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autisticlancemcclain · 2 years ago

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“You’re not going.”

Keith picks his head up from the table. “Huh?”

“To the Blades,” Lance clarifies, chopping up something that looks like a bright pink potato and throwing it in a rapidly boiling pot in what Keith would call an aggressive manner. “You’re not going.”

“…I didn’t say I was.”

He didn’t. He didn’t mention anything about the Blades to any living soul. Like, yeah, he had made the decision and was going to, but.

There’s no reason Lance should know that.

“Good, then, because I took your uniform — which looks like a slutty catsuit, by the way, just so you’re aware — to the incinerator last night. It’s ash now.”

Keith stares at his best friend, jaw dropped, hands resting limply on the edge of the dining table, because — huh? pardon? what happened?

“Whatever identity crisis you’re having can happen here,” Lance adds, shaking some spices into the boiling pot and stirring it a couple times. He dips in a spoon, brings it up to his lips, then makes a face. “Here, try this.”

He marches over to where Keith has been moping as he makes dinner and shoves a spoon into his gaping mouth. Keith chokes, hot stew making its merry way down his trachea, eyes watering and chest heaving.

“A little too salty,” he rasps.

Lance scowls. “Fuck. I knew it. Gotta add more barbie potatoes.” He turns down the heat, grabbing more potatoes from the sack and busying himself with peeling them. Slowly, as he recovers from the fear of his actual lungs collapsing in on themselves, Keith stands, hesitantly approaching Lance and reaching for a knife to chop what he peels.

“So,” he starts.

Lance ignores him.

But Keith is used to this dynamic. It’s either this or flipped. Friends or not, if there’s one thing they can’t do it’s use their big boy words. So he carries on.

“I take it you…don’t want me to go, then.”

Lance grunts. “Oh, look, the caveman has room in his skull for a brain after all.”

“Uncalled for,” Keith says, scowling. “I am not the one who’s refusing to communicate right now.”

The corner of Lance’s mouth twitches upwards.

Score. Point to Keith.

“Obviously I don’t want you to leave, you stupid dumbass,” Lance admits finally. He wrestles the chopped roots out of Keith’s hands and practically dunks them in the pot, turning the heat back up. Keith smears his starch covered hands on his shirt in revenge (and then wisely takes three quick and giant steps back, well out of backhanding range).

“But there are too many paladins,” Keith points out. “You said it yourself.”

Lance grabs a dishtowel, twisting it menacingly in his hands. Keith tries not to think about the scar he knows Hunk has from when Lance snapped a towel at him when they were kids, wrestling in the McClains’ kitchen. He fails.

“Do you actually have any braincells left in your head at all?”

“Yes, jackass. That’s why I did the math. I leave and the numbers add back up. Problem solved.”

“You leave and Voltron falls apart,” Lance snaps. “So maybe crunch those numbers again.”

Keith stills. Lance steps towards him, still glaring, still menacing, but he doesn’t move — he holds Lance’s gaze, searching his dark eyes, looking for the words he isn’t saying. Because Keith…Keith isn’t the one holding Voltron together. There was a reason his heart caught in his throat when Lance came to him downtrodden and talked about being a seventh wheel. There’s a reason his duffel is packed, a reason he’s talked to Kolivan. He knows who needs to step aside.

“You just don’t get it,” Lance says, frustrated. He takes another step.

“You talk to us about teamwork all the time.”

Another step.

“You’re favourite thing to whine about is the bonding moment.”

Another step, this time as he pitches his voice high and mocking, flapping his hands.

“You never shut up about training as a group.”

One final step and he’s toe to toe, shoes to boots, nose to nose. Keith realises, startlingly, that they’re the exact same height, now.

“We are a crew, imbécil. Team, group, boyband. Whatever you wanna call it. All for one and one for all. The whole nine yards, all that cheesy bullshit.” He pokes Keith hard in the chest. “You don’t get to ditch.”

“But it makes more sense,” Keith argues, weakly and half-desperately. “We only have so many resources. If I can be useful at the Blades —”

“Fuck the fucking Blades.”

Keith deflates. His hand comes up to stop Lance’s jabbing finger, curling around his knuckles. Lance softens, slightly.

“I just want to be as useful as I can be.”

“And if you’re enough as you are?” Lance asks quietly.

Keith opens his mouth, but stops, automatic I’m not dying in his throat. For the first time in his life, it doesn’t seem like the truth, with the determined set to Lance’s jaw and the sliding of their fingers together, gripping tightly.

“Then I guess I’m staying,” Keith breathes.

Lance nods. “Good.”

Keith notices his hands are kind of clammy. His forehead, too, is a little sweaty. The air between them feels hot. Keith swallows.

“Your stew is on fire,” he croaks, voice rough.

Lance drops his hand, cursing.

“Oh — por amor de dios, hablas en fucking serio —”

———

At dinner, Keith eats his burnt stew without a word of complaint. When Lance drags him to the sink to help clean up, after, even though it’s not his turn, he goes, and he lingers too close and too long, and he’s grateful that the duffel he packed to leave home for good is laid emptied on his bed when he turns in for the night.

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transgenderer · 6 months ago

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I've explained this before in a post but modern society is controlled by basically weak girl shit. The reason people follow the laws and shit is a mixture of game theory and ideology. Right, math and feelings, which are both for small-wristed weak people. Back in the caveman period society was governed by who threw the biggest punch, the thickest armed man like a real manly society. But as a weak person and basically a girl, I like our current way better.

the history of all hitherto existing society is the history of weak girl shit. there has never been a culture that wasnt about math and feelings. and MOSTLY feelings. like, even hunter gatherers operate by ideology and social pressure! read (or listen, i guess) about the !kung, or the mbuti, or the kwakwiutl, or any other society. society was never governed by who threw the biggest punch, it was governed by who could wield emotions, ideology, game theory best!

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mitigatedchaos · 9 months ago

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The Low-Friction Moment

Post for September 16, 2024 ~4,000 words, 20 minutes

Tumblr user max1461 wrote:

I'm contemplating the tradwife shit again, I'm coining the term "bioconservative turn" for the present cultural moment (evidently the term bioconservatism is already in use for something else... perhaps "biotraditionalist turn" will do instead?). The tradwife shit, the raw diet caveman testosterone shit, the wombyn born wombyn shit, all of it. It's characterized by a couple of things I think:

If this is a real trend, where is it coming from? One theory someone could float would be that this isn't a unified, general trend, but rather a bunch of smaller trends resulting from responses to more specific issues. If it actually comes together, it's going to do so as a political coalition and will remain ideologically incoherent in practice.

I would like to propose a more general cause, or rather, a shared source of influence (not responsible for 100% of causal share): people are sick of computers.

More below the read-more.

Max continues (numbering mine)...

(1) An ever-present awareness (or pseudo-awareness) of biology, an interest in biological specifics such as testosterone levels, and an appeal to "biological essence" or "biological purpose" as a source of authority.

(2) A conservative, although not necessarily politically right-wing, outlook: "modernity is essentially flawed and we need to return to our roots in order to reconnect with what really matters".

(3) A particular focus on health as an ideal; per the above a sense that modernity is above all else unhealthy.

(4) A conceptual shift away from the mind and towards the body as the most central part of the human being, commensurately a great political concern with the nature of bodies, and an attribution of society's faults to the wrong-treatment or wrong-usage of bodies.

(5) A generally somewhat quietistic bent, although by no means apolitical. A focus on individual right behavior. Perhaps contrary to expectations, not necessarily characterized by eugenicism to any great extent.

Obviously these different components will be expressed to different degrees in different cases, but I think this circumscribes it pretty well.

I think this emerging perspective has a couple of distinct influences that are being syncretized to varying degrees. [...]

...and adds:

Please note that I am not here to argue some stupid shit, or to do base guilt-by-association of this or that ideology. I don't like this biotraditionalist turn very much, but the reasons I don't like it are thoughtful instead of vapid. I would be interested, though, to hear others' opinions on this trend, if they think it's a real thing and what they have observed about it, because I've been contemplating it a lot lately. At least, I'd like to hear from people with novel sociological observations or commentary to provide, rather than boring polemics.

a - The Axis

To the degree that this is a real thing, I suspect that this is about computers. Computers and virtual reality are low dimensionality, high disembodiment. Whether with video games or with social media (posts on a flat surface), it's possible to get completely absorbed in the virtual environment and forget one's physical body for a time - thus the overrepresentation of transgender individuals and furries online. (The pro-trans perspective would be that this relieves gender dysphoria, while the anti-trans perspective would be that this disembodiment creates transgenderism. One person reported doing hard math to distract from thinking about their body, so I'd lean towards the former explanation. I've discussed this matter previously in terms of the relative influence of movements.)

Transgenderism represents a weighting of the mind over the body. If the mind says 'M' and the body says 'F,' then 'M' is correct and 'F' is wrong.

Rationalism is partly about weighting the conscious mind over the subconscious mind and the instincts of the body. Transhumanism is about the use of the capital-forming power of the mind to replace the body (either by uploading the brain into a computer, or by replacing flesh and blood arms with cool robot arms).

It isn't surprising that we would see, in terms of one causal factor, the rise of rationalism, transgenderism, and transhumanism, during the 1990-2020 era, a time of profound and transformative change driven by rapidly-expanding computing power and rapidly-expanding accessibility of computers.

However, rationalists, transhumanists, and pre-normalization transgender individuals all tend to be the sorts of people who get their opinions by thinking about them individually, rather than socially.

b - The Problem 1

Computers, the Internet, and social media, especially the consolidation of social media into a small handful of sites, created a very low friction environment.

For the rationalists, or someone like me, this wasn't that much of an issue directly. I intuitively evaluate ideological systems for loops, and have a good feel for logical fallacies, so when someone tries to pose as higher status but makes a terrible argument, I feel pressured to contradict them rather than to obey them.

For people who primarily get their opinions socially, I think this has been a disaster.

As you may remember, my model of the Republicans is that they pick a guy and then they rally around him as their leader. In the 2000-2008 era, that was George Bush, which lead to a steadfast refusal to question the Iraq War, and likely contributed to the mishandling of the War in Afghanistan.

Now, The Guy is Trump. This represents a decline in the reliability of information about the details, but a correction on some of the fundamentals.

QAnon is pretty bad, epistemically. A loss of trust in institutions contributed, as did the lack of administrative political skill by Trump himself. He's also hardly a model of general epistemic virtue; his advantage is mostly not being invested in some of the bad choices the US political establishment made previously.

Did the reduction in friction contribute? I think so. Without a reduction in friction, we would expect QAnon to manifest in a dozen different conspiracy theories, rather than come together into one more unified whole.

(One of the chief problems for the red tribe is that they aren't a "complete ethnicity." They're largely a slice of the white American personality distribution. This limits the number and scale of their institutions, which reduces their ability to build an independent knowledge base using personnel aligned with their interests.)

Meanwhile, my model of Democrats is that they're more based on a perception of consensus. They are hierarchical, and they do value authority. Many conservative complaints about "unprincipled" progressive behavior are actually about progressive deference to tribal authority; the progressives involved assume that the authority "knows better" than they do, and so assume the right-wing criticism cannot be true (or is true but irrelevant).

The reduction in friction caused a two prong problem.

First, in an environment where information moves more slowly, it may be easier to build a consensus around truth, since truth is observable everywhere and remains fixed over time. (Yes, yes, specific artifacts and events, I know. But you get what I mean.) You can't be sure if the guy over at the other newspaper or other university would go with the same partisan message that you would, but if you try to keep your message relatively close to the truth, then the two messages won't be discordant. [1]

The system of blue checkmarks for institutional actors under pre-Musk Twitter enabled a rapid formation of consensus, without a need to coordinate indirectly using the truth instead of communicating directly.

It was easy. It was cheap. It meant making fewer compromises with the interests or desires of the coalition. They could coordinate around whatever dumb message they wanted to, regardless of its relation to the truth.

Second, the people working inside the institutions were exposed to the low-friction environment. From the outside, they could be identified and targeted by activists, who would be able to call down large numbers of people on the institution. From the inside, their coalitional loyalty meant that many of them adopted the lower-epistemic-quality ideology. At the same time, there was a significant decline in employment in some knowledge-generating industries, like the newspaper industry. (It doesn't help that the positions are prestigious, even if they aren't the highest-paying.) This combination promoted ideological infighting, causing a misalignment of the broader institution with its mission.

Institutional missions can be used to build supermajority support, insulating institutions from politics. If an institution has 75% support, then an attack generally can't get a solid majority even from the party with the greatest opposition to it. If an institution falls to 50% support, then it can be dismantled or defunded for votes. Since in the two-party system, each party wins about half the time, that's a risky position to be in.

Other people don't think exactly the same way I do about this, but there are similarities in their perspective on this matter.

c - The Problem 2

Because developing true information is so difficult, it's also a fragile process, thus the replication crisis. Even a slight tampering with each node in the process will screw up the outcome.

Activists generally want to exclude results that are unfavorable to their causes, and include results that are favorable to their causes. (They would justify this from a moral perspective - "protecting the weak," for example.) Without error, this results in bias that leads to a distorted view once the information undergoes lossy compression. (Imagine a 500,000-word book reduced to a 500-word summary - all of the qualifiers and hedging will, by necessity, be trimmed out.) Error can introduce favorable-seeming information that is mostly or entirely false, causing a report to go from merely omitting unfavorable information, to being entirely fake.

The more complex and multi-stage the knowledge-generating process, the more information that will be lost across the whole process from activism. People have a limited amount of time and attention, so they'll typically only look at the output of the prior stage, and not account for drift from activism in stages before that. This can happen with multiple people, or just with one person working on a multi-stage process. With research, for example, deciding what question to research is an initial stage which can introduce bias even if every other step is followed meticulously. At the end stage, if the peer reviewers are all activists, they may decline to heavily investigate a paper if it seems favorable, even if the author made an error by accident. (The replication crisis suggests that peer review is having trouble even without activism.)

Above relatively small percentages of activism, activism + research will tend to reduce to activism, activism + journalism will tend to reduce to activism, and so on.

Suppose there is some industrial chemical, the usage of which will save 10,000 humans, but potentially kill 10 whales. If there is an activist who says whatever they think will help to save the whales, rather than what is true independent of saving the whales, then you can't ask them about the trade-offs. If they think telling you the chemical is super-lethal and will kill 10,000 whales will save the whales, then they'll tell you the chemical is super-lethal to whales. If they think telling you it won't save the humans will save the whales, then they'll tell you that it won't save the humans.

Estimates vary, but let's say that English has about 250,000 words. Each unique word can be encoded using 18 bits. This is all a very rough estimate.

At a low percent activism, we get...

[chemical][kill][ten][whale][save][ten][thousand][human]

This comes out to about 144 bits of information.

Words can be used to reduce the space of possibilities. For example, "ten" is used to exclude every number less than 10, and also every number greater than 10.

Because the activist is willing to say that the industrial chemical will kill 10 whales or 10,000 whales depending on what sounds more convincing, "ten" from the activist represents "ten or ten thousand." That is, it doesn't reduce the space of possibilities by as much.

One way we can think about this is that the vocabulary of political operatives in general is effectively reduced. In a standard binary encoding, with 18 bits you can write any number from 0 to 262,144. In the reduced vocabulary, any number 0 to 262,144 is only used to represent { "none," "one," "few," "many," "more than," "less than" }, a total of six options, which can be represented with 3 bits.

The correlation between the words and the state of the world is reduced. The words no longer divide the world into as many categories. Thus, the number of bits of actual information transmitted per symbol declines. [2]

At a high percentage of activism, any message that might possibly benefit whales rounds off to group affiliation.

[me][pro][whale]

This comes out to 54 bits.

In my opinion, the reduction in friction has shifted members of the left and liberal political coalition towards activism, and towards group affiliation messaging, and away from more costly truth-seeking and independent thought.

The overall complexity of the world-model has declined, and the amount of genuine information transmitted per word has declined as well. [3]

That is my personal assessment.

d - Things to Hide From - The Cyberspace Layer

One of the big differences between 2008 and 2024 is the proliferation of smartphones with cameras and internet access.

This has resulted in the presence of an ubiquitous "cyberspace layer" which spread across most of the planet. Anyone, anywhere, is now vulnerable to being recorded on video, and that video almost instantly getting delivered to people on the other side of the planet.

As I have noted before, with reports that satellite internet access will be extended to 5G smartphones, the cyberspace layer will soon extend to nearly the entire planet.

Did you know that major retailers are still selling disposable film cameras in physical stores, alongside record players? Some people are arguing that film grains are irregular enough, and screens are low-resolution enough, that photo-negatives can be used to prove a picture is relatively more 'real' rather than AI-generated, but I don't have enough knowledge to say whether that's true or reliable.

e - Places to Hide - Private Chatrooms

Although Discord is not truly private, because the platform operator has access to everything the users post, we still see a lot of discussion moving there. Why?

I think there are two big reasons. One, it allows tighter control of who enters a space. That cuts down on spam. Two, because it's not exposed to the public internet, it's less vulnerable to what political scientists call "norm entrepreneurs." (That would be the guy that's trying to raise his social status by coming up with new social rules which he enthusiastically attempts to punish you for not following.)

If someone tries to start a mob to punish you for not agreeing to "rewild" your cat, you can throw him out on his ass.

Overall, information moving from public forums to private chatrooms represents an increase in friction, including higher information acquisition costs. This will likely reduce the overall wealth of humanity and emphasize social connections over raw intellect.

f - Breaking it Down

Alright, so with that background, I'm going to break it down.

Loss of trust in left-leaning institutional authority, partly due to the institutions themselves, partly due to activists misrepresenting what institutions or research actually say, and partly due to the shift of the granola-eaters to the right due to progressive restrictions on granola-eater behavior.

Biology contains a huge amount of physically embodied information, gathered over many millions of years. In this vein, it isn't surprising to use it as a source of authority.

(2) A conservative, although not necessarily politically right-wing, outlook: "modernity is essentially flawed and we need to return to our roots in order to reconnect with what really matters".

Fertility is collapsing to below replacement in all industrialized countries. In some places, like South Korea, the situation has become quite dire. Something is wrong.

I think the cyberspace layer is also stressing people out. They can be socially ambushed by like 50,000 people at once, pretty much at random.

People move around a lot. They may not know as many people in person for the duration of their lives. Modernity itself depends on more distant, thinner, lower-dimensionality relations, including working with impersonal bureaucracies, which some people may find uncomfortable.

I think people would also be a lot more comfortable if the pace of change was about half of what it currently is. If feels like from the mid 20th century to today, each decade should "really" have taken about 20 years, to allow people to get comfortable with the technology before it changes again.

Overall, I think going faster has been worth it due to improved medical treatments, but I have to wonder what the alternative branch might look like given the rising youth suicide rate compared to the low of 2007.

(3) A particular focus on health as an ideal; per the above a sense that modernity is above all else unhealthy.

Health is a wellspring from which many other strengths, and even virtues, may flow. Health is quite core. In terms of the trade-off, it isn't just a matter of wealth or health - it's difficult to have wealth without health.

The genetics industry are beginning to cure the blind, but the price for their services range from the price of a house to a typical worker's total lifetime economic output. Wealth has only a limited ability to buy health.

Minus housing prices, people may be feeling wealthy enough that they'd like to trade some wealth for some health.

From the other direction, people have a great deal of difficulty assessing the health value of products. They depend on institutions to do that. If they lose faith in institutions, they'll want to fall back to something, and that leaves perceived biology, "traditionalism," and so on.

Yes, this could be a reaction to the relatively high emphasis on the mind associated with the computer era.

Additionally, because a body is a thick, heavy, and difficult-to-change matter of substance, there may be leverage in a politics rooted in bodies and in the interests of bodies.

However, concerns about contamination of bodies have been around for a long time. People have fretted about what they eat for as long as I have been alive. After all, food isn't just fuel, but also materials. How can you build well using poor-quality materials?

In an environment in which collective action can produce larger societal gains, it makes more sense to engage in collective action.

In an environment in which larger political forces have become unresponsive to reality, it makes sense to reduce the scope of your behavior and investment to one in which you can still gain traction.

You can't control what the US government does, but a sound mind and a healthy body will help you in nearly all situations - and a healthy body contributes to a sound mind. Further, the relationships of a family, especially between parents and children, are also more likely to survive changes in the nature of the state or the economy, than forms of support that depend on the well-functioning of the state itself. (Of course, this may lead to opposition to families from political operatives.)

There is little point to pursuing eugenics in such a context. It's effectively a declaration of war on some fraction of the population, and if you don't devise sound general principles, it's also a declaration of war on yourself.

I would also little to propose a little inversion - the life one lives demonstrates the biology that one has. Therefore, to live well is proof that one is worthy, regardless of the specific fine-grained biological details.

g - Rejecting the Oppression Model of Disability

There's another aspect at work here, which is the progressive model of disability. Progressives argue that everyone is equally capable in order to argue that they are equally morally worthy. In the progressive model of disability, if someone is wheelchair-bound, the fact that they don't have the same mobility as someone who can use two legs is because something is wrong with society, not with the wheelchair-user's body.

Of course, the world doesn't work that way. The underlying physical reality of mountains is not socially constructed, and adding wheelchair access to a mountain takes additional labor, energy, and materials compared to leaving the mountain solely accessible by foot.

In the progressive model of disability, if the government refuse to build a wheelchair ramp to the top of a popular mountain, they are oppressing wheelchair users. Some of the ideology you have described may be based on rejecting this frame.

h - The New Classy

Personally, I think the vibes that you're picking up on are somewhat faint currently, but they are there.

I think we are going to see some rejection of electronics and computers by higher-class individuals, or individuals from the subset of society that will come to be perceived as higher class over time.

Probably around 2015, when the number of notifications on my smartphone began ticking up, to the point that I noticed I was ignoring text messages because I assumed they were social media or app messages, I began aggressively limiting notifications.

Later, I began experimenting with the idea of a "social media hiatus," usually for a week or two. I found that somewhat difficult to stick to, because I have a lot to say. On the other hand, those hiatuses were actually too short. I've now switched to a Monday queue, so that posts only go up one day of the week (unless the President gets shot or something).

That has been relatively successful. This corner of Tumblr is a medium-length discursive space, so it's usually fine if a post shows up five days later. I post probably half or even a third as much, but that's fine. I've found that I'm mostly able to stick to it, which is good.

On Twitter, I have long had notifications turned off for every account except those I follow. When I want to check for replies, I go read the with_replies tab of my own account, and scroll down as far as I want to check. I don't even know the replies exist until I check; as such, they weigh less heavily on my mind, being only "possible replies" rather than "known unanswered replies." Eventually threads fall below the distance I'm willing to scroll, and I never see another reply on them again.

More recently, I've been running an experiment of no computers and no TV for one day of the week. (Calling and texting are still allowed.) It's still too early to talk about the results, but one thing I noticed almost immediately is this kind of twitching reflex to check the Internet on my phone (or computer).

Taken together, this can be considered "taking control of one's attention environment."

This requires a certain amount of power, wealth, or time, and also a certain amount of willpower (although it's about managing limited willpower to greater effect). For example, one must be able to opt out of certain software if it's a low-return attention hog ("low [monetary|insight|relational|positive emotional] returns to attention"), which might not be feasible in certain industries or for certain workers.

Gambling is trashy. Alcohol is trashy. Drugs are trashy. Sex addiction is trashy. In the future, it is likely that electronic over-stimulation will be considered trashy. The meltdowns people have been having on Twitter over the past 10 years have been spectacular, to the point that they're eroding public trust in expertise itself. If you want to give off a serious (and not trashy) and timeless aura, you can't allow yourself to be deranged by Twitter, or by filter bubbles.

[1] This is a new bit of theory I've been waiting for the right opportunity to post.

[2] This is also one of the issues with using nothing but bombastic rhetoric.

[3] Same as [1].

#politics #epistemic blues #gendpol #melodramatic mysticism #sj critical #flagpost #monday queue

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mars9d · 4 months ago

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thank you @lily-bear for tagging me in a get to know mutuals post‼️‼️ pretend I answered this much earlier I haven't checked my notifications in MONTHS ☹️

I only answered the ones I have okay answers for, I've made maybe like 4 original posts and I'm not very interesting on here... I don't know how to copy paste everything on mobile so this is so out of order 💔 Also I'm leaving the spelling because I'm lazy

Favourite color: I like purple... good color... I love a nice dull purple or green. or blue

Favourite game: I am really bad at video games and have played very very few but I adore the ghostbusters video game 🙏

Song stuck in your head: I've been really into the first season of true detective... I can't stop humming the theme

Hobbies: I like. driving and making things and collecting things and watching things and music idk. I like stuff what is a hobby

Something you're bad at: they call me the caveman who ran from the fire. most things. math. video games

Something you're good at: staring at the wall

Something you love: nuclear power plant. sorry I love my car I love my car a lot I adore my car. I love music too I love many things

Something you could talk about for hours off the cuff: nuclear energy they love me at the local nuclear power plant. I think maybe most things I'll find something to say

Something you collect: OH boy 😈🙏 I love collecting postage stamps. coins. garbage. vhs tapes. cassette tapes. dvds. cds. books? vinyl records. old shit i got old shit. almost everything I own is atleast 30 years old. my radioactive item collection is hopping (👴)

Favourite movie/show: BLADE RUNNER and TWIN PEAKS n

Favourite subject at school? I like science... I am good at remembering my biology and physics is fun

Least favourite subject: I hate math it ruined my life

Sorry being very goofy about this I am not Mr. Serious.

No pressure tag list!! I don't have many people to tag I'm not sure.. sorry tumblr mutuals have not been interacting💔 whoops

I'm too scared to tag anyone else but if you're interested please pretend you're on the list ⚠️

: @itscooltoskate @petes-dancing @bobo-the-part-time-clown

#im so sorry this is so late forgive me #im realy tired 😞

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clown-friend-gt · 1 year ago

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Up, Up, and Away Chapter 6

So I was kind of nervous about putting this chapter out because of one line in particular in it. You'll probably know it when you see it. I didn't want to sanitize any of the language that the bully used in this chapter, but I was still worried about if it was over the line to use that kind of language in my writing. Don't be afraid to reach out with any feedback or criticism.

Link to Masterpost

************************************************************************

Breaking Point

1.5k words

(CW: Bullying, violence, racism, police agression)

The more things changed, the more they stayed the same. That’s what Trevor had begun to realize. Because in addition to all of his other problems, Robbie Deckman refused to leave him alone.

For a week or so after Trevor had outgrown him, Robbie had given him a wide berth. He seemed worried that now that their roles were reversed, that Trevor would give him a taste of his own medicine. As satisfying as that sounded to him, Mr. Roberts, the institute agent, had been watching him like a hawk ever since their talk. And Robbie seemed to have caught on to the fact that Trevor was unlikely to get away with anything anytime soon.

He didn’t push him around the way he used to. Even Robbie wasn’t dumb enough to think that’d work. Instead, he switched tactics.

It started around the same time he visited the institute. Trevor had tried to squeeze himself into one of the tiny desks that every classroom in his school used, and it hadn’t gone well. The chair bent beneath his weight, and the sound of bending metal was loud enough for everyone to hear.

The room was silent for a moment. Then, from behind, Robbie yelled, “Nice going, fatass!”

A few laughs rang out around the room. Trevor was mortified but said nothing. He burned silently with embarrassment as laughter echoed around him. From then on, he just sat on the floor.

Then a week later, during a difficult math test, Trevor broke a pencil. Not just the lead, though that had become all too common for him. He had been feeling anxious and accidently gripped his pencil too tight, snapping it fully in half. Robbie spoke up almost immediately.

“Urgghhh, Trevor no like algebra,” he said, doing his best caveman impression. “Trevor SMASH!”

A few people snickered, and a few more shot him looks that read are you stupid?

“Robert, be quiet. We’re in the middle of a test,” the teacher reprimanded him. Robbie smirked and went back to work.

“And Trevor,” the teacher added, “try to be more careful.”

Robbie found every opportunity to torment him. He would even approach him at lunchtime, walking up to where he sat against the wall, away from everybody else.

“Go away,” Trevor told him once.

“Make me,” Robbie retorted.

Trevor shot him a look, considering it for a moment. Man, it was tempting. Robbie straightened under his glare, looking like he might bolt. Then Trevor sighed, turning his attention back to his lunch. Robbie sat down nearby, radiating smugness.

“God, you’re a pig,” he quipped as Trevor finished his first tray. He did his best to ignore him as he got up to grab his second. He made sure to sit somewhere else when he got back. It didn’t matter; Robbie got up to find him again anyways.

“Leave me alone,” Trevor told him, with more force this time.

“Aw, gonna cry, you big baby?” Robbie mocked him.

He’s not worth it, Trevor had to remind himself, setting his jaw.

He finished his second tray and went to put it away. Robbie followed him, eager to torment him more. Trevor did his best to outpace him, but Robbie jogged to keep up with him.

All of a sudden, with the worst possible timing, Trevor’s stomach growled. The cafeteria limited him to two trays a day, but it just wasn’t enough anymore. Robbie smirked wickedly.

“You’re still hungry after all that? You’re such a freak.”

Trevor whipped around, ready to smack him. It would’ve been so easy to wipe that smug look off his face. But as he lifted his hand, his eyes met those of Mr. Roberts. He stared him down, his thumbs on his belt. Roberts silently moved his hand to rest on his holstered gun. A warning.

Trevor turned and stormed off, leaving Robbie laughing cruelly behind him.

************************************************************************

Then the day came when Robbie pushed Trevor too far. He knew it was bound to happen sooner or later, but he never dreamed it would go so badly.

The last bell of the day rang loud and clear. Everyone in his last class began rushing out. Some left immediately, others trickled out slowly, chatting with each other as they left. Once almost everyone else had already left, Trevor stood up with a small groan, slinging his bag over one arm.

He’d gone through a particularly bad growth spurt last night. He was so sore, and the over-the-counter painkillers he’d relied on for so long just weren't cutting it anymore. He moved sluggishly, and the last thing he needed right now was people ogling him. So he’d waited until no one was around.

He bent over to squeeze through the door to the classroom. When he stood back up, his head smacked on one of the ceiling tiles. He was painfully reminded that he now had to hunch over slightly to avoid hitting the ten-foot ceilings at school.

People were staring. He could feel it as he brushed the dust that fell from the ceiling off of his shoulders. Sure enough, as he glanced around, there they were. He gritted his teeth and tried to ignore them as he walked away. But he could feel their gazes boring into the back of his skull.

He made his way over to his locker. He kept telling himself that all he had to do was get home, fall asleep, and he could forget that today ever happened. He tried to remove the door to his locker as discreetly as possible; he’d pulled the door from its hinges by accident a few days ago.

No such luck. Robbie spoke up from behind him.

“What the hell did you do to your locker, dumbass?”

Trevor sighed, setting the door down. So much for that.

“Not today, Robbie,” he warned him without turning around.

“Ooh, I’m so scared,” Robbie said in a mocking voice. “We both know you’re not gonna do shit.”

Trevor turned around slowly, glaring down at Robbie.

“I’m serious, Robbie. Stop.”

“RRRR, TREVOR ANGRY.” Robbie stuck his bottom teeth out as he did that dumb impression again. “TREVOR BREAK YOU, LITTLE MAN!”

Trevor rolled his eyes. “Seriously? Is that what this is about? You feel small?”

Robbie scowled. “You think you’re so much better than everyone now that you’re so big and strong, don’t you? What’s your fucking problem? Who the hell raised you?”

Trevor knew where Robbie was heading, and he did not like it one bit.

“Drop it. Now.” His voice was dangerously low.

Robbie smirked. He had him now, and he knew it.

“Oh right, your illegal whore mamí did.”

Trevor snapped then. Without another word he swung at Robbie, backhanding him across the hall. He hit a wall of lockers with a thunderous CLANG!

The lockers behind him crumpled, and he fell to the floor with a thud.

The few remaining students in the hallway fled. Trevor paid them no mind, striding over to wear Robbie lay wheezing. He bent over and grabbed him by his shirt, lifting him up to eye level.

“You keep your goddamn mouth shut,” he snarled. “You don’t know me or my mother.”

Robbie squirmed wildly in his grasp. His feet kicked uselessly in the air beneath him. Trevor held him firmly.

“L-let me go, you—you freak,” he sniveled, his voice cracking on that last word. Trevor chuckled darkly.

“You really don’t know when to quit, do you?” Trevor pulled him closer. “Shut. The. Fuck. Up.”

“Let him go,” a voice called from down the hall. Both heads turned at the same time to look. Mr. Roberts stood at the end of the hall; his hand perched on his holster.

Trevor shrugged and let go of Robbie’s shirt, letting him fall to the ground.

Mr. Roberts pulled out his gun and pointed it at Trevor.

“Whoa, whoa—” Trevor started, but was cut off.

“Hands in the air,” he ordered. Trevor slowly raised his hands in the air.

“On the ground, now.”

“Mr. Roberts—”

“NOW!” he yelled.

Trevor rushed to get onto his knees. Mr. Roberts cocked the gun, and he froze.

“No sudden movements,” he growled.

Trevor swallowed, lowering himself to the ground as slowly as possible. His sore muscles screamed in protest. He trembled as he sunk to the floor, both in fear and from the exertion.

Once he was on the ground, Mr. Roberts stomped over to him, putting his gun away and yanking one of Trevor’s arms to his back, then the other. He clamped a pair of those special cuffs onto his wrists, sized just for him.

Trevor had always wondered why the cuffs they put on supers had no chains connecting them. He got his answer when Mr. Roberts pressed a button and the cuffs clacked together like a pair of magnets. A jolt went through him, and a numb feeling spread throughout his body, starting from his wrists.

“This is agent Roberts, reporting a rogue super at St. Jude High School.” Mr. Roberts spoke to someone, presumably over the phone, though Trevor couldn’t exactly turn around and look.

“Suspect has been detained. Requesting a transport van.”

As it happened, Robbie had fallen to the ground right next to where Trevor lay now. He opened his mouth as if to say something, but only a pained breath escaped. Robbie winced, but when he opened his eyes, the look in them was unmistakable.

He had won.

First/Last/Next

#g/t community #g/t writing #g/t #giant/tiny #g/t story #g/t angst #OC-Trevor Castillo #Story-Heroisms #minigiant #mini giant

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scaratrina · 2 months ago

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voodoo dolly - chapter 3

Niragi tilts his head back, giving her a lazy side-eye. “What, you think I should’ve gone and played fucking house with the nerds in Diamonds?”

“I think you could stand to use your brain for once,” Saiko shoots back. “You get Spades all the time. It’s too fucking easy. You just like cracking skulls.”

“Duh.” Niragi stretches out one hand on the wheel, the other tapping against his thigh. “Shit’s fun.”

“Shit’s mindless,” Saiko counters. “Why don’t you put that oversized head of yours to actual use? Or is it just empty up there?”

“Ohhh, what, you need my help? You and your cute math games need big, bad Suguru to think for you?”

Saiko scoffs. “No, I just think it’s fucking sad that you play like a fucking caveman when you could be wrecking Diamonds and proving you, uh, actually have half a brain cell.”

“As if I can control what games I play, you dumb bitch.” Niragi clicks his tongue. “You sound really confident for someone who nearly got wiped out playing Clubs.”

READ ON AO3!

#alice in borderland #niragi suguru #my oc yekaterina #saiko (alice in borderland)#niragi suguru x oc #throuple #original characters #i am the face of love's rage #voodoo dolly #writing this chapter actually gave me vertigo and brain damage #impressed by people who come up with their own original games

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happilyscrumptiousbread · 2 years ago

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Something all of the ghosts had in common was that they weren't really accepted in their life. For exampe:

Kitty: her sister clearly didn't like her and wanted the inheritance money for her self (we're gonna ignore the fact that she apologised)

Humphrey: his wife didn't really like him (yeah thats cos it was an arranged marriage but still, he also really wanted to love her but it never worked out) and you never really see him with any friends

Thomas: let's be honest he's not a great poet. But he was still excluded so my point stands

Pat: OK so pats one that this doesn't really apply to but I think that he didn't feel like he was accepted and I think he was always insecure thinking that people didn't like him. Plus his wife was cheating on him

Robin: I may be making this up but I'm pretty sure his caveman freinds tried to make the bear eat him so... Yeah...

Julian: I can't think of a way that this apply to Julian but maybe it's something to do with never being there for his wife and daughter...? (feel free to re blog with your thoughts on Julian)

Fanny: well I mean her husband was gay so he never really loved her. Plus she wanted to do maths and wasn't allowed.

The Captain: he never really quite fit in because he's different and not just because he's gay.

Mary: she was literally burned at the stake and for no reason other than she's a bit strange. (also those men wanted to distract from the bad harvest or something)

I think that's everyone.

My point is that maybe the ghosts don't move on until they feel accepted (this would also back up my earlier point about pat and how he doesn't feel like he fits in) and I know that the captain coming out would kinda mean that he's been accepted but that doesn't necessarily mean he feels one hundred percent accepted.

Also when that other ghost (William I think...?) was sucked off it was after he had a laugh with Robin so maybe in his life he never felt like people actually liked him? And having that laugh with Robin was enough for him to go "oh yeah people do like me" and then he was like fulfilled or somthing idk.

Thank you for taking the time to read my utter gobshite (I'm not proof reading this btw so expect multiple spelling and grammar errors)

#bbc ghosts #capvers #kitty higham #pat butcher #Idk can't remember any #Other surnames

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noideamyguy · 6 months ago

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my fellow math rockers and Slint-ers will know these guys

Ethan Buckler was originally the bassist for underground Louisville, KY, sensations Slint during the late '80s, but after recording the 1989 album Tweez with the group, Buckler wanted to start a dance band in the vein of early B-52's. Buckler left and formed King Kong with vocalist Amy Greenwood, bassist Willie Maclean, and drummer Ray Rizzo. The first order of business for the band was to record a self-released 7". By 1990, King Kong had worked out a deal with Trash Flow Records, which promptly released the band's second 7", Bring It On. Within the next year, Homestead Records had made an agreement with the group to release their debut full-length LP, The Old Man on the Bridge. It was with this recording that Buckler started to make a conscious effort to begin writing conceptual story lines for each of his full-length releases.

The formula proved to be a success and The Old Man on the Bridge became a college radio hit. Following a brief tour in support of the record, King Kong recorded 1993's Funny Farm LP for Chicago's Drag City Records. The group was also featured on two compilations that year, which included the Self-Destruct label's Louisville Sluggers, Vol. 3 as well as Drag City's Hey Drag City. As 1994 rolled around, King Kong was gaining more notoriety as they received a feature in Spin magazine. They were even asked to perform on Lollapalooza's second stage from August 12-18 alongside bands like the Boo Radleys and Shudder to Think. Following the Lollapalooza stint, the band released the two-song 7" Hot Dog Days on Drag City that fall. 1995 saw the third full-length release by King Kong, titled Me Hungry. It was another concept album dealing with the primitive subject matter of a torrid love affair between a yak and a caveman.

When King Kong was preparing to record their next full-length LP, Kingdom of Kong, Buckler was growing tired of people analyzing the lyrics and concepts of each release. His decision was to write a record that wouldn't contain a story, so much as a motif, and that way the listener could dance to it rather than sit and be critical. Following the October 1997 release of the album, the band toured Europe. At the end of 1998, King Kong decided to go on hiatus. Throughout 1999, Buckler worked at Churchill Downs horse track and also had a full-time job as a dishwasher. It wasn't until December of 2000 when King Kong re-formed to play some shows in Louisville, the highest profiled of which was their February 3, 2001, headlining performance at Headliners Music Hall with former Slint guitarist David Pajo's band Papa M and VHS or Beta. Drag City released the King Kong demos and outtakes CD Breeding Ground late in 2001 on its smaller imprint, Sea Note, followed by the electro-inspired The Big Bang in 2002. Five years later, King Kong returned with Buncha Beans, which felt like a throwback to the band's early albums.

#band recs #music #punk rock #math rock #experimental rock #ethan buckler #slint #King Kong band #Spotify

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gaytotaldrama · 2 years ago

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i wrote some s1 duncney bc i miss them </3

also on my ao3!

Duncan's pissed. This whole time there's been a five-star resort on the other side of the island, while he's been roughing it in the woods and putting up with Chef's crappy food? Yeah, screw McLean. If Duncan had known about the Playa, he would have snuck in to visit Courtney ages ago.

As it is, the first thing Courtney does when Duncan steps off the Boat of Losers is sock him directly on the arm, hard.

"Damn, Princess, didn't know you could pack a punch," he cracks, massaging his shoulder and shooting Courtney the usual smirk. "Glad to see you missed me."

She rolls her eyes, brows drawn into a glare. She's wearing her grey swimsuit, which he used to think was boring and prudish - now he just thinks it's hot.

"That," Courtney proclaims, crossing her arms across her chest. "Was for snuggling up to Heather."

"What, that?" Duncan scoffs. "Come on, you know I can't stand that chick. And she cozied up to me, or did the cameras not show that part?"

"Doesn't matter!" She throws her arms up in the air - long, tan arms, nice - nearly hitting him in the face. "You let it happen! I saw it!"

He just grins. "You know what you also saw?"

Her only response is a mean stink-eye. God, this woman is like no one else.

"You saw me in the confessionals shouting out to you every episode since you got booted off," he says. "You saw me spray paint the walls of my side of the cabin with your skull."

She narrows her eyes. "That was supposed to be me?"

Duncan blinks. "I thought that was obvious."

Is he seeing things, or did the corner of her lips twitch? "Don't think I missed the heart you carved in the back of my totem head."

"Oh, man, they aired that?" Duncan groans. "The guys at juvie are never gonna let me hear the end of it."

"Well, it doesn't matter anyway, Duncan, because I want absolutely nothing to do with you." And she quite literally sticks up her nose at him. "Hmmpf!"

"Riiiiiight. Sure thing, Princess. And you're the only one who came to the docks to see me because...?"

"Just to tell you how much of an ogre you are!" Courtney splutters, cheeks darkening - has it really been that long since he last saw her, or are there more freckles scattering the bridge of her nose than there were before? "I'm a C.I.T. You're a delinquent. It's not hard to do the math."

Duncan holds up his hands in surrender. "Ok, fine. You have fun making out with Harold, then, since clearly he's more your type."

To his surprise, Courtney freezes, mouth agape. "They didn't tell you...?"

He frowns. "Tell me what?"

"Harold's the reason I got eliminated in the first place! He switched the votes when no one was looking, the little twerp." Her hands ball into fists at her sides. "I've been on the warpath for that dweeb ever since. My lawyers say Chris is going down."

"That geeky little snake!" Duncan pounds his fist into his palm. "Who does that?!"

"Someone who wants to get back at a certain mohawked bully, that's who," Courtney declares. "Don't worry, I haven't let him off easy."

"That's my girl." Another sock to the arm. "Ow! The hell was that for?"

"I'm not your girl," says Courtney, and yeah, she's definitely smiling this time. "As if."

"Uh-huh. How's the pool here? I could use a nice, long swim. Maybe with a certain Type A-In-Training?"

"Ugh. You're still so not my type." She glances around, seems to decide it's safe, then snags him by the collar and sticks her tongue in his mouth. "Mmmm!" She breaks off before he can really return the favor. "Come on, Caveman. Let's get you into your trunks."

Blood rushing in his veins like Owen rushes for breakfast, Duncan grins. "Or maybe you should get me out of my - "

SOCK!

"OW!"

#td #total drama #duncney #td courtney #td duncan #really living up to my blog name by posting het fic lmfao #my writing

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roseofithaca · 10 months ago

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Missing You

A mini-continuation of my fic The Next Layer for @idiotwithanipad where her OC Amy moves on, as well as her follow ups Beyond The Water. Ft. my oc Silver.

"Earth, water, fire and smoke, Persephone, I invoke." The nineteen year old ghost hisses as she rocks back and forth before the fireplace; "Earth, water, fire and smoke, Persephone, I invoke. Earth, water, fire and smoke-."

"Uhh...Moonah Girl?"

Silver ignores him. Can't lose focus. Have to concentrate. Extra important that she visualises her sacred space when she lacks actual physical tools for a ritual. All she has is the fire, crackling away in the hearth of the reception, appreciated by only a handful of hotel guests chatting in the armchairs, completely oblivious to the hysterical teen kneeling by the grate, or the caveman crouching behind her.

Throwing a worrisome look to his friends, most of them huddled in the doorway after having summoned him, as their own attempts to reach out to Silver proved fruitless, Robin waves at them all to leave him to it. She doesn't need Fanny, Cap, Thomas and Pat all gawping at her as if they're afraid she's about to summon a demon.

Or perhaps she is, for all he knows.

"What Moonah Girl do?" He asks, gently.

Silver bites her lip, repeating her mantra once more before responding, impatiently.

"What's it look like? I'm invoking Persephone." She answered, her eyes rather bloodshot, which was odd considering she'd only woken up from her month long coma several hours ago.

Robin nodded; "Oh. Who that?"

"Fu...Do none of you fucking listen to me?! She's the Queen of the Underworld, Goddess of the Dead!"

"Ah. Right. Her." He says, clearly placating her.

"If anyone can connect me to the next layer then it's her."

The caveman blinked; "Next layer?"

"That's what Kitty calls it, yes? Mary called it the Land of Suckings Off. Kitty's is easier." Silver stares into the flames and tries to imagine a doorway. Or, at the very least, a window.

That's all she wants. Is it so much to ask? Just to be able to see. To speak. Shit, she'll settle for just seeing her friend raise her middle finger at her.

"Earth, water, fire and smoke, Persephone, I invoke." The Pagan's head began to pound with the strain she was putting herself under.

"How long you plan to try this?" Asked Robin.

"As long as it takes!" She hisses back, throwing off his attempts to touch her shoulder.

Can't have any distractions. Can't lose focus.

The gods hate their invocations being interrupted.

"Sil'ver," Robin begins, sitting cross legged beside her; "You no think I try this? Many time over many years? I call out to Moonah to let me see friends and family?"

"Well maybe you weren't trying hard enough."

He winces at that. In the corner of her eye, she notices, and she feels sick with guilt for having wounded him. But her faith is all she has to cling to now.

The last time she prayed to the gods, truly reached out to them, they answered. Yes, she died, but after that she got what she'd always wanted. Friends. A family. A mum who loved her, for a couple of precious decades. Finally, she was part of something, and even when the one she loved most dear had left her, someone new came along within a few years who lit up the spark inside her again.

And now, after only a handful of years, she was gone too.

It wasn't fair. It wasn't fucking fair.

Robin doesn't abandon her for her hurtful comment. He should do. He deserves better.

Amy deserved better....

"Stompy loss still hurt you, yes?"

"Of course it fucking hurts! None of you can understand! You're all pretty much over it now, aren't you?! It's been what, two months? Do you know how long ago it was for me?!"

"Can do math-."

"Two sleeps! It's not even been a week for me! A week since I lost my best friend!" Silver faces him, reddened eyes streaming with angry tears, making her eyeliner run in black lines down her cheeks. "So yeah, genius, it does still hurt!"

Every time she was pulled into her damed cursed sleep, she hoped that her dreams would bring her some relief. That a month of resting her grieving brain would have her waking feeling refreshed and at peace. No such luck. Instead, when she opened her eyes, she woke to a brief sense of bliss only for it to be snuffed out by the sudden memory of who had gone.

Even Kitty's optimism was too much for her. The Georgian missed their friend too, but she'd had these two months to mourn. The wound was still open and raw for Silver.

"We not all got over it." Robin tried to tell her.

"Oh whatever, I see you all, it's all back to normal! Back to your clubs and games, like she never fucking existed!"

"What you prefer? We cry and scream and call out to Percy Phone?"

"Persephone, and no, I don't give a fuck what you do but do but do you have to be so....so...Normal?!"

She wasn't ready for normal yet. She wasn't ready to accept there was a Button House where she wouldn't walk into the living room and not see Amy sat holding Humphrey's head on her lap. Or not giggle at the sight of her hiding in the corner watching an unsuspecting Julian, waiting for the perfect moment to jump out at him.

Silver never sleeps during her cycle. The one night owl she had who would stay up with her to at least 4 if not 5am each morning was her Monster chugging cohort. They would roam the halls or the land outside chatting about alternate bands and horror movies, sometimes peeking in on rooms to see if any of the guests were watching one.

She hates wandering at night alone now. She hates not having someone similar to her style to chat shit with. She misses watching her swear at Cap and Fanny. She misses...her.

When Robin lays his hand on her back this time, she doesn't shove him off.

Her focus is gone. No window is going to form. No doorway. Not even an old school AOL chat room.

Persephone isn't giving a fuck.

Silver let's out a sob and curls forward, Robin rubbing circles between her shoulders.

"There one other same as you, you know. Other ghost who still in pain." He tells her, "Moonah Girl should talk to him."

The Pagan sniffs and rubs her nose; "I...I can't...He doesn't wanna see me."

"He tell you that?"

"No, but...." Why would he want to speak to her? He barely left their....His room.

Fuck.

"Try. Grief share, grief half, yes?"

"I can't compare what I'm feeling to him, can I? He lost his daughter! I...We were just friends..."

"Nothing 'just' 'bout friends. Me cry for many friends gone, same tears as for children."

Silver wrapped her arms around her middle. It still felt wrong to intrude on Humphrey with her own loss, no matter if it was for the same person.

For years she'd been one of the people who had neglected to check in on Humphrey, same as the others. Amy always gave them Hell for it. Not her. She should have, Silver had been as bad as them, even if it had never been intentional.

"Just try. For me. Please, Moonah Girl. Then after, promise we try calling Percy Phone again together. Deal?"

With a weight in her chest, Mary watched her darling girl pick herself up from the fireplace and drag her feet towards the stairs.

It hadn't been this painful to look through the magic mirror since her own suckings off. Silver had been asleep for that and Mary had checked in at first only to watch her peaceful slumbers on her bed. Blissfully unaware. That was until she woke, and watching her eventually break down in Robin's arms had broke Mary heart in twain.

That had been a struggle for her little'en to get over. But Alison had helped, as well as Robin and a few of the others. There was no Alison this time, and while Robin was doing his best, bless him, he could only do so much to comfort her.

Mary caresses the water with her fingertip as the image closed in on Silver's tired, dejected face, as she made her way up the stairs. If only her darling girl knew how close she was at this moment, practically stroking her cheek.

"Be strong, my sweetling. Yous can handle this. And we shall all bes together before we knows it." She knows the girl can't hear her, but she speaks all the same.

Even if just the faintest whisper crosses the veil to reach her ears. Just in case.

With a spring of pride, she watches her approach the door of the bedroom where young Amy had met her demise.

Where was the girl now? She had gone off after the posh ladyship who had vexed her so. Annie had gone to check if she was as good as can be. They both just wish they knew a way to lighten the child's spirits, to get her to want to enjoy the pleasures this blessed land has to offer.

But Mary knows how hard it be to appreciate heaven when the ones you love are left behind.

She watches Silver hesitate before the door.

"Go on, little'en. You gots this. Amy will be most thankfuls of it." Mary encouraged.

Silver called out; "Knock knock?"

Mary's hands flew up to cover her mouth. Did her darling girl hear her? In the deep layers of her head?

She glances up at the sound of a soft whimper.

"Oh. Yous come back to look in on your Mistress again?" She asks the black labradoodle with a red beard sat further up the bank.

The dog whines, settling down on her front and nosing the water. Mary often sees the poor hound come visit, seeming to know when she herself is looking in on Silver. Shuffling along, Mary reaches out to scratch the faithful mutt behind the ears. The dog that her little'en called Jess gives the laziest thump of her tail in thanks.

It did little to truly raise her spirits though, neither did infinite squirrels to chase and biscuits to munch on. She just wanted her Mistress.

"Yous a good pup." Mary praised, sharing her longing to be reunited with their Silver.

"Come in."

Humphrey sounds less robotic than the last time she heard him speak. Still tired, a little grouchy.

"Sorry. Did I wake you?" She asks, nervously.

"Oh, no, no sweetheart." He softens his tone for her as she enters; "Was just lost in my own world there. Everything all right?"

"Nope. Shit. You?"

Humphrey managed to give the teen a weak but coy smile; "Ditto."

Silver rubbed at the bare skin on her arm, looking awkward as she stood before the little head-chair Alison had made for Humphrey at Amy's request.

"You, uh, wanna sit down?" He asked.

"'Kay." She did so. On the floor.

"You can sit on the bed, Silver, love. It's not contaminated."

The Pagan shrugged; "Feels wrong. Like...disrespectful..."

She glanced up at the door where the ICP poster still hung, smiling at her almost mockingly. It had never creeped her out before this moment.

"You don't happen to know where He is, do ya?" No prizes for guessing who he meant.

She shook her head; "No. Do you want me to find him?"

"Don't worry. Last I heard, he was stomping around the golf course, throwing his arms about and trying to rip his...my clothes, making a right spectacle! Probably best to give him space."

Yes, the last time Silver had caught sight of Humphrey's body roaming around, it had seemed somewhat...distressed. As much as a person can be without the ability to scream or cry.

Fuck. If it was doing that then...was that what Humphrey wanted to do? Just go on a grief sticken rampage? Instead he was stuck indoors. Immobile.

"I...I'm sorry I haven't come to check on you." Silver muttered.

"Oh? Well it's hardly your fault, love, you were sleeping, I presumed. And rest of the time, you've been dealing with....Well. Same as me, I suppose."

Did he have to be so understanding? It sounded somewhat rehearsed. Held back.

"I...I've just been feeling so...guilty." She confessed, ironically feeling as though she was in a Catholic booth.

"Eh? What you got to feel guilty for?" Humphrey asked; "Weren't nothing we could have done to stop it if we were there to see her go. Robin's made that clear to me."

"It's not just that. I wasn't a good friend."

"Oh come off it-."

"I was barely here! All I do is fucking sleep! There were so many moments she'd tell me about when I woke up, when she'd suffered with her HS, or someone had said something to make her feel shitty. And where the fuck was I?! Asleep!"

"That ain't your fault. Amy knew that. You think she resented you or something, for being cursed?"

"I wouldn't blame her." Silver bit her lip; "I've never been good at making friends, much less keeping one. Best one I had when I was alive was my dog. Hahahaha. And I let her down too! She died waiting for me to come home and I never did!"

Tears flow down her cheeks as she crumbles forward.

"Oi, come on now. Last thing Amy would want is you beating yourself up like this. You know what she'd say, right?"

Silver took a moment, then sniffed. She rubbed at her eyes.

"Stop talking like a fucking idiot, Silv."

"Exactly. Perhaps a couple more swear words." Humphrey managed a smile.

Blaming herself was so easy. If this grief was a punishment then at least it made some sort of sense. If not then the Universe was just random and cruel.

She pushed herself up and dared to sit on the bed.

"....S'funny. I never tasted one of those Monster drinks. But I feel like I can smell it now." She smiled, fiddling with the hem of her skirt.

"Hmm. I just picture a split mango covered in sugar."

They both let out a laugh, along with shedding more tears.

"Can I...D-do you mind if I...?" Silver hesitated.

She reached her arms out in a needy gesture towards Humphrey.

He blinked, then smiled warmly; "'Course not, love. Just not too tight, please, main reason I wanted some alone time here was because Kitty's been crushing me against her corset too many times lately."

"Well I ain't got a corset." Silver smiled, before reaching out to lift Humphrey out of his chair.

She sat against the headboard and hugged him lightly to her abdomen, fingers stroking through his hair.

"Wow. I can see why Amy liked this. Your hairs so soft!" She complimented.

"L'Oréal. Even I'm worth it."

That made Silver laugh. Her first one since before Amy left their little family. The realisation sent another wave of loss through her and she hugged Humphrey a little tighter.

"...I keep trying to reach out to her. Not just her but Mary too." Silver began to sob; "I really am trying, Humphrey."

"Well...I dunno for sure if you'll have any luck. But if it makes you feel better to try, go for it. If anyone can get through to the other side, it's our own Good Witch, right?"

She smiled at that. The fact that he didn't cast her off as crazy or desperate like the others, even Robin, made her feel a little better.

What good was being a witch if she couldn't use magic to talk to those she loved?

"Just don't go tormenting yourself. Neither Mary or Amy would want you getting sick." He tells her; "Neither would I, all right?"

Silver nods.

Fine.

"You wanna do me a favour, Silv?" Humphrey prompted.

"Yeah, sure. Anything."

"Good. Lay your head down. Have a nap or...as close as you can get. Your eyes look as red as the hole in my neck." He tells her, with almost a strict, paternal tone.

Silver shuffled, awkwardly; "I can go rest in the Suite if you-."

"You can stay. I...I think it's better neither of us is alone. Misery loves company and all that."

True. Silver settled herself down and rested on her side. She wouldn't be able to sleep but...she does need to rest her eyes. Just for a few moments.

One of her hands idily strokes the Tudor's head as he lays beside her, also closing his eyes.

"Humphrey." She whispered.

"Yes, love?"

"....Did I ever tell you she once referred to you as Dad to me?"

"I....What?"

Silver grinned; "It just slipped out. She was blushing redder than a strawberry when she realised. She made me promise not to say a word."

"...So you just broke that promise now?"

"Yep. That way if Ames has a problem with it, she can punch through whatever wall is between us and the next layer, and swear like a sailor to my face."

That made Humphrey chuckle.

"Let's hope so, kiddo. Let's hope."

#ghosts oc #silver ravenstar #humphrey bone #robin the caveman #mary guppy #bbc ghosts fanfic #bbc ghosts

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penroseparticle · 11 months ago

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Penrose Song(s) of the Day, Day 38: Ohmygodiloveyoupleasedontleaveme by Clever Girl and Cream on Chrome by Ratatat

That’s right, today is a twofer bitches. Enjoy the extra song. I hope that, if you guys don’t live for the writing and the navel gazing and the thinky thoughts, you at least like the music. I have good taste! It’s like one of the only good things about me I think. Refined after several time loops into something that’s broad and far reaching, yet still specific.

I don’t remember when I first found Clever Girl. Apparently sometime after 2018, since that’s when the EP No Drum and Bass in the Jazz Room came out. It feels like I’ve known them for much longer. Like Jagged Gorgeous Winter was on guitar hero. It’s oooooooold magic, from like 2009 (which btw, something from 2009 rating as old makes me feel old as a hill but take a look at a video game from 2008. We were truly living in caveman times). This song and A Jagged Gorgeous Winter are kissing cousins though- give them both a listening to when you have a second, and you’ll hear what I mean. No lyrics in Ohmygodiloveyoupleasedontleaveme though. It’s a little more… I don’t know. Pure? Direct? Distilled? There’s something in the song that makes it seem like it more fulfilled its desires without the words.

Like, when I discovered Clever Girl it had the energy of me finding a long hidden gem. But I’ve had this song forever, I downloaded it-which means it predates my Spotify use. So I must have discovered Clever Girl like. Right when they came out? Baffling. It’s genuinely astounding. I have such a fondness for them, they are enshrined in my head as something truly great but hidden, secret. There’s something so earnest about this song. I mean. Look at the Band aesthetic, name, EP name, song name, etc. There are some drums in the jazz room, by the by.

Clever Girl has style. It is for better or worse, the kind of music that you have to look for to find. You want vaguely jazzy, instrumental, indiepop song name, math rock bullshit? Well boy oh boy I’ve got your fix! Garage music from the Great Lakes.

The album art always gets me. Sun Tarot Card, but the kid’s a little girl in overalls with pigtails holding a rubiks cube riding a dinosaur!!! Reminds me of someone that I know, mixed a little bit with me. I’m a sucker for good branding, and if your album art is good, it goes a long way with me.

Clever Girl is going to be lost to time- the band is broken up now, and they released no music after this EP. Which is a shame- this EP is one of my no skip albums (it’s 4 songs long, let’s not get carried away, but still- that’s good work on an EP). The drummer is a DJ now, according to some amateur sleuthing I’ve done. I already got misty about lost media, so I just want to say- I will carry Clever Girl forward. Someone has to.

Ratatat, on the other hand, is much more prolific.

See one of the reasons I wanted to write this one is because people are so damn inconsistent when it comes to describing music. To so, so many people, berlioz from yesterday and Clever Girl and Ratatat are all the same genre of music- Instrumental. I touched on lyrics in music a few times when I was writing these, and I stand by the things I said- sometimes a song touches you in spite of the lyrics, or because it has none, or because the lyrics aren’t comprehensible to you, just a voice ardently singing. I don’t want to touch on that any more, really. But wow. Imagine Garage Band, Jazzy Math Rock being pitted against Smooth Jazz House pitted against the mainstream, no frills Electronic Rock that is Ratatat. You miss the elements that build them. Clever Girl is Jazzy like berlioz, but has some shoegaze-y, Postal Service-y, electronic-y bits to it, but it has some good, classic rock guitar riffs in it. Good prog rock structure. Meanwhile Ratatat reads much more electronic, has almost no smooth or jazzy components, and leans full throttle into that rock space that makes it more frenetic. It’s a rich textural journey along the instrumental tapestry.

What I’m saying is if someone told me they wanted more music like Clever Girl, I wouldn’t recommend Ratatat. I would recommend Cuzco instead (We Miss You Clever Girl, specifically. How’s that for recommendations. I think when Cuzco is leaning on the Sax it’s a bit worse, but Clever Girl adjacent it is, and the Math Rock is Mathing). Or Sawce? Probably a bit too uptempo but their song School might work.

Having listened to them closer together though, and with berlioz as the catalyst, I wouldn’t NOT recommend them now, though.

Ratatat always makes me think of my friend @lost-and-found-causes (That and Bat For Lashes). Maybe I’m nostalgic for a time when I got to see him regularly. Maybe I like the song because I like my friend. I think I just like the song, and I miss my friend. Both true but not influencing each other. Cream on Chrome however, is probably their best known single aside from Loud Pipes.

Cream on Chrome is one of those songs that I think is timeless. It’s got that feeling of being from any era (once we started electronic instrumentation anyways. Which is still like. 6 decades now? 7? Definitely we started getting synthesizers in the 60’s.). It is also embarrassingly milquetoast in a way I have a hard time describing. Like Katy Perry music or Arena Rock- I have seen many a youtube video with this song as the background (including Binging with Babish once. I’ll have to track down the video). This is not to say that it’s bad- I like both Katy Perry and Arena Rock. But it does have some of that Built Ford Tough advertising approved banal appeal going for it. It’s also got that groove to it. What that synth does is it makes it feel a little fresh, a little fun, a little with it. It gives it some life. The modulation lets them have a lot of fun with what is, ultimately, a simple riff song- there’s the melody, and how it changes. Real point A to point B song.

But it’s worlds apart from Clever Girl. Clever girl makes me feel soft and tender. Like I’ve got a secret. A little wistful. Powerful, but fragile. Like something momentous is being born. Ratatat is flowspace- it’s accomplishment and competency and going from one challenge to the next. It moves me forward, while Clever Girl makes me pause and take stock. They are not remotely the same to me.

I worry that so many of us make the classic mistake of lumping our Clever Girls with our Ratatats. I’m starting to realize its super easy. I’m not challenging myself with Baba Is You, I’m playing video games. I’m not destressing with Tetris, I’m playing video games. I’m not absorbing a rich story with Persona 5, I’m playing video games. Do you get what I mean? I’m reading Bird By Bird right now. It’s good but I can only read it in spurts. I have been really sitting with each section- and the sections are small, designed to be read in spurts. Like Anne Lamott knew that the people looking for writing advice, for life advice, would want to really sit with and digest what she wrote. My other most recent read One Puzzling Afternoon, however, gripped me. The mystery pulled me in and I read it in about 2 days, all told. Why do I think of it as “reading” when I use the books differently? Because they’re the same medium? Ridiculous.

I treat music with much more care, however haphazard I may be, than any other genre. Than the food I eat, for Christ’s sake. If I love my ears, can I love my eyes? My brain, my heart, my tongue, my voice. Can I remember that Clever Girl and Ratatat are both nourishing, but in different ways? Can I realize I’m engaged with Bird By Bird, but differently than One Puzzling Afternoon, and that they are both serving me?

I’m starting to, I hope. It’s tough, but I’m realizing how to take care of myself after so many years of just… not. And of course it starts with a song.

Listen. You could be dead right now. Go listen to something you love.

#fresh jamz #penrose song of the day

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adultswim2021 · 2 years ago

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Moral Orel #40: “Sundays” | November 14, 2008 - 12:15AM | S03E10

The episode where the show “really starts crawling up it’s own ass” as Scott Adsit eloquently puts it. It’s true! I described Innocence as a math problem. This one sorta feels that way, and is an interesting experimental episode that takes place over the course of the entire series, but focuses on two minor characters who were often seen together. Dottie, a stuck-up pretty blonde woman and Florence, the overweight woman with pink hair. We flashback to various episodes of the show that involved them that gives new meaning to various interactions they’ve had with, notably, Reverend Putty.

Florence is hopelessly infatuated with the Reverend, who isn’t attracted to her. He likes Dottie, who gets off a little bit on humiliating Florence. The two share an apartment after their marriages fall apart around the same time. They have daughters; one of which we might remember seeing being devoured by zombies in the show’s canonical first episode. The dialogue actually bends over backwards to make sense of it, explaining that she has a twin sister that was adopted out, which explains why she’s seen with a different mother in various episodes. That’s why I call this one a math problem.

This one plays out like a bleak drama about desperately lonely people whose lesser natures more-or-less keep them that way. There is an awkward sexual encounter between Florence and Putty, who comes off especially unlikable in this one. Look, the guy may be my favorite character, but I never said he was a prince. I didn’t even talk about him being racist in the last episode, for example. There’s also a lot of things that won’t make any sense if you’re not already a fan, like seeing a zombie outbreak happening in the background of the opening scenes, for example.

I’m not too high on this one, but I like the bold attempt. It does set up the next episode fairly well, and catches us all up to the present. The final scene is post hunting trip, and as we pan across the various hopeless faces of the citizens of Moralton, the Reverend looks to the normally optimistic Orel as a beacon of hope. No such luck; his leg is in a cast and he’s as miserable as everyone else in town. Thematically it works, even though I don’t really particularly enjoy this episode so much, and it’s a good way to ease us back into the forward-momentum of the show, as the next premiere will actually properly take place post Nature.

44 NIGHTS OF OREL

The programming event in which old episodes were shown each night along with new episodes which hopefully supplied valuable context for one another.

Only one episode was shown before this one. Why not more? At least the Lord’s Greatest Gift would’ve been a great one to show before this. Anyway: they just showed Geniuses, which is the one where the caveman gets thawed out and he becomes a Rush Limbaugh type radio host who preaches against evolution. I think this was the first time I watched this episode was during this event.

#adult swim #adultswim2021 #moral orel

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cannibalisticdespair · 1 year ago

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kodaka

🔥

Frankly? Don't hate him like much as the rest of the fandom seems to. Sure, he's imperfect. He's human. But like... I'm one of the only people who's sat down and done the math to figure out that Hope's Peak is a Unit 731 + Japan being in the Axis Powers reference. We have three numbered classes, one from one year and two from the other. The numbers are in order, and the extra class is marked with a B. Class 78, Class 77 and Class 77b. Which means class numbers are in order of since the school was founded and additional classes in one year do not increase the number.

Which means we can MATH! Class 78 is admitted in 2010, so we just get a simple subtraction problem out of this. 1932! Hope's Peak was founded in 1932 to foster and promote people who are naturally superior to everyone else and create the perfect human who is over all others. The Ubermensch. In 1932. Using fucked up evil science. In Imperial Japan. And they've always been government-backed for this reason. He stealthed that past all the censors. Japan really doesn't like to talk about shit like Unit 731 and he directly made a plot which is "Yeah, the Japanese government was doing evil eugenics science with human experimentation during World War 2 and never stopped, it's directly tied to the culture of talent and superiority in Japan, and that's evil." Like, literally, "our culture never actually moved on from the atrocities and the government is still fuckin evil". That's the core of Danganronpa!

And then, the social media landscape makes people go "I don't like this character as a person" = "This is a bad character", which is fucking stupid moron behavior. Wheatley ass motherfuckers. Haiji Towa. Oh, you mean to tell me that the billionaires funded both sides of the war and were complicit in genocide in order to keep and amass power, and are also child molesters? Wow, where have I fucking heard that before?! Like literally, "the world ended not just because of Junko, but because the predatory rich and powerful would rather commit genocide than lose power and wealth". Go fucking off!

Are there other things that are problematic? Sure. But like... the main one people get mad about is from 2010. I don't know how to say this without ripping off the bandaid. 1996 was 14 years before 2010. 2010 was 14 years ago. Sometimes, shit ages poorly. It was 14 years ago. You're judging 1996 writing by 2010 standards and expecting it to be to 2024 standards. I'm sorry, but that's unreasonable.

And also? I have some friends who know Japanese. Y'all ain't blaming NIS America enough. Japanese gendered pronouns are a bit different from English ones, and you know what nobody does in Japanese? Use masculine terms for Chihiro. NIS America are fucking hacks, y'all. "Genocide Jill" anyone? Gonta?! Yeah, the whole caveman speak? NIS AMERICA, THEY DID THAT. Also, they censored Komaeda's aborted love confession in SDR2. In the Japanese, that whole "I am truly in love with the hope that sleeps inside you"? Yeah he explicitly starts a love confession, USING FUCKING AISHITERU LIKE A FUCKIN MADMAN, and then chickens out at the last second from anxiety. Here's a literally decade old post translating it. Did I mention how goddamn old these games are? NIS. FUCKING. AMERICA. I could go on about hating them, but I think that if everyone knew they pulled that censoring gayness shit, y'all would start hunting them for sport by default.

As for V3... listen, Japan didn't even fucking know about the antis until a year ago. People tying it to that are just centering their own culture. What you actually have to do is know about Kamaitachi no Yoru, one of the popularizing works of the entire Visual Novel genre. In 1994. Well, technically you need to know about the sequel and some rerelease stuff.

See, the first game is a standard murder mystery VN. Nothing too remarkable there. The second game? The actors who played the characters in the based-on-a-true-story (in-universe) work of fiction of the previous game are invited to an island and events heavily mirroring the plot of the original murder mystery happen. Did I mention Chunsoft published this? Later they'd merge with the company Spike, forming Spike Chunsoft. Hmmmmmm.

Oh, but that's not what you need to know. WHAT YOU NEED TO KNOW IS THE EASTER EGG WEIRD SHIT IN KnY2 YOU GET FOR 100% COMPLETION! YEAH, IT'S THAT SORT OF SHIT! What is it? A lot of weird weird shit, but there's one really really really important part.

The Easter Egg takes the form of a secret message placed in the game by the writer of the games. It states that the franchise contains secret brainwashing programs to make people worship and venerate Chunsoft so that Chunsoft can take over the world But wait, there's more! It also claims, get this, that the fictional characters are actually somehow alive and suffering through the entire plot of the games, which is needed to make this brainwashing program, and the murder mystery games are created by just inflicting the plot on these living fictional characters.

Team Danganronpa is literally Spike Chunsoft. Danganronpa V3 is a sequel to a 100% completion easter egg from a different franchise that was extremely massive in the 90s and early 2000s in Japan and completely unknown in the west. YEAH. What. The. Fuck. It has nothing to do with fanpol, it has to do with a mindfuck horror story. Oh, and fun fact: that easter egg? Also the first known instance of a horror story involving the fictional characters coming out of the horrifying cursed video game and killing a person irl. V3 is a sequel to the very first gaming creepypasta, which was written and included in the very game it is about. Isn't that fucking insane?!

Oh, and the blue silhouettes from UDG and DR3 also come from KnY. And the boat scene at the end of DR3 is a reference to KnY2. Like, they end the same way. And of course, the brainwashing program stuff should sound familiar.

#despair.irl #ask #danganronpa #ask game

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