, 98K) Also known as “the lumberjack fic”, this fic is an instant classic. The author makes widowed Louis’ pain and depression so real and so moving. The characters are three-dimensional and complex and the well written sexual tension is finally relieved with super hot smut. Link is to a download. Lumberjack Louis

So Darling, Just Say You’ll Stay Right By My Side by supernope (E, 28K) Another fic I read too long ago to recall details of, and my rather unhelpful notes read, “LOVE! Slow build up, but so sexy!” So…here’s to trusting old me. I’m not too worried, this author is pretty sure bet. Chief of police Louis. Deputy Harry.

Divine Intervention by Awriterwrites / @a-writerwrites (E, 6K) This fic is short, but super sexy and bittersweet. Something about the way Louis is so gentle in it just gets to me. Building inspector Harry

where the tide takes you, I will follow by @pinkcords (E, 40K) First of all, I’m so happy this author is writing again! Second, everything about this was just lovely. The slow, dreamy tone of their writing fit the setting and the way Harry and Louis fell into each other so, so well. I love how descriptive their writing is without being flowery or pointless. The smut scenes were toe-curlingly sexy, and gave us beautiful insight into both of the boys. I just wanted to live inside this fic. Fish shack worker Louis

may we all have a vision now and then by momentofclarity / @gaycousinlarry (M, 4K) This author is one of my favorite writers in this fandom and everything they do is infused with so much delicacy and tenderness. I literally cried through this fic because of how wounded Harry’s character feels. Read it and then treat yourself to their whole AO3 catalogue. Trucker Louis

it’s time to find your wings again by we_are_the_same / @why-let-your-voice-be-tamed (T, 12K) I just loved the fairytale quality of this story––not cute and cuddly, but dark and curious and intense–– more like a Grimm fairytale. So unique and so worth reading. Prison guard Louis

Naked & Proud by kiwikero (E, 19K) Farmer Harry runs an organic store. Lust at first sight. Summer love. All sorts of good stuff in this really well-written story.

O’ Christmas Tree by @justalittlelouislove (M, 15K) I love this author’s writing and this one is just 100% wonderful fluff that still managed to make me cry! It’s sweet and charming and one of the very few kid fics I actually enjoyed. Christmas tree farmer Harry.

Lambing Season by @helloamhere (E, 26K) This is beautiful little emotional fic and it’s one of my favorites. If you’ve ever wanted to leave your shitty work environment, escape to an idyllic countryside, and find love along the way, read this one. Farmer Louis.

Coup de Foudre by angelwarm (M, 15K) The characters (particularly Louis) are pretty OOC, but god this fic is gorgeous. After I read it I just sat there not knowing what to do with myself. It’s sad and hopeful and just gorgeously written. Diner Worker Harry

Wild and Unruly by 100percentsassy, gloria_andrews / @gloriaandrews (E, 124K) One of the OG classics in this fandom. If you haven’t read it yet, you’re missing out. It’s just a great, original story. Plus, cowboy Harry, city boy Louis, bad guys to hate, nail biting drama, hot af sexual chemistry and smut, and a super satisfying ending. Rancher Harry.

————

You might also check my Military AU fic rec for jobs like soldiers, engineers etc.

[cross-my-heartt]

thoughts about the finale from what I can remember right now:

[SPOILERS UNDER THE CUT]

They finally did it. They finally put their foot down about rescuing Crosshair and if there's anything that's gonna tide me over until season 3 it's THAT SINGLE CONVERSATION

We got a quality moment with Tech and Phee, so quality that I think I actually ship them now. (HAHA BUT FRICK ME BECAUSE THAT WAS ACTUALLY FORESHADOWING) I was worried when they didn't show her last episode because I thought they were just going to tease a fun comic relief kind of ship instead of, you know, having the characters be there for each other during important moments. As it should be You can't just put Phee in a side pocket and expect her to disappear when stuff gets serious.

That moment where they all look at Wrecker in sync is something I'll tuck under my pillow and look at when I feel like crying. This show has no right to be this funny before taking a sledgehammer to our hearts.

I was begging any god that would listen that the other infiltrators were clones, like I wanted it to be Cody so badly in that moment. I even think I heard DBB's voice when one of the commandos spoke and my pulse skyrocketed But no it was Gerrera. Which, okay plot reasons, and good plot reasons but still 🥲 Man but they really outdid themselves with the plot, it's actually crazy good. Such a roller coaster.

Kudos for actually letting one of the officers defend the clones. That's good writing. Realistically it makes sense and you don't get the feeling that they're all one dimensional psychos. As a side note I was impressed that one of the baddies (the one responsible for surveillance) had an accent other than posh British. And then I realized it was German 😂 like... c'mon guys

TECH. TECH MY MAN. YOU ABSOLUTE AMAZING INCREDIBLE BREATHTAKING LITTLE DUDE. I'm sorry guys but he stole it. Gave Crosshair a run for his money. I salute our little nerd for being the biggest bamf tcw has ever seen in that moment. The sass, the style, the one linery of it all. Of course he's not dead. You can't kill a character like that, you just physically (and metaphorically) can't.

I literally don't know how they'll recover from a trauma like that. They think he's dead. They watched him plunge to the ground. I am unwell (on their behalf).

So glad that AZI was incorporated back into the plot. The little dude deserves it and we love to see him.

'I liked goggles' 🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪 🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪 girl you better know how to perform miracles because that's the only thing that's redeeming you now

Wrecker was wiping tears when they talked about Tech. They were trying so hard to be strong for her. They were in agony on the inside and they still tried so hard for her. Wrecker was shaking his head when Hemlock offered Hunter the exchange, they are ready and willing to die on the spot for her I-

'who knew clones could be so... paternal' *cue shot of Hunter's face* *cue me being deceased on the floor*

AHFSEGFHJRDGHARDGRHGR that's it, everything that happens next is just AHRJHEASGFHJEGFHFRDGG. don't expect me to be more coherent than this

I didn't know they could animate Kaminoans to emote but dang they did a good job with Nala Se.

I'd given up hope of seeing Crosshair's face these episodes but we got him and Omega in one scene together and I guess that goes to the 'help me survive until season 3' pile.

I know we'd already clocked Emerie as a clone and fishy but there's nothing more satisfying than good foreshadowing paying off. This show doesn't give us cheap subversion but actually good plot twists where it's appropriate and they don't make the audience feel like fools by feeding us false clues. Mad respect for that. I don't think we realize how rare that it these days.

Finally, I'll need all of you to hold my hand after this, please-

[best-underrated-anime]

Best Underrated Anime Group E Round 2: #E7 vs #E3

#E7: Teenage boys use empathy to solve problems for youkai

#E3: Sending us penguins will NOT fix our terminally ill sister, but thanks anyways

Details and poll under the cut!

#E7: The Morose Mononokean (Fukigen na Mononokean)

Summary:

Without realizing it, a high schooler named Ashiya Hanae shows kindness to a youkai and is subsequently possessed by it on the first day of class. The spirit clings to his shoulder, making him progressively sicker each day. After a week of collapsing on his way into school, Ashiya notices a “Help Wanted” flyer for an exorcism service in the nurse’s office. Desperate, he calls the service, only to find that it is run by his grumpy classmate.

Abeno Haruitsuki prefers youkai to humans, sleeps through class, and is the master of a sentient tea room called the Mononokean, where youkai come for help with their problems. It turns out that they’re mostly benign, and exorcising them to the Underworld is safer for them. Ashiya convinces Abeno to exorcise the spirit possessing him, but Abeno demands he work part-time for the Mononokean as repayment. Abeno’s intimate knowledge of the spirit world and Ashiya’s empathetic nature form a great contrast as they work together.

Propaganda:

The Morose Mononokean is a beautifully written and animated coming-of-age story— with youkai, which can only ever make a piece of media better. The characters, both human and youkai, are fully three-dimensional, and although there isn’t much of an overarching plot in the first season/early manga chapters, the episodic stories contribute to the growth of both Ashiya and Abeno; their juxtaposed methods of problem-solving, and the way they affect and learn from each other’s perspectives as they become closer, are very satisfying both to analyze and to experience on an emotional level. Beyond the writing, the art is outstanding as well. The designs for the youkai characters are frequently adorable, occasionally terrifying, and always quite original, brilliantly incorporating characteristics of existing creatures in novel ways. The occasional visits to the Underworld are always a visual treat, with vibrant colors and a unique animation style painting the backdrop. Both the art and the characters are delightful and moving, and the OP is a banger. As a connoisseur of urban fantasy, Fukigen na Mononokean’s focus on emotion over action has made it my all-time favorite anime in the genre.

Trigger Warnings: None.

#E3: Mawaru Penguindrum

Summary:

For the Takakura family, destiny is an ever-spinning wheel, pointing passionately in their direction with equal tides of joy and sorrow before ticking on to the next wishmaker. With their parents gone, twin brothers Kanba and Shouma live alone with their beloved little sister Himari, whose poor health cannot decline any further.

On the day Himari is given permission to temporarily leave the hospital, her brothers take her out to the aquarium to celebrate, where the family's supposed fate is brought forth with her sudden collapse. However, when Himari is inexplicably revived by a penguin hat from the aquarium's souvenir shop, the hand of fate continues to tick faithfully forward.

With her miraculous recovery, though, comes a cost: there is a new entity within her body, whose condition for keeping her fate at bay sends the boys on a wild goose chase for the mysterious "Penguin Drum." In their search, the boys will have to follow the threads of fate leading from their own shocking past and into the lives of other wishmakers vying for the Penguin Drum, all hoping to land upon their chosen destiny.

Propaganda:

Do you like weird artsy stuff? Do you love magical girls? How about weird, messed up character dynamics? Then boy oh boy, Mawaru Penguindrum is the show for you! The show starts out funny enough, but will quickly spiral into an intense and intricate plot, involving fate, the mafia, magical destiny-rewriting spells, and penguins. Which yes, before you ask, the funny penguins are in fact plot relevant.

Penguindrum isn’t really a show about all that stuff though, even though it is. It’s a very symbolic story, about living under the crushing heel of capitalism, and the quiet poison of the societally expected nuclear family dynamic. I could write an essay on each and every single one of the characters, as they’re all given a lot of depth and time to grow. Every character has their own baggage that, one way or another, ties back to someone else. Everyone in this show is connected in some way shape or form, and that’s really highlighted when everything starts to fall apart. Be warned: this show is NOT a light watch! If you’re the type of person who gets really into deciphering symbolism and creating your own meaning from pieces of media, then this show is for you!

Trigger Warnings: Child Abuse, Domestic Abuse, Emotional Abuse, Flashing Lights/Flickering Images, Gender Identity/Sexuality Discrimination, Guns, Incest, Kidnapping, Nudity, Pedophilia, Rape/Non-Con, Smoking, Suicide, Bomb Threats/Attempts and Terrorisim

It’s a very major plot point. This show is HEAVILY based off the 95 Tokyo Sarin Gas Attacks, so if content like that is triggering to you, tread lightly.

When reblogging and adding your own propaganda, please tag me @best-underrated-anime so that I’ll be sure to see it.

If you want to criticize one of the shows above to give the one you’re rooting for an advantage, then do so constructively. I do not tolerate groundless hate or slander on this blog. If I catch you doing such a thing in the notes, be it in the tags or reblogs, I will block you.

Know one of the shows above and not satisfied with how they’re presented in this tournament? Just fill up this form, where you can submit revisions for taglines, propaganda, trigger warnings, and/or video.

[pzfr]

RP SENTENCE STARTERS INSPIRED BY "Astro City" (1995) MEGAPOST

Edit pronouns/names/locations/etc. and combine or separate as needed when sending.

#1

"In my dreams, I fly. I soar unfettered, and serene, laughing at gravity and at care. The clouds embrace me as a friend and the wind lazily tousles my hair. I lose myself in the sun and the sky."

"The emergency alert transmitter. As always."

"Some sort of weather disaster. Probably another typhoon."

"Manila's a nice flight, under other circumstances. But not today."

"There's no time. There's never any time."

"Of course, there's shock damage to dealt with, and venting the volcano that caused the wave..."

"'Deadlines' as always. Four manuscripts late out of editorial as always. And guess who gets to make up the time?"

"Well, if things are that dire, might as well get to it. 'Time nor tide tarrieth no man.'"

"You know, for someone who enjoys his job so much, you figure just once he'd get here a little early."

"Not bad-- a little florid, but it captures the subject well."

"I swear, I used to think he was standoffish-- but I'm starting to believe he really is the busiest guy on Earth!"

"Cuttin' it a bit fine, eh, [NAME]? We were gettin' ready t'start without ya!"

"Button it. They've never missed a meeting, which is more than I can say for you!"

"Now, now. No need to fuss-- we're all here."

"Boost power-flow by 13%."

"So what's the verdict? Will I ever play violin again?"

"Perfect-- We're reading 85% human with a 15% alien overlay."

"Ha!-- Enough of circuitry and wiring, we have a call to arms!"

"Yeah, yeah, big deal! Like we don't already know you're fast..."

"You'd better be in there! Lunch hour ended TEN minutes ago!"

"I know, and I'm sorry. But the solitude helps me work faster."

"I can't save everybody-- people die even while I'm saving lives *here*-- but I still do what I can. Can't I?"

#2

"Please, it's only [TITLE/FULL NAME/ETC.] when you're in trouble. Call me [(NICK)NAME]."

"I had Sally make us lunch reservations at the press club. I'll introduce you to some of the guys you'll be working with."

"Good. We've got a few minutes before it's time to head down, then. Relax, loosen your tie maybe-- you look like you're choking."

"Sorry, this article you've got framed here. I can understand the others, but why this one?"

"You're observant. I like that."

"That's a story I usually tell over lunch, but I think the club waiters are getting tired of it."

"Press! Press! I need that phone!"

"Your first week, and you already want the front page?"

"I know, I know. But all I've gotten are obits and one flower show. And I could taste this one--"

"Hotshot reporter! Ace newshound! Your pulitzer."

"I'd sneak you up, but I've got an early audition tomorrow."

"Radio jingle, or a soap opera this time?"

"They've got no money of course-- they're putting on the show in a coffeehouse--"

"By the power of the dark heart-- of blood and bone crushed to powder..."

"By the power of the killing fish... the great fish that never rests, whose hunger is never sated..."

"I open the channels to your hunger... I open the channels to your power!..."

"I don't know if what you're trying would even work, but I'd just as soon not find out!"

"I THANK YOU. YOUR WORLD IS WITHIN STRIKING DISTANCE. YOU AND YOUR MINNOWS HAVE SERVED ME WELL... AND YOU SHALL NOT GO UNREWARDED!"

"TAKE MY POWER UNTO YOU. TAKE MY HUNGER AS YOUR OWN--"

"Your army's not going anywhere except the stockade, chum!"

"Quit clowning around and get the job done! We don't have time for your foolishness!"

"You're most uncool! This scene is so square, it's cubed!"

"These oversized sardines need to be put back into the can!"

"THE HUMANS ARE MORE RESOURCEFUL THAN THEY FIRST APPEARED. BUT THEY SHALL NOT PREVAIL."

"We are in a half-world between realities-- and we must prevent it from becoming a beachhead!"

"No offense, but a neophyte reporter bringing a wild story like this... extra-dimensional attack, mystic half-worlds, old legends... would you believe it, in my shoes?"

"Rewrite it, [NAME]. Rewrite it and stick to the facts you can back up."

"This is a strange world, son. And there are lots of weird things in it. That makes us, as a newspaper, vulnerable. Other papers may go out there with sensational, screaming headlines that turn out to be a mistake. We print what we can prove. Sometimes spectacular, sometimes it isn't. Our readers count on us for the truth."

#3

"Please. A drink for everyone in this establishment, my dear."

"Worth a cool mil-- and he says anyone coulda done it--"

"Hey, hey! I heard somebody went down last night-- on your lookout."

"That ain't fair. He was waitin' for us. Gagged me, then in came the cops. I barely managed to slip away."

"Go ahead! Scoff! Don't believe me."

"Oh look-- it's a ruffian of some sort!"

"I'll have the chauffeur rough them up and toss them into the river. Such impertinence."

"Uh, it's nothin' guys. I got an offer to work on my aunt's house in California. I'm thinkin' about it, like a vacation y'know?"

"[NAME] squealed! He's tryin' to bring me in!--"

"Eyes~, oh eyes~! Some people see too much, Eyes!"

"No, please stop! Don't wind that crank, please!"

"Oh, but it's such a nice song, don't you think? Why don't you sing it with me..."

"The monkey thought it was all in fun~!--"

"A hundred-thousand to the man who kills him! And two-hundred in merchandise credit!"

"Sounds like a good deal, but read the fine print: It's awfully hard to collect when you're in prison!"

"Nobody leaves the party early! Don't worry-- I'll get around to you as quickly as I can!"

"How many times have your mother and I told you? If you and your little friends can't play nice, your toys are going to be taken away from you!"

#4

"I swear. I don't know how you do it. I couldn't live up here: gives me the willies just driving through."

"--She broke out of jail. Rebuilt her commode and prison cot into a jackhammer."

"It looks like it's just a pin, but if I turn the design in the frame like-- well, I won't do it now, but it'll set off alarms at headquarters."

"Some. They're not as bad as you think, though. I grew up there. I guess I'm just used to it."

"'Not as bad as you think,' listen to her!"

"One of the gals in my apartment just took a new job in San Franscisco, we're looking for a new roomie."

"She becomes one of them! She works down there, now she lives down there--"

"Mistletoe, child, will protect you from the prince of darkness. For he cannot stand its purity. Also good if need speak to ghosts, but that for later."

"And when the dust settles, if any of you are still standing-- DON'T SAY WE DIDN'T WARN YOU!"

"Into the stairwell! It's reinforced and we've got to get to ground level!"

"Don't even bat an eyelash kiddo. I may be old enough to be your grampaw, but I got the drop on ya!"

#5

"Can't-- caught in some kind of magnetic field!"

"It's screwing up my servos!"

"We'll take him apart from the knees up!"

"No need to applaud, kiddies and kiddettes!

"Just sit back and watch while a professional demonstrates the fine art of monster-taming!"

"You're not exactly cooperating there, tall-dark-and-bloodthirsty!"

"You wouldn't wanna make me look bad, would you?"

"What did we do so wrong to deserve him?!"

"Just get 'im out of here-- before I rip his leg off and beat the monster's head in with it!"

"Cripesakes, man! This is a battlezone! Get outta here!"

"Izzat the new 720? Man, I read about those! Sweet machine, can I--"

"It is NOT your precious machine! And what it is is none of your concern! Now be off with you!"

"Cold is better than walls. I am content."

"Another rejection-- you think the boy would learn!"

"Why can't he get a normal, respectable job like any other--"

"Transmission connection established. Awaiting signal."

"Heads up in there, you lucky unfortunate, you-- And better have your autograph book ready! 'Cause you're sure to want a memento of this daring rescue to show to your grandchildren someday!"

"You know, the service in here is terrible. Whaddya say pops? Let's BLOW this popsicle stand!"

"Ah, to think that all the other superheroes will pale by comparison!"

"No autographs please, ladies! I still have work to do! I-- MY RECORD COLLECTION!"

"Hmph! Be like that! See if I don't get a lawyer for unauthorized use of the name..."

"So the woman says 'you idiot-- this is a duck, not a pig!' and the bartender says-- 'I was talking to the DUCK!'... fine, don't laugh! See if I care."

"Here you go: A trio of sleeping not-so-beauties!"

"Aw, pshaw! Gotta leave *something* for the boys in blue to do!"

"Do you mind?! We're on stakeout here!"

"C'mon! I know a little after-hours place around the corner. Could be your lucky night!"

"And you, such a sensitive guy, too. The mind positively boggles!"

"So, what about you, short stuff? Ready to graduate into the big leagues?"

"I'm only lending a helping hand, dear lady! Pretend I'm not even here!"

"Yes, it was a long and complex investigation to get the goods on this vicious criminal ring. But I want you to know there's no way I could have done it without the assistance of these girls here--"

#6

"I just... didn't know whether you'd be showing up as yourself, or as..."

"I wouldn't want to make you reveal your secret identity-- you don't need to change."

"Now we're not going to take no for an answer, big guy. You keep overworking yourself like this, you're going to crack."

"Take an evening off for once. The rest of us can keep the world safe tonight."

"Oh please, guys! That thing's fast, sure... but let's be realistic here!"

"This is priceless, isn't it? The world's most prominent superheroes, and neither of us has been out on a date in so long... we've forgotten how it works."

"I... I don't know. I didn't really think to make reservations anywhere. It's not like we can go to dinner like this, right?"

"So they are. But you know what? It's our night off. Let's go ahead and cause a fuss!"

"Where now?... we could go to Paris, or Tokyo... if you prefer."

"Where would it be different?"

"My idea of a swell evening, I'll tell you-- freezin' my buns off so some other guy can get some!"

"Um, really? No offense... but it's not the sort of thing I'd imagined for you."

"I can take off whenever I need to, as long as the work gets done."

"Well yes, but surely you could get whatever connections you want from the government or any station--"

"I suppose I could, now. But I wouldn't have been able to when I started out... And, well. I've been kind of busy..."

"That was it. That was the end of my mission. I don't know what it changed-- but that it was a crucial event."

"And I can't help but think, if one disaster could send the world into ruin... well, having seen where we could end up, I feel like I should try to keep things as safe as I can.

"But I couldn't find my family. They didn't exist-- they'd never been born."

"The dwelling unit where I grew up was gone, too. In its place was an automated taco stand."

"But the world I came from is gone. It simply never was."

"It's okay. We knew going into it that this would happen if I was successful, and we all agreed that--"

"We're a couple of workaholics, it seems. Addicted to our beepers."

"Hey, I'll turn mine off if you turn yours off."

"Because I've got a message to send, to women. Not just that they can be heroic, but that they matter. They count."

"Look, I do what I do by choice, and so do you."

"You prioritize by time, who's nearest. And I prioritize by what message I send."

"Tell me about it. I've been called everything from a pagan cult-leader to an anti-american lesbian terrorist."

"I just try to focus on the mission, on getting through to the next job that needs doing."

"I think if I stepped back and looked at it from outside I'd just crack from the enormity of it all."

"But everybody needs to step back. To get some perspective."

"You must have family, friends to turn to from before--"

"Wow! You're almost as cut off as I am..."

"Oh COME ON! I don't have the luxury you do, keeping a secret identity you don't even use! I mean, where is this normal life you say you always want? You're always on the go, you barely even had enough time for tonight!--"

"But don't you see how unrealistic that is?"

"Everything we do is unrealistic. We're fighting for dreams, and we can't give up, not even when... maybe especially when it's impossible."

"Maybe you're fine. Maybe you're still the woman you were, just more powerful and effective."

"But it seems to me that well... if you don't deal with the world through anything but the costume and the mission, hasn't it become kind of a shelter in itself?"

"Just because you saw your whole world destroyed doesn't mean I have to go crawling back to that broken, pathetic, SCARED little thing I once was!"

"You're really annoying, you know that? It's like... you're a god pretending to be normal."

"I'm a woman trying to live up to the role of a god. Letting go of that, even for a little while... well. It's hard to believe I'll ever capture it again."

"Don't worry about it: You've given me a lot to think about. Just as long as it hasn't been entirely one-sided..."

"No-- no. You said some things I haven't considered, but maybe I should..."