Nov 2018 Archive, part b

The Pelican Brief was (to the best of memory) the first "grown-up" movie my parents took me to see when I was younger. I barely remember it now, except for one character's death scene that stuck with me for some reason. Now, the time has come to read the source material, both to correct my status of having seen the movie before reading the book and to restore canon knowledge to my fan brain.

Spoilers follow for the novel version of The Pelican Brief.

The Pelican Brief is . . . fine. Not great, not terrible. Just okay. My main issue with the story-line is that the only reason it maintains suspense for as long as it does is simply that Grisham doesn't allow the characters to talk about for a good chunk of the beginning—like, more than half the novel, I think. On the one hand, this makes sense, as it avoids the "as-you-know" type of dialogue that we tend to hate around here. But it left me feeling out-of-the-loop. I'm used to characters sharing the same level of knowledge that I do, by virtue of following alongside their perspective. But in TPB, knowing that the characters had some huge clue that I didn't ruined the sense of suspense for me. Rather than discovering clues alongside the principle actors, I was just . . . waiting for them to tell me.

A technical aspect that frustrated me is the way Grisham sometimes starts new scenes using pronouns for a paragraph or two before naming the character who's actually being followed by the action. This mostly didn't matter when Darby was the focal character, since she comes very close to being the only named female character in the entire novel. But when it starts out with "he" I had a big range of characters to wonder about. The professor? The journalist? The FBI lawyer? Another FBI person? The president, or his prime lackey, or that prime lackey's lackeys? The White House janitor or his policeman son? Khamel or one of the other bad guys? When your novel has so many characters, and nearly all of them are one sex, you don't get to open scenes with bare pronouns. It's disorienting!

I'm glad Grisham isn't reading this, because I'm fairly short on positive things to say. He does convey a strong sense of danger to Darby, thanks to him not being afraid to kill characters off violently. I like Khamel the terrorist; he actually has one of the less stereotypically straightforward mindsets out of all the bad guys, and doesn't derive much pleasure from his assassinations. It's just a job to him, and doesn't really bare any ill will towards his victims. His killings are also memorable simply because of how brutally efficient they are. Matiesse is an interesting example of taking a real world character way over the top and not having it seem cartoonish. His wish to avoid contact with people outside of the staff he relies on, to the point where his living space is divided into places he can walk, and places everyone else can week, show how secluded his money has allowed him to become. His thirst for wealth has driven him away from the very land he owns and wants to drill; he thinks he is above the rest of the world, but his plan still gets exposed by people in the society he tried to leave behind, and thanks to the initial efforts of a mere student. It's good symbolism.

But a lot of the politically oriented characters are pretty baldly flat characters, only out to fuel the agenda of their political parties . . . which, okay, applause, he pretty much predicted the U.S. government through the 2010s, but that doesn't make for an interesting read. I also super-duper don't like that Darby is apparently into older men, especially not with her having an affair with her professor when the novel opens. Eeeeew.

Well, short review, but it didn't really live up to the hype for me. What can I do?

—doctorlit is disappointed that not a single pelican appeared on-page. The title implied pelicans would be present. Zero out of ten, not enough pelicans, would not read again.

"You get that pit bull off my [butt], keep him away from me, and I'll forget the pelican spoiler." "You get that pit bull off my [butt], keep him away from me, and I'll forget the pelican spoiler." "You get that pit bull off my [butt], keep him away from me, and I'll forget the pelican spoiler."

Continuing the series of posts that could roughly be described as "Thoth gives his thoughts on various stuff from the Fate-verse why is he still doing this nobody cares," I'm talking about Volume 1 of a light novel nobody's heard of that I actually rather liked and would have liked quite a lot more if... well, I'll get to that soon enough.

If course, LEM2 had my attention pretty much from the word go. When I talked about Fate/Zero, I described Waver and his Servant by saying "they actually ARE the best. I'm not even kidding, it's not up for debate." So an entire series that shows Waver 10 years down the line and all grown up was always going to be of interest, seeing as he's one of my favorites. And then there's the fact that he adopts the role of a magical detective, a grumpy, inadequate Sherlock Holmes with a shy and awkward girl with some quite interesting talents serving as his Watson. I mean... come on! That is so much my thing that I'd almost say this series was written specifically for me.

If not for the fact that it was never actually translated to English officially. I've been reading an unofficial translation, and it is terrible. Just... awful. I mean, it can be read, but there's no sense of style, and the prose all-too-often feels awkward and stilted, which sometimes makes it hard. Then again, the anime/manga/etc community tends to value accuracy over style in their translations, which is something I can never quite forgive them for. Because it's a fundamentally wrong approach, as seen in the best translations, which are more concerned with keeping the spirit than the wordings.

Anyways, allow me to take a break from that rant to rant about something else: Type-Moon's localization policy. Or should I say, lack of one. Type-Moon is a company that is arguably ate the forefront of their industry, and their games are among the most recognizable Visual Novels worldwide. Sure, they don't have quite the same recognition as Phoenix Wright, but they're in roughly the same tier as Dangan Ronpa or 999, games that are markedly more western in their approach.

In my assessment, FS/N is probably the most traditional Japanese VN to get a real foothold in the west (Emphasis on Japanese: we have our own VN industry over here, although whether any of them have reached Fate's level of success is debatable as well), largely through word-of-mouth and its fantastic anime adaptations. And while that's not uncommon for VN-adapted-works, like CLANNAD and Steins;Gate, Fate is notable for its dedicated fanbase, many of whom have actually invested a tremendous amount of time into the source material.

So it's bewildering that in light of the fact that they have an army of international fans that will go to frankly insane lengths to get their hands on their work, even playing entirely untranslated versions of tie-in games, that Type-Moon continues to have little to no interest in international releases for their works. To date, not a single one of their Visual Novels has been officially translated, and it's only thanks to some brilliant work from MirrorMoon and Beast's Lair that we've got translations that are as good as they are. Which is... honestly pretty good, most of the time, especially considering that the original works have an infamously quirky style that can even throw people in Japan for a loop.

The only reason we even got an international release of Fate/Grand Order, the free-to-play mobile spinoff (which is one of... maybe four spinoffs ever to be translated?) is because of a loud and repeated outcry from fans who had to fight tooth and nail to get what they wanted. And even then there are issues: f'rinstance, in FGO, Artoria's name is rendered as "Altria". Now, Artoria is an English name, a female version of "Arthur" because famously in Fate King Arthur is a girl. Altria is what happens when you take the Japanese version of the name (which is altered to account for Japanese phonetic rules, in much the same way that "mele kalikimaka" is as close to saying "Merry Christmas" as you can get in Hawaiian) and translating it literally back into English without Anglicizing it to reverse the original conversion. In short, it's a "google translate" translation: technically correct but ignoring the meaning.

What kind of professional translator would possibly make this mistake? Oh, they didn't. They knew full-well the proper way to translate the name, but Kinoko Nasu, the series' original creator, actually mandated that they use the wrong translation.

So I think it's fair to say that Type-Moon just hates us English-speakers and wants us all to die without having experienced their works.

Anyways, I was supposed to be giving my thoughts on a work here... so let's get back to that.

In the 10 years since the events of Fate/Zero, Waver Velvet has become a charismatic eccentric. He's one of the Mages' Associations's Twelve Lords, but largely through political dealings, as despite a keen intellect and an an ability to analyze and understand magecraft that is genuinely impressive (and makes him an excellent teacher at the Clock Tower) he's all-but utterly devoid of natural talent as a mage, having to resort to far more mundane techniques to get results. Remember that bit in Fate/Zero where he says a more talented mage could have used a far more intricate method to get their results than his primitive alchemy? Yeah, he's still very much doing that sort of thing. He's also, despite his outwards-facing charisma, a total mess in private. And yes, Fate/Zero fans, he still has his T-shirt.

Our protagonist is his assistant and apprentice, Grey, a shy girl who lived a strange and sheltered life before moving to London to become a student at the Clock Tower, and who has some quite remarkable abilities of her own (in fact, Waver makes a point of saying that if there's a fight between mages, he'd be dead long before she hit the ground). She is, as I said, the Watson to Waver's (or should I say, Lord El-Melloi II's) Holmes, serving as an audience surrogate when the narrative needs an excuse to explain something to us, but she is an interesting character an in her own right and I genuinely want to learn more about her.

The story itself is... good. If it was translated better, it could even be great. Hell, I'd say a real proper translation of this actually might work as a viable introduction to Fate for people who don't know the world. Sadly, that's not what we have, and it took an awful lot of my Fate background knowledge to make sense of some of the details of what was going on, although the broader plot was plenty accessible.

As for what the story was, Lord El-Melloi is sent off by his half-sister-sort-of (their relationship is complicated) to answer an invitation to a mysterious castle built by a mage obsessed with Angels. Said mage has just died; the invitation is to the reading of his will. Several other mages have been invited as well, and all of them are hungry for whatever he might have left behind: the mage was particularly well-known for his work in restoring magic crests that had been damaged or rotted due to age beyond the point where others would have deemed repair impossible.

What he did leave behind, it seems, was a puzzle, and whoever works it out gets whatever he's left for them all. The competition is between mages, so it's needless to say that it's cut-throat: mages are almost by-definition sociopathic when the need arises, especially when it comes to preserving their legacies.

Which is when the bodies start showing up.

So yeah, it's a pretty classic mystery setup (isolated location, multiple guests, everyone has a motive, increasing body-count), but it's pretty well-executed all the same, taking advantage of the unique aspects of the setting in ways that I honestly didn't expect. Waver, as a mage, is often more concerned with why a murder happened rather than how: with so much complicated magic being thrown around, the "how" is neither as meaningful nor as easy to discern as it might be in a traditional detective story. Sure it still matters, but it matters an awful lot less when your suspects have almost infinite methods at their disposal and powers that may well violate causality. And of course, alibis are almost entirely meaningless, because it's quite possible that everyone can kill from a distance. Arriving at who from why becomes easier, even in a cast packed with motives.

The atmosphere is also quite suitable. There's a distinct sense of gothic horror all about the book, as well as a lot of drawing on real-world mythology. That's suitable for Fate, which is a pretty cold and cynical setting when you get right down to it.

Anyways, in conclusion to this mess of weak, scrambled writing, Casefiles is pretty good, I just really hope we can get a better translation sometime soon. This is most likely to happen if Ufotable adapts it, so... please. Ufotable. I am begging you. Make this an anime.

Yeah, this isn't a review. Unlike my thing below... my thoughts here aren't quite as collected. I finished watching Fate/Zero about... 5 minutes ago, although it has been a long time coming.

So this is me providing my thoughts as well as helpful answers to questions like "what the heck is Fate/Zero", "Should I watch it?", "When should I watch it?", and "Why does Fate/Zero put Heaven's Feel so far to shame that it's kind of amazing that anyone, even the author of Fate/Zero, still views it as positively as they do?"

Okay, not that last one, it's just that Heaven's Feel is so bad and it could have been good and I can't let it go, but enough about my personal issues, let's talk anime.

Fate/Zero was originally a light novel or a light novel series or something (I... don't exactly know?) by Gen Urobuchi, sometimes known as "Uro the Butcher." I've already said all this, but I'm reiterating it just to remind you that Uro's MO is ripping your heart out and eating it in front of you while you cry tears of pain and sorrow. If you don't want to watch characters suffer, you've been warned.

Now, we're not actually talking about the light novel, because nobody reads that because light novels suck and the ones I want to read never get translated (Hurry up, fan translators, The El-Melloi II Case Files look amazing). No, we're talking about the anime adaptation by Ufotable that came out in 2011 and caused everyone to look up and go "whoa, that Studio DEEN adaptation of Fate Stay/Night was really rubbish, wasn't it?" But the plot's the same.

And seeing as this is the sixth paragraph and I still haven't gotten into it, I should explain what the plot actually is. Fate/Zero is the story of the Fourth Holy Grail War, directly preceding the events of Fate Stay/Night. Unlike the Fifth Holy Grail War, which is a massive clustershpx, the Fourth Holy Grail War is... probably one of the few that was relatively close to what was intended. Or maybe not. It's hard to say. The point is, there are seven masters, all mages, except this time around most of them aren't children or otherwise clueless, and while Kiritsugu Emiya is ostensibly our hero, we spend a bunch of time with every Master in the war and each one really gets a lot of development and fleshing out. We know why they're willing to risk their lives in a war this dangerous, and why we should care.

Also, while Kiritsugu Emiya is ostensibly our hero, are actual heroes are the Master Waver Velvet and his Servant Iskandar, of the rider class. Because they are just... the best, they have an amazing dynamic, and Iskandar in particular steals every moment he's onscreen and at least a few where he isn't.

Okay, that was a joke, but they actually ARE the best. I'm not even kidding, it's not up for debate. I mean, you're welcome to disagree, it's just that there's no way in a million years you're changing my mind on this, I wrote in Iskandar as my lust object on the official PPC census, that is how much you're not going to convince me otherwise.

But jokes and personal foibles aside, the war is very well balanced. Not to the point that you could root for anyone, but everyone has understandable reasons to do what they do. I never felt like I couldn't at least sort of understand a character, or at least the ideals that they represented. Because as always, Fate is all about ideals.

But since we've been on plot for awhile, I'd just like to take a moment and say one thing: This anime is beautiful. Ufotable is one of the few studios that's been able to consistently mix CG and traditional animation in a large-scale way and have it actually look not just passable, but actually good, and genuinely artful. Okay, it does fall down a little bit in a scene or two, but Cowboy Bebop at horrific cutaways to PS2-level CG animated space stations and that's still a classic. And most of the time, this show just looks so, so good.

So now that I've talked up how both amazing and gorgeous this show is, and I am just now mentioning that it's available on Netflix right now to watch and enjoy, here comes the Hard Question: When should I watch Fate/Zero?

Honestly, that's not as easy a question to answer as you might think. See, Fate/Zero is first on the timeline, but it somehow still manages to spoil bits of Fate Stay/Night, in particular major aspects of the Fate route that everyone's already had spoiled for them, and even more major elements of the Heaven's Feel route that you might not have had spoiled for you yet, as well as, of course, spoiling a lot of other minor things, and a pretty major aspect of Fate lore. Furthermore, while Ufotable did their best to make this show accessible to newcomers, the original light novel really didn't, and assumed you were already entrenched in Fate's world and lore. There's only so much someone adapting a work can do, especially when they already have to cut it down to fit into 24 episodes of video. So parts are somewhat confusing and may not make a whole lot of sense to people who haven't already had an introduction to the universe, even though they do their best to give you at least a good chunk of that introduction.

And of course, seeing as Unlimited Blade Works is based on a VN route that assumes you've already had a ton of exposition, it doesn't really give you that either, especially since the adaptation is set up as a sequel to Fate/Zero. Of course, you could watch Studio DEEN's 2006 Fate Stay/Night anime, but that was rubbish and everybody knows it.

So what I recommend, frankly, is one of two things. 1) Either invest the time in reading the visual novel, and then go watch this (and maybe Unlimited Blade Works, because man that adaptation is beautiful even if you already know what will happen), or 2) Just say "to hell with it", bite the bullet, and watch this adaptation. Maybe follow it up with Unlimited Blade Works or something else. Sure, you'll be confused, and this recommendation is tantamount to heresy in the Fate fandom, but you'll get the gist of everything, and honestly, I think Fate/Zero might just be the very best of everything Fate has to offer, so as much as I love Fate Stay/Night, flaws and all, if you are going to watch/read/play one and only one thing in the Fate universe, I think that Fate/Zero is what you should pick.

I will say that your pretty spot on, and it's true that the fate/ series will give Homestuck a run for its money.
I would play the VN, but I need to see whether it's available in Australia.

Kinda funny that you hit the text limit as well, left me a bit confused till I saw your next post.

...Okay, this is super weird. Firstly, yeah, I messed up an italic tag, sorry about that. Secondly, my post got cut off!

I think I hit the text limit. Thankfully, you didn't miss much important. I had a spoiler copy at the end, and also information about how to get your hands on Fate Stay/Night. TL;DR, it's not officially available in the US, you have to pirate it, the fan translation's good, Reddit has a guide to get you going, you can google it, and you may also want to get a walkthrough if you're a Busy Person With Things To Do, though I suspect playing through the proper way might be more fun (I played with a walkthrough myself).

So yeah. That's it.

"I remember you. Odd thing that I refer to you as such, but..."

Amber interrupted herself. It was a confusing train of thought and she was digressing anyways. She stood up from the tree stump she was sitting on.

The large patch of grass surrounded by a forest was not supposed to be there and would most likely dissapear when canon returned to normal. Amber considered it could perform one last service before that.
She started walking around in it.

"I remember you. I remember every Bubble you went to. I remember every Bubble your men went to. Every Bubble your race went to. You made it a point to remember them, and so I remember them."

Geographical distortions caused by Suefluences are a really interesting topic. The patch of grass was REALLY not supposed to be there, and it was of an unnaturally bright green color. The grass Amber stepped on immediately blackened and died.

"You also made it a point to remember your names, and a good thing you did, because they would have been lost. And you with them."

"I remember how you felt. Tension, knowing that each battle could be your last. Determination, knowing that whatever the result you'd see it through. Joy, knowing that Intervention wasn't necessary. A million times across a million Bubbles."

"And then the Mindwalker had the Reality Warper unmake you."

Amber stopped. She looked at the sky. The sun was setting down, casting long shadows from the trees. The forest dwellers would arrive soon, and they were not to be trifled with.

"They are now beyond reach. It's sad that you had to go, but it's worse knowing that you can't even be avenged."

She started pacing again.

"But you aren't really gone, are you? I remember you. 'Names are important. Never lose yours.' That was one of the creeds of your race. Even though you too may be beyond reach, your names are still there. Even if I am the only one that remembers them, it means that you are still there."

Amber stopped pacing again. She had drawn a full circle with the blackened grass.

"The Circle. It should be blue, but nobody ever really gets what they want. 'Earth exists whereever there is someone acting in its service. Where you go, Earth goes.' That's another creed of your race. The planet itself may be gone, but Earth is still here. It goes where I go"

"I remember you. And I will continue to do so, forever."

WARNING: Major spoilers for the Dragonriders of Pern series. If you haven't read All the Weyrs of Pern or The Dolphins of Pern, you should probably click Back right now.

Still here?

Okay then.

Season's Beginning

Project Overkill had been a triumph. Days later, its success was confirmed by the oddly anticlimactic bloom of fire on the surface of the Red Star, but E’rik and Skepnadth had nearly slept through it. The extraordinary plot to alter the path of the Red Star by detonating the great star-engines of the Yokohama, Bahrain, and Buenos Aires at carefully picked sites had required the participation of nearly every bronze and green dragon on Pern. The extreme distance and effort involved had left many of them drained.

It had been the thrill of a lifetime, a historic moment the likes of which would never come again. Despite their torpor, everyone was riding high, especially after the browns, blues, and golds got their share of the glory, pushing the empty husks of the old ships toward their final rest in the heart of Rukbat.

Later again, man and dragon had fully recovered. The deep, antique luster had returned to the bronze’s hide. They and some of their wingmates had taken a late morning jaunt east along the coast from Monaco Bay on what was ostensibly a hunt, but was really just an excuse to put the wind back in their wingsails. The hot season was months away, and although Thread would still linger for the remainder of this Pass, the promise of a future in which only rain would fall from the sky gave the air a fresh, heady vitality.

They were midair, flying low and slow for home, when it happened. Out of nowhere, Skepnadth gave a sharp cry of distress and backed air, keening.

Terror lanced E’rik’s heart. What is it? What’s wrong? He thought wildly that some delayed effect of space exposure must be afflicting his dragon and urged him to land at once, but Skepnadth shook his great head.

The Weyr needs us, he said, sorrow lading his thoughts, and pumped his wings. A keen trembled in his throat even as he flew.

Only then did E’rik realize every dragon with them was keening, crying a death-knell. A lump of dread rose in his throat. But what happened? Who . . . ? Not Amaranth, surely? Monaco’s queen was young, healthy. Could something have happened to T’gellan’s Monarth?

No, said Skepnadth. The Harper has gone.

There was no doubt who he meant—everyone on two legs and four knew of Masterharper Robinton. Further, Skepnadth knew him from E’rik’s memories of his first five years in the Harper Hall, before the Masterharper’s heart attack had forced him into retirement. To E’rik, as to many harpers of his generation, Robinton was an awesome figure, someone he admired and strove to emulate, who despite his great importance had always been as a beloved father to his hall full of sons and daughters. His heir Sebell was a worthy master of the crafthall, but Robinton would always be the Harper.

E’rik couldn’t believe what he was hearing. That’s not possible. Someone’s telling you tales.

He felt more than heard the sad, apologetic rumble in Skepnadth’s chest. Tiroth’s man sees. Ruth’s man sees. They know. The little cousin has gone, too, he added, meaning Robinton’s bronze fire-lizard, Zair. Admiration for draconic devotion on the part of a mere fire-lizard colored his tone.

But . . . Though dragons couldn’t lie, E’rik’s heart still denied what his mind knew. He was rescued. He recovered from the abduction. We just saved Pern! How could he die now?

Skepnadth took a moment to reply. No doubt the air was thick with telepathic messages flying back and forth in a jumble of confusion and grief. They say he was with Aivas. It is as though they simply went to sleep—the Harper, the little cousin, and Aivas. There is a message: ‘And a time to every purpose under heaven.’ I don’t know what that means, he answered before E’rik could ask.

He shook his head. It was too much, too impossible to process. Let’s get home.

The news was confirmed back in Monaco Bay Weyr, many times over, yet it still refused to sink in, though the tears of others loosed his own. E’rik found himself cossetted and fussed over along with the official Weyrharper and anyone else who had ever served in the Harper Hall. He lost track of how many times he said thank you, or that’s kind of you, or I’m sorry, I really didn’t know him well, he left when I was just an apprentice. He took it all in a daze until finally someone was kind enough to settle him down in his weyr with a dose of fellis to stop his mind’s turning and spare his dragon a sleepless night.

He finally wept in earnest the day of the burial at sea, which he and Skepnadth overflew along with what seemed like every dragon and fire-lizard on Pern. The air was so thick with wingbeats that the sound was a physical force, but somehow the voices of Menolly and Sebell cut through, raising up in tribute the songs that were not the least part of the legacy the Masterharper of Pern left behind him. The cruelty of it, that those who had been closest to Robinton must hold their tears in check to do their duty by him, that struck home. He cried for them first, and all the others who felt the Harper’s loss most keenly. Then for himself, that he had taken the man for granted as a child, hadn’t had the privilege of knowing him as an adult, and now never would.

The mystery of Aivas’ final words rankled in his mind. All he could get anyone to tell him about them was that they were a reference to a passage from an ancient’s ancient book of myths about some invisible lord and his laws, which seemed harsh and changed arbitrarily from tale to tale. How was that a fitting epitaph for his Master, who was known for being just and forgiving at all times, even to people who didn’t deserve it?

E’rik finally got so fed up with second- and third-hand nonsense that he reserved a time for himself with one of the all-knowing Aivas consoles to see if he could find a more satisfactory explanation. He didn’t like the Ancients’ computer system—its visual language of alien symbols and the mixed-up letters of the keyboard made him feel slow and clumsy, which he wasn’t, even with one eye blinded by his near-fatal Threadscarring three Turns ago. It was agonizing to hunt through text files all relating to this “Bible” of Old Terra, but finally, he came across an audio file. His eye had glazed over to the point that he nearly missed it and had to scroll back up.

“The Byrds?” he muttered aloud. “‘Turn! Turn! Turn! (To Everything There Is a Season).’ Three Turns; that’s many seasons.” It was a bad joke, just to wake himself up. He knew well enough that the Terrans had used a different term for a world’s orbital period.

He felt Skepnadth rouse and listen with him as he played the file. The words as sung were nearly unintelligible, but he knew their meaning by now, and the mellow voices of the singers and their guitars touched him bittersweetly. So did the six new words at the end. “A time for war, and a time for peace—I swear it’s not too late.” Six simple words changed the message from one of passively accepting the inevitability of change to one of embracing hope.

Did you hear all that? he asked Skepnadth.

Yes. I like it. You feel better now, and that’s good.

E’rik chuckled. High praise. And you’re right. You know, everyone has been talking about things ending. The end of Thread, the end of tradition, the end of Aivas . . . the end of Master Robinton. But that’s only one face of the mark.

When one season ends, a new one begins.

You really were listening!

Of course. The bronze sounded almost offended. This is important to you. If I didn’t listen when it was important, what sort of dragon would I be?

You’re the best dragon on Pern, said every rider to his beast, and E’rik meant it now as much as all of them. And you’re right again. It’s a new season—a new Turn—a new era. It’s ours, and now it’s up to us to make it a good one. That’s the message he’d want us to remember.

E’rik shut down the console and left the building. His fingers were already shaping the chords he and Skepnadth hummed.

---

Aivas' Bible reference bugs me in a way I can't fully articulate. No argument that it's an important enough facet of humanity's history that it should be preserved for study, but making an artificial intelligence in an otherwise completely agnostic SF series talk about it like it's our greatest achievement is so jarring. The Pernese deliberately eschewed religious superstition in favor of ennobling real-life, down-to-earth heroism. It's just a weird move on McCaffrey's part.

~Neshomeh

So... I may of got slightly carried away with one of my Halloween prompts (One of your characters meets a monster to be exact) and well... this happened.

There's a little disclaimer in the doc itself so all I'll say is it involves the characters of, and is based on a Skyrim fanfic I am thinking of writing at some point. Enjoy!

Novastorme

The clock told the time, again and again and again. Tick followed tock followed tick. Cass stood in front of it and stared.

"... I thought you'd like it."

Cass stood.

"It's just, your collection... gurl, you love it. Got more clocks on the walls than books, and that's saying a lot. Like, a lot a lot."

Cass stared.

"So when I saw-"

"You did."

Em looked at her partner, eyebrows rising up a little. "Uh, yeah, I said I-"

"You mistake my meaning." The words were flat and spat and dark. "You saw, and then you did. You didn't ask. You didn't check. You didn't discuss. You. Just. Did. Just like always."

Em stepped back, eyes wide, face slowly losing colour and leaving bone white. "Cass, I'm sorry, how, how do I make this-"

Cass turned to look at Em, and the girl took another step back. "You want to make it right? Here's what you do. You go shopping."

Em couldn't think of any words that made sense. Cass just continued, her voice short and sharp as thorns. "Oh, am
I not making myself clear? Let me spell it out for you, then. You go to New Caledonia and you go shopping. You take the money I make selling trinkets as fandom props on World One's Etsy, and you go shopping. You buy yourself some clothes or shoes or makeup. You buy an expensive coffee that's mostly whipped cream and sprinkles and pumpkin spice flavouring syrup. You buy whatever gimcracks and bits of tourist tat that catches your eye and satisfies your magpie instinct-"

Tears rolled down Em's face. "Cassie, please, you're shouting."

"-because that's what gets you through the day, isn't it, Emily Perilled? Having things. Preferably things that are sparkly and gaudy and ostentatiously expensive. You're a hoarder and you justify it with some vague garbage about retail therapy because you think that if you have no things then you're nothing. Well, guess what? You are nothing. And all the knock-off designer clothing in the world won't get rid of the emptiness in whatever shrivelled, battered little shred inside you's passing for a soul. So go. Enjoy yourself on someone else's dime, you leech. Have fun."

The clock ticked and tocked and landed on the floor when it slipped from Cass's flimsy grip. Em didn't see it thud into the thick blue Axminster carpet, kept safe from breakage by the Cushioning Charms where the driver's seat would once have been.

She was already gone.

---

The clock ticked on.

The RC door hissed open. Feet came through, wiped themselves off on the ugly tie-dyed blanket thing pressed into service as a doormat. They were loud, and only got louder.

Cass looked up into Em's frightened face.

"Cassie, have you moved?"

The witch said nothing.

"It, it's been two days. I'm worried about you."

In the smallest voice Em had ever heard, Cass said "Why?"

Em just wrapped Cass up in her arms and didn't let go.

The clock ticked on.

---

"It wasn't a clock, you know."

"Hm?"

The clock ticked on, as it had for some time. It was three in the morning and the both of them were tired. Their eyes were red and sore and their noses chapped from blowing. Crying's ugly when it means something.

"It wasn't a clock," Cass continued. "It was an old fob watch in a carriage clock mounting. The pattern was me, I did all the transfiguring myself. Took me ages to get the petals right. That's why there were all bits chipped off from the side. But the mechanism, the heart of it... the truth of the clock was a watch.

"You get one when you're seventeen. It's a wizard thing. The one in there was, well. See, that's the thing. I don't know whose it was. Found it in a junk shop in Muggle London and fell in love. It didn't work, never would again without a shedload of repairing charms, but that didn't matter. I didn't want it to work. It didn't feel right. It wasn't my watch, you see, I was just... I dunno, looking after it, I suppose. But I was going to be given one of my own, when I was seventeen, and I promised myself I'd fix it then.

"The guy in the shop told me it was old, and I could see it. There was an inscription I found in the case, and I couldn't make it out. It tore the name off, you see, but I could see a date. 1913. He wouldn't have been more than twenty-two when he died. Probably more like twenty. Off to war and home by Christmas and instead he died in a bombed-out ditch or hung up on barbed wire or stabbed in the gut. His watch stopped at eleven.

"And then came my war. My friends lying dead on the roads and stairs and grounds. People I'd grown up around killing and fighting. The, the death of it all. Lights in the sky and worlds on fire and then it all... stopped. Faded, like a bad dream. And I knew then, if I didn't get out, that I'd fade too. And it's the stupidest things you think of when you know you're going to die, because all I could think in my stupid fat head was 'Nobody's going to give me a watch'.

"So I tried to, to Apparate. Nobody taught me that either, I just knew you could do it if you tried. Everyone else was drifting away. I ran out of the grounds and into Hogsmeade as it turned greyer and greyer and I flung every bit of strength I had into this one spell to stay alive and... well, here I am. Left bits of myself behind on the trip too. Loads of hair and a couple of back teeth and my left kneecap and everyone I'd ever loved. But not this... this knackered old watch in a knackered old clock carriage covered in poppies.

"So I painted them, after I got out of the bacta tank. I painted them red at first, to honour the dead, but then I painted them white, to remember why they died. A callous and evil war prosecuted by a madman and his pet murderers. I kept the watch broken, too, even though it wouldn't even be hard to fix. It wasn't mine. It wasn't my right. I was just... looking after it, for now. You know, sometimes, when I looked at the watch face and those cheap, bent hands, I could hear the guns. They tear up the earth, you know. Pull down trees and hills and make a wasteland of everything around them. Wars, I mean. But the guns help with that."

Everything was quiet for a bit.

"They shall not grow old," Em said softly, "as we that are left grow old."

Cass looked up again. "What's that from?"

"It's from a poem. British, actually. I'm kinda surprised you don't know it."

"Hogwarts doesn't teach anything other than magic, and Muggle Studies is a bad joke anyway. Frankly, I'm amazed any of us learned how to bloody read."

"Huh."

The clock ticked on.

"They will not grow old, as we that are left grow old," Em said. "Age shall not wither them, nor the years condemn. At the going down of the sun and in the morning, we will remember them."

Cass said nothing for a while.

"Yes," she whispered, voice hoarse and crusted with salt. "We will."

The clock ticked on from its place face-up on the floor, hands turning little by little, moving forward.

"Tom," said Thoth. "Where are you going?"

The Astartes had just gotten back to the RC after a hard day of training. Thoth liked to say that he'd never been so inactive as he was at the PPC, but between keeping himself fit and psychically developed, keeping his psychic abilities developed, canon research, and Derik, he'd done a fine job keeping himself busy.

But while he'd seen a lot of strange things in his time at the PPC, and heard many an odd tale, he'd never seen his partner look so sad. Nor had he ever seen him wearing anything more formal than a clean T-shirt, much less something like a black button-up and a tie.

"I'm headed to the funeral, Thoth," Tom said solemnly. There was not an ounce of his usual humor in his voice. "A hero has died. No, a hero of heroes. And I am joining so many others in commemorating him."

Thoth was silent for a moment. If his partner was truly this serious... "I would be honored, then, if I could join you."

Tom looked up in shock. "Really?"

"Of course. It is important to remember the dead, Tom. Especially the heroes."

"...Thank you."

--

And so Tom and Thoth stood, Tom in his shirt and tie and Thoth in his robe, their heads bowed solemnly, only two points in a throng of agents, big and small, young and old, of every canon, continuum, age, race, and creed. Some stood bowed, some suppressed tears, some tried to stay strong. They were dressed in black, white, red, and orange. They wore robes, cloaks, jackets, suits, a thousand different ceremonial outfits, tuxedos, and cosplay outfits.

They stood united, hearing the words that echoed through the silent room.

"We are gathered here today in memory of Stan Lee..."

Emiranlanoamar sat at the weapons bench, looking down at the staser carbine in front of him. Tools were neatly arranged by his left hand, a set of cleaning rags by his right, and various gardening supplies in front of him, behind his work mat.

“Let’s begin, shall we.”

The Time Lord began by checking the carbine’s magazine well, then the residual charge dampener. Wouldn’t be a good start if he were to blow a hole in the table with a chambered energy bolt. Satisfied that the weapon was safe to disassemble, he pushed out a few holding pins and pulled apart the carbine’s exterior casing.

“I’ve been waiting a long time to do this, Yannogarsil. It’s all your fault.” Emiran set aside the casing, turning his attention to the carbine’s internal dimensional compressors. “I’m sorry it took so long, old friend.” He took his laser screwdriver and unscrewed the barrel/condenser assembly, removed it from the carbine’s main body, then disabled the compressors. The assembly grew four times as large without the dimension-suppressing fields. The staser’s barrel was easily unscrewed from the condenser arrays; Emiran put it on a cleaning rag to keep it from rolling away. He opened the condenser box and found what he was looking for: the complex set of lenses used to generate, focus, and collimate the staser bolt.

“I remember. A long time ago, you asked me if weapons kept you safe. I said of course they didn’t: a weapon only brings death. A technically correct answer,” said Emiran, delicately withdrawing the lenses one at the time with a gloved hand. “My favourite kind of correct. But I digress. No, I said a weapon can only kill-- and I remember you disagreed. Hah, you even challenged me back then: after the whole War blows over, we find a way to use weapons to give life. Well...” He looked at the disassembled carbine. “I admit I cheated. I’m using its spare parts. But then again, isn’t that the whole point?” The lenses all removed, he set them aside and grabbed a plasma cutter. “We are at peace now, and we have rebuilt. From death, life. And so there is no need for weapons any more.”

He cut away large, circular cylinders from the carbine’s barrel with the cutter. Emiran then closed one end of the cylinders by bending the metal with a welda-clamp and added steel wires all around the pot slowly taking shape. Over the course of several hours he fashioned loops at the end of the wires and added the carbine’s focusing lenses in them, occasionally using a matter pen to add or remove layers of the lenses. He sighted down the new lens assembly, then used his laser screwdriver to shine light through the lenses. The focused beam was now a diffuse, gentle spot on the bottom of the pot. From the remainders of the carbine, he pulled the power transformer and mounted it on a pole made from the remains of the weapon’s barrel.

“You studied botany, as I remember,” continued Emiran. “Your entire graduation thesis was on the life cycles of plants only found megaflora worlds near high-radiation stars. That was a good talk, by the way. Brilliant thesis defence-- learned a lot. Enough to know that there exist rare flowers that grow on the forest floor who live off the patches of intense light that filter down from the tree crowns.” Emiran lined up the power source down his new series of focusing lenses. “Or should I say, light shooting down from above...?”

Emiran sighed and leaned back in his chair, looking up at the clock mounted over his bench. That late already? He glanced back at his project. “Sorry, Yan. Gonna have to leave you for tonight. Sleep, then work calls. But that’s how it goes.” He yawned and stood up, stretching as he did so. “It takes time to rebuild, you know. But it’s all worth it in the end. Life prevails.” As an afterthought, he reached towards the gardening supplies and tipped a bit of soil into the pot. He delicately smoothed out the surface with a finger, then placed a single bean-sized seed on the soil.

The Time Lord smiled to himself as he slowly walked out of the room, casting one last glance back at his plant incubator before making his way towards the RC's kitchenette for a midnight snack.

((Though, really, what did you expect, posting something like this when I'm around?))


"Hey, guys."

The Aviator sat on the ground in front of her crew's gravestones. The courtyard was full of red and gold leaves, and the wind was beginning to get a bit nippy. She pulled her dog tags over her head, running her thumb over each of the names in turn.

"I'm doing a lot better now than last time," she continued. "Finally got help for my drinking problem. Been going to therapy." The tags clinked between her fingers as she turned them over. "Elanor's going to be two in
just eleven days," she added. "She's growing up into such an awesome kid. You guys would love her. Gavin... you'd have been proud of her. Dee's proud of her, too. Even if he doesn't really say it."

The Aviator swallowed away the lump in her throat and smiled. "I think it's safe to say I'm... happy again. Or getting there. I did promise I wouldn't wallow anymore, didn't I?" She put the chain over her head, tucking the tags back down her shirt. "How long has it been since I came to visit, anyway? Three months? Let me think... Oh! Elanor's got almost all her teeth now. I'm starting to teach her addition and subtraction—I know, I really should have started nearly a month ago. Zeb's been excited to help out, he makes up little counting songs for her...."

These prompts don't really fit Tiger's character and I couldn't think of a way to make either of them work with him. So you get something else!

Please don't ask me for context, because there isn't any.

Katie sat in the second row, hand in hand with Matthew, struggling not to cry.

They’d been a team, the five of them. Katie, Matthew, Lauren, Jimmy and Sarah, the best the Monster-Hunters had got.

Until one particularly nasty monster had killed Sarah.

It was Lauren who was reading the eulogy, voice trembling. Katie had been asked to do it, but refused. It was too painful.

“Sarah was one of the most talented members of the taskforce,” said Lauren, speaking quickly to avoid crying. “She was always analytical and thorough and knew exactly how to tackle each monster. One of my favourite memories of her was when we were training.”

Katie remembered that time too. It brought a lump to her throat just thinking about it.

Lauren, Katie and Jimmy had been trying to work through a complicated puzzle, but none of them could figure it out. Sarah had walked up and spent five minutes staring at the puzzle and working out what they were meant to do. Then she’d talked them all through the solution without making them seem like idiots.

“She brought a lot to the team, but she never asked for anything back. She always tried to help everyone else, however hard she was finding it herself. We all liked and respected her for it, and we were very close to her.”

Lauren hesitated. “She was killed by a Black Snake. It was attacking us, and we knew one of us had to stop it.”

Katie began to breathe shakily, hoping to keep the tears away. Lauren was struggling too.

“She got her knife and she just stepped in front of it and cut its tongue out. Without its tongue the monster couldn’t live, but in its dying throes it…” Lauren couldn’t hold back the tears any longer, and nor could Katie.

“It’s all right,” Matthew whispered.

“Thank you,” said Katie quickly, in a flat voice.

Lauren couldn’t keep going. She stumbled back to her seat, blinded by the tears streaming down her face.

Everyone applauded politely and Mr Crow, who was conducting the service, got to his feet.

“Thank you to Miss Watson for that moving eulogy. Next we have a song that was very special to the deceased…”

And I hope he knew that without him, the world wouldn't be what it is today.
For he was a legend, and the maker of many of our hero's.

He lived a good long life. I can only hope he's resting in peace now.

(A/N: I apologize for this being un-betaed. I couldn't not do this, and I hope it delivers.)

Sarah looked away from the screen, tears pouring down her cheeks.

“What’s wrong?” her angel companion asked, instinct telling him that something was indeed very, very wrong.

Sarah was silent. Her partners looked up from whatever they were doing, worried expressions on their faces. Sarah Katherine Squall was virtually never silent. If she was… That was a cause for concern.

Lapis walked over to her, and patted her shoulder, almost expecting her hand to be swatted away, but the rebuke never came.

“It’s alright to let us know.” The blue-haired girl’s voice was kind, learned, sympathetic. “There’s no need to keep things quiet with us two. We are your partners, after all.”

The older girl sniffled, her head still bowed. “I never thought this day would come,” she said, forcing back a choked sob. “All my life, I thought that he was unchanging, forever, a constant force of goodness in this world.”

“He?” asked Cupid, beginning to sound worried. “Who’s he?”

“On an objective front, I knew the day would come when he’d finally leave this world,” the superheroine continued. “He was aging, and he had fought numerous illnesses before, and it was only a matter of time before he’d finally lose that internal fight. But that knowledge never made me ready for this, for the day, for the hour when his life would finally slip away.”

“And still the day came anyway,” Lapis finished. “But for whom?”

Sarah looked at her with a visage wracked with utter despair. “We were all blindsided. None of us could believe it at first, but then the truth finally began to sink in that it had happened. So many of us believed that we’d go through our entire life, and not know of it. And yet… Yet so many of us can now say that we lived to hear of it.

“Knowing that, knowing exactly where I was and what I was doing when I heard of it… Knowing this fills me with a grief I can’t even begin to describe. Some would say that I shouldn’t care for losses outside of my own family. Believe me, I’ve heard that from some of my own family members. But it doesn’t change the fact that there’s been a hole blown in my heart that can never be filled ever again.”

Cupid realized that whomever she was talking about, it must’ve been very, very important to her. He tilted his head to notice that there was an article on the console screen. “Uh… Lapis? Could you read that? You guys know I can’t–”

“We do,” Lapis replied with an exasperated look. She glanced at the console, and once she saw the title of the article on the screen, her eyes widened and she covered her mouth with both hands, a gasp of horror resounding throughout the RC.

“He was a great man,” said Sarah. “He still is a great man. None of us will ever forget what he did for you and I. For us. For everyone. The world will be a much sadder place without him, and the worst part of all is that it was a much happier place with him. There is nothing in the world we can ever do to repay him, and all we can do now is remember his life, his legacy, his greatness. All we can do is remember him as he was, as he is, and tell our children and our grandchildren about the wholesome greatness that they never were around to experience.”

“Oh dear Arceus…” was all Lapis could say. She looked to Cupid and mouthed, “Sarah’s favorite comics artist in the multiverse has passed away.”

The angel said nothing. He was as speechless as the other two. But then he got to his feet and walked over to his taller partner. And then he hugged her, enveloping her with his arms and wings and resting his head next to hers’.

Sarah hugged him back with one hand, and spread the other arm for Lapis to join. She did the same, tears of her own now leaking from the corners of her eyes. The dark-haired Super promptly buried her face in their shoulders, and started crying in earnest. And her partners cried too, sharing in her pain and grief.

Eventually, Sarah finally managed to calm down, though she was still sniffling and shuddering. She finally lifted her head and looked into the eyes of her partners, recognizing their sympathetic expressions.

“Thank you,” she said simply.

“Words fail me right now,” said Cupid. “I guess I can say that I hope all of us can eventually cope with the loss we’ve sustained.”

“I can’t agree more with that sentiment,” added Lapis.

Sarah turned back to the console and smiled, wiping the tears from her face. “Godspeed, you amazing, wonderful person, and may you find peace and prosperity in the multiverse beyond. Excelsior.”

“Excelsior,” repeated the other two.

They were silent for a long moment. And then Cupid piped up with “…You guys wanna watch Ant Man and the Wasp for movie night tonight? I… I actually haven’t seen that one. And it’s only fair that we spend the evening honoring him. For Sarah’s sake.”

The girls looked at each other, and exchanged smiles in spite of themselves.

“I’d like that more than anything, I think,” replied Sarah.

R.I.P. Stan Lee
December 28, 1922 - November 12, 2018
Excelsior

Congrats on your arrival day. You are now an arbitrary amount of time older.

Here, have a grab bag of items and materials from the Wolfenstein 3D universe. Just 'cause that's what I always do.

-Twistey

Have an Imperial Hellgun, for when a cheap laser isn't enough.

...someone needs to write a LotR-style epic fantasy thing based on myths from the Middle East. And, like, not be racist about it. That'd be so cool.

-Twistey

The plan is to more or less follow Silm up until the encounter with the Sons of Feanor after the rescue from Sauron.

At this stage the SoFs are impressed by Jasmine-Luthien's magic and realise they might actually have half a chance to get the Silmarils, so they "offer their assistance" in the quest.

They all proceed to Angband, Jasmine-Luthien puts Morgoth to sleep... and that's where it all goes horribly wrong: the SoFs turn on Aladdin-Beren and Jasmine-Luthien as soon as the Silmarils are out of the Iron Crown.

That's where I get stuck: I can't follow Silm canon any more and Aladdin canon seems rather unlikely if no new Silmarils are created.

There are several possibilities:

1. The inevitable battle wakes Morgoth.

This basically dooms everyone, but there's a chance that one or more of them could get away, perhaps with Silmarils. They wouldn't get far, though.

Who would try and fight and who would try and escape? Aladdin-Beren and Jasmine-Luthien would refuse to leave each other. They wouldn't willingly hand over the Silmarils to the SoFs, so if they ran the SoFs would follow them and no-one would get anywhere.

Obviously I want a happy ending, so I think that's more or less ruled out.

2. Morgoth doesn't wake up.

This is a lot more interesting because the fight would be quite evenly matched. Jasmine-Luthien probably doesn't have any magic left, and they couldn't realistically fight off two SoFs at once.

This would mean the SoFs win - except the Silmarils would burn their hands. Could either of them have anticipated this and brought gloves or a casket?

Exactly how bad is the hand-burning? Could it kill Elves, or would they be able to just think past it and run?

3. The Silmaril-genie is summoned.

That relies on a knowledge of what the Silmaril-genie actually is. My favourite theory so far is that it's actually Feanor himself, and some sort of magic tied his spirit to them after he died.

If the SoFs summon Feanor, they've obviously won. Again, the requirement for a happy ending removes that option, depending on how you define "happy". You could say that the SoFs are the lesser evil and that's good enough for you.

If Aladdin-Beren or Jasmine-Luthien summons Feanor, on the other hand...that depends exactly what they wish for. I presume that would be "get all of us out of Angband" which would be something everyone could agree on.

That just means continuing the fight outside - or Aladdin-Beren could make his wish to become an elf-prince and then abandon the Silmarils.

Most importantly, what on earth (I mean Arda) does this do to Silm canon?

That was a lot longer than I expected!

Does this make Huan the tiger, the monkey, or the flying carpet?

hS

Not only when it comes to ripping into that movie (Oh gods it had that coming), but when it comes to blasting queerphobes who attack him for his writing.

Here's an epic comeback to a parent who tried to shame him for including LGBT+ characters in his books.

Scathing? Downright destruction of the plot and what was wrong with it.
I was apart of that age bracket that he talks about when it came out.
And damn was I disappointed in the movie.

So, Rick Riordan has been doing this thing called Rick Riordan Presents, which is basically him saying, "I don't know enough about other culture's mythology and I don't want to be disrespectful so I am going to hire and showcase other authors to write about their respective mythologies".

The reason I'm mentioning this is because the upcoming showcase novel, Dragon Pearl, was given to me in an advance copy, and having read it, I'd like to recommend it here, and the whole showcase series itself. It's not Riordan's writing, but he's using his name as a way to help build up and promote other authors. I think that's pretty cool.

Oooooh sick burn.

I was so excited when that movie came out. I watched it in theaters on opening day with some of my family, and then promptly filed it into the "not notable" folder in my brain.

That is my mood, right there. I Love This. XD

... And so I don't clutter the Board by starting a new thread right away, have a NSFW, utterly hilarious series of snippets of what sex would look like written by aliens.

I live with three other people who are good cooks and actually enjoy cooking, so it's bit hard to work up the motivation to learn a skill I don't enjoy. My brother's teaching me, though, if slowly. I can do a few simple things, oatmeal, potatoes, things on that level. Plus the family pizza recipe. That's basically a requirement for my household.

Eggs, sausage and spam. Spam, spam, spam, spa-
No, wait.

Eggs, sausage and some pastas, yes. With acceptable casualties.

People who don't cook don't seem to grasp that it's not hard, and also that if the pot's boiling over, take it off the burner, I don't care what the book says.

Yeah most anything, save for breads.

And as a student and (job-searching diplomee) living alone, I sure hope I can cook, I'd die of hunger otherwise... Or I'd ruin my budget buying kebabs and the likes (seriously, you can get meat and vegetables for four dishes if you spend smart against one kebab costing six Euros).

I usually use woks, pans or a small oven, and wouldn't dream of not using fresh vegetables (carrots, courgette or bell pepper, they're easier to cook. Sometimes with mushrooms) in my dish to go with the meat (usually chicken, it's cheaper) and rice/couscous/pasta, generally with soy sauce (or tomato sauce, or cream+mustard) and a few spices... I thank my mother's cooking habits for these skills and habits (I also have a brother who can do pizzas).

Speaking of her, I remember she talked the fact the idea people ate and cooked better in the past was sort of overblown, with conserves, frozen packages and the likes being all the rage during the 70s and 80s...

I cook mainly Chinese dishes, and I have a friend who was nice enough to teach me some Japanese dishes. Even if I'm pressed for time, it's not too hard to whip up a chicken teriyaki or a simple stir fry.

Pretty well, if I do say so myself :) It's rare I make anything truly inedible, anyway.

It actually became something I could call a true hobby over the past year or so, though I've been interested in it and experimenting with it for years. It's just that last year suddenly I was responsible for all my own food, so I had to do a lot of cooking, and I hate being bored by what I'm cooking or eating, so...yeah. I got really into it. I'm still pretty into it. I spent several hours going through recipe ideas a few days ago, just because they looked interesting and I thought I might find some things to try.

~Z

Heck, eating is a waste of time, and I wouldn't bother with it, except that I literally have to to stay alive.

But I spend nearly the entire waking portion of my work week either at work, getting ready for work, or feeding myself. I have no interest in messing around with ovens; they take way too long. I do use the stove, but only to boil hot dogs for dinner (+ an extra to pack in my lunch for the next shift), or to make my pot of breakfast spaghetti for the week on my first shift day of the week. (I go in two hours early most days, so I need to pack as much mass into my stomach at the start of the day as possible to make sure my energy lasts to lunch break.) Otherwise, I'm a microwave man. Chicken nuggets, frozen pizza, cheese crisps (the gringo kind), whatever hats up the fastest so I can eke out a few precious minutes of internet time between shifts. I also have tuna and crackers for dinner a lot of nights now, since the high energy cost period was recently changed in Arizona and doesn't end until 8:00 pm, and I try not to use the microwave before then to save on the electric bill. I do allow myself to make macaroni and cheese for weekend lunches, since those are the only days I have time to to wash all the dishes that result from that mess. Food is food, and I don't care much about quality, fanciness or variety, just so long as it keeps me fed.

But I would happily cut out eating altogether if I could. If nothing else, it would allow me to go back up to eight hours of sleep every night instead of seven, which my body sorely needs.

—since age was brought up, doctorlit is thirty-two

I like to pan-fry things and I occasionally bake.
So far, I generally cook one thing at a time.

I don't often, but I can. My dad is quite good at cooking, so it would be weird if he didn't teach me a thing or two. I can make a decent omlette, hot dogs, hamburgers, et al, and I'm able to actually cook from a recipe.

Although I must admit, I don’t tend to do much.

So back in college I worked part time in the kitchens of a bar/restaurant, which gave me a lot of experience cooking, and a bunch of recipes I could take with me when I left.

My issue these days is just how impractical it is to do anything particularly involved when you’re only cooking for one person: the amount of prep time, the amount of washing up it can generate, and sometimes even just trying to buy the ingredients without having a bunch of stuff go to waste – there’s a lot of stuff that I know how to cook, that just don’t feel like they’re worth doing.

Still, I try and make sure I only use microwave meals/takeaways once or twice a week. Most of what I do I don’t consider to be ‘proper’ cooking, as it largely just consists of heating different things for slightly different amounts of time (boil some carrots and peas, cheat a little and microwave a pack of rice, serve with some sausages) – no real skill of effort needed, but at the weekends I might do something a bit more involved.

-Irish

Like I mentioned in my reply to Scape below, my mom's absolutely amazing in the kitchen and she passed her knowledge on to me and my little brother. (My dad's no slouch as a chef, either, and he taught us some things too, but Mom is usually the one making dinner, so... anyway, rambling.)

When I moved into my uni dorm, I ended up sharing a flat with five other people. Out of them, only one knew how to make his own meals, and that's because he'd been living on his own for a while before.

I taught two of them how to cook and they've finally gained enough confidence in the kitchen to start trying new things; one of them has taken a shine to making ham in the slow cooker, the other tried making fresh bread the other day (and it was delicious), and we've taken to collaborating on meals. It's resulted in some strange combinations like horchata, spaghetti, and potatoes, but hey, it tasted good. :P

I live in a part of the world where it's very easy to get fresh produce, particularly fish; my local fishmonger operates his own fifteen-boat fleet and once supplied fish to the Queen. Other people don't have that luxury. There's the phenomenon of "nutritional deserts", in which poor people who get paid once a month and therefore have to get food that lasts a month for some reason buy frozen ready meals rather than fresh fruit and vegetables. This is a truly inexplicable state of affairs and is probably to do with how poor people are just too stupid to know what healthy food is, so we'll send Jamie Oliver in to look mournfully at a chicken nugget and this will solve everything forever.

Another big part of the lack of cooking skills is the idea that you should be constantly working, all the time, always and forever. Breaks are breaks in productivity and therefore to be not only discouraged but shamed. Not only does nobody have the time to learn how to cook, nobody has the energy to cook. If you've done a twelve-hour shift for a pittance of wages that you won't see for dust come payday's round of bills and are trying to keep a house in order, you don't want to run the risk of the household going hungry for a night and/or wasting a load of money by trying and failing to cook something. It's wasteful to try and cook; wasteful of your time and energy and very limited resources. So you don't try. You can't try. And trying only ever hurts you.

I can cook pasta, if that counts, and I’m a fairly good baker. I still have a lot of learning to do to be able to cook properly.

But I am capable of making a meal, considering as I have passed my year 11 Cooking class. Gonna go for the Year 12 course, up my skills a bit more.

Granted, I know many people my age who eat two minute noodles often, so it does have a basis.

But often I'm too lazy to really cook stuff. I can do a lot of baking as well, and (for the most part) I do enjoy doing both.

I can cook! I've got a kitchen and a slow-cooker and everything. I still don't have the knack of breadmaking, but I can do a reasonable amount of other things.

Of course, I'm also starting into my thirties, so I'm not terribly far into the younger generations. :)

(Even though I myself don't have Permission yet, but I don't think that's in the rules.)

I'd love to see what you've come up with!

-Twistey

I actually liked this movie, and I am going to reserve my judgement on any plot twists/developments/inconsistencies until all of the movies (five now? that feels like an overkill, but OK) are out.

I used up all of my snarking on the abomination that is Peter Jackson's films about Middle-earth, so I have none left for other movie-verses. Besides, I never got much into Harry Potter. I did like the first Fantastic Beasts film a lot, though, so I was looking forward to this one. Definitely don't regret the time I spent watching it and I will definitely rewatch when it comes out on DVD.

Spoiler spoiler spoiler spoiler spoiler spoiler spoiler spoiler spoiler spoiler spoiler spoiler spoiler spoiler spoiler spoiler spoiler spoiler spoiler spoiler spoiler spoiler spoiler spoiler spoiler spoiler spoiler spoiler spoiler spoiler spoiler spoiler spoiler spoiler spoiler spoiler spoiler spoiler spoiler spoiler spoiler spoiler spoiler spoiler spoiler spoiler spoiler spoiler spoiler spoiler spoiler spoiler spoiler spoiler spoiler spoiler spoiler spoiler spoiler spoiler spoiler spoiler spoiler spoiler spoiler spoiler spoiler spoiler spoiler spoiler spoiler spoiler spoiler spoiler spoiler spoiler spoiler spoiler spoiler spoiler spoiler spoiler spoiler spoiler


Okay. Before I start really ranting, I just want to say that visually, the movie was very nice and the special effects were breathtaking.

That being said: the vast majority of the plot was just sort of pushed aside in favor of special effects.

I say plot, but it can really be boiled down to "There's a secret Lestrange and we promise this is important! Hahaha, just kidding, you wasted two hours of your life on this because it doesn't actually matter at all!"

All I can say about the ending is that Grindelwald had better be lying off his ass about Credence being a secret Dumbledore instead, because I literally facepalmed as the credits rolled.

Professor McGonagall was also a teacher. At Hogwarts. Eight years before she was born.

Dumbledore's refusal to fight Grindelwald being the result of a blood pact rather than his reluctance to duel his old friend-slash-crush was also eyeroll-worthy.

And Nagini being a human woman who doesn't pass the Sexy Lamp test ("Can you replace this character with a lamp and the plot stays the same?") was its own level of cringe. Yes, that Nagini. Voldemort's snake used to be a person. I just... I can't.

And all of that is before I get into my now intense, deep-seated and utter loathing for Queenie after her date-rape drugging Jacob into agreeing to marry her, and then it's treated like it's Jacob's fault for forcing her to do that to him. Yeah, sure, she joined Grindelwald (because... he promises to let wizards and Muggles live in peace. Hey, remember that part where she's a Legillimens? Because apparently Rowling doesn't. Even if Grindelwald was using Occlumency to shield his thoughts from her, there's no way she's missing what all of his followers are thinking and I just AUGH.) and is probably going to get a redemption arc so she and Jacob can be reunited and he can apologize to her for not wanting to marry her.

He even called it out for what it was: "When were you going to stop, Queenie? After we'd had five kids?" and she doesn't deny it. Jesus Christ almighty, if it had been a male character doing that to a female character, nobody in the theater would have been laughing like they were.

So yeah. After how good the first Fantastic Beasts movie was, this one wasn't just a disappointment. It only barely ranks above Cursed Child for its godawful characterization, disregard for canon, and lazy plot that goes nowhere.

I'm damn excited, needless to say. I feel like my tastes in speculative fiction, especially of the weirder variety, were all spawned from this. It's so cool. Cannibal cities. And man, does it have the visuals down!

It's a really weird childhood ghoul rising up and boy do I hope it's good.

It seems Hester's going to be the main character, here, where, in the novel, she was a sort of lesser protagonist to the viewpoint guy. Er. Tom, I think.

Which is great! She was a way more interesting character, I recall, than he was.

And the trailer has managed to convince me to buy the book. It looks... like the sort of story where Peter Jackson's hallmark over-the-top work will be put to very good use.

... on this episode of a podcast: https://loadingreadyrun.com/lrrcasts/view/589/Fight-the-Future-21-Mortal-Engines/AU