Horizon's end

Genius is Where Fiction Lies

[star-trek-dumb-comics]

Star Trek - Strange New Dumb Comics #77

Re stumbled on this classic and immediately knew what do to with it

[spaceshipsandpurpledrank]

[msilverstar]

Truth. Experts can be wrong but if they are mostly right or we wouldn't have modern medicine or satellites or computer chips.

[mckittericks]

Years back, Jay Smooth called this "arrogance in ignorance," something that has stuck with me. I've always thought of it as a particularly American mindset--not just being proud of not understanding a topic, but believing that one's ignorance somehow gives one a leg up on experts. Please, y'all. If you don't know something, then you don't know!

[captain-kit-adventuress]

“There is a cult of ignorance in the United States, and there always has been. The strain of anti-intellectualism has been a constant thread winding its way through our political and cultural life, nurtured by the false notion that democracy means that ‘my ignorance is just as good as your knowledge’.” —Isaac Asimov, Newsweek, 21 January 1980

[anintelligentoctopus]

I'm gonna be honest 'cowboys were a sort of itinerant warrior class common in meiji-era texas' always annoys me a bit because it's a funny post but also No They Weren't. They were an itinerant pastoralist class common in Meiji-era Texas. And indeed the wider western region of post-Risorgimento America

[gingerbarts]

Ursula K. Le Guin - A Wizard of Earthsea Slave galley on the way to Osskil

[susandsnell]

feminist killjoy hours again, what the actual fuck is “weird girl literature” and how often do we acquiesce to the latest degrading gendered advertising campaigns

[susandsnell]

Women did not fucking pioneer horror, thriller, and science fiction as we know it for publishing to infantilize it into a high school phase

[susandsnell]

is Stephen king “weird boy literature”? Or does he get to be an adult horror novelist?

[gobloggirl]

[polkadotmotmot]

Andrew Hopgood - Night Visions, 2025 - Oil on linen

[cheekygeekymonkey]

[biszumletzten]

VAN EYCK

[thestraggletag]

I lost it at the end.

[thestraggletag]

Okay, I had to check out the Van Eyck thing. I was a bit in denial because, come on, every single person can’t look like President Putin!

There are no words to describe how wrong I was.

[avidcollectorofdust]

Really glad predictive text exists. Should i bring my own parking lot

[notsurewhattonamethis]

Visit Original Link

[blueskittlesart]

witch hat atelier’s handling of gay representation is arguably just as funny as it is painful because straight out the gate shirahama throws two unmarried men cohabitating and raising multiple children together at you in that special manga way where you can kind of just assume that they’re not officially together purely because it’s not legal in japan. but then in like chapter 50 she introduces two side characters who stare directly into the camera and tell you that gay marriage is legal in zozah so you’re forced to spend the next entire 30-chapter arc wondering what the HELL qifrey’s problem is. and well. then she tells you

[rabbitscreams]

we need to invent a way to explain how deep running and pervasive and subliminal racism and antiblackness is without immediately sounding like an insane conspiracy theorist

[rabbitscreams]

female characters are always lighter than male characters. strong characters are almost always dark. aggressive characters are almost always dark. peaceful and intelligent characters are almost always light. even amongst darker characters the lightest one is usually either the leader or the girls. dark is evil and light is good.

[rabbitscreams]

if you try to explain this to a white person they look at you like youre insane

[gay-milton-quotes]

briefly pursuing a career in animation radicalized me on this. So many stories from the industry about how you have to start with your character design as dark as possible, because INEVITABLY you'll get "notes" from higher-ups asking you to make them lighter.

In a class about making a pitch bible my teacher once role-played as a shitty executive with a classmate, pressing them in intentionally abrasive ways about why they made their characters diverse. He emphasized that we had to learn to defend these things, because the racism in the industry is extremely deliberate.

[vforvalensa]

Ronald Wimberly's comic essay, Lighten Up, stays evergreen

[sabraeal]

The Full Megillah

[Read on AO3]

Obiyuki AU Bingo: Mystery AU Part of Go For Broke

This lamp might not be worth much more than the metal it was made out of, chrome running hot enough to make Obi the perfect criminal when he tilts its shade, but it casts enough dazzle onto Mr. Colgate Dental Cream to cut Wisteria blue down to a squint. That's enough for it to pay its keep. This month, at least.

“Run it by me again.” The chair gives out a good squeal when he leans, letting sunlight and shadow run their tiger stripes over him. “America’s most recognizable man kicks it from a cough in the heart of his Hollywood home— cause corroborated by the county coroner, for what it’s worth— surrounded by his nearest and dearest— and about a hundred of this city’s most expensive cameras— and now his son’s waltzed through some no-name dick’s door to tell him there’s funny business involved.”

Ah, no wonder this mug moves toothpaste; one billboard smile from those pearly whites and Obi’s already ranking mountains by mobility. “No need to sell yourself short, Mister…er…”

“Just Obi.” His own attempt at a winning smile only ekes out a grimace from the Boy Wonder. “No ‘mister’ necessary.”

A little impropriety puts Wisteria out of his element, that sleek magazine shine blurring down to candid-quality as he coughs, one tweed pant leg crossing over the other. A bit of argyle flashes at the ankle, and Obi stifles a snort. How’s he supposed to grill America’s Sweetheart when he waltzes into his office looking like he’s gonna hit the green after lunch? “Right. Obi. I’d hardly call you a no-name when yours is spoken so highly. Among select circles, of course.”

Clever of him not to mention just which ones— and Obi knows better than to ask. “My ego appreciates a good rub down just as much as the next guy’s, Your Highness, but let’s not beat around the bush. Out of all the doors that would open for you in this town, you didn’t walk through mine on account of my sterling reputation.”

All that silver screen sheen goes matte, with an attitude to match. “If I’d thought you’d bust my chops over some good business, I’d have taken mine elsewhere."

“Can you blame me?” It’s not the first time he’s been called in to cross some flatfoot’s T’s and dot his I’s, but Kain Wisteria’s death didn’t get presided over by a beat cop. No, the fingers smudging the ink on this one belonged to top brass, the kind that not only had a commemorative coffee mug, but the watch, too. “Cracking a closed case open always steps on some toes, but this— I’d be shooting them off.”

That sweater vest slumps, fighting spirit leaking more air than a P-47 over the Channel. “So, you won’t do it?”

“Now, I didn’t say that.” His face never got him far when he showed it around LAPD HQ, but getting tossed out at the door would certainly be a new experience. Might even save him some time, too. “I’m saying you’ve gotta have more for me to go on than just a hunch.”

He’s seen broadsheets with more spine that Wisteria’s got on display, all hunched over his seat like he’s waiting for another bomb to drop. “How much more?”

“I don’t know— a suspect? A motive?” These Hollywood types would sing like birds, if only you’d hum them the tune. All Obi’s got to do is find a real toe-tapper. “Walk me through the whole megillah. Papers said Papa Bear died from a rousing bout of pneumonia. Suppose that didn’t happen overnight.?”

Certainly hadn’t in Saint-Die. Labored breathing had been his lullaby and death rattles his reveille. Strange what a body can get used to when it’s already been through worse. “No, Father had been…there’d been a few days of it, before he…”

His Highness swallows, jaw held all high and tight. “It’s just…I know he spent some time in the weeds, but he’d gotten through it! He might have still been in bed, but he'd been sitting up, telling Shira— his nurse to get him all sorts of things.”

A twinge spikes in his shoulder. “What kind of things?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Pen and paper, for one. Oh— and the phone, as if anyone would be around at that hour to take his call.” Obi might not be an expert on show biz, but he did know a thing or two about this town. If Kain Wisteria called, you took it, come hell or high water. “She brought him his coffee too, but I can’t say if he drank it. It just— it felt like with one more night of solid shuteye, and he’d be back on his feet.”

“Happens like that, sometimes. Men his age.” Not that Obi had the run down on the old man’s vitals; unlike the bobbysocks brigade, his survey of the scandal sheets ran more professional than personal. But Kain Wisteria’s heyday was back before talkies even learned to babble, gracing the silver screen back when it was still silver, making those Wisteria eyes famous before the world even knew they were blue. That alone would get him a senior discount on the early bird special. “Funny, though. I don’t even remember hearing he was sick.”

“You wouldn’t have. The studio…” Grief hangs heavy in that little hiccup, and not a little guilt too. Covering up a cough or two was par for the course in this little slice of paradise. Hell, headliners could be on life support, and the studio would still be pumping out press about upcoming projects. “They didn’t want anyone to know. Father didn’t want anyone to know.”

“Can’t imagine they’d be in a hurry to alert the fan club.” TIME magazine ran a feature just last month, showing the Wisteria family patriarch rambling across the rugged Hollywood Hills, sleeves rolled up and cap set a jaunty angle, fit as a flea from any angle. “Last thing this town needs is a bunch of broads holding vigil right in front of the Egyptian over a sniffle.”

“I don’t mean about a cold,” Junior creaks out, sitting stiffer than his senior did, lying in state. “There wasn’t one.”

Obi blinks. “Wanna run that by me again, Your Highness? How’s a man die of pneumonia when he didn’t have anything clogging up the works in the first place?”

“The Great War,” he says, like that’s any sort of explanation— which it is. Studios spent good money to keep lips from flapping about things like this— silence may be golden in the theaters, but outside of them, it came cheaper permanent. “My father was part of the last push past the line during the Argonne offensive, and the Jerries gassed him for his troubles. Spent three months learning how to breathe again in a French field hospital. Never quite recovered, after that.”

Most didn’t. Just wheezed themselves into early graves or drank themselves into later ones. “Got to say, that’s a bit of a surprise. Weren’t most of your pop’s best flicks after the boys came home?”

There’s schoolmarms with stares less stern than the one His Highness turns on him. “I’ve always found much to admire in his earlier work.”

“Hey now.” Obi’s thumb digs into the meat of his shoulder, working the place like it’s getting overtime. “I’m just saying what people have been around here for years. There’s some real gems before the draft shipped all the leading men off to war, but Sunset’s the one that—”

“Invented Wisteria blue,” he hums, bored. “Apparently, the damage done to his eyes only made them all the more striking. That’s why Uncle Carl even thought to try a new tint in the first place.”

Carl Arleon, Wisteria’s colorist. A genius, by all accounts, even before Technicolor entered the pictures. “Gotta say, it’s impressive. Took a hit off that good Yellow Cross and still played Hollywood’s Heartthrob for a decade. Most Joes that vintage can barely get out of bed in the morning.”

“It was more manageable when he was younger, I’m told.” And from the distant look in his own eyes, that’s all His Highness knows about better days: they happened before he came along. “But the pain got to him after a while. That’s why he took up directing, at first. It’s the one job on set where you’re allowed to sit down.”

Said like someone who heard it often enough for it to be part of the wallpaper. “Couldn’t have told from the pictures. Man looked like he was in the prime of his life.”

“They’re all staged, you know.” There’s a real snap to those words, a grim sort of pleasure, like the kind older kids get telling younger ones it’s their parents that put the presents under the tree. “Anyone can look like a leading man for ten shots if there’s a team of people whose job it is to make it happen. These past few years my father’s been in bed more often than he’s been out of it. Works for weeks at a time and spends twice as long recovering.”

“Is that what happened this time?” Obi leans forward enough to eke a squeal out of leather and metal. “Old man worked himself until he dropped?

“That’s what it had seemed like, at least at first. But...I don’t know. It was different this time.” Kain Wisteria’s spare might have taken a few of those shiny little statues home, but there’s a pain in his eyes even the Academy doesn't hand out awards for. “My father wasn’t known for having a long fuse, but he’d been a firecracker the last few weeks. Snapped at anyone who came close. Maybe the pain…”

There’s a hitch, a hesitation. A story being scrubbed out before it even makes it to the page. “I don’t know. All I know is that when the studio told me I needed to be on location for a shoot, I’d never been more relieved to get out of the house."

“And then his lungs laid him out. The way you all expected.” Obi watches him, careful, as he says, “That must have been a relief, too.”

His Highness turns a look on him that could cut, if he was the sort to go around armed. “What do you mean by that?”

“Nothing, nothing, just”—Obi's grin takes on enough of a point to remind the prince only knuckleheads bring fists to a knife fight— “no one would be looking that gift horse in the mouth.”

That pretty mouth works enough to need a title card before Wisteria slumps, hand scraping over his face. “You might be right.”

“Might be?” Obi lifts a brow. “I’d figure you know.”

“As I said, I wasn’t there.” A convenient alibi, but by the weary set of that sweater vest, not one His Highness is happy to have. “I only heard it through Shirayuki.”

Obi blinks. “Shirayuki?”

The prince gives his neck a bashful scratch. “My father’s career may have been at a high, but his health has been deteriorating for years. Once he wrapped on Sunrise on Okinawa, the matter became…pressing. We told the studio he’d need round-the-clock, professional care, and they, well…found Shirayuki.”

“So, she’s his…assistant? Secretary?” Mistress? Everyone and their mother knew Kain Wisteria had a handful of them. Studios liked to keep things neat like that— just one entry on the payroll instead of three.

“Nurse.” Wisteria gets a soft look on his face. “And a better one than we deserve.”

“Pretty?”

That puts an end to the prince's pity party. “Hey, just what are you trying to get at, jack? Shirayuki’s not that kind of girl.”

In Obi’s experience, most men don’t have any idea what kind of girl a woman is until they’ve already tasted almonds in their highball. But by the white knight shine Wisteria’s got going, he’s not about to take that suggestion with sugar either. “Never said she was. Just thinking out loud is all. Studying all the angles.”

Tweed takes its seat, albeit with the brakes on. “Well, don’t worry about that. She’s a professional. Serious about her job. She’d never…”

There’s a falter there, some hesitation. A weakness, and Obi’s never met a bruise he couldn’t sink his thumbs into and make worse. “So, she’s got access to the whole house. Your pop’s medications and everything?”

“Well, sure, but she needs that for her job.” He levels a glare at him. “Don’t think she’s gone and done it just because she’s got the know-how. Shirayuki would never do something like that— her livelihood depends on my father, for one!”

Obi raises his hands. “All right, all right, not the nurse. Who else would have been hanging around his sickroom?”

“Anyone who had regular dealings with my father.” Half the town, according to the gossip rags, but Wisteria knots up that Noxema smooth brow of his like he can narrow it down to a few hundred. “Business associates, members of his production staff, family. But that can’t have any bearing on the case. All those people relied on my father, they couldn’t just…”

Kill him. No surprise His Highness can’t say it.

“Let’s say you’re right, chief." Obi hooks his hands behind his head, stretching until his chair joints put up a protest. “Not saying you are, but as a mental exercise. Someone helped your father shuffle off this mortal coil. Now we may not know the means, but there were probably enough in that room that anyone in it could do the job well enough. And motive we can’t guess at until we get all the facts. But there is one thing we can do right now.”

Wisteria blinks, all blue. “What’s that?”

Something he's not going to like. “Figure out who had the opportunity.”

[spaceshipsandpurpledrank]

[escuerzoresucitado]

[mclennonyaoi]

working with kids and one of them says “you know you eat 8 spiders a night on average right?” and another goes “no no no those statistics are actually skewed by people who like eat spiders recreationally for fun and stuff” and my head snapped up like a fucking sleeper agent

[littledeviantsworld-deactivated]

Did you ever just feel so lucky for knowing someone you met online? Like.. I was one click away from not following you. I was one second away from never even knowing of your existence.I would never have been this happy!!!...