Are we going to talk about how scary being the Inquisitor is for a Lavellan or…?
I mean, the more and more I play this game, the more the Chantry shit is terrifying. Over and over again, you see painful and irrefutable evidence about the shit humans did to elves in the name of the Maker. The Exalted Plains(I consistently call it Dirthavaren you don’t like it fight me bitch) Like I think the entire fandom can agree on fuck that bitch sister Amity. The Chantry crusades destroyed what was left of the elves, destroyed them. Mind, body and soul. Like be honest, there aren’t many Dalish clans left and each time a new game/book comes around, another one bites the dust. It’s so easy to lose your clan in Inquisiton and even easier to accidentally kill off Marethari’s. Hell, you can choose to kill Zathrian’s. The Dalish are dying out, either way you slice it.
Then suddenly a hole rips open in the sky and everybody thinks Lavellan did it. It destroys the Conclave…don’t tell me for one second that the humans didn’t immediately start developing an ‘elves and vengeance and antiMaker conspiracy theory’. The 'remain silent’ dialogue option in that first interaction isn’t a stoic 'I don’t give a fuck’ to me, it’s more of a 'whatever I say doesn’t matter I’m already dead’. And the horror is knowing that they wont just kill you, they’ll call for a bloodbath on elves across Thedas.
“For the elves were guilty of the greatest sin, of turning from the Maker.”
You’ve damned them all and you can’t even remember how or why. For a First, it must be terrifying to realize even if you try to diplomatically talk your way out of it, they’ll never believe you. As a hunter, you know it’s hopeless. All you can do is throw yourself forward as the villain, claim that whatever happens you acted alone and take as many of these shems out with you as you can.
“Whatever you think I did, I’m innocent!”
But then they believe you(barely, like thank the Creators the Lavellan clan taught you how to talk to humans civilly and not panic) but it’s basically a hostage situation. There’s one other elf with you and even if he’s not Dalish thank Mythal because shit you were scared and you’re still scared but at least it’s something. His name is ‘Pride’. You take it as a sign from the Creators that it’s not time to give up yet. Suledin, you think.
There is an orb, a weapon that caused this. Solas tells you it’s elven and your heart sinks.
“Eventually, the humans will find a way to blame elves…”
You become Inquisitor and things are a little better but the humans call you Herald of Andraste. You don’t believe in their Maker but none of them care. You know your clan would feel betrayed, think you’ve given up your gods. You haven’t of course but the terror is there…what if the gods think you’ve given up the gods? You talk to Cassandra and Leliana, trying to understand the human chantry and maybe figure out a way for your two beliefs to coexist. You realize it wont help, Cassandra talks about spreading the Maker’s word to all corners of Thedas…you remember the lonely howls of the wolves across Dirthavaren. You know what 'spreading the Makers word’ means. Leliana at least acknowledges what the Chantry did, but she dismisses it with words. All those lives and hopes and dreams dismissed with the words ‘that hate won’t just go away if you dissolve the Chantry’. You understand what she really means, though. She’s saying that the hate will never go away, not until the elves are just like humans. She says she wants elves to be part of the chantry and you try not to taste bile in the back of your throat when you think of what that means.
“My father says humans are like weeds that choke out the grass…”
Sorry, sometimes I get deep in Dalish feels and need to express them…
This is one of the best Tokyo Ghoul quotes in weeks, and I think it says everything about the meaning of the goings on in this chapter. Ui knows the truth of the situation, the death that surrounds all of them, but rather than confront it, or live on in blissful ignorance he chooses to worship it instead in hopes it will give him what he wants. It’s quite literally the definition of selling your soul to the devil. Let’s take a look at that while I explain what I mean, below and the ramifications of this quote:
“The Adventures of Prince Achmed is the oldest surviving animated feature film. It features a silhouette animation technique Reiniger had invented, which involved manipulated cutouts made from cardboard and thin sheets of lead under a camera.
The story is based on elements taken from the One Thousand and One Nights. Prince Achmed is swept away by a flying horse, the doing of a magician who wants to marry Achmed’s sister. Achmed finds and falls in love with Peri Banu, and must rescue her and return home. Along the way, he meets Aladdin, and with the help of a witch, they defeat the evil magician.
Charlotte “Lotte” Reiniger was the foremost pioneer of silhouette animation, and made over 40 films over her career, all using her invention. She fled Nazi Germany with her husband, Carl Koch (he worked on her films as well), and somehow managed to make 12 films between 1933-1944. She died in 1981, at the age of 82.
Although the film failed to find a distributor for almost a year, once premiered in Paris (thanks to the support of Jean Renoir), it became a critical and popular success.”
The full film is available on Vimeo, but with a different soundtrack. As it’s a silent film, there’s written dialogue, and it’s in German.
Sana’s eyes are gonna be the best thing about this series
Whilst I would love to go on a huge rant about how beautiful they are, this post isn’t about that.
Sana’s eyes SAY EVERYTHING whilst she might be saying nothing. Iman is such an amazing actress and the viewer COMPLETELY UNDERSTANDS what she is thinking and feeling just by looking at her eyes. The camera work in SKAM will go between medium close-ups/close-ups of her face, and then to point of view shots from Sana’s perspective, and the viewer feels so in tune with what she is seeing, and how she is feeling. Much like in season 3 which contained quite a lot of silent shots, this first scene’s use of shots with no dialogue (or dialogue occurring outside the shot of Sana’s face) also proves that the actors on SKAM need to say nothing, but still enlighten the viewer to everything they are thinking and feeling.
This is such an amazing thing for any visual text to succeed in doing. It demands astounding acting as well as perfect uses of camera angles. It’s about when to have dialogue occurring outside the shot, when to have close ups on the protagonist, when to have point of view shots. SKAM goes above and beyond what one would expect from a tv show.
So this season, as with the trailer, I will be staring into Sana’s eyes. It is there where I’ll find the silent dialogue, the emotion, the plot, the further meaning. Sana’s eyes are her camera, they are her point of view - she is the director in her own movie. So whilst I may be seeing her through a camera lens, I’m more interested in trying to see life through her own eyes.
[EPISODE] 124. The Coming Terror of Darkness! Struggle of the Eight Senshi.
Series: Bishoujo Senshi Sailor Moon S
Kana: 迫り来る闇の恐怖! 苦戦の8戦士 Romaji: Semari Kuru Yami no Kyoufu! Kusen no 8 Senshi
Original Air Date: February 4, 1995
Director: Takuya Igarashi Writer: Yoji Enokido Animation Director: Ikuko Ito
Plot: The final battle between the Sailor Senshi and the Death Busters begins.
The Space Sword and Deep Aqua Mirror were returned to Sailor Uranus and Sailor Neptune respectively. The two Sailor Senshi performed unnamed attacks with those weapons, too.
Shabon Spray and the original Crescent Beam were both seen for the last time.
Germatoid physically appeared for the first time, but this episode included his final appearance as well.
Haruka and Michiru’s helicopter was destroyed.
This episode featured the only use of Time Stop.
Cloverway’s English dub (titled “Who’s Really Who?”):
Burning Mandala was called “Mars Fire Ignite” rather than “Mars Celestial Fire Surround.”
Sailor Pluto seemingly died to save her teammates from the helicopter explosion. When the missing Talismans reappeared, Sailors Uranus and Neptune heard Pluto say “talisman.” Yet in the dub, Pluto actually had a brief conversation with Uranus and Neptune despite the fact that she is supposed to be dead.
The mute, doll-like daimon were given clownish voices.
As she ran towards Germatoid with her sword, Sailor Uranus just shouted “Uranus” instead of an actual attack name.
Sailor Moon’s four guardians referred to their force field as a “Sailor Box.” The scene, originally silent, was filled with dialogue between the Sailor Scouts.
You rolled your eyes for what seemed like the millionth time
that night. A curvy brunette in a sexy
cop outfit and black stilettos had walked up to the table and placed herself
between Sam and Dean – ass jiggling in Dean’s face and breasts heaved in
Sam’s. The boys were smiling politely at
her, letting her do her job and tucking a few bills into her skimpy outfit.
You picked up a shot from the table and threw it back,
grimacing at the taste. Your eyes roamed
the club, hoping you would be able to spot the vetala from afar, instead of
continuing to let the strippers hang all over the boys.
You noticed that the brunette had walked away and was
quickly being replaced by a blonde with the most enormous fake breasts you had
ever seen, and you’d had enough.
Throwing back one more shot for good measure, you grabbed Sam’s hand and
hauled him out of his seat.
“This one’s yours, Dean,” you growled at him, pulling a
bewildered Sam behind you and to the private booths in the back of the
club. Finding an empty one, you pushed
Sam onto the loveseat and closed the curtains behind you.
Before turning back to Sam, you took a deep breath. You didn’t usually feel so possessive, but
this case had gotten under your skin.
Turning to Sam, you saw him smirking sexily at you. You climbed onto his lap, unbuttoning his
pants in between your bodies.
“Sex at a strip club?
I never took you for that kind of person, Y/N,” Sam teased, hands moving
to squeeze the globes of your ass.
“So fucking tired of watching those skanks all over you,
Sammy,” you hissed, as you pulled his hard cock from his jeans and began to
stroke it. “Gotta remind you who you’ve
Sam bit his lip before replying, “I could never forget,
kitten.” With that, he strongly flipped
the two of you over, your back hitting the cushions of the loveseat. He quickly stripped you of your jeans and
underwear, leaving them hanging off of one leg as he brought his mouth to your
Sam lapped at you, taking note of how wet you already
were. Your fingers moved to pull his
hair, knowing how much he liked the pain.
After mere moments, Sam moved his way up your body, not bothering to
even push his jeans down any further.
You lined his cock up at your entrance and he slammed into you,
swallowing your moan with his mouth.
Sam gave you no time to adjust – both of you knew that you
had to be quick or you could get caught and kicked out of the club. He slammed into you, one hand on your hip and
the other covering your mouth to muffle the sounds he elicited.
The two of you kept your eyes locked on each other, having
an entire silent dialogue as you fucked.
Feels so good – You’re
mine – Right there – So tight – Mine! – So close – Love you
In no time, your walls were pulsing around Sam’s cock,
milking him of his own orgasm that filled you.
You stilled, Sam removing his hand from your mouth and replacing it with
his, tongues dancing together.
Quickly and quietly, you redressed, feeling the come leaking
from your pussy onto your underwear. Not
comfortable at all, but definitely a good enough reminder for the rest of this
stake-out that Sam was yours to take
home tonight, not these strip club skanks.
The two of you made your way back to Dean’s table, happy to
hear his report that he ID’d the vetala while you were gone and ignoring his
teasing about your mussed hair.
When Jane Austen wrote her first version of Persuasion’s concluding chapters, she presented an episode in which the reiterated trope of Anne’s unhappy and partial overhearing is given climactic and even extreme form. In this draft, later discarded, Anne overhears through a door. Because the listening behind a door seems quasi-theatrical, and because Jane Austen, rather than rewriting the chapter, abandoned it altogether, the passage can be more readily dismissed than it deserves. But this first attempt throws considerable light on the determinants of the novel’s underlying structure…. [Anne] is stuck, sitting trapped in a room, made to become the unwilling witness of a dialogue that, despite Wentworth’s keeping his voice down, and trying to restrain Admiral Croft’s, evidently becomes an altercation between the two men about something to do with her…. As before in Persuasion, Anne Elliot hears herself spoken of, again only in snatches, but in this scene it is even in a context she cannot understand. Her powerlessness, is graphically represented by the door: a ‘thin’, permeable barrier, so that her hearing through it becomes an acute representation in physical terms of her marginal status — being both inside and outside — that the novel has found so many ways to define. The very forcefulness of the men, with the impatient Wentworth almost losing his temper, seems to underline the fact that she has no power to govern her own life. This carefully staged scene thus recapitulates the novel’s contrast between genders, representing it, again, in material terms…
It is known that Jane Austen was unhappy with this conclusion to her lovers’ story. She wrote 'Finis’ on the manuscript on 18 July 1816, but, according to her nephew, 'she thought it tame and flat’, and one night 'retired to rest in very low spirits’ after signing it off. Because the two endings of Persuasion are so different, and because it seems astonishing that the novelist should not have worked out how her lovers were to be reunited, even before she began her work, one is inevitably led to some biographical, or rather bioliterary, speculation. Austen knows, then, as she approaches the end of the novel in July 1816 that the final scene must be the culmination of the situations she has imagined throughout the novel. It should be another scene of overhearing, it should again rehearse in some form those impediments that have so far prevented the lovers from understanding each other, and it must be a scene in which the contrasting roles of ladies and gentlemen, of men and women, are somehow again the subject. And as a skilled writer she knows this scene must be a scene of heightened drama, of emotional tension. But how to bring off all these requirements? She could imagine a scene in which Wentworth simply avows his love and is accepted. But she has already written one in which he comes very near to this, only to be interrupted by the man who he thinks is his rival. This has effectively achieved one of her fundamental aims — to reiterate the contingent, continually besieged nature of their communication, now made even more difficult by the jealousy Mr Elliot’s attentions have aroused and the continual interference of other people’s affairs. Through Anne, she has even declared the problem that confronts her: 'How was the truth to reach [Wentworth]? How, in all the peculiar disadvantages of their respective situations, would he ever learn her real sentiments?’ As a woman in the early nineteenth century, Anne can hardly confess her love to him. How could a scene of Wentworth avowing his undying love be made convincing? She has to imagine them coming together through some mode of silent communication.
And so the scene she writes meets these co-ordinates of her imagination. It is a good scene, half comic, half dramatic. It presents two men quarreling about how to act, but each able to act, to take change, and it shows Anne in an extreme condition of contingency, a lonely prisoner in the next room, a prisoner, now literally, of the female role. Her fate is again apparently being decided by men. But if Jane Austen goes to bed depressed after writing this scene, isn’t it because — to use a modern phrase — the novel now makes no statement? She has left her heroine powerless, an actually silenced, condition. Perhaps unwell herself, she may have reflected her own depression by returning her heroine to the position that her narrative has shown her gradually escaping. She has written a scene that intensifies, that climaxes many of the earlier situations she has worked with, but there is something crucial missing. Isn’t the problem that there is no overturning in the silent if 'very powerful Dialogue’ of Anne’s self-suppression, of that miserable abeyance [Austen] has constructed her sentences throughout the novel so carefully to both replicate and hide? Is the problem that she has not allowed Anne to express and recover something of her own personal history, never allowed Anne to be fully present to the reader? And hasn’t the minor theme she has worked at, the way Anne’s consciousness is imbued with her reading, been left behind? But soon she begins to feel herself less ill, and, moreover, 'feeling new strength’, she imagines a completely new scene.
Over the next fortnight, according to her sister’s record, Jane Austen radically revised the conclusion of her novel, inventing in the course of it two new chapters in which the cast of characters is reassembled at the White Hart Inn, Bath. But she retained, and reworked, the central trope of this earlier version: overhearing, and specifically, the partial overhearing of the marginalised subject…. Anne enters, sits down, and since she sees that Wentworth is one of the party, is 'deep in the happiness of such misery, or the misery of such happiness, instantly’. Wentworth gets up and goes to a separate table some distance away to write a letter on behalf of his friend Harville…. When Captain Harville gets up and moves to a window, he invites Anne to join him, and not for the first time she 'rouses’ herself from an absent state of mind, gets up and crosses the room to join him…. Now the geography of this interior is made more specific: 'The window at which he stood, was at the other end of the room from where the two ladies were sitting, and though nearer to Captain Wentworth’s table, not very near’. Thus the 'thin door’ that once kept Anne apart from Wentworth and Admiral Croft is re-created as a space that should preserve, and yet does not quite preserve, privacy, but with the positions of speakers and listener reversed.
Rather than rehearsing once again the polarisation of the genders, like the first version of the novel’s resolution, the conversation between Harville and Anne that Austen now conceives is an explicit debate about gender difference, and it is one in which both speakers take equal roles. Anne Elliot now achieves textual being as an intellectual woman, who, like Elizabeth Bennet and Emma Woodhouse, enjoys an argument and has lawyer-like logic at her command. Their exchange is about grief, and the different ways in which a man and a gentlewoman experience and deal with it…. Anne is at last allowed to speak in effect of what she has long been forced to withhold. The depth of her experience emerges when she speaks of the feelings that 'prey’ upon a woman who has no outlet for her emotional energies, or when, after an escalating series of sentences, she finds herself speaking 'with a faltering voice’ (though still in general terms) about what her tremor admits are her personal feelings.
Both enjoy the debate, but they are talking quietly so as not to disturb Wentworth’s writing at the desk, till they hear a noise from his 'perfectly quiet division of the room’. ('Division’ suggests both contiguity and separation: he is equally present in the same space, and cut off.) It is at the precise moment when Anne speaks 'with a faltering voice’ that Wentworth drops his pen. Anne is 'startled at finding him nearer than she supposed; and half inclined to suspect that the pen had only fallen, because he had been occupied by them, striving to catch sounds, which yet she did not think he could have caught’…. It may be a mistake, though, to suggest as some distinguished critics do, that Anne is implicitly addressing her speeches, and especially the last one, to Wentworth. This reading assumes that she has not concluded he is too far away to catch her words. If her speech, as Tony Tanner put it, has a 'double target and dual purpose’, this implies a certain insincerity in her avowals to Harville, as if she were not aroused and stimulated by Harville’s own strong feeling, and makes much less telling the response in Wentworth’s letter. It is the purity of Anne’s feelings here, not their doublings, that is moving…. Anne and Harville are talking about the different accommodations of men and women to grief: it may seem to a reader that Anne is affirming the enduring power of her own feelings, but this is implicit, and what is implicit is not a declaration. The truth is that the scene is more subtle and more subtly conceived: that Austen makes it difficult to be sure of how much Anne’s awareness of Wentworth’s presence in the room is transmuted into the emotional force of her eloquence….
Anne has been the dependent listener; Wentworth by contrast has been shown as the confident, attention-commanding, textually dominant speaker. The subordinate role assigned to her, even in that first draft of their romance’s conclusion, is now assigned to him. Their positions (as before, literally) are reversed. She has been forced to sit, catching fragments of discourse, listening in to conversations that —whether they wound or elevate her —cause her consciousness to cloud or her heart to beat faster. Her emotional life has often been lived and displayed to the reader only through these overhearings. Now it is Wentworth, the energetic male raconteur, who is the passive partner, sitting at the table, held there by his task, while she stands at the window, he overhearing sounds that bear upon his life, his prospects, his feelings, unable wholly to possess what he overhears. Through the novels’ trope of filtered hearing, the conventional attributes of their gender are exchanged.
Jane Austen’s first version of her finale climaxed many of the situations that her previous chapters had displayed. But it had failed to engage with the crucial issue of Anne’s reticence: her silences not only within the action, but within her own text. Persuasion repeatedly presented Anne as 'only Anne’, the despised, marginal, unregarded spinster. At the same time it allowed the reader to know what a fund of intelligence and feeling lay beneath her quietness, to accumulate a sense of her hidden passionate life, intimated by the novelist in many, but oblique, ways. In the finale as it now stands Anne Elliot commands the textual stage. She defines and laments the life of the gentlewoman, a life of severely restricted opportunities. But at this moment she has an opportunity, and she is prepared to seize it. When she tells Harville 'if you please, no reference to examples in books’, her authority is augmented by the clear, extra-diegetic implication that now in this volume, the book in which she is now speaking, the text her reader is now reading, a different story is being told….
Of all the novels, Persuasion is the most obviously a love story. It opens with a tale of love thwarted, its action details the impediments ot that love’s renewal, and it ultimately brings about the return and retrieval of that love, become perhaps deeper and truer than at first. But Austen’s genius was to turn this romantic narrative into a vindication of the right to self-expression, and thus to make her fiction a statement of her own professional and personal identity. As in all of Jane Austen’s novels, it is this unromantic intelligence that leads her readers to re-read, again and again.
excerpt from “Anne Elliot and the ambient world”, John Wiltshire’s The Hidden Jane Austen
This living-with-myself is more than consciousness, more than the self-awareness that accompanies me in whatever I do and in whichever state I am. To be with myself and to judge by myself is articulated and actualized in the processes of thought, and every thought process is an activity in which I speak with myself about whatever happens to concern me. The mode of existence present in this silent dialogue with myself, I shall now call, solitude. Hence, solitude is more than, and different from, other modes of being alone, particularly and most importantly loneliness and isolation.
Solitude means that though alone, I am together with somebody (myself, that is). It means that I am two-in-one, whereas loneliness as well as isolation do not know this kind of schism, this inner dichotomy in which I can ask questions of myself and receive answers. Solitude and its corresponding activity, which is thinking, can be interrupted either by somebody else addressing me or, like every other activity, by doing something else, or by sheer exhaustion. In any of these cases, the two that I was in thought become one again. If somebody addresses me, I must now talk to him, and not to myself, and in talking to him, I change. I become one, possessing of course self-awareness, that is, consciousness, but no longer fully and articulately in possession of myself. If I am addressed by one person only and if, as sometimes happens, we begin to talk in the form of dialogue about the very same things either one of us had been concerned about while still in solitude, then it is as if I now address another self. And this other self, allos authos, was rightly defined by Aristotle as the friend. If, on the other hand, my thought process in solitude stops for some reason, I also become one again. Because this one who I am is without company, I may reach out for the company of others–people, books, music–and if they fail me or if I am unable to establish contact with them, I am overcome by boredom and loneliness. For this I do not have to be alone: I can be very bored and lonely in the midst of a crowd, but not in actual solitude, that is, in my own company, or together with a friend, in the sense of another self. This is why it is much harder to bear being alone in a crowd than in solitude–as Meister Eckhart once remarked.
After seeing Bewteen the Buried and Me for the second time, I have now completed my signed discography of theirs! (Most of these (all but 3) have multiple LPs, I just didn’t feel like taking both out for them all)
For as long as games have told stories, one of the medium’s greatest strengths has been putting the player in the shoes of the characters. The silent protagonist, the dialogue option, the first-person camera, are all ways that we are drawn into the experience, become the plumber or the soldier or the chosen one. The Devil May Cry series doesn’t do that. In fact, Capcom wants players to not become series protagonist Dante but to borrow control of him, and they leverage this disconnect to motivate players to perform better, reward them with cutscenes that teach them gameplay mechanics, and encourage exploring high-level play.