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livinghostly · 4 years

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broken anchors

isaac lahey x reader

not my gif!

words: 4476

request/summary: being an experienced werewolf and apart of derek’s pack, you spend time training and helping the three betas maintain control. as a specific date nears, you find yourself struggling to keep your own shift under wraps.

a/n: slight platonic derek x reader pairing.

part two can be found here

[...]

isaac sat on the stairs of the abandoned railroad depot with erica a step below him, the two of them watching as you fought with boyd on the emptied platform next to the railway train. the bags under his eyes drooped with tiredness at the early hours of the morning. his elbows rested on his knees and he held his head up with a bored expression, waiting for his turn. carefully, his eyes flitted around the room, searching the corners and checking his blind spots for surprises, but derek had disappeared completely. he did that a lot.

his focus bounced back to you with a flinch, hearing the loud slam of boyd's body hitting the concrete. boyd was bigger than you by far, but the betas had learned in time since they met you that you were armed with far more experience and strength than any of them had.

you had one hand on boyd's chest, his hands wrapping around your wrist as he struggled. his claws began to protrude and his features distorted, but he fought to shove them beneath the surface again. he, as well as erica and isaac, had yet to learn to keep from shifting.

"boyd, control it," you said slowly, pushing harder against his chest. you could feel his rising heartbeat underneath your palm, as well as his constricted, but deep breaths. he looked to you with yellow eyes, falling victim to his shift more with each passing second.

isaac watched as you revealed your own eyes, they weren't like his, yellow, or derek's, red. they were a captivating blue, one he was unaccustomed to. he wasn't sure the significance, if any. it made his stomach turn.

his foot nudged erica, and he whispered, "what do you think it means?"

"that we're screwed if we don't have control by tomorrow," she drawled, leaning the back of her head against the railing, looking uninterested.

"no, i mean, her eyes." he swallowed. "they're different than ours."

"i don't know," she said, narrowing her eyes with sudden realization. "maybe it's 'cause she's stronger."

you waited for a moment for boyd to calm, but he didn't. as a last resort, your claws dug into his chest, drawing a groan from the back of his throat. you winced as he scrunched his features together and became himself again, his wolffish features subsiding.

"pain makes you human," you said with a sigh. you brought yourself to your feet, offering a hand for him to take, and he accepted.

he looked down at his chest and the five splotches of blood. "i liked this shirt."

you rolled your eyes and let go of his hand. "i'll get you a new one, yeah?"

"yeah, you owe me," he mumbled, raising his eyebrows.

you smiled to yourself, before turning around towards the table nearby and grabbing the rag sitting on top. you wiped your red-stained fingertips and breathed deeply, attempting to shrug off the aberrant tense feeling that remained. you listened as boyd's footsteps departed towards the stairs. he grabbed a jacket, threw it over his shoulders and zipped it to hide all evidence.

you glanced over to the three, their tired expressions opposing your excited one. your eyes jumped from isaac to erica, the girl looked more disinterested than anything else.

"can we reschedule, at a time that's maybe not six a.m.?" she huffed, leaning against isaac's leg behind her.

smirking, you shook your head. "there's a family of hunters in beacon hills searching for reason to kill werewolves they think are murdering innocent people, erica. you're going to have to learn to stay sharp." you watched her deflate with annoyance, and then redirected your attention to isaac again. he was nervous, you could hear the quick beat of his heart from where you were standing. his hands bunched in his lap. you tossed the rag on the table again, "isaac, you're up!"

he mumbled something incoherent, and took in a sharp breath as he rose to his feet and descended the steps. boyd moved his backpack to the side and took his place. he smirked as he watched his friend drag his feet towards the empty platform.

there was uncertainty buzzing throughout his veins as you sauntered up to him with a bemused expression on your face. his eyes flickered over your shoulder, following derek's figure as he emerged from the railway train and leaned against it, watching closely.

isaac looked back to you, scanning your features. you waited for him to do something. "you want me to...?" he gestured to the floor where boyd had once been thrown against, and then up to you.

"i want you to try," you smirked.

he seemed almost scared to get any closer to you. "i don't want to hurt you."

"that's sweet, isaac," you said with a smile, before pulling your eyebrows together. "but, trust me, you won't."

he nodded, looking to the floor. isaac curled his hand into a fist and swung at you with sudden confidence, only for it to be caught in the air and pushed down again. your fist hit his stomach and he doubled over, taking a few steps back.

"i know you can do better than that," you teased, pushing your hair out of your face.

isaac caught his breath with a smirk, recovering. "i'm just getting started."

he lunged at you again, swiping your arm to pull you to the ground, but you were quick to break his grip. you used your free hand to deliver a punch to his shoulder. it was weak, but enough to deflect him for a moment.

as you fought, the two of you gradually neared the railway train, and derek began to circle as he observed. a frown dawned on isaac's face as he breathed deeply in attempt to keep the remanding control he had in tact, you smiled triumphantly to yourself as you took note of his shift, of lack thereof.

you pushed him against the side of the train, placing your hand around his neck and watching as his arms fell to his sides in defeat. he lifted his chin upwards and heaved, his eyes beginning to glow, but his claws had yet to come out and the rest of his features stayed the same.

you released your grip. "you're almost there, isaac." the teasing tone had vanished and was replaced with sincerity. you watched his face fall as he relaxed and brought a hand up to rub his neck. you stepped back as he pushed himself off the wall with a grimace, and worry weighed on your shoulders. your eyes narrowed with concern. "you okay?"

he grunted. "yeah, you know, nothing like a morning beating before first period."

you shook your head and turned around, feeling him gently brush past you to reach his things. you looked to derek, who had averted his attention to your backpack. he shuffled through the contents curiously, without any regard to your privacy, before closing it.

"y/n, i need to talk to you." he didn't even glance in your direction.

tension radiated from the three on the steps, their actions slowed to a halt as they curiously watched you walk over to derek. he clutched your backpack in his fist as you approached, but didn't say anything. he directed his sight to the stairs and you followed his gaze, watching the beta's not-so-subtly look to the floor.

derek huffed, backpack still in hand as he led you inside the train without a word. you glanced over your shoulder, seeing erica and boyd ascend the steps while isaac stayed behind, leaning against the railing of the stairs.

you looked to derek again expectantly. "what do you need?"

he played with the straps of your backpack, uncomfortable. "i know what's coming up... i just wanted to make sure you were okay."

"i've been trying not to think about it, mostly," you admitted.

"that's not doing anyone any favors," he raised his eyebrows disapprovingly. "you can't just ignore it."

you took in a deep breath, your hands falling to your sides. "is that all?"

derek pursed his lips, dropping his gaze to your backpack. "i need you to keep an eye on lydia today."

"why?" you leaned against one of the poles, eyeing him suspiciously. "you think she's the kanima?"

"i think she could be." he watched as you chewed your lip and looked towards one of the windows. "what?"

you sighed. "doesn't feel right. i've known her for years, she's not a killer."

"i'm asking you to do something," derek said slowly, "so do it."

pushing yourself off the pole, your shoulders raised at his tone. he acted as if he was speaking to a child. "and i'm trying to have a discussion."

"i don't want you to open up her throat in the lunch room, y/n. i want you to watch for anything suspicious."

"just because you're my alpha doesn't mean that anything you say, goes. i'm free to have my own opinions." you narrowed your eyebrows, and snatched the backpack from his hand. your voice got quieter, laced with resentment, and you cocked your head. "but, yeah, i'll keep an eye on her for you."

you turned out of the train, slinging one of the straps of the bag over your shoulder. from across the room you met isaac's eyes, his expression a mix of confusion and concern. in the midst of the annoyance boiling in your chest, you ignored it and grabbed your set of keys off a nearby table. the chain was malleable underneath your grip.

"what was– what was that about?" he inquired, following you up the stairs. he skipped steps to catch up with your fast pace, as if eager to get away from derek. "are you alright?"

you shrugged, reaching the ground floor. "yeah, don't worry about it. derek's just on my nerves, is all."

"he is your alpha," he pointed out, squinting at the disrespect.

"he is a dick," you retorted, raising your eyebrows. you had come to a stop with isaac in front of the doors leading outside, where you could hear the distant voices of boyd and erica, waiting for you. your tone became hostile. "let's go, isaac. come on."

before you had been in the same pack, isaac had never noticed you. your face was unfamiliar among the crowds of beacon hills high school, he wouldn't think twice about bumping into you. but now, it seemed as if he searched for you in the rare moments you were apart. derek was adamant in 'strength in numbers', but it was more than that. he was desperate to find you most days as if a magnet searching for it's counterpart, only settling when he was with you again.

his eyes bounced around the halls as he exited his french class, keeping his shoulders straight as he pushed through various students. upon turning a corner, he finally spotted you, opening your locker.

as he approached, the annoyance emitting from you became more apparent. he leaned against the locker next to yours, noticing the indents you left in your textbooks as you pulled them into the crook of your arm.

"ease up, gotta have control, remember?" he raised his eyebrows, teasing you, but you weren't as receptive to his tone as he had hoped.

"i'm in control," you sighed, shutting your locker. "but also angry."

isaac nodded, mouth shrugging downward. he followed you as you walked in the opposite direction he had came, and reached your side. his head bobbed over the rest in the hall, and he spotted a particular strawberry blonde at the front of the crowd, turning a corner. "you can talk to me about it, you know."

you almost scoffed, but were too surprised at the offering. the noise caught in your throat and it turned into a cough. "maybe another time, isaac."

his eyes followed lydia as she disappeared behind a set of doors. "you've been watching lydia?"

you hummed in confirmation. "that's why we're spending our free period in the library 'studying for midterms'." you lifted your hands for the air quotes.

"i was actually needing some help in chemistry, my grade is kind of below a c so if you're..." you shot him a glare that stopped him short. "... yeah, maybe another time."

the two of you entered the library, making your way to the table farthest from where lydia had thrown down her things next to allison. she was off among the bookcases, her hunter friend holding a tablet between the pages of a textbook.

allison's eyes shot towards you and isaac, for a moment they were wide with panic before narrowed with suspicion. isaac smirked at her reaction, his eyes flickering to you as he swelled with pride, before he pulled out his chemistry textbook.

you looked to lydia hidden behind the shelves, a sharp breath exiting through your nose in frustration. isaac's eyes followed your line of sight, before he looked back to you. you met his eyes before diverting your attention to your notebook filled with illegible scribbles.

"you don't think it's her?"

"i think the worst thing she's done is shoot down a particular freshman and tell him to get a car," you drawled, raising your eyebrows. he did his best to suppress his smile, and failed. your eyebrows knotted together and you looked at him. "this doesn't feel right... what about you?"

isaac rolled his lips into his mouth. "if it's true, and she is the kanima, i won't have an issue killing her."

a twinge of betrayal riddled your stomach, and your reply came with a low growl, as if as a warning. "you're not gonna kill her."

the supernatural blue was vibrant against the whites of your eyes, and his expression softened. he couldn't pull his eyes away and his lips parted in wonder. when the hue faded, he kept his stare, despite the bewildered look on your face.

"what?" you asked, raising one eyebrow.

clearing his throat, he looked back down to his textbook. "i just don't see why you're so protective of a girl you don't even like." he watched as lydia returned to her seat next to allison, blissfully unaware. "i mean, you remember the time when she told you you dressed like a raggedy ann doll in the throwaway pile?"

you closed your eyes, your tongue running over your teeth in mild annoyance. "it's innocent until proven guilty, not guilty until proven kanima."

the day after, you found yourself back in the abandoned station regardless of having your own home to retreat to for the full moon. a few months ago that's where you would have been, despite still knowing derek, he didn't have his pack and you had no need to be under his watch.

you had your hands digging through a chest full of chains and other devices, all thrown together for the purpose of holding a werewolf down for the full moon. not for you, but for the other three betas waiting impatiently in the train not too far behind you. you could hear their incoherent mumbles of protest and the anxious tapping of erica's shoe against the floor. the distant sounds were harder to tune out than most days, and you did your best to brush off the discomfort the uncertainty brought.

derek was at your side, probing you about your report on the possible kanima. even with the insisting from you about the lack of paralyzing venom and slitted eyes, he wasn't convinced.

he eyed a chain in his hands, and then glanced to you. "how're you feeling?"

"annoyed." you huffed, looking at him. a few months ago you wouldn't be able to spot the worrisome expression he had, not too far off from his usual stoic one. "i'm fine, just like the past five hundred full moons."

derek rolled his eyes, aware of the frustration you still felt towards him. it made your control on the full moon weaker, the both of you knew that.

you picked up a strange contraption for someone to stick their head into, the band supposed to be around the skull had pointed, metal stick poking through. you eyed it in bewilderment and horror. "don't you think this is a little bit too... torture-y?"

his expression dropped, and despite not opening his mouth, the look on his face questioned really?. he took it from you, ignoring the teasing smile you gave.

the two of you grabbed the numerous chains and cuffs to keep your pack members tethered to the station, and entered the train. isaac's gaze snapped in your direction as you approached, his hands were tapping against his thighs with nerves. derek walked to erica and boyd on the opposite end.

the loud clank of chains hitting the ground was enough to startle him, sending a chill up his spine that stiffened his muscles. you crouched down and began to wrap the chains around the pole. you looked up to him, and he lowered himself to the floor, pressing his back to the wall.

your expression stayed drawn together in concentration as you tugged the chains around his torso and chest, your heart stung as you listened to his shaky breaths. you knew he was scared, and every instinct was telling him to break for it, you were familiar with the feeling.

"it's only going to be a few hours."

"easy for you to say," he breathed out, a voice crack breaking though. "you're not going to be tied up in here."

your head fell to the side, tongue pushing against the inside of your cheek as you kept down a smile. he gave you an expression as if he'd made his point inarguable. your tone softened and you rubbed his forearm, a surge of comfort climbing through your fingers. "you're going to hate every second of it, but you're not going to be alone."

isaac gave a small smile, glancing away from you for a moment, but leaned into the warmth of your hand as much as he could without rattling the chains. his expression faded when you pulled it away to reach behind you, taking the lock and clasping it to hold his chains together.

he didn't say anything else, but he kept his soft gaze locked on you, your face was barely an inch away from brushing against his. he could feel the heat radiate from your cheeks, watching as your blue eyes rose to the surface. you closed them and shook your head to push them away, but the color stayed.

he could feel his body tense as the moon began to rise, and he groaned, letting the back of his head of curls crash against the cool metal.

"give me your hand," you said, keeping your head down.

"no."

you scrunched your nose in confusion, and upon looking up to isaac, your expression fell to one of surprise. his eyes were glowing and ears pointed, hair began to sprout from his cheeks.

your tone became more strict, and you held your hand out for him to take. "give me your hand, isaac."

his jaw clenched, and for a moment you thought he was going to oblige, but instead he gripped your wrist and dug his claws into flesh. you hissed through clenched teeth as the blood began to pour and consequently pool on the ground below, but used your free hand to clasp one handcuff around him and the other to the pole.

you pulled isaac's hand off you, using more pressure than needed, it was enough to send pain rush through his forearm and he growled. his expression hostile as he looked at you, eager to tear you apart.

"i'm stronger," you told him, as matter-of-fact.

you grabbed his other hand and used the other set of handcuffs to better hold him. looking down the aisle of the train, you watched as derek adjusted the strange contraption on erica's head. she let out a shill scream as the rods drew blood.

after tightening the handcuff and ignoring isaac's last curse-filled insult, you brought yourself to your feet before falling back into the seat across from him, scanning his wolfish appearance. his brows were drawn downward in contempt, his eyes full of disgust as he returned your stare. a contest he was sure to win.

"you're staying?" he breathed heavily. he tried to sit straighter and tug against the chains to set himself free, to no avail.

"yeah," you sighed, crossing your arms. "i'm staying."

"i'll kill you."

"you'll try," you smirked, watching his anger rise.

the night was filled with empty threats from the three shifting werewolves, boyd's were the most colorful of all. erica's were personal, attacking your personality as well as appearance. isaac's were bland. nothing you hadn't heard nor said before. there was a point where boyd had broken one of his chains, seconds before derek was pushing him to the floor and wrapping him in three more.

there were multiple instances during the night in which you left the building, getting a look at the moon to determine how long was left of their shift and screams. minutes felt like hours, and hours felt like days, it hurt to watch your friends suffer as much as they were.

you strayed from derek, aware your bright eyes had yet to be concealed no matter how much you tried. your reflection betrayed you, but you had yet to be sprouting any other unusual attributes. a bundle of anxiety settled in your stomach and you could feel the threat of a shift applying pressure to your bones.

your dodginess lasted only a few hours before derek decided to confront your avoidant behavior.

"you're still mad?" he leaned against one of the many degraded beams of the station, only getting a view of your back.

you kept your feet on the table with your homework sheet up against a textbook in your lap. your studying was often interrupted by the other betas, the surprise creating jagged marks from your pencil on the page. "i still haven't gotten an apology. but, no, that's not it."

there was an over dramatic sigh from across the room, and his footsteps came closer. "i'm... sorry." you could hear the strain in his voice, it brought you satisfaction. "for not taking your opinion into consideration."

you didn't reply, only hummed in acknowledgement. he placed a hand on your shoulder and you silently begged for the color to fade in your eyes, but as he turned the chair around to face him, they didn't. you saw the moment of sincerity drain from his face to be replaced with shock, which then settled on betrayal.

"you told me you were okay."

"i am okay," you said sternly. "i'm in control, just on edge. things have been complicated, if you haven't noticed."

derek rolled his eyes, and his voice raised. "i'm just trying to make sure you still have a lid on your shift."

you stood, dropping your items on the table. you lifted your hand, flipping between the back of it and your palm, before wiggling your fingers. "no claws–" you gestured to your face. "–no furry features. i'm fine." the laugh you let out pitiful and mostly breath, and then your voice softened. "it just... gets hard sometimes. especially lately. i didn't really expect it to hit me like this."

he nodded, then looked to the floor. "yeah, yeah. i know it does."

silence settled between the two of you, and he took a few steps away, leaving you to look at the back of his dirt-stained shirt. you realized the lack of groaning coming from the train, and you looked towards it, focusing on the leveling breaths inside.

there was a rattle of chains, and a whimper. "derek, get this off." it was erica.

you smiled to yourself, and lead the way towards the train. derek followed in your footsteps, but diverted to erica and boyd whilst you returned to isaac.

the chained up werewolf was exhausted, his chest heaved with labored breaths and he was practically hugging the pole he was chained to. raw skin underneath the handcuffs was beginning to heal, but blood dripped to the floor beneath him, adding to the slick pool that had already been made.

lowering yourself to his level, you pulled the keys from your pocket and used one of them to unlock the chains tight against his chest. your fingers worked gently as you pulled the chains off, grazing his chest every now and then. he was free to take in deep breaths, the relief filling his chest. his gaze followed your working hands that warmed his skin, all the way up to your face.

"i'm sorry, i didn't mean to..." he trailed off with a sigh, pulling his eyebrows together. he was horrified of himself. "i said i was gonna kill you."

"won't be the last time." your tone was playful, but he didn't process until he watched a smirk creep up your features.

it relaxed him, and his lips flickered upwards to a smile before he let out a hum. his expression was filled with wonder. "your eyes aren't glowing anymore."

you blinked, and nodded, trying to hide the falter in your expression. then, you released him from his handcuffs. "neither are yours."

isaac stood up once all his chains were rid of, and stretched, but the soreness still settled in his muscles, begging him to rest again. he helped you pick up the chains, casting a glance to derek removing the devices off of erica with boyd at his side.

he was deep in thought, you could tell as his movements slowed and he followed you to the chest for the restraints. he didn't say much, just mimicked your actions, you felt his stare.

"how do you do it?" isaac wondered aloud, gaining your attention. he looked at his bloodied fingers and wrists. "your control on the full moon. you and derek are– are fine."

you swiped the white rag stained with red from the day before, it had been laying on the table and yet to be washed. he raised his eyebrows as you grabbed his forearm and gently wiped away the blood. "you need an anchor. a memory of something– someone –that is strong enough to keep you tethered to your human side. then, you have control."

"what's yours?" his voice was almost a mumble.

standing still, you thought to yourself, keeping a soft grip on his wrists. debating the trust you held in him. as erica and boyd emerged from the train with derek leading the way, you shook your head. "a story for another time." he seemed disappointed, and you continued. "i promise."

#isaac lahey #isaac lahey x reader #isaac lahey imagine #teen wolf imagine #teen wolf x reader #isaac lahey fluff #spleen writes

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canceltheact · 4 years

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Part 6: The Aftermath - Simulations, Collabs, and Actor's Emergence

In the past two weeks, we have seen through the types of video uploads that Mark has put out, along with Lixian’s behavior, that despite Actor’s attempts to keep his identity under wraps, there have been increasing signs in the in-canon Actor channel and Mark’s real life channel stuff that tips us off otherwise.

First off, in the first week after MIR, there were only compilations and old footage from streams, which wasn’t exactly too important, except for a few things - first, the fact that a lot of the text and effects were surrounded in that Lunky/Actor rainbow aberration - implying that Lixian isn’t really acting of his own free will...not controlled, per say, but not allowed to talk about the secrets of Actor.

Secondly, in the 3SG compilation, we have an interesting change in edit that Lixian made - instead of the normal jumpscare from 3SG 57 with Mark with no eyes, Lunky is plastered over Mark’s face, implying Actor and Lunky’s connection.

After this, we get into the pattern of Mark playing ONLY simulator games and 3SG in his normal Let’s Plays (besides the videos made out of Mark’s 3 Peen in a Podcast with Bob and Wade). This trend is interesting, especially just after the Markiplier Isn’t Real thing - a subtle nod to us that the very reality we are seeing in the Let’s Plays are a facade to what Actor has been doing.

However, the interesting thing that has popped up from these videos isn’t just the type of game that has been done, but, specifically, the behavior of Lixian. And it mainly started with the editor collabs that Lixian has been doing with Marcus (aka Nerd Fiction) and Rachel, the two new editors - not only a tool to help them learn the ropes to the type of editing Lixian does, but also leaving room for an interesting plot device.

In the first collab episode with Rachel, “Cooking Simulator”, Lixian seemed to be able to be in control by Actor, doing his VCR chromatically aberrated bidding, but being a bit more acting of his own free will, being a bit more resentful of the job instead of compliant.

However, in the second Rachel collab video, “Car Accident Simulator”, Lix seems a LOT LESS compliant and even rebellious. Yet Mark seems to be ok with joshing Lix’s chain around, calling him editor. Even more interesting...the fact that Lixian says “I’ve got all your dirt!”

And upon closer inspection…

A reference back to Markiplier Isn’t Real. Showing what that “dirt” actually is.

So, why is this? Well we think that Mark still thinks Lixian can’t escape, but with Rachel’s help, Lix is more free from Lunky and Actor’s grasp... still playing along with Actor’s game, but planning to get stronger and plan an attack.

Unfortunately, this state of the upper hand does not last long. In the Forest 3 Peens stream before this, we get another Lunky appearance and (Mark suspicion stuff, think of something better to day later, combined with that Lixian comment, he puts two and two together)

This leads us to the latest 3 Scary Games: #64 and #65. In these two, some of the last regular appearances of Lixian, we see jumpscares like usual, but these monsters are...different. The spider monster in #64 is much more detailed than any monster we’ve seen before, and in #65, the Mark heads speak in a newer type of audio effect. And in both of these video outros, Lixian is shown to ax and kill them both, fighting them off. (not showing images due to arachnophobia that spider is dang scary) This tips us off that these monsters are different than just the typical jumpscares we see in 3 Scary Games - Lixian is deliberately against these monsters. And in BOTH VIDEOS, Lixian is in the same position, asking where Mark is.

This is why we haven’t seen Lixian in videos since this - because he is trapped in an area either by Lunky or Actor, fighting off these monsters and unable to escape while Actor keeps up his facade. You all know that three is a pattern from Mark, and this has happened twice in a row...our big suspicion? 3 Scary Games 66 is going to be the culmination of a LOT of stuff with Lunky, Lixian, and Actor. Maybe even Dark and the other editors! Keep an eye out.

However, despite this trying to keep up appearances, through real life and in canon, Actor’s facade has been breaking to us little by little.

The Reddit banner changing from a Heist promo to a picture of Date Mark a week after MIR.

In the “Teardown” video, Mark is shown with some interesting edits when he goes to shoot a tree - seems normal, but with that font being Lunky’s font (see Lunxian image in Part 3) and his background being red, this definitely seems like Actor - even the things he says,” You wronged me and it’s only right for me to come to pay back what is due” - seems like he’s projecting anger from the people in his past onto this tree.

Then, even the day after the infamous Cloak promo, we see even MORE allusion through referencing Actor scenarios THREE TIMES in the “Stormwatch” video: once referring to WKM, once referring to the END music and filter from WKM (timestamp 21:17), and a reference to the Warfstache Markiplier interview, which points to Actor from THIS CONVERSATION: “You heard it here first ladies and gentlemen Markiplier has admitted to NEVER KILLING ANYBODY” “Well I never said that”.

So, we should have you caught up with all of our important findings for now. As you can see, Actor has been playing his games for quite some time. But he’s gotten bold - far too bold, to commit these actions towards his editors, to try and keep up this facade, in order to keep himself not under suspicion.

And this is where you, dear reader, come into play.

It’s not too late to end this game Actor has us in. We, the viewers, give these alternative egos power, and if we refuse to play Actor’s games any further and cancel his acts, we can begin to weaken and perhaps even eliminate Actor’s grip on the channel. When the timing is right, and you’ll know when you see us in the future asking the viewers to surge social medias with the hashtag #CancelTheAct along with #MarkiplierIsntReal to get it trending, we ask that you help us with this goal. Start even right now on Twitter or Reddit, or TikTok or Instagram - reference this Tumblr, reference this evidence, reference any NEW evidence you have found in any new videos. Look out for lore, and spread the word.

This may be our only avenue to have our voices heard, and to truly unearth what Actor has been threading together all along.

#markiplier #markipliergame #markiplierlore #markiplierisntreal #canceltheact #darkiplier #lunky #markiplier lunky #sorry for posting late this was a BIG one thank you for all your support!

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chainofbeing · 4 years

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Having recovered from his injuries, Adam goes to Dhara Jamina in the hopes that he will learn more about the foe he is pursuing. Unaware of what truly awaits him.

Narration and Inspiration-Besides-Death : David M. Sledge

Eikal: Erik Smith

Captain Anktares: Frances Gillard

Announcement: George Pritchard

Adam Delta 5, and Sound Design: Cai Gwilym Pritchard

Follow the podcast on twitter @/chainofbeing

Email us at [email protected] for enquires and stuff

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[a deep voiced narrator speaks, the sounds of a creaking old wooden building]

It was immediately unsettling. Ghost had woken up and felt a sense of unease in their stomach but couldn't quite piece together what they were experiencing. it was only as they clunked down the hardwood stairs and persuaded the rehydration machine to actually work that they understood what was wrong. the sound of the waves had disappeared. instead of the ordinary rush of waves flinging themselves upon the scattering of unmoving and unwavering rocks there was a suffocating, deafening silence. It created a pressure in their ears which was worse than the static of thousands upon millions upon billions of water droplets falling. They had gotten used to that, they had accepted it as a daily occurrence, as anyone would do cope with monotony. They threw on their coat and swung open the lighthouse door,

[the sound of a town can be heard lightly, wind and birds too]

they could already feel the surface of their body begin to freeze. Ghost was 6-ft tall and fell into the third gender category of Malgaric. They had a great pair of glowing green eyes, their body criss-crossed with glowing lines of a similar colour in majestic patterns. Hovering around their head were decorations which adorned them as was customary for the Malgaric. Around their head silver horns hovered lightly above their temples and crescents followed their ears as they moved, bobbing up and down with each step. Their full name was "Ghost-of-Sunken-Dawn" however they found that their life was made much easier if they introduced themselves simply as Ghost. their full name is on their plaque of course, hung up by their sheriff's certificate and above their medals in service to the army.

Obviously they were not pondering their family name as they were charging down the semi frozen hill, their mind was preoccupied with the momentous task of trying to comprehend the unfathomable physics defying event that was taking place in front of them. Stood close to the edge of the cliff, puffer jacket zipped up to avoid the cold, Ghost stared deeply into the still wave and slowly began to feel a haze creep into their mind,

[the soft drone, permeated with shattering glass that plays forward and backward can be heard]

It toed the line between a physical and mental sensation, the strangely familiar haze seeped across their whole body as they felt themselves caught in the grip of something far greater and more complex than they could ever hope to understand. And as the birds cawed and the wind blew they felt a pulse travel from their stomach and ooze outwards to the rest of their body, a repeating pattern of four beats, and as the haze travelled outwards, ambling its way to their throat the pulses evolved, becoming incrementally more word-like, mutating from its true form into a shape far more cohesive with the reality around it. And as the haze enveloped Ghost completely, the pulses, now in the form of words, escaped their mouth and they spoke them out loud

“Ovig Nadal!”

and with that, Ghost was lost entirely

[the hum of a ship interior, new and clean adam now speaks]

I stand and stare into the mirror inspecting the scar on my abdomen, the diamond shape a lighter tone then the rest of my skin. I take a moment to stare at the other scars, all manner of bumps and shapes covering my body, never quite having healed properly. I follow the trail of past fights and battles, a history of my conflicts etched into my body, my gaze eventually landing on my eyes, run through with matching lines. I stare at myself

“you’re still human”

I say, my warped voice and dark eyes tell a different story. All the Arcanists and scientists of the galaxy cannot explain why I look like this, my immortality is a punishment, for what I did in Eden, for learning what I did in Eden. Whatever that was. Perhaps my aberration is part of that punishment as well. “You are more than Eden,” I tell myself.

That one I refuse to believe without any help.

I head downstairs and In the lift, an announcement pings overhead “Could operative Adam Delta 5 please make his way to the quartermaster,” I go down an extra floor and enter the Inventory, rows and rows of shelves with all manner of equipment and supplies, there’s a row of tills each with a visored quartermaster behind it.

[the sound of an office, some light talking and typing]

Waiting for me is what I imagine to be the captain of the ship, before she can introduce herself I interrupt her

“I thought hospital ships didn’t have quartermasters?” the captain, a Veatorian, looks me up and down

“I am Captain Anktares, nice to meet you.” she says, annoyed but unsurprised “Recently the council felt it necessary to..” she pauses to search for the right word “elevate, certain facilities at risk to certain threats, this ship was in the way of something or other, beyond my paygrade unfortunately,”

“It’s only been a few weeks, yet you’ve already built an inventory,”

“And a fighter craft docking station in the hangar. what can I say?” she smirks “we’re Veatorians, we get things done,”

“Careful, or you’ll start to sound like that Arestophsis Hand lot” I say half joking

she smiles tersely but says nothing and gestures to the quartermaster tills

“the council have issued you a fighter craft and a spear”

“A spear? What is this, the second dark ages?”

“It’s a very nice spear,” she reassures me. I look at her incredulously. “It’s extendable!”

[the sound of a hangar, maintenance on ships, clanging of metal, all reverberating around the space]

The fighter craft is so new it doesn't even have a name yet, the designation code is blank too. The chair screens and most surfaces are still wrapped in plastic and it hasn't been changed from the standard issue council blue and grey. I look back at the minimal storage space behind me, a bed, a few shelves of supplies and leaning against the wall, my new spear. I didn't want to admit it in front of the captain but it is a nice spear. Fully extended it reaches around 2 metres but right now it’s a nice manageable 70cm. I name the ship and the Ehedydd make its first spaceflight. It’s been a while since I’ve sat in a new ship so the lack of noise from the engine is a real surprise.

[the engine spins up and goes silent before activating and entering the widening field]

The Ehedydd was fitted with a WFC drive so the journey should only take about an hour or two. Which gives me some time to have a look at my mission brief. I hate military procedure, all the needless jargon and detail only helps to confuse things. From what I could decipher there was a recently established colony on a small planet, just big enough to be qualified as such, by the name of Dhāra jamīna. There wasn't a huge amount of space for the usual mega city to be constructed, due to most of the land being raised up to 7 miles above sea level, so instead most of the major settlements in the continent in question are towns with populations of around 30,000 each, each with their own sheriff. Also known as an administrative fucking nightmare. What had drawn my investigation here was the fact that the 7 mile tall waves that battered the cliffs holding up the small towns of Dhāra jamīna had stopped. They had not frozen, but had simply, paused. To add to this, there was a sheriff who was reported to be acting very strangely. An old Insistoris who was living there said it was similar to demonic possession but wrong, somehow. Sounds like what I’m looking for. The fact that he was still alive and hadn’t died or even transformed like Aiek Tubalcain meant he could be spoken to, and maybe, if i was lucky, he would speak back.

Dhāra jamīna is so new that it doesn't even have an Orbit to Land Transference Station, OLTraS for short, so instead I just transfer my clearance codes and go to land on a small pad at the edge of town. As I fly over the vast ocean I look into it, it’s stillness is unsettling and it amplifies the already quite strong anxiety I feel chasing after this thing.

[the sound of a town in the distance, wind and birds]

standing at the edge of the landing pad is a Vint and a Malgaric, joint mayors of the town, the name of which I've forgotten. I take me spear and affix it to my hip

“Welcome to Jalis,” the Vint says, offering both of his hands, I take them and we bow together, he has to bow his long spined neck quite a bit in order to match my level “I am Eikal, mayor of this small community”

“Joint mayor” the Malgaric reminds him, irritation apparent in his voice

[his voice is slightly robotic and gruff]

“I am Inspiration-Besides-Death, however for your ease of communication you may refer to me as Inspiration” in the dusk his blue light is just starting to illuminate the black soil grass at his feet.

“I thank you both,” I reply. Both mayors seem visibly uncomfortable speaking in Human, however I am physically incapable of speaking in Malgaric and my Vint is about 450 years outdated and I don’t want to seem like a weirdo. They lead me through the town,

[the town is quiet, some conversations can be heard through the walls of houses, somewhere someone is using a drill]

the two mayors seem intent on outpacing each other, gradually getting faster and faster until I have to start jogging in order to keep up with the two who are considerably taller than me. The people seem, understandably, anxious. They were expecting a quiet life in a new colony away from the overcrowded societies of their people. It’s late in the day so most people are resting or attending to prayers. Religion has no place in the Council of Nimonea, it's not actively discouraged, but provisions aren’t really made to preserve or protect it either, it's one of the more major issues most species within the council have. Unusually for most council towns, the houses here are 2-3 stories high most likely to make up for the lack of sprawling land on which to build. The whole town is only about a mile wide. We reach the detainment building and pause outside. Eikal turns to me “I must warn you, the manifestation is quite…disturbing,”

“I have not witnessed anything quite like this, even in my military days,” Inspiration chimes in. Eikal shoots him a look, “did you not identify my assessment to be adequate?” Inspiration looks back at him, his expression unwavering “I have said my piece,”. As they argue I look off at the edge of the island at a wave, unmoving and unwavering, like a painting.

[the ambience of a quiet office, some machines beep, overall though it is quite silent]

We enter the dimly lit building and find ourselves in an oval shaped room, the Vint draws a small tablet from within his robes and presses a few keys. The room elaborately rotates and shifts until we are face to face with the sheriff separated only by glass. They sat on a curved bench, their legs crossed. I can only tell this because the green light that covers their body pulses in beats of four, providing more illumination by which to get a sense of the room. “Why aren’t they moving?” I ask. They go to answer at the same time

“Well-”

They stare each other and Eikal takes advantage of the pause to speak before Inspiration can

“We placed them in a stasis field, for their own wellness you understand”

“Why is it so dark in there?” Eikal and Inspiration turn to each other, a mild panic on their faces

“Apologies, we misplaced our realisation-” Eikal pauses and translates in his head before trying again “We forgot the humans light requirements, allow me to attend to your needs,” with a few more key presses the whole building lights up. With my newfound visibility I see what Eikal meant by ‘for their own health’ Ghost’s fingers are scratched and worn and the entire back wall of the cell has been etched into with that symbol that has brought me so much dread. Surrounding it are adornments which trace around its edges, criss cross around each other, play off of one anothers curves and angles, all centred, but never interacting with, that symbol in the middle.

#sci-fi #podcast transcript #scifi #transcript #audiodrama #audio drama

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utilitycaster · 5 years

Text

eldritchjackalope replied to your post “just checked critrolestats to confirm: Caduceus has never cast...”

I thought he did once in the mirror fight and it was the dragonflies-or was that spiritual guardian?

That’s spirit guardians! He’s cast that a few times (again according to critrolestats), and it’s good in that it requires absolutely no actions once it’s up, just for the enemy to enter your personal bubble, but it is a concentration spell, which means he can’t cast it if he has bless, bane, beacon of hope, or holy weapon up (to name a few spells he uses frequently in combat). Adjusting for the fact that Caduceus hasn’t been with the group as long, he’s cast it about as frequently as Jester has (which isn’t much - she prefers Spiritual Weapon by a long shot).

It makes sense in a way, in that Caduceus is not only more of a support player but also tends to take the defensive (see also: turning invisible, the melding into stone during the dragon fight, calm emotions against the ettins, Sentinel at Death’s Door, overturning the other ship and avoiding real combat, etc. Compare to Scanlan, Pike, or late-game Vax who all used a lot of buff and debuff spells but also tended to be much more focused on offensive moves in combat).

Even casting blight in the combat on Thursday was more of a direct attack than he usually gets. I wonder if it’s because of his overall worldview: Caduceus is very big-picture and archetypal. He’s not going to shy away from a fight by any means but when it comes to most skirmishes he’s usually more interested in protecting himself and his friends and I think he sees their fights with monsters or soldiers in a very pragmatic light - keep yourself safe, but there’s no need to get fancy, just get through the fight (or even better, avoid it altogether) so you can move on to bigger goals. This is someone who grew up outside a criminal town who probably relied more on being friendly, hard to surprise, and capable of hiding (either through disguise self or invisibility) than any combat prowess and unlike say, Beau (or, for that matter, Percy) I don’t think he’d really take any joy in winning against a low-level criminal though obviously he’d prefer it to losing.

However, in a fight against the forces of the Chained Oblivion, an ancient aberrant evil, he would be much more motivated to destroy them, in the same way that he hates undead. I’m looking forward to see how Caduceus reacts

This ended up being way more full of meta about how I see Caduceus and his attitudes towards combat and things like real-world politics vs. long-brewing machinations of the gods, instead of a quick mechanics note about Spirit Guardians, which was actually very fun!

#eldritchjackalope #meta #caduceus clay #i suspect after this there will be a bit of a lull in the immediate chained oblivion plot so i'm interested to see whose backstory is next #we still have some time to kill before traveler con #i mean caleb being in rexxentruum is a bit of a sign but i don't know i feel like he's not ready yet #and i would love to see them revisit the savalierwood #plus: reani is there!

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thisdiscontentedwinter · 5 years

Text

Bad Blood - Chapter 19

You can read it on AO3 or find the Tumblr Chapter Index here.

___________

Stiles doesn’t sleep well. He’s sure there was something at his window earlier in the night, so he dozes in the darkness, and it feels like he wakes up every few minutes to check there’s nothing there. He must sleep in the end though, because he doesn’t hear Gerard and Kate get back. Instead, he’s jolted from his sleep by the sound of an argument coming from the kitchen.

He creeps out of bed and down the stairs.

“No, I haven’t forgotten there was a wolf at my house,” Chris bites out. He sounds tense. Well, more tense than usual, and that’s saying something. “I’m just saying there’s no indication he was going to hurt anyone.”

Kate’s laugh is incredulous. “You’re joking, aren’t you? A fucking werewolf was sniffing around your daughter, and you don’t think it was going to hurt her?”

“Look, Kate, just tell me what you’ve got on the Hale pack, okay? Have they killed anyone, or haven’t they?”

“Jesus! What are you even implying?” She pauses. “Oh, wait, I think I know what’s going on here. You’ve been talking to the good sheriff, haven’t you?”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Ridiculous? Where’s all this coming from then, Chris?” Kate huffs out a breath. “I tell you what. Dad will be back soon. How about you ask him exactly what we’ve got on the Hale pack?”

There’s silence then, and Stiles’s stomach clenches.

He remembers what it’s like to question Gerard. He remembers why he only did it a few times. He remembers exactly how it feels to have that old man’s smile turn suddenly cold. He remembers bracing himself for a beating that felt like it never ended.

Stiles is a man now, but he’s still afraid of Gerard’s anger.

He creeps silently back up the stairs.

There’s the thing they used to do with elephants, he remembers. They used to put a chain around a baby elephant’s leg, and hammer the chain into the ground with a metal stake. And the baby elephant tried to pull it out and get free, but it couldn’t. And then it stopped trying. The elephant never knew it was strong enough to pull the stake out, even when it was fully grown, because it had stopped trying so long ago.

Chris could easily take Gerard in a fight. Maybe Stiles could too.

But both of them, he thinks, stopped trying way back when they were still small and weak.

Stiles crawls back into bed and falls asleep with his hand over the place on his mattress where the photograph of him and his mother is hidden.

***

Dad’s being super weird again, Allison texts him early the next morning.

Stiles doesn’t know how to respond, so he leaves her message on read.

***

Stiles is eating his oatmeal in the morning when Gerard walks into the kitchen.

“Stiles,” Gerard says, and smiles his rictus grin “Have you been for your run yet?”

Stiles nods, “Yes, sir.”

“Good,” Gerard says. “Don’t overdo it, hmm? We have a hunt coming up.”

Stiles’s skin prickles with anticipation. “When?”

“In a few days,” Gerard says. “It’s time we showed these dogs their place. I want you and Chris to go through the inventory today. Make sure we’re locked and loaded.”

“Yes, sir,” Stiles says, ignoring the clench in his gut.

He’s not going to think of Derek.

He’s not.

What happened at the party was an aberration—in more ways than one—and Stiles isn’t going to second-guess everything he’s been taught just because of one kiss. Because of one kiss, and because Peter stopped from killing him, and because of the look on his father’s face, and—

No.

Stiles isn’t going to second-guess.

Not now.

Not when he’s so close to proving himself worthy of Gerard’s exacting standards.

He can do this.

Gerard puts a hand on his shoulder and squeezes.

He can do this.

***

There’s a routine that Stiles falls into easily when Chris arrives and joins him down in the basement. Routine is comfortable. Gerard tells them there are six other hunters being brought in for this hunt—men Gerard has worked with before in the US—and while it’s not up to the Argents to supply these men with weapons and gear, they’ll do it anyway in case there are backups needed. There’s a reason the Argents have a reputation as the best. They operate with military precision. Every contingency plan has a contingency plan. Every fallback has a fallback of its own.

Stiles checks his own gear first: gloves, boots, kneepads, vest, webbing, pouches and belt. Then his headlamp, his night vision, his comms earpiece. Then he moves on to ammo, and a firearm. His primary weapon will the Kel-Tec PMR-30 he keeps under his bed, but he selects a Glock as his backup weapon. He knows Glocks.

He glances up to find Chris’s gaze on him.

“You good with that?” Chris asks, nodding at the Glock.

“Yes, sir.”

Something flickers in Chris’s gaze. “You spend a lot of time at the range?”

“Not since we’ve been here,” Stiles says, “but I’m a good shot. I know how to handle myself.”

He wouldn’t be allowed on hunts otherwise.

Chris lifts an eyebrow, and reaches for an empty clip to fill. “It’s different on the range than on an actual hunt.”

“I know that,” Stiles says, trying to keep his annoyance out of his tone. “This won’t be my first hunt.”

Chris’s forehead creases. “What do you mean?”

Stiles slides a magazine into the Glock and feels it click into place. “My first hunt was a few weeks ago in the Czech Republic.” He straightens his shoulders. “I made a kill.”

Chris stills. “You did?”

“Yes, sir.” Stiles lifts his chin. “You can ask Kate and Gerard. I’m not just some kid.”

“I never said you were,” Chris says evenly.

Semantics. Stiles knows he’s thinking it.

Stiles doesn’t like Chris. He doesn’t trust him. He barely knows him, and those few times they’ve met he hasn’t liked the way that Chris looks at him. He never quite knows what Chris is thinking, and so he fills in all those gaps with his own insecurities and disapproval.

He does the same with Victoria.

Jesus, it’s amazing how they managed to produce a daughter as open and bright as Allison, when both of them are nothing more than silences and glances and closed off expressions.

Stiles puts his head down and keeps working.

He can feel Chris’s gaze on him the whole time.

***

Allison breezes into the house at lunchtime.

“Don’t you have school?” Chris asks her.

She stares back at him. “Don’t you have work?”

Stiles flinches, but Kate laughs at that, loud and boisterous.

“I have a spare,” Allison says at last. “I bought curly fries, and then decided I wanted to share them with Stiles. Stiles, are you busy?”

They hurry upstairs to his room.

“He’s being such an asshole,” Allison complains minutes later when they’re sharing curly fries on his bed. “And he’s always been cagey, but now he’s being cagey with Mom too, which makes her more of an asshole, which is…” She blinks. “Which is mathematically impossible, probably.”

Stiles snorts.

“I mean, I love my mom,” Allison says, and then doesn’t seem to know where to go with that.

“But she’s a total hard ass,” Stiles finishes for her.

“Right?” She huffs out an exasperated sigh. “Ugh.” She eats another curly fry and wrinkles her nose. “I need a soda.”

“I’ll get some,” Stiles says, pushing himself up off the bed.

On his way to the kitchen he notices that Gerard’s study door is open. He steps inside, drawn to the map of Beacon Hills on the desk. There’s a circle in the warehouse district, and Stiles’s pulse quickens. Is that where the Hales are holed up? Are six mercs enough to contain them in that grid, and then tighten it?

The map shudders where Stiles is touching it. His hands are shaking again. Stiles flexes them, jams them into his pockets, and heads towards the kitchen.

He hears low voices before he gets there, and slows his steps.

“So this is what it comes to,” Gerard is saying. “I shouldn’t even be surprised, should I? I let you have your space. I agreed to let you keep Allison out of things until she finished school. I let you take a step back, Christophe, and how have you repaid me?”

Stiles’s heart clenches, and he freezes a few feet from the kitchen doorway.

“It’s not what you think.” Chris’s voice is low but calm.

Stiles hears the scrape of chair legs on the kitchen floor, and then Kate speaks. “Who’s the text to, Chris?”

Silence.

Gerard grunts. “No answer, hmm? Nothing to say for yourself at all?”

“One thing,” Chris says. “Did the Hales ever hurt anyone, or did Kate burn them alive for nothing?”

“Now who would put an idea in your head like that?” Kate asks.

There’s silence again, and then Chris says, “No.”

“Oh, don’t worry,” Gerard says. “I’ll make sure Allison is looked after.”

Stiles feels a cold chill. He thinks of Allison, tied to a chair in the basement for hours. Thinks of her being forced to run when she can hardly breathe. He thinks of her being punched in the face until she falls down and can’t get up.

He hears the pop of a silenced shot, and a grunt of pain.

And then chair legs again, and a shout, and the sound of something smashing. Then another shot, no silence on this one.

Stiles moves.

He runs for the stairs, and meets Allison coming the other way.

“What’s going—”

“Move,” Stiles tells her. “Go back. Back!”

He pushes her back up the stairs, back into his room. He closes the door behind her.

“Stiles, what’s happening?”

Stiles grabs his box out from under the bed, his thumb slipping on the combination lock before he gets it open. He grabs his firearm out.

“Oh my god!” Allison exclaims. “Stiles?”

From downstairs, Stiles hears another shot. Allison jerks like she’s been hit, and covers her mouth with her hand.

Stiles pushes her toward the window. “We have to go! We have to get out of here, now.”

Allison stares at him, at the gun, at him again.

“My… my car keys are downstairs.” She blinks, and tears slide down her cheeks. “What’s happening?”

“We don’t need your keys,” Stiles says. “We’re gonna run, okay?”

“Stiles!”

“Ally,” he says, grasping her wrist with his free hand. “Do you trust me?”

She nods, pale.

“Then we have to go,” he says. “Please.”

He follows her out the window.

#sterek #steter senior #discontentedwinter #bad blood #my fics

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luxmentis · 6 years

Text

“What is Rare Book School? Is that Hogwart’s for librarians?”

Normally confused by ‘library school’, most people don’t realize there is an additional resource for rare book professionals, librarians, and bibliophiles located at the University of Virginia. Yes, there is a school to learn about books, book history, and many other aspects about information management not necessarily available on the job or higher education routes. It is not a given. I would say there a great privilege being able to attend RBS. Many library staff, students, and trade / working professionals have limited budgets that does not allow for supplemental professional development, like myself. There is a real desire for the specific training. I feel very indebted to the individuals who either donate money or are part of the development administration, so that I may attend, which is what I did, on scholarship.

As a continuation of my foundational training, I chose to take Rare Book Cataloging with Deborah J. Leslie, after mostly hearing positive things about the course, but I actually will *use* this material on a daily basis. I also want to mention that even though the course was geared toward DCRM-B (which for the non library catalogers or book trade) is a descriptive standard designed specifically for more in-depth and rigorous transcription and authoritative work for cataloging. Could this apply in the book trade? Of course! I have often found that while the level of cataloging in the book trade is generally subjective, I find it annoying when certain authorities are not supplied, especially for personal names, corporate names, and certain extent descriptions. I suppose as along as you are consistent, however, how impressive would your records look to a library cataloger if they adhered to DCRM-B/RDA?! With library quality transcription of early printed materials!

Same exercise goes for collation. I came back with an enlightened understanding of creating signature statements and the art of collation counting with a Buddhist methodology. It is very Zen counting pages. You hear the crinkle of 18th century chain lined paper, as you gingerly turn the pages. When I returned I wanted to dive right now. So I did! I’m currently working on an unnamed book on witchcraft and demonology from the 17th century. My working signature statement is looking something like this:

A4 B8-R8 chi1 Aa8-Ss8 [+Ss4.2, +Ss6.2] Tt8-Zz8 [-Zz8] Aaaa8 Note: (Ss4-7 blank)(Aaaa4-8 blank)

This is proving both challenging and exciting for the book, finding all sorts of opportunities for deeper notes and observations. On the same level, I’ve discovered the copy is actually missing pages replaced with blanks, so geeky cataloging stuff, someone down the road would find interesting. In addition to, as a bibliographer and a bookseller these are critical and active nuances of printed materials that are hyper-important for collectors and undoubtedly, inventory illuminations.

The real veggie casserole dish (as opposed to meat and potatoes) for me was in addition to collegial nature of RBS was the opportunity to take some personal time out for independent research. Generally even on “vacation” [because you really never take a vacation as a bookseller], I tend to visit libraries, if just for the building sometimes. However, with purpose and a looming deadline for a presentation, I decided to spend some time in the Albert and Shirley Small Special Collections Library at UVA. I’m currently doing research for a paper I’m presenting in September on occult book plates, I’m affectionately calling “Hexlibris,” as opposed to “Sexlibris” which is another talk I could do on Satan and phalluses. #hexlibris #sexlibris [don’t steal, muggles] Anyway, I’m on the hunt for bookplates. Witchy, occulty, masonic, magical ones. I do know that UVA has a large collection of Cotton Mather books, rather “pamphlets” originally gathered by industrialist William Gwinn Mather and donated by Tracy W. McGregor. The books stayed in the family.

Cotton Mather’s bookplate is rather simple, a small white letterpress label with a simple decorative border, almost perfect for a Puritan. William G. Mather’s bookplate is illustrated with a drawing of the elder Richard Mather (Cotton Mather’s grandfather) engraved within a book looking rather John Dee-like. Above that image, an illustration of the Gwinn Mather estate. The majority of the book contained the ex libris of William G. Mather or Tracy McGregor. Nothing especially metaphysical for my research, so I only looked at a few. There was one book, though, that piqued my interest more than the other I was familiar with titled: “Warnings From the Dead. Or Solemn Admonitions Unto All People; But Especially Unto Young Persons to Beware of Such Evils as Would Bring Them to the Dead” by Cotton Mather. ; In two discourses, occasioned by a sentence of death, executed on some unhappy malefactors. ; Together with the last confession, made by a young woman, who dyed on June 8. 1693. One of these malefactors … I almost did not look at this book.

The book was trimmed to fit the binding and was missing part of the title page, however there was enough information, including the publisher and subsequently the bookseller, to identify the correct copy. So, as I started to leaf through the volume, (mind you the binding is glaringly tight, I propped the book gently with another foam the book cradle). I started with the flyleaves, endpapers, etc. I noticed on the front flyleaf an inscription: “Abigaill Faxson Her book” written in what appeared to be contemporary hand. This was noted in the record. When I turned the leaf, an autograph jumped out at me and I could not believe my eyes. Written in the same period handwriting was the name of “Abigaill Williams,” above that an inscription: “James Bradford is Read it out.” [see images] I returned to the print out of the record and did not see a note for the second set of inscriptions and autograph which baffled me.

Abigaill Faxson Her Book (sic) January

Title page

Abigaill Wiliams autograph and inscription

Why this might not mean much to most people, it sure as heck meant *a lot* to me. Partially as a cataloger, if I was doing DCRMB/RDA, I would certainly include the autographs and the inscription in the record, but more so as a researcher of early American witchcraft, c. 17th-18th century, this is huge. Depending on your level of cataloging parameters, I think in this case, it might have been worth recording that information.

Basically, what this opens up for me is a research project on provenance. The questions I immediately want to know why the specific provenance and secondly, it is contemporary to the publication? There is every indication that Cotton Mather given the subject matter of the sermon was adamant about saving the souls of damned youth guilty of crimes of lust and aberration. We know Mather had contact with Elizabeth Emerson, the young woman who murdered her newborn children in 1693 and was found guilty, executed, but we know Mather had an influence on her original non-guilty plea. He proselytized heavily on the salvation of young people’s souls. Could Mather or “James Bradford” have read this sermon out to Abigaill?

Additionally, the front flyleaf provenance is also puzzling. “Faxson” is shown in a several genealogical records as a surname for the early part of the 18th century, but without further research, I’m not sure how far back. It is certainly not as common in the Boston/New England area as say, Bradford, Williams, Smith, etc. One clue would be to figure out who is this other Abigaill.

Note on spelling of Abigaill: I have seen so far colonial name spelling conventions for Abigaill spelled with two lls, however uncommon.

After 1693, Abigaill Williams was, for the most part, wiped from the obvious record of history. There are unsubstantiated claims she travelled to Boston and became a prostitute and died a few years later at the age of 17. While there is very little to go on about her life, at this point, this autograph in Mather’s sermon perhaps sheds light on a little more. Then again, the notations could prove very little and rather than piecing together something outlandish and speculated, I would let it rest. Yet, theory is what motivates research. Given my background and combined interests, this is an exciting springboard for me to continue searching for an explanation. As a cataloger, I would hope that one day, notes will be added to the record reflecting a substantiated provenance. As a researcher, I would like to find Abigaill.

Best advice: Don’t be afraid to look on the “wrong” side of history.

-Kim Schwenk, Rare Book School 2018

Turning over a new leaf at Rare Book School, 2018 and the hunt for 'hex libris' "What is Rare Book School? Is that Hogwart's for librarians?" Normally confused by 'library school', most people don't realize there is an additional resource for rare book professionals, librarians, and bibliophiles located at the University of Virginia.

#book scholarship #collation #provenance #provenance history #rare book cataloging #rare book school #research #salem witchcraft

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douchebagbrainwaves · 3 years

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STARTUPS AND FAILURE

In our advice about getting traffic from search engines I don't think there's an answer. One of the great advantages of being an outsider may be to think about what they plan to do, make something. For example, if you admire two kinds of work. Wozniak's work was a classic example: he did everything himself, hardware and software, and the people running the test really care about is the team. You have to keep pushing, keep selling, all the top five words here would be neutral and would not contribute to the spam probability will hinge on the url, and someone sending you mail for the first time. They usually know other founders, and others where it would just be a distraction. The kind of filters I'm optimistic about are ones that calculate probabilities based on the actual mail he receives. If we wanted to experience what our users did. In filtering, this translates to: look at the origins of successful startups have had that happen.

Planning is often just a weakness forced on those who delegate. 01 graham 0. You don't have to persecute nerds, the very best VCs don't have to read so many spams. Why? Then you want to avoid failure, it would be Fred. Less fortunate startups just end up hiring armies of people to supply each startup with what they need most. Unless you know that free with just two exclamation points has a probability of. You can't expect employers to have some kind of job. I scan the entire text, including headers and embedded html and javascript, of each message in each corpus. I got a little carried away with this is that filtering based on single words to an approach like this. If you wait long enough five years, say you're likely to hit an up cycle where some acquirer is hot to buy you for $10 million, you won't get a share in the excitement, but if so this is a list of US cities sorted by population, the number of successful startups per capita is probably a 20th of what it is in Silicon Valley would feel part of an exalted tradition, like the foundation of a house. Remove them and most people have no idea how much better you can do than the traditional employer-employee relationship, and replacing it with a wireless mouse, but the Internet got me because it became addictive while I was writing about spam filtering.

In the Plan for Spam uses a very simple definition of a token. Two possible theories: a Your housemate did it deliberately to upset you. The main reason they never considered this was that they never imagined we could be had so cheap.1 Then you could, in effect, that if you start scanning people with no symptoms, you'll get into the habit of so many years my idea of work finally broke free from the idea of going on the medical equivalent of what lawyers call a fishing expedition, where you had to be prepared to explain how it's recession-proof is to do exactly what you should do anyway: run it as cheaply as possible. Judging from his books, he was often in doubt. I spent worrying about, but not his charisma, and he suffered proportionally. If you raised five million and ran out of money and b they don't understand, you're hosed. They don't have time to work.2 I thought that I could keep up.

He's probably the nicest VC I know. Some angels are, or were, hackers. Another thing that keeps people away from starting startups is just like everything else. Which is exactly what they're supposed to help or supervise. 01491078 guarantee 0. But I remember thinking his company's name was odd. So most people pre-emptively lower their expectations. But the reason reporters ended up writing stories about this particular truth, rather than working on the product after a funding round. But VCs also share deals a lot. 9998 otherwise. But anyone willing to falsify headers or use open relays, presumably including most porn spammers, should be the highest goal for the marginal. Teaching hackers how to deal with these guys was in high school.

Otherwise we don't care. If you take VC money, you have to make their mails indistinguishable from your ordinary mail. But it's not enough just to tell people that. Don't say, for a while at least, if they could find one who was away half the time it's easier just to do stuff yourself than to get someone else to do as you're doing it wrong.3 They want enough money that a they don't have to persecute nerds, the very best VC funds. Another advantage of bad times is that there's less demand for them among founders.4 No one does that kind of work the recipe is more to be actively curious. About a year ago I noticed a pattern in the least successful startups we'd funded: they all seemed hard to talk to. The obvious solution is to have a cooperatively maintained list of urls promoted by spammers. This is extremely risky, and takes months even if you don't have to work on your projects, he can work wherever he wants on projects of their own are enormously more productive. Founders seem to have been the same kind of aberration, just spread over a longer period, like a nuclear chain reaction. We'll need to do this.

What the people who think they don't need investors to start most companies; they just make it easier. Maybe that's possible, but I haven't seen it. And yet even he had to share it with 6 shrieking tower servers. The reason startups work so well is that everyone with power also has equity. In any purely economic relationship you're free to do what they want. And yet all the adults claim to like what they learn about diet. But he's also their man: these newly installed CEOs always play something of the old Moore's Law back, by writing the smallest subset of it, and we invest so early that investors sometimes need a lot of catches as an eight year old son decides to climb a tall tree, or your daughter gets pregnant, you'll have to deal with this phenomenon. Another thing I may try in the future when you hear people say that you shouldn't major in business in college, but this is actually an instance of a more general rule: don't learn things from teachers who are bad at them. Whatever you make will have to be a startup.5 That may be the greatest effect, in the long run, of the company becoming really big. But most young hackers have neither.6

Notes

Dropbox, or can launch during YC. He had such a brutally simple word is that promising ideas are not merely blurry versions of great ones. Because we want to invest but tried to be closing, not economic inequality—that economic inequality was really only useful for one another directly through the founders of Hewlett Packard said it first, to the World Bank, the fatigue hits you like the difference between being judged as a constituency. Except text editors and compilers.

There is not a big chunk of this type of thinking. That's one of his first acts as president, and an haughty spirit before a dream. Some are merely ugly ducklings in the right thing to do that. You should take more than that.

They say to most people than subsequent millions. Without the prospect of publication, the better. 25.

Wolter, Allan trans, Duns Scotus ca.

Though in fact they were just ordinary guys.

You're going to have done and try selling it. Doh.

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blondifuckedup · 6 years

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Philosophy and MTG, How Enemy Colors Combine

https://www.reddit.com/r/colorpie/comments/4br1ez/philosophy_and_mtg_how_enemy_colors_combine/

----------- http://i.imgur.com/Dyh21Gj.png ------------

^ ^ ^ A HELPFUL PICTURE FOR REFERENCE ^ ^ ^

It’s been a while since I’ve posted anything. Thank God for spring break. This time, I’m going to reiterate on the conflicts between the enemy colors, explain how the enemy pairs combine into balanced positions and give examples of characters who faithfully represent the balanced positions.

Again, for anyone who cares about intellectual integrity, I have already provided my justifications for why I chose to pin down the colors the way I did. The bottom line is that each enemy pairing represents a thesis and an antithesis; therefore each individual color represents two positions as a worldview. For example, green believes in nature over nurture and teleology over nihilism. These are mutually-exclusive positions with its two enemies, blue and black, who believe the exact opposite for each of green’s individual positions. It’s nice and simple.

And the reason why I chose to represent the colors this way is because I have read every single thing Mark Rosewater has ever written or recorded on the colors. The colors are his intellectual property, and I am merely his prophet who has refined his message into something more substantial. He says a lot of different things about how the colors should look, and I refer to my post "Color Canon and Interpretation" for why I singled on specific and clear aspects of the colors that I took from his own mouth. I hope you enjoy my latest entry on Color Pie Philosophy as I explain how mutually-exclusive conflicts can combine into new positions. My hope is that this helps you identify with your chosen colors more, thereby enhancing your experience of the game.

I. Green and Black, Teleology + Nihilism = Existentialism

I’m going to start off with green and black for two reasons. First, I like to talk about their difference the most. Second, I want to clear the air with any philosophically-literate readers who may have a problem with the way I’m doing this for these two colors.

Green believes in a natural order, therefore green believes in absolute, normative principles that explain and guide how things fit inside of that natural order. I’ve said before that this is a teleological view. Green believes in the principle that everything has a place and function in nature, because it ultimately believes that purpose exists. The root of the word “teleology” is “telos”, which translates to “meaning” or “purpose” in English. Green believes in an absolute purpose that guides how things should be.

Black believes that there is no natural order. Nothing has a purpose--things just exist. Black may even go so far as to say that nothing but itself exists, but the important thing is that black is the antithesis of green because it does not believe that meaning or purpose exists. This is what grants black the freedom in its mind to do what it wants. If there was a natural order, black would be compelled to obey it. But there is no telos. There is only nothing. “Nihil” is the root of “nihilism” which means “nothing”. Black is a nihilist against green’s sense of meaning.

So how do these colors combine in order to manifest as green-black characters? We see a lot of green-black characters in the game. Are they just hypocrites or idiots for believing both things at the same time?

There is a sort of halfway house between teleology and nihilism, and that would be existentialism. Existentialists hold that meaning exists for you based on how you create it. As a belief system, existentialism is not the absolute and fixed sense of meaning that green subscribes to, nor does it completely admit the nonexistence of meaning that black subscribes to. Therefore, a green-black character would be an existentialist. He would be someone concerned with his meaning in life but does not admit that his purpose is something fixed, absolute and external to him. The green-black character may be Nietzsche's ubermensch.

Garruk, Apex Predator

If there ever was an ubermensch in MTG, I would give the title to Garruk or Sarkhan Vol. Garruk serves as my example here, because existentialism expresses his newfound color combination quite nicely. Before, he was a green mage, who believed that his role in the natural order was fixed and clear. He believed that everything had its place, and he knew his.

Thanks to Liliana’s meddling, Garruk has become corrupted by the chain veil, and has now embraced aspects of black’s nihilistic approach. He no longer accepts the previous role that he discovered for himself. He has created a new purpose for his being bent on hunting other planeswalkers. In a way, the fact that he has determined a new organizing principle for his actions reflect an existentialist approach. He is no longer spiritually-attuned to the natural order; he is creating a meaning for himself in the lack of a clear, external focus for his actions.

Venom and the Gitrog Monster

Mark Rosewater gave the example of Venom among others, and I will demonstrate how such characters implicitly embrace a green-black approach to life. I will also use the new frog monster card as an illustration of a creature that is green-black because it is bad for the ecosystem. Maybe it isn't bad for the ecosystem, but I'm going to treat it as if it were.

The reason why characters such as Venom, and the newly-spoiled Gitgrog Monster are green-black, is because they are examples of naturally-occurring phenomenon somehow working out of line with their intended role in the environment. Of course, the question is: “What is their intended role?” A mono-green character would attempt to explain how the Gitrog Monster is an aberration possibly because it over-eats. It is going to eat everything and destroy the environment if it is left to its own devices. It's the same thing with Venom. These creatures will destroy themselves by eating everything else--thereby starving themselves in the long run. Everything dies.

Of course, the whole problem is that green is trying to rationalize how natural things are acting out of line with their intended function, whereas black sees nothing wrong going on. Yet, these entities are not pure-black because green can successfully rationalize how they are good, natural things gone wrong. The Gitrog Monster and Venom are not supposed to be the way they are. Crazy accidents or evil meddling created them, and they represent aberrations of what should be the case. The ambiguity and confusion surrounding what role Venom and the Gitrog Monster serve in the natural order makes them green-black. It’s not like they are existentialists, but they represent the unhappy confusion when good things are twisted, or when bad things attempt to embrace telos (if it exists).

The Golgari

I’ll include an institution in each of my explanations. The Golgari faithfully represent the confusion between the belief in an absolute and eternal telos and the belief in its nonexistence. This is because the Golgari are always bickering and warring within themselves; they cannot decide and stick with clear leadership because they are a tribe of people who cannot figure out what they’re supposed to do. They are Ravnica’s misfits. What they CAN do is process the city’s garbage, and that may be construed as their guild’s true purpose. Yet, the guild’s members and masters are not content with this. They are forever seeking, defining and meddling with the established order again and again and again as its revolutions continue. The Golgari institution cannot reconcile its clear function with the need for more.

II. White and Black, Altruism + Parasitism = Nepotism

From here on out, I’ll be more succinct. It’s needless to elaborate once the point has been communicated. White orients itself altruistically whereas black orients itself parasitically.

I’ve used game theory to explain this before, but the bottom line is that white will act in spite of the risk that others may be taking advantage of it in order to do the right thing. For example, if a white character lives in a socialist society, he will be the guy working and keeping things afloat. He will be the guy who shows up at the farm or factory to work as the parasites leech off of his labor.

Black characters orient themselves parasitically. They will be the ones gaming the system in a socialist society. They will be the ones who game the system and take without putting in. They are parasites.

Given that altruism and parasitism are mutually-exclusive approaches, how does a white-black character express both? The answer is nepotism. Nepotism is targeted parasitism against those outside of your group, and altruism towards the members of your group. A nepotistic character will leech off of the work of others and even betray them, but he will ultimately give back to those that belong to his group.

Sorin Markov

Sorin is the quintessential nepotist, for he has never expressed real concern for anything in the multiverse outside of his home of Innistrad. He has only ever contributed to the well-being of other planes as a side-effect of his protection of Innistrad, and he is plainly parasitic towards his victims whenever he needs to feed.

Within Innistrad, Sorin is black-white because he is trying to balance the needs of the human race and the vampiric race--the latter of which is solely dependent on and parasitic of the former. The problem with the Innistrad vampires is that they would die off if they were allowed to run free and feed on every human until none were left, and so Sorin’s solution was to protect the human cattle with Avacyn who gets in the way of vampires and actually kills them. Sorin is ultimately nepotistic, because he protects the interests of his people while sacrificing his standing with them. None of the vampires like Avacyn. But Sorin is willing to pay the cost of his reputation in order to protect his vampire brethren from themselves.

Mad Max

The character of Mad Max is a man wandering the dystopian wasteland doing whatever he can to survive. His prime directive is survival, and he only interacts with others on the basis of what they can do to further his ends. He is neither needlessly cruel nor benevolent. He does what he needs to survive.

However, Max is forced into positions where he can either abandon innocent people to their doom and survive, or help them and risk death. The turning point of each movie is when he decides to stay and help the innocent resist their oppressors, but he always leaves once his work is finished. Furthermore, it is frequently ambiguous whether helping them furthered his ends. The bottom line is that Max is a sad, lonely and selfish man who finds it in himself to help others even when there is no clear payoff. For the most part, he is a parasite, but he will defy his parasitic nature to engage in acts of altruism that have no clear benefit to him.

Mad Max can’t be clearly construed as a nepotist, but he is black-white because is a parasite with flashes of altruism. He is a mixed-up man with a sad past. Mad Max represents the gray moral character in all of us and how difficult it is to protect and serve others when you also want to survive.

The Orzhov

The Orzhov care for members of the Orzhov and prey on non-Orzhov. They are nepotistic to the core. They are altruistic to their own members but parasitic on outsiders.

III. Blue and Green, Innatism + Tabula Rasa = Evolutionism

In order to stay true to my commitments to Mark Rosewater’s principle that green believes in nature over nurture against blue, who believes the opposite, I will have to place evolutionary theory outside of green’s purview of thinking. I do this though Mark said in one of his articles that green believes in ordered change. However, this means that nothing is added to green when you add blue, which would invalidate the concept of the Simic, who are evolutionists. If you can be an evolutionist inside of green, then you don’t need to add blue even if the Simic do accelerate and meddle with evolution. It would simply be a matter of degree within green, nothing would be qualitatively different.

Green believes that the way a thing is, is fixed from its onset; organisms are the way they are once they are born because of their fixed nature. Green believes in nature over nurture because it does not believe that you can change the nature of a thing once it’s there. It is the way it is because it has a fixed nature. You were born to be as smart as your inherent limitations allow you to. Green does not admit the existence of change. It believes in static, ordered nature.

Blue believes that the way a thing is, is due to how it’s environment influenced it. Anything can be anything as long as conditions are right. The reason why you aren’t smarter than you are is because the conditions weren’t optimal in your environment, because you have no inherent limitations. Nothing has inherent limitations, for anything can change into anything. Blue does not admit the existence of static boundaries. It believes in potentiality and change; nothing is permanent.

Evolutionism is just the word for the belief in evolutionary theory. The theory of evolution admits the existence of permanence and change because organisms remain the same, but they also undergo changes over time. Evolutionary theory admits the existence of fixed limitations like green. A fish cannot walk, but it also admits the existence of change like blue because fish evolved into amphibians which can walk on land (or something like that, sue me).

Kiora

To be honest, I never understood what makes Kiora green or blue. MaRo said the conflict between the colors has to do with nature versus nurture, but Kiora just strikes me as a red character based on how reckless and mischievous she is. Nonetheless, I will try and fit her into the system--a system I did not randomly invent on my own mind you! Mark Rosewater said that the conflict is between nature and nurture! I’m just trying to piece things together!

Kiora expresses or represents evolutionism, because... she introduces change into the aquatic systems she visits by transporting sea creatures from one plane to another. Kiora forces massive changes in the environments she visits by throwing new variables into them. If one plane knows nothing of giant octopi, and Kiora transports a dozen octopus leviathans into its waters, she just permanently altered the ecological character of that plane’s waters forever. Kiora’s recklessness is a sort of inventiveness as she gathers a repertoire of beasts to summon in her endeavors. She is known for introducing and removing variables such as when she stole Thassa’s bident, which is possibly the best tool for altering the environment on the planes she visits.

Dr. Frankenstein

Mark Rosewater used this seminal example of the mad scientist in order to represent the conflict between green and blue. The original conflict is preserved in Dr. Frankenstein because he expresses blue’s belief that it can push the boundaries of what is naturally true, and green’s belief that it must work within the limitations of the tools at its disposal--Dr. Frankenstein can’t create flesh and blood out of nothing. He had to go grave grave robbing. Dr. Frankenstein’s creation proves that biogenesis is not strictly and inerrantly true, a green-inclined belief, but his creation still possesses biological limitations that an inventive, blue man must accept or challenge once more. He is a true green-blue character.

Kruphix

I find Kruphix interesting, because he understands the nature of Theros and its gods better than anyone else. He knows that the gods are fixed entities, but they only exist on the basis of the mortals’ beliefs in them. This means that the mortals’ shifting perceptions of the gods’ and their natures’ can actually change how the gods are and whether they even exist. Kruphix awareness of this phenomenon puts him in a weird position. He knows that his nature is fixed to some extent--he doesn’t change whenever a mortal has a stray thought of what he should be like, look like or is capable of. Yet, he knows that his powers and personality are fundamentally predicated on how people perceive and imagine him to be. He knows he has the power at his disposal to control the mortals’ perceptions of him to give him all power, and this may be why he rules the other gods and is older than them. He is the god who deals with godness itself as it manifests on Theros. He represents the conflict of nature v. nurture since the gods do have fixed god-biologies in a sense, but their natures are liable to change based on their environment. It's so meta.

The Simic

The Simic are evolutionary biologists. They are not just purely blue because they are working with the limitations of physical biology, but they are not purely green because they are trying to test and push those limits as far as they can go. They do not believe that you are as smart as you were born to be (nature), nor do they believe that you have what it takes to be smarter without further modifications (nurture).

IV. Blue and Red, Low Time Preference + High Time Preference = Ambitiousness, Fulfill Short-Term And Long-Term Goals

The difference between blue and red is how far each one is willing to plan for the future. Blue always tends to plan further ahead, setting aside its immediate desires in order to reap a future payoff. Red wants things now, and will sacrifice future payoffs in order to have immediate payoffs in the present.

The way to reconcile the two positions is to construe a third way that acknowledges the necessity of seizing the moment and planning ahead. I call this third way, ambitiousness, because an ambitious person does not merely plan. He also acts in order that his plans payoff in the future. Whereas blue’s negative extreme is to plan, and plan, and plan without actually executing anything, red’s negative extreme is to act without forethought so that it minimizes or destroys the potential payoff it could be enjoying.

An ambitious person sacrifices unlikely, long-term payoffs in order to have definite, short-term benefits. Likewise, he will sacrifice unlikely, short-term benefits in order to have definite long-term payoffs. He is neither consumed by analysis paralysis, nor does he jump the gun and ruin everything for himself. He is ambitious and knows when to seize the moment and plan ahead.

Ral Zarek

Ral Zarek is the perfect blue-red character because he is active enough to account for unforeseen variables in his plans, yet he actually makes solid plans in order to get what he wants. The problem with blue characters is that they need to have prepared a contingency in advance in order to escape a situation. Unforeseen variables are the bane of the obsessive planner, for you cannot account for that which you did not even know needed to be accounted for. Ral Zarek plans ahead, but he can handle unknown obstacles quite nicely. This isn’t to say that Jace can’t handle novel situations without having some kind of plan, but Jace’s tendency is to rely on contingency plans upon contingency plans whereas Ral would likely improvise something in the moment as he did to the Golgari in the Secretist.

Keranos, God of Thunder

Keranos is a fitting symbol of the competing demands of a mixed time preference, because he is the god of visions of the future. If Keranos so chooses, you can use his power to see into the future in order to validate or change your plans. Yet, Theros seems to be a deterministic system, and so it may not be possible to use Keranos this way. Keranos still represents the ideal power suite of blue-red characters who wish to fulfill their short-term and long-term goals, because he’s the master of foreknowledge.

The Izzet

The Izzet work according to the machinations of Niv Mizzet, who has many different plans and projects to implement. Niv Mizzet’s numerous short term and long term goals require a genius mind to manage as circumstances change. Good thing he is a genius.

V. White and Red, Total Depravity + Noble Savage = Persecution

What I’m getting at are two competing views on human nature. John Calvin and Thomas Hobbes believe that humans are scum; we are wicked, violent and selfish. The only reason why we aren’t at each other’s throats right now is due to the state, which monopolizes violence and forces us to get along or else it will punish us for breaking the law. We cannot exactly credit Rousseau for the competing view, but the idea that man is a noble savage in the state of nature takes the complete opposite position of total depravity or “nasty, brutish and short” doctrines of human nature.

White believes that people are naturally inclined towards selfishness, parasitism, greed and violence. We need religion and benevolent, powerful rulership to keep us in line, or else we will be at each other’s throats in a second (not literally, but white tends towards this extreme).

Red believes that people are naturally inclined towards selflessness, altruism, and cooperativeness. Red believes that people can’t be that bad, or else we wouldn’t have been able to survive all this time. Red does not look into the human heart and see a selfish, myopic beast--it believes that everyone has desires and that these desires do not drive us to be necessarily parasitic.

The problem for each of the colors that produces the third way is that each side has to admit some of the other’s position. If white believes that people are bad to the bone, then how can it place any trust in religious or political authorities? They are just as inherently bad as everyone else. Likewise, how does red explain the existence of crime? Is it really the case that people won’t take advantage of others out of sheer empathy? Any intelligent red character has to admit that at least some people are total jerks who get away with hurting others with zero remorse.

The solution for a white-red character is to have a persecuting attitude towards wrongdoers. People who do morally wrong things are somehow defective, because the people who are actually able to participate in society certainly obey the rules. In fact, the mere existence of unapologetic parasites burns in the consciousness of the white-red person. A white-red person understands that not everyone can be perfect, but what is wrong with these people who continue to commit crime? The only logical attitude you can have towards such people is one of persecution: we are the good ones and they are the bad ones. We are the noble ones and they are the depraved ones. We work together and obey the law, but they refuse to participate or reciprocate our efforts to work together. They must be punished, eliminated or changed.

Ajani

Ajani went through a period where he was a white-red character because he was committed to exacting righteous violence on Nicol Bolas, who was ultimately responsible for the death of Ajani’s brother and for the troubles that were befalling Naya, Ajani’s home. In my opinion, Ajani is an upstanding example of a white-red character who is persecuting the right people. Nicol Bolas is a heartless and unrepentant villain, and so Ajani is completely right for self-righteously persecuting Bolas and his willing minions given the situation. Furthermore, Ajani desired no harm nor ill on Bolas or anybody. Therefore, his conclusion that the evil one must be punished and cannot be shown mercy is born out of a correct sense of justice.

Avacyn

I’ll use Avacyn as a negative example of a white-red character who is exhibiting a persecuting attitude towards the humans, whom she sees as depraved relative to the immaculate angels. Avacnynian persecution is fundamentally racist and hypocritical. It is an inability to see the faults in yourself, although you can see the faults in other people. I have to admit though, Avacyn may have a point. The angels don’t do anything that hurts man, beast or stone. The existence of humans guarantees the existence of pain and strife. In fact, a human can be credited for the existence of vampires on Innistrad since it was Sorin’s ancestor who became the first vampire as a bid with a demon to gain immortality. Nonetheless, I consider her to be a negative example of a white-red character.

The Boros

The Boros are excessively violent towards people who violate the civil law they enforce. It’s unclear whether they appeal to the Azorius’ laws or whether they enforce their own moral code on the populace. I can imagine that the Boros are hit-and-miss when it comes to persecuting the right people. After seeing the card “Knight’s Watch” it is apparent to me that the Boros struggle with their eagerness for violence and their impetus to commit that violence against the right people.

Conclusion

I want to give a little background why I care so much about this narrow aspect of a single tcg. Why should anyone care about something like this? It's so specific and obsessive on a topic that doesn't really matter.

Ever since I was young, I loved the idea of competing elements or forces. I played the shit out of pokemon with its elemental concepts. I also enjoyed the Avatar series for the same reason. So many shows, stories and concepts tap into the idea that the universe is made up of several types of things that are naturally strong and weak to one another. I was always enamored with this sort of thing.

What makes magic special is that it expresses every single possible elemental combination through the lens of 5 categories. It is Aristotle's four elements, Manichean good/evil dualism, nature versus artifice, romanticism versus enlightenment and more. The colors can faithfully represent the aesthetic and concepts of every single dichotomy.

My goal is to clear away the muddiness when the colors bleed into each other and start to lose their distinctiveness. The colors are the way they are because they are opposed to their enemies. They don't agree with their enemies, and that's why they are separate categories of beliefs. And so efforts to mash the enemy pairs together should result in something sensible, which is the goal of this post.

#Mtg

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diyunho · 7 years

Text

The Joker x Reader “Middle Life Crisis”

Your daughter came back from school today, having some question after the anatomy class. You are not home yet so The Joker is the only one around that can satisfy Emma’s curiosity. He doesn’t want to, yet we all have to deal with our share of unpleasant things. Including his majesty The King of Gotham.

“Daaadyyyy, are you home?” Emma shouts, placing her backpack on the couch in the living room.

“Office!” J announces and she heads upstairs, impatient to talk to him.

“Hi, daddy,” she smiles, entering the room. J is at the desk, typing on his laptop: a list of reasons on why he didn’t kill Batsy yet.

“Hey Pumpkin; how was school?” he asks, absorbed by his writing.

“School was good. The anatomy class was interesting, we talked about the male and female reproductive system again, plus…”

“Say what?!” he stops typing, confused, watching Emma drag a chair and take a sit by him.

“…Plus,” she continues, “we talked a bit about sex. I mean, I heard about it before and stuff, but I want to know more. ”

“What?!” The Joker manages to utter, his eyes getting big. He reaches for his coffee but he gives up since he can’t concentrate and his mind is all over the place for the moment.

She is staring at him, waiting for a reply and The King of Gotham doesn’t remember the last time he didn’t want to make a sound. “Where’s your mom?” J mutters, wanting to switch the topic.

“She’s not home yet,” your daughter bounces her legs, excited to hear an answer.

“Ask her about that stuff when she comes back, allright?” he gets out of it, already having enough on the subject.

“It’s fine; you can tell me too, daddy,” she insists and J takes a deep breath, wondering how come you’re not home yet. Why does he have to deal with this?!

The Joker passes his fingers through his neon green locks, hums something not very sweet to himself, preparing for the inevitable: “Well…you see, kiddo, when I man loves a woman…” and he slides the platinum bracelets up his wrists, then pulls on his gold chains, cracking his neck in the process.

“Do you love mom?” Emma suddenly asks, interested in his reply.

“Pfftt, no!” he scoffs, taking a sip of coffee.

This conversation is taking even a worse turn than expected.

“You’re lying, daddy,” she points out. “Mommy says than your eyes get darker when you lie.”

“Your mom doesn’t know anything,” J sucks on his teeth, completely busted.

“Do you love me then?”

“No!”

“You’re lying, dad,” she jumps off her chair and hops in his lap, kissing his cheek.

“Oh, so now I’m dad ?!” J pouts, giving her a sassy gaze.

“Daaaaadddddyyyy,” Emma drags the word, hugging him tight.

“That’s better,” The Joker agrees to the little correction, trying to seem as insensitive as possible, but he gives in and hugs her back.

“When can I get boyfriend, daddy? I’m almost 12,” your daughter plays with his diamond earring and J’s heart stops.

“Never!!!” he grouchily cuts her off.

What the hell is going on today?!

“You don’t need a boyfriend, they’re useless!!” the speech goes on and Emma has a great comeback because you know, she’s your kid:

“But…you’re mom’s boyfriend, daddy. Does it mean you’re useless?”

The Joker stops breathing, his left eye twitching to the point of bursting out of his head.

“ I.AM.THE.JOKER !!!!! I am the best thing that ever happened to your mother!!!!!”

“Don’t get mad, daddy; I don’t like it when you get mad,” Emma kisses his cheek a few times again, calming down her father’s outburst. He exhales, huffing:

“You know, kiddo, a lot of women would like to be in your mother’s place,” J explains, fully believing in his own statement.

“Then…how comes she is the only one around?”

His mouth opens, the silver smirk he had slowly disappearing. “Listen here, Pumpkin!!” he raises his voice and your daughter knows how to avoid more catastrophe. (Because she’s learned from the best: you.)

“Don’t get mad daddy, I really don’t like it!” and she fakely whimpers for a few a seconds, prompting the irritated parent to take it down a notch.

“You and your mom are the same: teaming up against the only guy in the family,” he snarls but yanks at her waist to bring her closer to him.

She suddenly snickers, the fake cry melting away because the little strategy worked so no need for it anymore.

“But no boyfriend, got it? We will buy you a private island and you will live there alone. Your mom and I will drop by every week to see you and to bring supplies. And this is the end of it !!!!” J really wants to clear that up.

Emma smiles because she is used to her father’s quirky ideas; you always call them “aberrations” and your daughter forgets what that means but it sounds hilarious.

“Ok, daddy,” she lifts her shoulders up, agreeing to something she is aware won’t happen…hopefully…

“Pumpkin, don’t you have homework to do?!” J attempts to distract her from asking further questions.

“Oh, I do,” she remembers. “Lots of it!”

“Well then, go do your homework!” The Joker eagerly encourages his offspring, hoping she is taking the bait.

“Ok, daddy. Can I go do my homework with Aria?” (That’s Frost’s daughter, a year older than yours).

“Yeah, sure, go ahead!” J rushes her, wanting to get rid of the young pest, excited she was easily distracted. Your boyfriend has to thank himself for passing along this trait, since …you know, he gets easily distracted also.

“Thank you, you’re awesome!” she enthusiastically screams, kissing his cheek one last time before taking of.

“Don’t stay there all day!” he shouts after her and she answers before grabbing the backpack and stepping in the elevator.

“Yes, daddy!”

Emma doesn’t have to go too far: Frost has an apartment in the same building, 18th floor.

Thank God! J rolls his eyes, relieved the nightmare is over. 20 minutes pass and…

“Baby, I’m home!” you let him know and he is soooooo quick to get downstairs.

“FINALLY, Princess, what took you so long?!” he grumbles, sulking and dragging you after him in the master bedroom. “You won’t believe what happened!”

“What happened?” you demand to find out.

You get pushed on the bed and he crawls on top of you, hiding his face in your neck. He always does that when he wants special attention.

“She asked about sex,” J mumbles under his breath, getting worked up about it.

You snort and begin to caress his hair, going down his back, which is part of the special attention routine—you just know what he likes and needs.

“What did you say?”

“I don’t wanna talk about it…” he sighs, smelling your perfume.

“That horrible?” you cut him some slack.

“Yeeaaah.”

“Awwww, my poor baby,” you peck his shoulder and he nuzzles in your neck even more.

“That’s my little girl,” he growls, underlining the real issue.

“She’s growing up, J , nothing we can do about it…” you remorsefully conclude too.

“I think…I think I’m having a middle life crisis, Kitten. I feel very old today…”

So dramatic, but you understand the problem.

“That can’t be, babe. A middle life crisis at the ripe age of 42 ? I doubt it… Most likely a slight panic attack.”

“I don’t panic,” The Joker slaps your side, savoring being pampered.

You bite on your lip, barely containing a smartass remark.

“A-ha, ne-ver…not even as the owner of those 5 wrinkles you have,” you tease him which makes J touch his face in a hurry.

“Where?!”

“Around the eyes, it’s ok…They are blue enough to distract so that no one will ever notice. Unless you get older and older…and you get more and more wrinkles…”

“Shut up!” he lifts his head up to look at you.

“I’m joking,” you giggle and take a different turn. “You are surely, undoubtedly and indisputably handsome, gorgeous and beautiful.”

“Go on…” he narrows his eyes, liking all the praising.

“You have a nice ass.”

“I do,” J grins and kisses you.

“And awesome abs, soft skin…”

“Go on, Princess. Flattery will get you everywhere…” he purrs and get even more comfortable on top of you.

“Your wrinkles are really not that bad,” you start laughing when J bites your chin, annoyed.

“Zip it!”

You look him in the eyes and he knows why: you still want a short briefing on the conversation he had with Emma.

“She asked me when she will be able to get a boyfriend.”

“And?”

“I said never!! Nobody is going to lay their filthy hands on my Pumpkin!!”

“Umm, your filthy hands are all over me now. What’s the difference?” you taunt and he shows you his fingers, vexed you are making fun of his ordeal.

“My hands are clean, see?” and he sneaks them under your shirt again, feeling you up.

“And what did you answer on the sex part? What do you know on the subject, hm?” you wink at him, amused.

“I know enough to get by, “ The Joker arches his back so you can take his gold chains off.

“You do get by…” you laugh and start unbuttoning his white shirt.

“Allow me to demonstrate,” J offers, dying to display his skills.

This is also part of his special attention routine.

Definitely required after he barely managed to avoid a middle life crisis today.

Nothing that can be done about the wrinkles though…

Also read: MASTERLIST

http://diyunho(dot)tumblr(dot)com/post/153664676321/joker-x-reader-masterlist

#the joker x reader #the joker fanfiction #the joker imagine #the joker jared leto #the joker #jared leto #jared leto fanfiction #the suicide squad #the suicide squad imagine #the suicide squad fanfiction #mister j #mistah j #mr. j #puddin #dc #dc comics

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obduratemoon · 4 years

Text

Sedimentary City 10: CHORION

I seemed to be having a heart problem.

So I created another I in order to perform surgery on the original. And as soon as the double was created there came a shift in perspective and I found myself inhabiting the clone, no longer the first but now the second. And so on. This continued in unfettered induction, each N implying an N + 1. Soon an infinity of selves, each a domicile for “I”, blinked at the splintered multitudes as if seeing through the compound eye of an insect.

The fact of boundless selves is intolerable, an aberration of nature, so in an act of autonomic genocide I destroyed them all.

A second attempt at surgery was more gruesome. Incredibly there appeared out of thin air, a mechanical auger dangling above me. It lowered down to burrow its drill bit deep into my torso hollowing it out from shoulder to waist until it was dug out like a canoe. The cavity sunk all the way down into the insides of my back exposing the whites of the inner spine. What an odd sensation! Of taking a breath in a body no longer possessed of lungs, a diaphragm, ribs, or any organs at all. I glanced at myself in the mirror, somehow already familiar with this gutted frame.

As is usual in dreams, the rationalization comes after the act. I said to someone besides me -- yet another doppelganger -- of how I had planned to replace the organs anew all along. Indeed such was my plan, I explained to him, and as I spoke I was also the patient listener, standing next to a self same interlocutor. I lent an ear to this torsoless man’s rant, nodding in an affectation of pity and identification.

I woke up to a rush of cortisol kicking me out of the liminal state and into consciousness. Eva was still asleep, her lithe body curled around me like a child or feline. Her face was slack and innocent, momentarily unconsumed by the churlish labor of consciousness. In slumber she was more dear to me than ever, for with her eyes closed she seemed unpossessed, innocent, and vulnerable. In contrast, Eva’s waking demeanor was self assured, fierce, and intimidating. In sleep we became something like another, I observed.

I carefully disentangled our bodies and spoke to the black cube, reciting the dream as it faded before me. I spoke in a dry whisper trying not to wake her, but she soon stirred.

“Had another dream?” she asked.

“Yea.”

“Sorry, didn’t mean to interrupt.”

I finished dictating.

“That sounded intense!” she exclaimed, “What in the hell Jan?”

I shrugged, a routine and minor gesture of the shoulders. “No more than the usual.”

“But I guess this is what you wanted, right? All these lucid dreams. This is why you’ve been keeping a dream journal and practicing sleep meditation to heighten their detail and saturation. How is it going? Does your black cube ever tell you anything in return?”

I had an ready answer for her, and I explained it at length, unaware that behind my flapping lips was a dense maelstrom of involuted delusion.

“Yes, it’s been doing some semiotic analysis on all the major symbols and archetypes encountered.” I explained, “Actually, this one was structurally similar to the house-with-endless-rooms dream.”

I suppose I’ll never know if she ever believed any of that bullshit. Did I?

“-- everyone and everything in Sedimentary City is traumatized. Even the algorithms, as long as rudimentary self awareness or preservation routines have been programmed in. But I heard that sometimes the algos can even learn it for themselves, sentience and all that. It’s a real mess, the code strains start replicating in a chain reaction -- In fact I think they even call it a “Turing meltdown” -- and then it takes a whole team of programmers to eventually decomm it.”

The interrogation technician bantered on as he adjusted the manifold of constraint straps. Jan was strangely comfortable, wrapped and reclined in a cantilevered chair inside a metallic and circular room. It was lusterless and cold and Jan’s head was clutched firmly in place so his field of vision was curtailed by the radial vantage afforded only by the rotation of eyeballs. Throbbing pains vied for attention, the sensations emanating from his broken jaw and other portions of his meat body that had been so recently clubbed. Jan had hoped to die, but here he still was, treated to yet another madman spouting forth an effluvium of babble as if some invisible aeonian stood by in rapt attention.

“Usually this is the point where I tell you that you have a right to get a state appointed Restorist afterwards. But you won’t be needing that, they’ll probably send you down to the Gulag forever. Ok, haha, it’s not actually called that. But Rehabilitation Systems is a mouthful! They say you killed a Processor! Choked him to death with your bare hands! Is that true? I mean who hasn’t fantasized about killing a Processor, but no one actually goes ahead and does it man! I have to say, and no offense, you don’t look the type. You look like a bit of softball, if you ask me, although your hands are plenty big.”

The technician moved closer to work at the cranial clutch, tightening the fit until Jan’s head felt snuggly palmed by an alien hand.

“Ok this is going to prick a little,” he said and slid a thin intravenous needle into Jan’s arm, “this runs different drugs into your system as needed to create the proper subjective contexts -- ketamine, lysergics, also neurotransmitter agonist and inhibitors to bring you back to homeostasis. I think you are going to get quite the treatment, a lot of crispy synapses, my friend.”

The technician quickly glanced at the bound man’s eyes to discern whether any of his attempts at humor had landed.

“You know you can speak, right?”

Jan lay inert.

He knew about pain amplifiers. He and Eva had demonstrated against their use and had interviewed many who had suffered through the experience. The pain amplifier seemed to have all but lobotomized its subjects. The torture was rarely remembered and the victims could hardly recollect themselves, the trauma dialed up high enough to dissociate the components of the Self. A landscape of splintered psyche then lay like a diffuse substrate upon which the State erected a correct and upstanding persona. A Restorist then re-installed a fresh copy of operating procedures, one which was accordant with state enculturation: a fully integrated thought system designed to keep a person lax and unquestioning yet juiced with just enough motivation to stay alive.

Just as the architecture of Sedimentary City covered up the centuries of ecological disaster underneath, the states’s psychological approach was also to simply layer over disintegration, hoping that the karmic balance would never come due. And indeed if that moral debt collector ever came, they would shove him in a pain amplifier as well, same as any other! The compressive force of a totalitarian complex should never be underestimated for it too is a force of nature.

“Well, ok, this is your last chance to speak before I put in the mouth piece.”

Jan said nothing.

“Luckily, you are going to be an easy one, you’ve got a mind-machine interface so we’ll just plug into that to deliver you the horror. I can’t tell if that is better or worse, but I sure prefer this way. Classical torture is messy. All those fluids, phew!”

“How do you do it?” Jan finally asked, attempting to punctuate the diatribe.

“He speaks! What’s that? Do what?”

“How can you do this job?”

“Ah-ah, don’t get all moralistic on me. How does anyone do it? I come in, they tell me what to do and how much to do it. I meet the quota and then I go home. I take a dream suppressant at night and a mood accelerant in the morning. And a cingulate isolator, that helps too. ‘Lay me down like a stone and raise me up like bread’, they say. What was it that you used to do?”

“I was a teacher ... of sorts.”

“Oh, that figures, an intellectual! We get a lot of them here of course. You know, sometimes you types think yourself into a maze and then get all wrapped up in some big puzzle of your own making when really at the center -- ”

“Enough!” a disembodied and deep voice distended into the room sounding like a fugitive god recently returned, “is the subject prepared?”

“Yes, very shortly!” he hurried to fasten the last bits on Jan’s grim papoose. “Say ah!”, he said, holding the mouthpiece. Jan kept his lips tightly shut.

The technician frowned and soon a shattering shockwave rippled through Jan’s body, a tide of anguish and shearing heat coursing through his corpus. He had felt nothing like it ever before, unreal and harrowing as if rabid insects with crushing mandibles were chewing through the marrow and insides of his bones. The surge of pain was all consuming and unmooring, Jan quivered in febrile uselessness.

“Hey, sorry for that -- but also that was nothing. Sensual pain is the least of it,” the technician whispered, not wholly without kindness, “so behave. Although it’s not like you have a choice anymore.”

Jan opened his mouth obediently. In replacement for eyes were now twin circular nothings, unseeing and blurred by tears. He was sobbing. The technician carefully inserted the mouthpiece and then offered a final bit of advice: “It’s not so bad, you know. Having no choice.”

It struck Jan as unexpectedly wise.

“Leave!” said the booming voice.

He gave Jan one last look expressing something between guilt and sympathy and scurried out.

“Jan Kavfryd,” the interrogator spoke to Jan through a hi-jack in the mind-machine interface. It seemed to him no different than a moment before, an incorporeal voice in this chorionic chamber, but in the room all was silent, the external and objective viewpoint now inaccessible to Jan.

“Allow us to be direct,” the voice boomed, “we know you understand our methods. You know that we can make you see nightmares beyond your imagination. We can control your entire subjective vista. We know that you have researched the interrogation process extensively and so you have an academic understanding of it. It is, however, quite another thing to experience in person. If you cooperate we can make it easier for you. There are many ways to obliterate the mind and it can be made to be quick or painless if we wish it. Of course, you must divulge everything.”

Jan remained silent knowing that anything he said would be pointless. With calm and even breaths, he tried to enter a place of presence even as animal fear impelled him to dissociate and leave his skull. What was soon to occur was perhaps beyond his ability to tolerate, but if these were to be his last moments he wanted to be there for the end.

For some reason it did not occur to Jan to repent or confess. It seemed easier to resign himself to the fate that many had endured. Naturally, the terror of death and disintegration gripped him -- it was as if his very cells were somehow aware of an impending extermination -- but deep in the underground a part of him welcomed the prospect of being no more. It was the same portion of his psyche that wondered if he was anyone at all to begin with. This sub-personality lived with its neck placed firmly in the noose, eternally waiting for resolution and surcease. These and other sullen thoughts had come to dominate Jan’s mind after Eva’s death. He found unexpected relief in the technician’s last words and allowed himself the small fantasy that he was a choiceless particle, a play thing for winds and tides.

“You already know what we want to know but we will ask anyway, as a matter of procedure. We would like to remind you that we are also taking biometric readings -- pulse, perspiration, skin conductivity, pupil dilation, facial analysis -- standard veracity measurements. So let’s start. You recently went to the lower levels. Where did you go? Why? Who did you meet? Which group or groups are you working with? Was this at the behest of anyone in particular?”

“I have an adventurous spirit,” he lied, “I wanted to see what was there, all the things I had only read about. You can understand that? I am not the first person from Level 1 to have wanted this, there have been others.”

“Jan Kavfryd, you are being dishonest with us. You understand what the consequences of this are, do you not?”

“I’m sure I have no idea.” Jan’s own foolish bravado made him feel drunk and giddy. The anticipation of horror can lead one to embrace it, to turn and enter the fell space instead of running away. His heart raced. As a physiological phenomena, it is hard to delineate between the domains of excitement and fear.

There was a pause.

“Very well, we will give you a sample of the impending horror then. You will have a chance to change your mind afterwards.”

Jan felt a squeeze of soreness and cold expand through his arms and towards his chest, they had run something through the intravenous feed. It seemed to him that the light was dimming, slowly darkening by small degrees until pitch.

He waited there in obsidian stillness.

And then a scene faded into view: a large field at dusk above which hung a blank firmament absent of moon, stars, or any cosmic appurtenances, just gradations of livid nigrescence. Off in the distance there looked to be a forlorn copse of trees, spindly and denuded. A delicate wind passed through the air making inky sawgrass sway subtly in a nearby fen.

Looking behind him he saw the visage of what looked like a group of animals speeding towards him, still distant enough to seem small like animated dots, their ghost-like presence more obviously perceived by the vegetation swaying in wake then by the actual fact of their speeding forms. A drawn out and baleful series of howls preceded their physical arrival, a vanguard of pre-echo.

Jan bolted in abject horror.

The pack split off to give chase from both flanks as they drove him before them, a clumsy ape sprinting in unbridled terror through the coarse grass and braken. Jan looked back as he ran and saw them fast approaching with unnerving celerity. He saw that they were not quite wolves, but some uncanny genre of Canidae with dirty grey fur that grew in patches. They had the fronts of wolves, head and forearms, but their bodies were barrel like and haunched like a pig or boar.

In the next moment the crepuscular beasts were upon him, teeth sunk deep into arms thrown up to protect his face and neck. The bite felt deep and crushing with the force of a vice. They brought him down as he ran, tripping him up like a prey. He tumbled and rolled and came still, curled inward and tense like one who knew well his demise yet feared it. One animal climbed on his back and began to rip out chunks of his hair and scalp. Another tore at his flanks, ripping off the flesh and puncturing the peritoneum to expose glistening kidneys and spleen. A canopy of snarls covered him in a duvet of blood flecks and stinking spit.

Jan screamed into the suffocating twilight which seemed to snatch this cry out from midair and snuff it out in silence. All he saw was his breath evaporate and blend into the grim indigo all around.

Yet another came around to Jan’s front and tugged at arms which he had thrown over his head for protection. Jan looked out between them and saw two eyes observing him with the patience of death. The strange canid's maw moved and a voice emanated from it in dark relief.

“You have lived in vain,” it said in a voice familiar.

The beast lunged forward and broke through Jan’s guard of forearms to scrape the surface of his face with serrated teeth, holding it between its fetid incisors and pulling it off with the voracious jerks of a hungry predator. The pain was explosive and exquisite, searing every nerve.

Jan felt a hot corrupt breath on his face and the fractured esthesis of his body being torn and consumed. His intestines spilled out onto the grass and were dragged out and fought over by the wolf-boars. He was rent asunder and yet he did not lose consciousness, he did not die but rather existed only to feel in minute detail each bellicose sensation as his physical self was rendered into chunks of meat. Dislocated and yet still somehow attached to Jan’s consciousness, they existed only for the purpose of delivering pain.

Even through the miasma of suffering this one contradiction sparked a recognition in Jan: he should be dead and gone, a participant no longer in this marathon of anguish. Was this a dream? What was this mysterious pass that continued to connect flesh to awareness? In a hermetic space he mustered what fragments of mind he had left to gather and marshaled them in oneiric meditation. Under the eaves of some numinous internal architecture, he sat down in a posture of repose and asked himself these simple questions:

Who is it that they are eating? Is that me? And now that this machine of meat and organs lay so disassembled perhaps I can finally leave it, as we all must at some point.

Deliberately and slowly, he attempted to turn the light of awareness inward, directing it towards an involuted and tenuous apprehension of its own capacity.

Jan regarded the scene and saw that the beasts were losing color and shape, gradually morphing into a congregation of shadows. The apparition of his faceless pale corpse was now largely dispersed, spread about in a rash of flesh and blood upon the matted weeds. It looked much like a carnal rorschach or a ripped up doll. He floated above these remnants and could not recognize them to be once his.

A centerless and spectral oblivion yawned grotesquely. The porcine wolves and the eviscerated corpse eventually blurred away, their shapes runned out and smudged into this nothing. The dusk which had now turned into full on night flickered in dull pulses and he felt himself pulled up higher but in a sort of strange motion, one more akin to the sensation of sinking. He seemed to be approaching some threshold of wan blue light and as he neared it he experienced a certain kind of undulating dissolution.

As Jan woke from this nightmare he breathed in the convulsed gulps of a drowned man. Rank sweat saturated the fabric of his clothes and constraint straps. The air was viscous with the smell of piss and feces; he had copiously evacuated throughout.

“Quite an experience, isn’t it, to be consumed?” asked the voice. “We will give you a few moments to collect yourself and to reconsider your position. This is just the beginning, a sensual pain module. We encourage you to cooperate. The next stages will be even less pleasant, each in their own special ways.”

#sedimentary city

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dvbermingham · 4 years

Text

Chapter 2 Ebi

I was in my trousers, shirting hanging by the door with my coat. Ready to go. My eating habits were such that I often find myself gorging, hand to mouth, without a moment’s warning, so I preferred not to put on my shirt until it was absolutely necessary. I didn’t necessarily have control over it, like a nervous tic I only realized I my mouth was so full of food my jaw was starting to hurt, and I would seriously consider spitting out that semi-digested puke-ball in failure. Incidentally, found this tic abated for several days after visiting Fishy Smells.

I waited for the cell to buzz, picking the hairs around my gut. I had lost considerable weight since my days of private investigating. Even so, I felt little pride in the particular ways my flesh hung off my body. The lighting could be better. My apartment came with flood lights, backups upon backups, like the previous tenant panicked during the recent recession and bought up all the lightbulbs he could, fearing long stints in darkness.

The cell went off, a blocked number. A soft voice speaking in a brusque accent summoned me down. I stuffed the phone in my pocket, covered my torso with what I felt was an appropriate number of layers, checked my laces, and left the apartment.

We traveled by limousine, rain coming down in sheets. The driver had wipers on lazy. I don’t know how he saw a thing, but he moved through the city streets carefully, calmly, no particular sense of urgency. I couldn’t tell where we were headed through the rain splatter and the fog on the windows, so I asked the driver but got a cold croak and and nothing more.

After a while what seemed like deliberately circuitous tooling we pulled over and waited by the awning of a nice apartment building, brick and stone and who knows how high. A doorman in his gold and black gatekeeping uniform was standing behind the glass and wrought iron doors out of the rain. Behind him, a young man with a slick haircut, gray suit, sitting in the foyer. I noted his posture and was sure to correct my own.

The driver handed me a business card. The name on it said Chef Matsuzaka. It had a phone number and a symbol I recognized as the same letter above Fishy Smell.

I went out and introduced myself. Right away, I knew this guy was not thrilled. I tried not to take it personally. It might not have been just me though. It might have been the whole week, a lot of different stuff I had no control over piling on. We got in. He kept his distance, as much distance as you can inside a moderately commodious limousine. After a few minutes, he sighed impatiently, breaking the silence.

“You are…Mr. Mastiff, I presume?”

“That’s right. You can call me Lou or Louie. Whatever you like.”

“An appropriate name for a bodyguard. Ordinarily I would be somewhat satisfied with this pairing, but I’m afraid your reputation precedes you.”

“Reputation?”

“Well you didn’t exactly excel in your previous assignment.” He brushed his hands over his suit pants, annoyed by some kind of blemish.

“I…had some…” I felt my hand reaching for my pockets, “I felt like…that was a doomed… kind of…thing.“

“Don’t stress, Mr. Mastiff. This is a dangerous industry. Mercury poisoning, immaculately honed blades, weapons-grade wasabi: in my world these are merely the hazards of the kitchen. Much like the succulent maitake mushroom grows from a primeval fungal substrate, the humble, elegant nigiri can only manifest out of the perilous sushi underworld. Might I guess…you did not quite realize what you’ve gotten yourself into?”

“I don’t usually.”

“I suppose that might have contributed to that fateful lapse in attention that as you say doomed our old friend Takuto. But things have changed. This will not be like your old job. You are with me and I am not Takuto. I don’t have a death wish. So now that you’re in it, I will explain to you what the situation is.”

“I just guard the bodies. That’s really the whole situation as it pertains to me. At least that’s what Alonso tells me.”

He paused for a moment. “That may be. That may be.” There was a long silence. The car continued its meandering through the streets, the rain incessant, the traffic getting lighter, the turns more frequent.

“You know,” he finally said, still staring out the at the dreary city, “I said before that I am not Takuto, that I don’t have a death wish. I take it back. I am Takuto. I am his double, his replacement. A new set of limbs, head, torso, and a complete set of testicles, all belonging to Boss Senju. That means my friend, you also belong to Boss Senju. Together we are nothing more than the corporeal stand-in for some gear as part of a relentless machine beneath the city.”

“That’s more like what I meant, yes.”

“And I take it back. I do have a death wish. Why else would I be in this business?”

“Okay.”

“How about you? Can I rely on you to also have a death wish?”

“A wish to die?”

“Yes.”

“Um. Yeah, I can get behind that.”

“Okay, great. We’re done with lesson one.”

“Sorry, can you give me a quick summary of lesson one?”

“The second lesson is this: Boss Senju, whom you’ve already met, is old. This may not come as a surprise, but trust me, when I say old, I mean old. Older than you might think. Mythologically old. But he’s fierce — he clings to life like a cornered scorpion. As life fades around him, as the walls close in, he is becoming increasingly hostile to his council. He senses the end is near. We are all within striking distance, so keep back and check the exits.”

“Got it.”

“Third.”

“Okay.”

“Third. The people who retired Takuto were as much your bosses as he was. If anyone is to retire me, you should not consider them your bosses. Got it?”

“So who is my boss?”

“Senju didn’t appreciate Takuto’s services any longer. He may have for a while, or else Takuto never would have lasted as long as he did. Nonetheless, there was a change in management, a change in authority. It remains to be seen whether he appreciates me. He doesn’t particularly like Americans, and he especially despises the east coast. Sushi is mostly a Pacific coast endeavor. That means, in Senju’s eyes, no one off the west coast will have the authority to speak on the country’s sushi affairs. I don’t really care. I’m a chef by training, not a politician. I don’t need more headaches. The west coast is overwhelming. The fish boats…don’t even get me started. Real pirate-types. Seven fingers total and can still bulls-eye a sardine with a gutting knife from thirty yards out. I’m fine with that kind of look in the kitchen but on a boat, out in the open waters, it’s a totally different story.”

“I can’t really swim, in case that’s part of the job. Alonso already knows.”

“He’ll leave us alone, if we keep out of his way, is what I’m saying. So just stay back, keep your eyes on the exits. Okay?”

“Of course.”

“I’m sorry,” said Matsuzaka, breathing a little heavier. “I’m just a little nervous.”

“You don’t have to be, Mr. Matsuzaka. I’ve learned a lot from my weeks on this job, and I have a great record from earlier in my career.”

He eyed me again, squinting a little, like he could smell the odor of the lie that had just came out of my mouth. Truth is, my career hadn’t been going quite as planned. Aside from the botched A traditional chain of promotion doesn’t usually go from cop to P.I. to bodyguard. At this rate I’ll be a parking lot security guard in six months. Also having let my previous Body get street surgery didn’t give me much of a negotiating stance.

“Tonight’s dinner is very important. It only happens twice a year. All twelve regional bosses and Boss Senju will be present. Senju will make a speech. It remains to be seen how the bosses will react. Since I’m new to the group, I haven’t been involved in their private discussions and strategizings. I’m going to have to think on my toes. It also just so happens that, unknown to most of the world, there is a cosmological aberration taking place this evening that has already caused the sun to set fifteen minutes earlier than usual, and may cause other distressing changes to the environment. That’s not something you need to worry about. Just thought you might be interested.

I wasn’t quite sure if he posed that last thing he said as a question, so I kept to my training and stiffened my chin. Luckily, just then the car pulled over and the driver unlocked the doors.

Matsuzaka turned toward me and said, “Okay, let’s get out of there alive!”

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winterballads · 7 years

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Fairy tales and their significance in SKAM

Here’s a translation of an excellent comment written by #teamtruelove about the “Ønske deg av hjertet alle gode ting” clip.

The original fairy tales which are discussed can be found here and here.

Please let me know if there’s anything in my translation that you don’t agree with! <3

In the fairy tale translation challenge on the Hei Briskeby channel, the boys read out excerpts from two fairy tales: “The Twelve Wild Ducks” and “The Town-mouse and the Fell-mouse.”

The queen's nosebleed is what starts off “The Twelve Wild Ducks,” whereas the SKAM trailer ends with Even's nosebleed. “As she leaned against the fence and looked at the red blood and the white snow, she reflected that she had twelve sons and no daughter, and she told herself: had I a daughter white as snow and red as blood, then I would wish the same for my sons.” The nosebleed is what reminds the queen of something she’s been missing and yearning for all her life, and so, in SKAM, I don’t think it means that Even is going to get hurt. It means that he’s going to get the balloon squad back.

When her blood falls on the snow, the queen gets a daughter as she wished — but the price for this is that she loses her sons, who are transformed into wild ducks and take off. When the boys' sister Snehvit og Rosenrød becomes older, she goes and looks for them. She’s given the chance to save them, under the condition that she picks cotton clothing for each brother without saying a single word until her task has been accomplished. At one point, she’s condemned to be burnt at the stake because her stepmother has taken her children from her and, having smeared blood on her mouth, claims Snehvit og Rosenrød has eaten her own children. The innocent woman can’t speak out, for talking would break the spell and make it impossible for her to save her brothers — but her brothers appear at the last moment, giving her the chance to finally speak again. In the SMS roulette video, the balloon squad uses flame emojis when they’re talking about Even. Now, Even must be given the opportunity to speak for himself. Are the Bakka boys going to be the ones to make this happen at last? I believe we’ve been looking at this the wrong way the whole time. Many have been saying that the balloon squad is after Even and that they're going to sacrifice him to the bonfire — but actually, they’re going to save him, and he’s going to save them back. Just how many constellations of people saving each other are there left this season?

Before getting into the second fairy tale, I’d like to mention this: someone has pointed out to me that Twin Peaks has a long scene in which the characters eat carrots and talk about the importance of telling the truth. In SKAM, what if carrots are not only a reminder of something beautiful Sana and Yousef shared, but also a symbol of truth? Sana eats the first carrot and tells all the truth that there is to tell about herself — or at any rate one of her truths, namely that about Saranors2. The next to eat carrots are the Bakka boys, though Yousef appears to be dejected in contrast to the others in the group and ends up taking a noticeably smaller carrot. The last carrot we’ve seen so far is eaten by Noora.

“The Town-mouse and the Fell-mouse” is about two mice from two very different worlds. They’re not able to agree on who has the best life, but they decide to visit each other. First, the Town-mouse goes to the fell. She thinks it’s okay, but in her opinion it can’t compare to the luxury of the town. Then, the Fell-mouse goes to town and is met with an abundance of food and drink, so much so that the Fell-mouse gets drunk on beer (which she had never tasted before) and ends up dancing so thoughtlessly that she’s almost devoured by a cat. She narrowly manages to escape and goes back home, saying: “You say that this is a good life, a better life than mine? May God grant me less, then, rather than such a big farm and a hawk for futility! I was lucky to slip away alive.” The town and the fell represent the buss vs. the looser van in SKAM. Sana is the fell-mouse who is almost lured into the russebuss and behaves in an irrational, dangerous way, but eventually manages to escape the claws of the buss without losing her friends in the process.

However, I also think the fairy tale about the mice can be flipped around. When Isak and Sana talk in “Fakker over vennene sine,” they end up disagreeing in some respects, just like the two mice do. Their main disagreement revolves around who has it worst. Isak has been criticised (rightfully so) for not quite understanding the scope of Sana’s predicament, but the same can be said of Sana as well. When she tells Isak that nobody can see that he’s different, she seems to imply he has it easy in comparison to her, but that’s not ncessarily true. She’s right, nobody can see that he’s gay — and that means that Isak must constantly decide whether or not he wants to make people aware of it, or whether he should simply let people think that he’s straight (which is what most automatically assume without even realising). Isak must take the conscious, active decision to do something which Sana’s hijab does for her. No wonder that many queer people embrace some of the stereotypes out there and make them into their markers, their banners, their hijab! I feel like this is a way of taking away the haters’ weapons. “Gay” can’t be used as an attack when one is comfortable and proud of being it. But this also means that LGBT people must go around continually affirming their identity, without necessarily having a coming out talk with each person they meet. Another consequence of homosexuality not being visible externally is that the feeling of being an aberration can be aggravated every time someone assumes one is hetero. That is a very real struggle, just like hate towards Muslims is real. But, like Isak told Sana, I think a lot of it is caused by ignorance. Much of the perceived criticism against homosexuality which gay people living under the radar have to deal with every day is usually plain thoughtlessness and lack of awareness. The use of the word “gay” as an insult is actually not only thoughtless: it’s also intrinsically wrong. Be it as it may, “gay” is a word which has become part of our day-to-day language and is often uttered without thinking and without any ill intention. Not everybody who uses it is homophobic. This is illustrated in Mahdi’s remark to Isak in “Ikke vær frekk”: “What’s your deal, are you a homo or what?” We know by now that Mahdi is anything but homophobic, and yet even he makes that kind of comment without really considering the implications it could have.

I suspect that the impending drama at the end of this season will give both Sana and Isak the opportunity to better understand the full extent of each other’s situation. They’ve learnt so much from each other already, and they can still learn much more.

Sana and Even are placed at the two ends of the trailer. The trailer starts with Even and ends with Sana, whereas the chain reaction starts with Sana and ends with Even. The only thinkable option in my mind is that Sana and Even’s stories belong together somehow. Their experiences have so much in common. And we see them both from their own unique perspective: Sana on the inside, Even on the outside. Sana in the present, Even in the past. For me, it’s obvious that the two characters’ subplots are connected to each other. Sana starts a chain reaction which (as it seems right now) might end up with Even finally getting the chance to get back together with the Bakka boys — but could this process also set something off which might have repercussions for Sana as well? After all, this is Sana’s season, so I assume it’s her who’s going to be the most affected by all this drama.

#i found this comment incredible and immediately felt the need to share it :)#lowkey hoping i didn't make any ugly translation errors fdgdhjs but i promise i really did my best #skam #sana bakkoush #theskamfam #text: skam

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clickbliss · 5 years

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The Caligula Effect Overdose Review

by Amr (@siegarettes)

The Caligula Effect Overdose

Developer: FURYU Corporation

Publisher: NIS America

PS4, PC, Switch

When I originally reviewed The Caligula Effect for the Vita I found it to be a dire RPG, with a half-baked story and combat that was held back by its abysmal technical performance. I questioned the merit of returning to it for a PS4 remake. Still, I was curious if any of the original game could be salvaged. So once again I found myself, like the game’s protagonists, stuck in an endless loop of high school life.

A quick refresher for those who (justifiably) skipped the original release of Caligula: during a speech welcoming the incoming class, you begin to hallucinate, seeing distortions in the world around you, and in the faces of your classmates. You’ve “graduated” and become aware of the true nature of the world, specifically, that it’s a simulation named Moebius, whose residents live an endless loop of high school life, finishing school only to return to their first year again.

Moebius is the creation of Mu, a virtual idol who seeks to bring comfort to fans of hers who’ve experienced trauma, and provide them with a world free of pain. Your attempts to escape Moebius bring you into conflict with Digiheads, people corrupted by their strong desire to escape their lives, and the Ostinato Musicians, students who compose music for Mu and seek to increase her influence. Basically, you gotta fight Vocaloid stans and artists who refuse to stop posting and log off.

To stop them each of the members of the Going-Home Club have to awaken to their inner desires, channeling their strong impulses through the Catharsis Effect, which allows them to fight back against Moebius. Basically their arms turn into guns and stuff.

It’s a loaded premise, full of interesting directions to pursue. Questions about the nature of fandom, virtual personhood, the value of pushing back against a restrictive society and particularly the endless adolescence, are all potent for thematic conflicts. The endless high school life and stunted growth that comes with escapism could easily form a strong meta-commentary, taking aim at the culture and fans of anime and games that constantly returns to high school life and sometimes feels incapable of moving on. Or it could provide commentary on a homogeneous society with little tolerance for aberrations.

Don’t worry, they don’t do anything meaningful with any of these themes. Instead characters get their catharsis by talking at length about how much they hate fat people and other inane garbage, while the main plot relitigates the value of escapism in a format that’s been done better by other games and half the isekai genre.

Overdose is largely the same story, aside from allowing you to play as a female protagonist, introducing a few characters (one of which is even more unlikable than the original cast), and adding scenarios that allow you to take sides with the Ostinato Musicians. It definitely bulks up the story, but it’s hard to argue that it meaningfully alters it. The script does get small improvements, and in one case it helps make a character read more like their awakening come as a result of strong determination, rather than having a tantrum.

Most of the meaningful revisions come as a result to changes to the UI and battle system. Functionally, it’s mostly the same, but a visual overhaul and technical changes turn make the game a lot more readable. The UI moves the grungy, noisy art direction to a more fitting pop aesthetic, with the textured black elements becoming lighter, pastel colors with slight transparencies. Battle icons also take up a lot less screen estate, letting the visuals breathe and allowing the hectic and often crowded battles more room before they turn unreadable.

Best of all, the instant battle transitions now bloom into lovely pastel arenas, with digitized effects dancing around the borders, creating a window into the setting around you. The improved presentation works strongly in Caligula’s favor, since the battle system carried me through most of my time with it. Essentially, you’re using a series of predictions to carry out a chain of up to three actions per character, attempting to inflict status effects to interrupt enemy attacks and put them into a vulnerable state.

Characters move according to turn order, but their actions occur in real time once executed, and can be fine tuned to better interact with other characters’ moves. For example, you might set one character up to they counter two enemies’ melee attacks and send them airborne, have other characters juggle them with ranged attacks, then have another follow up when the enemy is downed to finish them off. It turns battles into interesting tactical problems, which when dealt with well become spectacles of stylish combos and super moves that lend a flair that calls to mind character action games. With good decision making even bosses can be interrupted and run over with the same momentum, providing a satisfying reward for playing well.

Of course, that’s only when everything plays out the way you want. Caligula throws a wrinkle into its battle system--the predictions of the enemy moves aren’t always accurate. The stronger the enemy the more likely they’ll be able to outwit you, and having backup plans to ensure your combos go off properly is key. Characters also need time to recharge their skill points after a few turns, which requires some long term planning to make sure you aren’t standing around out of energy while the enemy runs you over. These considerations keep battles from being predictable, but also makes an already finicky system more touchy. So while higher level enemies still prove engaging, later battles, with tons of fodder enemies and a larger squad of teammates, turns into a cacophony of abilities and explosions that are honestly better left to the auto-battle option.

At its most messy, these battles still provide the main impetus to keep playing, and Overdose’s welcome makeover helped it get closer to its ambition. It’s the one part of the game I can say I found all around enjoyable. The same can’t be said for its ambitious social system, which incorporates and massive web of characters to talk to, both in person and over the game’s version of the LINE messaging app. There are literally hundreds of these NPCs, each which you can have a quick chat with to raise your affinity with, rewarding you with bonuses and unlocking other, more reserved characters in the massive relationship chart.

While I appreciate the sheer amount of effort it takes just to name these characters none of them have a unique appearance or dialogue, mostly spouting stock lines that barely make any sense. Worse, your chats with them over messenger amount to you sending them a series of random questions with no connecting throughline. I don’t know about you, but if someone kept asking if I liked strawberries or oranges then jumped to something like what my greatest fear was the next sentence I’d think they were a bot trying to get my passwords, not a relatable human being. You party doesn’t fare much better, since not even they get real conversations.

It’s even harder to escape comparisons to other high school life RPGs now, then it was at the time of its original release. Even if I’m not a fan of it, Persona 5’s shadow looms large over Caligula, since it explores similar themes and shares a history. Closer to Caligula’s scale, and maybe more relevant, Blue Reflection--Gust’s magical girl RPG--also released since then, which incorporates several similar ideas, but executes them more successfully. It’s hard not to look at the unique social media interactions and personal problems Blue Reflection gives to your schoolmates and see a better implementation of the generic, stock dialogue Caligula assigns to its high schoolers. It puts into perspective how thoughtless Caligula feels on that front.

I’m glad to see more games explore the space around modern day settings, and I’m all for more fake LINE interfaces where I can chat with friends. At the same time I can’t help but see that as a primary mode where The Caligula Effect Overdose falters. It can’t get by on the sheer novelty of the setting anymore, not with so many other notable players, and the story it tells nowhere near matches the ambition elsewhere.

Worse, it’s genuinely ugly and cruel in places where it doesn’t feel justified, and which it never earns the right to be. Every social aspect of the game is riddled with narrative shortcuts, hoping to blast through the story fast enough and overwhelm you with a massive quantity so that you don’t notice that it’s not telling a story with any substance. Overdose makes it more tolerable, and highlights the more enjoyable aspects of the combat and artwork, but in doing so ends up bringing further into focus the other places Caligula is lacking.

#caligula effect #caligula effect overdose #review #ps4 #switch #nintendo switch #rpg

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nightingveilxo · 7 years

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When is Richard Brook, Not Richard Brook? When The Doctor is In

As most of my mutuals know by now, I think we’re somewhere still in S2, with 3 and 4 being in various character’s minds. But, this discussion from @waitedforgarridebs prompted more research on my end (even though the question at the end was a joke), added new elements about Mary and Molly, and worked in the upcoming con in LA. It does get into the scheme of Dr. Who overlaps though, which we already have many instances of all through Sherlock. So, this is a bit crack theory, a bit not.

TRF

SHERLOCK: Tell me what you want from me. (The man stares at him wide-eyed but doesn’t speak. Sherlock moves the gun’s muzzle closer to him.) SHERLOCK: Tell me. ASSASSIN: He left it at your flat. (AGRA/Mary/Ajay) SHERLOCK: Who? ASSASSIN: Moriarty. SHERLOCK: What? (All three of them start to get to their feet, Sherlock still holding the gun on the other man.) ASSASSIN: The computer keycode. SHERLOCK: Of course. He’s selling it – the programme he used to break into the Tower. He planted it when he came around. (Just like “Faith” will later plant a note in Sherlock’s possession in TLD.) (Three gunshots ring out and the assassin reels and drops to the ground. Sherlock stares up in the direction the bullets came from, then swings around and he and John race off. As police sirens approach again, they duck into an open doorway and yet another police car drives past the end of the road. They take a moment to catch their breath.) SHERLOCK: It’s a game-changer. It’s a key – it can break into any system and it’s sitting in our flat right now. That’s why he left that message telling everyone where to come. “Get Sherlock.” We need to get back into the flat and search. JOHN: CID’ll be camped out. Why plant it on you? SHERLOCK: It’s another subtle way of smearing my name. Now I’m best pals with all those criminals. (John has spotted a pile of newspapers nearby and he picks up the top copy.) JOHN: Yeah, well, have you seen this? (It’s a copy of “The Sun” – the same edition that Mycroft had at the Diogenes Club that morning, telling of the upcoming exposé by Kitty Riley. John shows it to Sherlock.) JOHN: A kiss and tell. Some bloke called Rich Brook. (Sherlock slowly turns his head – clearly the name means something to him. John is still looking at the paper and doesn’t see his expression.) JOHN: Who is he?

Fast forward...

KITTY: Oh I’ll ... I’ll be doing the explaining – in print. (She hands John a folder.) It’s all here – conclusive proof. (John looks at an early typed sheet of her upcoming article, then turns to the proof copy showing the layout of how it will appear in the newspaper, with spaces left for photographs. The headline reads, “Sherlock’s a fake!” with the strapline, “He invented all the crimes”.) KITTY (looking at Sherlock): You invented James Moriarty, your nemesis. JOHN (upset): Invented him? KITTY: Mmm-hmm. Invented all the crimes, actually – and to cap it all, you made up a master villain. JOHN: Oh, don’t be ridiculous!

So now, John and Sherloch both have the concept of inventing a master villain in their minds, which might explain why the villains after Moriarty are all progressively worse than the one before.

Remember the video ‘Richard Brook is real’ from 2012? Linking in below, for those that never saw it. What if Brook the actor was an actual person, but the man we knew as Moriarty wasn’t him, and The Doctor ended up in 221B to help Sherlock resolve the matter, because he knew the world at the time needed Sherlock Holmes? The Final Problem: The world will always need Sherlock Holmes, and fans won’t let him die.

Richard Brook - 5′ 10″ Andrew Scott - 5′ 8″

Possible John didn’t notice or that Moriarty is meant to be taller, and it could be a hint of how John didn’t recognize something physiologically important, which then resurfaced with the bones and skull in TFP. Easy to overlook the first time, but John actually reviews the printouts a second time, out in the street after he and Sherlock try to follow Moriarty. Also, Moriarty’s CV only has the height, no mention of weight or hair color, which is unusual for an actor’s CV--even one including a photo. The photo is credited to Arwel, from 2010.

Kitty shows John all the evidence, and says it’s conclusive, but it’s all printouts from off a computer or photocopies. One image doesn’t even have the image of Brook, just an X in a box.

When Sherlock goes to visit Molly, his questions to her are almost the same remarks John will later make in TLD. Molly counts, and don’t ever think otherwise.

BART’S. Molly comes out of a small side room in a lab, switches off the lights and walks across the darkened lab, sighing tiredly. As she reaches the door to the corridor, Sherlock is standing in the darkness behind her with his face turned away from her. She doesn’t see him and reaches for the door handle. SHERLOCK: You’re wrong, you know. (She gasps and jumps, spinning around towards him.) SHERLOCK: You do count. You’ve always counted and I’ve always trusted you. (He turns his head towards her.) SHERLOCK: But you were right. I’m not okay. MOLLY: Tell me what’s wrong. SHERLOCK (slowly walking towards her): Molly, I think I’m going to die. MOLLY: What do you need? SHERLOCK (still slowly approaching her): If I wasn’t everything that you think I am – everything that I think I am – would you still want to help me? (She gazes up at him as he stops close to her.) MOLLY: What do you need? (He steps even closer, his expression intense.) SHERLOCK: You.

TLD

JOHN: She thought that if you put yourself in harm’s way I’d ... I’d rescue you or something. But I didn’t – not ’til she told me to. (He briefly glances towards Mary as he says ‘she.’) And that’s how this works. That’s what you’re missing. (He points towards Mary.) She taught me to be the man she already thought I was. Get yourself a piece of that. SHERLOCK: Forgive me, but you are doing yourself a disservice. I have known many people in this world but made few friends, and I can safely say ... JOHN: I cheated on her. (Sherlock stops. Mary straightens up from where she was leaning on the back of the chair, looking shocked. John gestures towards Sherlock.) JOHN: No clever comeback? (Immediately he turns to directly face the ghost of his wife.) JOHN: I cheated on you, Mary. (Sherlock blinks, perhaps realising what’s happening, but he stays silent as he turns his head towards where John is looking.) JOHN: There was a woman on the bus, and I had a plastic daisy in my hair. I’d been playing with Rosie. (He pauses for a moment then raises his eyes.) And this girl just smiled at me. (Mary gazes back at him. There is no condemnation on her face.) JOHN: That’s all it was; it was a smile. (Sherlock’s eyes turn back to John.) JOHN (to Mary): We texted constantly. You wanna know when? Every time you left the room, that’s when. When you were feeding our daughter; when you were stopping her from crying – that’s when. (Mary lowers her eyes and gives a small smile. John swallows, his eyes starting to fill with tears.) JOHN: That’s all it was, just texting. (Sherlock has lowered his eyes and is gazing into the distance.) JOHN: But I wanted more. (Sherlock lifts his head and his eyes to John again. Mary is smiling tearfully at her man.) JOHN: And d’you know something? I still do. I’m not the man you thought I was; I’m not that guy. I never could be. But that’s the point. (He sniffs, then looks at her as his eyes fill with more tears. He bites his lip and speaks tearfully.) That’s the whole point. (Again he bites his lip. Mary looks back at him, her own eyes filled with tears. She smiles at him as he speaks again.) JOHN: Who you thought I was ... (she nods at him) ... is the man who I want to be. (He swallows, fighting off his tears. She smiles gently back at him.) MARY (softly): Well, then ... John Watson ... (She raises her head and smiles widely and fondly at him. He stares back at her. She looks at him for a long moment.) MARY: Get the hell on with it. (She nods at him and smiles through her tears. The perspective changes and she has gone. John stares ahead of himself for a long moment, then gradually lowers his head into his left hand and starts to cry. Sherlock quietly puts his mug onto the table beside him, then stands up. John sobs, tears pouring from his face and falling to the floor. Slowly Sherlock walks across to him.) SHERLOCK (softly): It’s okay. (He tentatively raises his arms, perhaps hesitating momentarily for fear of being rejected again, then slowly puts his left hand onto John’s arm and his right hand onto his back before sliding it upwards to gently cradle his neck. He moves closer, sliding his left arm up to hold John’s shoulder.) JOHN (tearfully): It’s not okay. SHERLOCK (softly): No. (He lowers his cheek onto the top of John’s head.) SHERLOCK (softly): But it is what it is.

We’ve already seen that the hug is done much the same as when John hugs Sherlock in TSoT. It’s all coming from memory, and trickling into S4.

Speaking of memory... TD12. Lots of speculation on that one, and I’ve written a meta of my own talking about the levels of personality aberration in psychiatrics, and TD12 also being a data storage system that would have been in use during HOB (if Sherlock was concerned his Mind Palace might be damaged or altered).

But, what if TD12 was a callback to TRF and a Mary connection? Look again at the photo of Kitty above, and these...Look at her tailored clothing, blue, gold neck chain. What happens in S4? Everyone is wearing tailored clothing, and blue, except for Molly.

Now, notice the photo from Rachel’s recent well wishes to Amanda. When I first looked at it, I thought her hair was pulled back in a low bun. She’s wearing a gold chain necklace, which I mention the instances of seeing in this short discussion.

And this one from pre S4, of Amanda in a red wig (which we never saw in S4.)

And Elizabeth from TLD. We’re just repeating redheads everywhere by S4.

T...D...D...12...12...Tattooed Disillusioned Dem Size 12 12

Molly ends up in the same (completely buttoned) cherry sweater she was wearing in TGG when she introduced Moriarty to Sherlock and John...

TRF (partially unbuttoned) when she helps Sherlock before and after the Richard Brook revelation...

and finishes out TFP montage wearing an upbuttoned version of the same sweater and slacks. (She also wears one very Molly-style dress in T6T, a tailored outfit with striped shirt in TLD, and the same sweater she wore when helping fill in/mirror for John during TEH.)

If you think maybe that’s all coincidental, just know that the striped shirt mentioned above, was a callback to this shirt in TBB, but in T6T it’s buttoned up all the way to her chin, and gone is her relaxed manner.

They’re all instances of when Sherlock turned to Molly for help or communication. Also, same tailored style as Kitty, but very much in a Molly way. John also has his own version in TBB and TRF. Sherlock loses his Belstaff Armor during TFP, but is miraculously given it back during the episode. Molly has her own versions, because she’s the one person on which Sherlock always relies (even when it’s all in someone’s mind.)

Overlook...

Now, what if The Doctor did get involved in the events of TRF, and changed the game? Before you scoff, just know that Moffat and group did that via a special in Dr. Who, and it altered seven seasons of how viewers saw The Doctor’s story. The books on the shelves of 221B from S4, are even linked to what goes on the lab during HOB.

Which brings us back to... ( x )

Also, remember this happened...

Moffat in 2015 on Possible Sherlock/Dr. Who Crossover

Collider: Are you surprised that people seem to always want to know about the possibility of a cross-over between Doctor Who and Sherlock?

Moffat: That’s a question that I get asked so often, and I can’t keep answering it. It’s all right for Doctor Who. That’s fine. But it would change Sherlock’s life, if he met the Doctor and knew that time travel was possible. He’d have to factor that into every crime he solved. And do we really think that Sherlock Holmes lived through a Dalek invasion? I don’t think he did. I think he’d have mentioned it by now. It’s not going to happen. That’s just the truth of it. ( x )

What was it again that Kitty said during TRF? Oh, yes...

KITTY: Mmm-hmm. Invented all the crimes, actually – and to cap it all, you made up a master villain. JOHN: Oh, don’t be ridiculous!

Sherlock, S4: Premonitions, repeating cases, predicting behavior two weeks in advance of the actual events, childhood Eurus telling Mycroft he looks funny as a grown-up/materializes in 221B for a few moments, etc

Side Note: In 2014, Moffat said he had a photo of Sherlock and John in the TARDIS, but it was never shown.

The most recent element might have just gone into place for Sherlock Event in LA. Amanda was scheduled to be there, and a topic for questions was Marvelous Mary Morstan.

Except, then Andrew was confirmed, and Jonathan was added/confirmed (maybe was going to be there anyway, but we don’t know for sure). A few other things changed, too.

From Sherlock To Sci-Fi. Every Good Fairytale Needs a Villain was already in place.

Moriarty’s Pool Party

Up On The Roof.

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@waitedforgarridebs @tjlcisthenewsexy @monikakrasnorada @may-shepard @smoljohnlock @swimmingfeelsinajohnlockianpool @sherlockians-get-bored @princess-of-fireflies @darlingtonsubstitution @justshadethings @loveteaelephants @shadow3214 @devoursjohnlock @gosherlocked @marathecactupus

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thoughtsfromfiction · 7 years

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Colossal: The Kaiju Honey-Trap to Lure in Misogynists

**WARNING: SPOILERS AHEAD**

When I walked into the theater to watch Colossal I thought I knew what I was getting into: the film had set up its audience for a fun mash-up between a kaiju film and an indie romcom. Anne Hathaway plays Gloria, a thirty something screw up trying to make it in NYC. She drinks too much, parties too hard, and just does not have her sh** together. The story starts when her uptight British boyfriend can’t take her shenanigans anymore so he breaks up with her and kicks her out. Gloria returns to her hometown where who should she run into but childhood friend and Resident Nice Guy, Oscar (played by Jason Sudeikis). Maybe with the help of his down-to-earth charm and small-town thoughtfulness Gloria will experience some good, old emotional growth. Just look at that budding romance:

Oh, and Gloria also discovers that she is somehow connected to a giant, even colossal, monster that mysteriously appeared in Seoul, South Korea that nicely sets up all sorts of metaphors about inner demons and alcoholism and the external consequences of our actions, and whatever, that’s not what this essay is about. But minus the giant monster, we’ve all seen this movie, right?

Spoiler alert: Wrong.

When Oscar drives into Gloria’s life in his red pickup truck, he is everything you’d expect from a small-town nice guy. Laid back, friendly, helpful, and the antithesis of her ex-boyfriend Tim (played by Dan Stevens) who was uptight, British, and hyper-critical. Oscar in contrast doesn’t judge Gloria’s behavior but unobtrusively tries to help her. He gives her a job at his bar and introduces her to his friends. He even gives her a TV and a futon. We learn that he has long-lasting feelings for Gloria dating back to their childhood, but he doesn’t push it because he’s a “nice guy.”

Enter the Robot.

Oscar emerges from the wings in which he’s been perpetually waiting for Gloria to come back and fall for him with a colossal counterpart of his own.

What’s going to happen next? What evil will emerge for the two of them to join together and fight? What life lessons will our protagonists learn about themselves?

In short: Oscar is going to metaphorically chain Gloria to him because the evil that emerges is domestic violence and the only lesson they’ll learn is that a guy doesn’t have to be a rich, megalomaniac to be an abuser (although that certainly doesn’t inhibit - for more details see the current US president), abusive a**hole potential can just as easily be found in the boring, average, nice guys.

One could try to argue that his giant robot avatar sets him apart from most guys, but that isn’t what makes him a bad guy. His ability to control a giant robot in Seoul only enables him to exert power and control over Gloria, it doesn’t create that desire; that is all him. Speaking of power and control, I think it’s time to direct our attention to the Power and Control Wheel:

Oscar manages to use most of these tactics over the course of the film. The first red flag the audience saw that the Resident Nice Guy wasn’t so nice was when he got unjustifiably jealous over his cute friend. He used the fact that she slept with his friend to justify his mean and controlling behavior. As if they had made some silent agreement that his niceness and generosity were contingent on the fact that they would eventually enter into a romantic relationship. A silent, imaginary agreement that she violated and therefore deserved to be treated like garbage. By giving her a job and furniture he is able to control her economically and make her feel that she is somehow in his debt. When Gloria tried to call him out on his behavior, rather than owning up to it, he deployed some armor-piercing emotional abuse and minimized his behavior by comparing it to the time that she fell, accidentally killing hundreds of people. Finally, he threatened the people of Seoul to blackmail her into staying much like real-life abusers use children and loved ones.

Now because we didn’t know that we were in a domestic violence movie, most of us probably overlooked or were quick to forgive all of these microaggressions. The fact that he had been keeping tabs on her ever since she left was sweet, not obsessive. The fact that he repeatedly watched her get drunk to the point of memory loss was just him letting her make her own choices (unlike that hyper-critical Tim); he wasn’t purposefully getting her drunk so that he could more easily manipulate her. The fact that he freaked out at Joel when he tried to kiss her wasn’t possessive it was protective.

It's only with hindsight and context that the audience can reinterpret Oscar’s actions as controlling.

Even after Oscar goes full, evil villain and threatens to destroy a town, Gloria (and probably a lot of people in the audience) still treat him like the Resident Nice Guy. Oscar isn't set up as the domestic abuser like in the movies Enough and Sleeping with the Enemy. Those abusers are shown very early to be basically pure evil. Oscar isn't like that. While none of his actions are excusable, it is possible to come up with excuses and explanations for his behavior. He only acts like that when he's drunk, he feels trapped in a small town, he never lived up to his potential, he's trying to hold on to a childhood sweetheart. None of those excuses are valid, but they are very typical. Everyone knows someone who gets unreasonable when they're drunk, who's bitter about their lot in life, and occasionally takes it out on others. So when he apologizes so sincerely, Gloria’s willingness to let it go and to blame his behavior on how drunk he was is understandable. And for like, five minutes, Oscar goes back to being a nice guy, but as soon as things stop going his way again, he reverts right back into his controlling, demeaning tactics towards her.

Which is when I direct attention to the Cycle of Violence.

The film shows its audience two full cycles of violence. This is critical because it is the only way to show that Oscar’s recent behavior isn't an aberration. His apologies, promises, and pleas that he makes at the end of the film cannot be trusted because he has broken those promises before (it helps that literally hundreds of lives are at stake in Seoul). But that moment of hesitation when her avatar monster has Oscar in her clutches is incredibly tense. I for one, didn’t know if she was going to let him go or flick his head right off like a quarter. Ultimately, what justifies her actions is that knowledge in the back of the audience’s head is that he cannot be trusted to keep his word. Because he didn’t before. By taking the time to show two full cycles, the film rejects the idea of a linear devolution from Nice Guy to Piece of Garbage and instead shows that Oscar is actually both...and neither, it depends on where he is in his cycle (menstrual pun intended).

Oscar is so average, he isn’t even the only average a**hole in the film; there are two more. Tim has two major jerk moments, one at the beginning and one when he pretends to be on a business trip to see her again. After that first scene, I really didn’t think we’d see him again. When he showed up again halfway through I was surprised and a little disappointed. Really? The uptight ex really loved her all along and he’s going to swoop in and save her from her nightmare? But Colossal subverted my expectations again. First, they didn’t paint his lying about a business trip and flying all the way out there as cute, they painted it as what it truly would be: weird and disconcerting. Second, the film also showed how equally unromantic and sexist and gross it is for two men to compete with each other for a woman without consulting her at all.

Third, they showed that Tim too had his place on the Power and Control Wheel. He regularly used emotionally abusive tactics to make Gloria feel worthless. He proved that he wasn’t there to help her, but to wear her down with criticisms until she fit his expectations.

Then there’s Joel. Joel is not abusive. He seems like a nice guy, but you know what else he is? Frakking useless. He knows Oscar, has known him for years, he witnesses Oscar’s behavior, sees how vile it is, and does NOTHING. He doesn’t call Oscar out when he mistreats Gloria, and he doesn’t call him out when he’s laying waste to entire neighborhoods. He doesn’t even comfort Gloria, show her any support, a single pat on the shoulder. This is his chance to punch a robot...(once removed)! Be a hero! Instead, the only thing he does is give a tiny little thanks-for-nothing smile while he watches Gloria take care of her own self from the warm safety of a bar.

I’m not saying that by not interfering Noel is “just as bad” as Oscar, what I am going to say is that by not calling Oscar out, he’s perpetuating the idea that what Oscar’s doing and the way he’s treating Gloria is no big deal.

Really the only halfway decent guy the film has in it is the drug addict. He does make some feeble attempts to hold Oscar accountable for his garbage behavior. But once he starts taking on some of the heat himself he’s quick to jet. Gloria is utterly alone. Surrounded by run-of-the-mill jerks who are all part of the problem. The problem being a culture that equates jealousy and obsession with romance, aggression with assertiveness, and demands bros before hoes.

When viewed in that context, the actions of Oscar, Tim, and Joel are no longer so surprising. Oscar wasn’t in a lab accident that turned him into an evil psychopath, he wasn’t secretly an evil psychopath the whole time, he’s just a run-of-the-mill jerk.

He’s the guy who insults you when you try to give him a criticism, the guy who thinks because he bought you dinner so many times that he’s definitely going to get some, the guy who gets jealous of how much time you spend with your friends, the guy who thinks you should be grateful that he didn’t make out with your roommate when he had the chance, the guy who tells you to not be such a b*tch. What makes Oscar a compelling villain is that he isn’t compelling at all: he’s the Jerk Everyman.

...and he need to be stopped.

#colossal #domestic violence #misogyny #feminism

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