A Song of Ice and Fire by George R. R. Martin  —— (Insp)

“The best fantasy is written in the language of dreams. It is alive as dreams are alive, more real than real … for a moment at least … that long magic moment before we wake.

Fantasy is silver and scarlet, indigo and azure, obsidian veined with gold and lapis lazuli. Reality is plywood and plastic, done up in mud brown and olive drab. Fantasy tastes of habaneros and honey, cinnamon and cloves, rare red meat and wines as sweet as summer. Reality is beans and tofu, and ashes at the end. Reality is the strip malls of Burbank, the smokestacks of Cleveland, a parking garage in Newark. Fantasy is the towers of Minas Tirith, the ancient stones of Gormenghast, the halls of Camelot. Fantasy flies on the wings of Icarus, reality on Southwest Airlines. Why do our dreams become so much smaller when they finally come true?

We read fantasy to find the colors again, I think. To taste strong spices and hear the songs the sirens sang. There is something old and true in fantasy that speaks to something deep within us, to the child who dreamt that one day he would hunt the forests of the night, and feast beneath the hollow hills, and find a love to last forever somewhere south of Oz and north of Shangri-La.

They can keep their heaven. When I die, I’d sooner go to middle Earth.”


腐ree!ついろぐ by みつい [TN: When Rin picks the phone, his words are “Nanase desu”, like in a “Nanase Residence” sense. I didn’t want to translate it like that because I thought the strip would miss the point (because it sounds ambiguous in Japanese like if he did called himself Nanase, the very thought that made Haru happy and feel like Rin married him lol) so I used “…” like if Haruka’s mom interrupted Rin and he somehow ended up calling himself Nanase. Sorry if it was a bad idea and I didn’t clear this up when I posted it orz]


DP: Keep your people close. A man, woman or anon is only as strong as the posse they roll with. Talk to strangers–– people who can fathom the experience because they know it too. It’s terrifying when you’ve got no control over what happens next –– cosmic energies, God–– Sadistic Writers–– poking at you with a big stick? I’ve been there. It’s a lot like facing against the Sinister Six, minus the spandex and campy enthusiasm. Fight or flight. And we all know you’re a fighter, anon. Not–– a… flighter… 

We’re all with you, anon. Every last one of us.