#about a post apocalyptic society ruled by birds…

[pectinpeeress]

… I was like halfway through making this before I realized there would probably only be like 8 people who know what ‘Hatoful Boyfriend’ is. I need to stop investing so much time into ideas I got while half asleep the night before…

[floydsglasses]

𝘼 𝙒𝙝𝙞𝙨𝙥𝙚𝙧 𝙉𝙤𝙩 𝘼 𝙔𝙚𝙡𝙡 - Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw (A Quiet Place AU)

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x AFAB OC/ Valerie

SUMMARY: Society has fallen to ruin's where silence is key to survival in a world where most humans have been killed by blind but noise-sensitive creatures. Two unlikely survivors come across each and agree to stick together.

Tag's: Mention of blood/wounds, post apocalyptic setting, use of ASL, Alien creatures. Stranger's to Lover's, Angst, Swearing, Fluff, inacurate first aid, No Use of Y/N A/N: First Story on tumblr, I hope that I did this right and hopefully I didnt mess thing's up too much

WORD COUNT: 7,731

⏁⏁⏁

SOUND. What once was so common is now almost extinct as the human race. The birds no longer flew in the sky, car alarms didn't blast loudly with a touch of a button, soft chatter’s from conversation now replaced with howling of the wind. Everything before was so simple, it was so easy, she didn't have to worry about the sound of leaves crunching under her feet, closing a door too hard, letting out a breath too hard. Now one wrong move in this world, a person’s life is gone in less than a whisper.

Her hand’s trailed over the isles of abandoned goods, she used to love going to the supermarket, seeing people and having a nice conversation with the cashier, kind smile’s.

Now a trip into town is so dreaded, the world is so quiet and it’s almost insufferable to her. Though she would much rather prefer the silence of the world then the harsh darkness of death from the predator's who now ruled the world.

She looks down at her grocery list, written on the back of the brochure for a navel bar, The Hard Deck. Before day 1 of the end of the world, she worked at a cafeteria in a nursing home, after rough day’s she would sometime’s sit at the bar with a bottle of beer. At the moment she much preferred the sound of the man she could catch glimpses of the few night’s playing 60’s tune’s on the piano. She assumed anyone she once knew is gone now.

She slide’s the can of food into her messenger bag, making sure not to stock up too much on the cans, learning the hard way that too much noise will attract the monsters.

Her bare feet smack the ground of the white tiled floor as she turned onto the next aisle.

Food rations were running low for her, and it didn't help that nowhere was safe enough for her. Walking around a desolate San Diego without shoe’s also wasn't ideal. Pain killers, she thought .

A few weeks ago she tripped on the sidewalk, skidding her knee and thigh, not something she would recommend handling without pain killers.

The snap of glass pulls her out of her thought’s. The hair on her arm stood to attention as her heart pounded in her rib cage, eye’s widened fearfully. Her hand grazed her knife holster, gripping the ebony handle. She had never handled a weapon for the purpose of hurting another human, not before this new world began.

Her breath shake’s as she lightly step’s around the corner. Unsheathing the blade from her waist. Monster’s were not the only threat in the world, the people, rumors at least swirled of groups of people calling themselve’s Bandits ruled parts of the city. She had not ventured that far, she was hell bent on finding somewhere away from the city, anywhere that was safe.

She huffed, swinging her blade as she rounded the aisle corner. She panted, her head darting in each direction. All that remained were leaves blown in from the broken front door, a few item’s laid on the ground.

She shook her head. Paranoia much. She rolled her eye’s, putting her knife back into its holster. You know you are totally crazy. Her bare feet turned on the edge to go back to her original isle.

Her arm’s smack into a metal stand, it began to fall to the floor. She gasped quickly trying to stop its descent. Its pamphlet’s crashed with metallic bang. Her eyes widened in horror as her heart raced, blood drained from her face.

Oh God, she panicked. Roar’s in the distance began to cry out at the sound. She stood frozen in fear, panting as she desperately fought against her sense telling to hide.

She let out a gasp as she was brought to the floor. She expected to be met with darkness, her eye’s closed tight awaiting the pain from the sharp talon’s of the creature’s that ruled the quiet world.

Shhh. A voice whispered next to her ear, their hot breath sending shivers down her spine. Her heart pounded. Her back was held closely to something..someone.

Her arm’s radiated with warmth, mostly from fear. Could the stranger be holding her back so they can save their own skin, or did they have something else in mind.

No time can pass in her mind as clicking began to fill the supermarket. Footsteps heavy on the tile, a hissing sound filled the air. The stranger behind her shuddered at the sound’s, the two of them both equally fearful.

Click Click.

They sounded. The dark silhouette casted on the ceiling above them on the white bar’s. The stranger’s hand clamped over her mouth as her panting grew erratic, she stood still not daring to move, even with the tight grip around her body from the stranger.

The click’s began to get closer to them, the footsteps heavier with each step. Their dark gray skin tight as their gorilla like movement helps them traipse across the tile. Their flower-like head’s turn slowly in each direction. She guessed they were looking for any sound.

She gulped as she held her breath, restricting her air. Hoping it will limit any sound she may be making, even with the help of the person holding her. She was sure that she was louder then what she may be stopping.

On her spine, a light thump was against her back. Rhythmically repeating at a rapid pace, similar to her own.

The creature’s head twitched with each click from its mouth, searching for her. Its heavy footsteps thudded against the ground as it walked on all fours.

A single tear trailed down her cheek, the heat from the stranger’s hand made the pool of sweat on her forehead fall. With a final twitch of its head, it let out an inhuman, ear piercing roar. A swift move the monster ran out of the supermarket.

A sigh of relief left her lip’s. The calloused hand left her mouth, her shoulders relaxed briefly. Her eyes widened, she reached for the holster that held her knife. A tight grip on wrist stopped her. From the size of his hand, she could tell he was a man, one who worked with his hand’s from the vein’s that popped.

He held on tightly onto her wrist as he got to his feet. Her heartbeat had not stopped racing, adrenaline pumped through her veins. She snapped her head, she had been ready to throw insult’s in, her head at least.

She looked the man up and down. His dirty blonde hair, messy and short. His dark brown eyes scanned her, maybe he saw her as a threat. Though he clearly had a chance of overpowering her. Above his chapped lips laid a thin line of facial hair, she wondered how long it took him to grow it.

He released her hand, putting his hand’s up in surrender. “Who are you?” She signed to him frantically, he blinked at her panicked state. He shook his head.

“I'm not gonna hurt you.” He reassured her she scrunched her nose up.

“Did you follow me?” She signed slowly. He shook his head.

“I was here before you.” The man stated in sign. “Bullshit!” She signed, her brows furrowed in anger.

“I swear.” He swore. In their silent world, she was thankful that she had taken the time prior to learning ASL. She wouldn't have thought it would be useful in a post apocalyptic setting.

Her shoulders relaxed, her jaw remained clinched. “Listen, to me please.” He pleaded with her, she crossed her arms.

He bent down on his knees leaning over grabbing a blue and yellow pamphlet, the world's map of San Diego written in a white font.

He began to carefully unfold it, placing objects on the corner to keep it straightened out. He looks up at her. “Marker?” He signed.

She furrowed her brow, she shook her head no. “What are you doing?” She signed to the stranger.

“Showing you something.” He signed, he looked around at the old store, smirking. He lightly stepped across the tiled floor.

She noted the duct tape on his boot’s, tear’s and rip’s in the leather in each curve, she supposed he had placed the tape to absorb the sound, she hadnt even thought about it.

Beginning to make mark’s on the map, taking pauses to think. His lip’s formed a thin line, he looked at her.

“You see that?” He signed, she shook her head.

“The Circle’s?” She signed to him, even in sign language he could detect the sarcasm she laid on. He gesture’s with two finger’s for her to get down to his level. She bends down to her knees, getting a closer look.

“You see it now?” He signed, she shook her head. He gently grabbed her hand, using his index finger pointing to the center. A green and beige island in the ocean, half a mile from the North Island docks. Her brows furrowed.

“What is that?” She signed. He blinked. “Island, not far from the bay, safe.” He says in sign language, she shook her head.

“Nowhere is safe.” She says.

“You don't know that.” He says, he motioned in frustration. “And you do?” She pointed out.

“Come with me.” He signed, she shook her head at his offer. “No, I don't know you.” She says.

“So..we can help each other.” He tells her, she shook her head in disbelief.

“I don't need your help.” She reassured him, she had gotten pretty far into the two year’s they have been in the apocalypse. His jaw dropped slack.

“You sure?” He challenged, and she nodded her head.

“Look, I can see you don't trust me.” He signed, she shrugged in agreement.

“But If you want to not live in fear of making a noise.” He paused with his hand’s up, he breathed out quietly. Her heart skipped a beat, looking at the brown eye’s of the stranger.

“Then come with me and see if it’s true.” He says.

She crossed her arms over her chest. She eyed the broken object’s on each side of the isle’s. The man in front of her offered her safety, and it had been so long since she last talked with another human being. He had saved her from being alien bait.

“Okay.” She signed to him. He breathed in relief at agreeance.

“One condition.” She state’s, he nodded his head.

“If it turns out to be fake.” She start’s. His gaze on her softened.

“We go our separate ways.” She sign’s, he nods his head.

“Deal.” He signed. The both of them got to their feet, he shuffled, folding up the map and stuffing it away. She lightly picked up her fallen backpack, she still needed supplies.

His brown eyes watched her. Before the alien had crashed in he had caught glimpses of her through the broken shelves. Her hair tucked into a beanie, a windbreaker jacket and jeans, no shoes though. Her own survival tactic he guessed, she seemed focused on her objective of getting what she needed.

“What’s your name?” He ask’s her, she gulps hesitating. She lifts up her hand’s and begin’s to sign out her name.

“Valerie.” She mouthed to him. He smirked. “You?” She asks back.

He runs a hand through his hair, he raises up his hands, slowly signing out the letter’s of his name. “Bradley.”

⏁⏁⏁

THE NEXT FEW days the two survivors had grown close, well as close as two people can when they are only using sign language to communicate.He would fumble on his signing that she would have to guess what he had said.

Her legs ached on each side, they had been making their way out of the inner city, following the highway to the marina. If car’s didn't risk the chance of them being caught their trip would take twenty minutes, now it would be a three day trip on foot, not including them avoiding the creature’s.

Valerie sighed, the morning sun of december shined on the two of them. The sun was high enough she could guess it was eleven in the morning. Bradley and her would both take turns with a large machete, it was heavy in her hand’s that most of the time he was the one welding it.

She feel’s a tap on her shoulder, she turned her head at him. “Are you hungry?” Bradley signed, she shook her head. “No.” She signed.

“I have a fruit cocktail, if you do get hungry.” He signs, her lip’s forming a thin line, smiling softly at his chivalry. She brushed a piece of her hair from her face, the bitter air whipping at her cheeks.

“Thank you.” Valerie say’s. She had grown tired of their small talk;most conversations that had gotten out of one another were about if they were okay, how far they were from their location, and where they should stop to rest.

Not that she didn't appreciate his worry for her, they had to rely on each other if they wanted to make sure they would see the next sunrise. She crossed her arms in her windbreaker, the two walked past run down car’s. Nature had started to reclaim her own, the highway’s covered in greenage and rust set into the metal of the high rise.

“Hey.” She stops him, he turns to look at her, keeping the same pace. “What?” He wondered.

“Before this.” She start’s off, looking away thinking of a question to break the ice. “What did you do, your job?” She ask’s. He runs fingers through his blonde hair in though.

He point’s to the sky, using two finger’s to trace along the white cloud’s. She furrowed her brow trying to understand him. “You..worked in the sky?” She signed.

“A pilot?” Valerie signs, he nods his head. He point’s up again, using two finger’s as a gun.He shot in the sky, she thinks, her eye’s widening as she understands him now.

“Top..gun.” She signed slowly.

“Yeah, and you?” He ask’s, she shakes her head. His job was definitely more eventful than hers. She cleaned table’s, served plates out to elderly people, and sometimes she would deliver to room’s.

“I worked in a cafeteria.” She signed to him. “Kind of boring.” She tells him, he shook his head.

“That’s not boring, that's simple.” Bradley reassured her, she shook her head. “You got to fly in the sky..All I did was serve soup.” Valerie says to him

“I would have loved that.” He tells her. “There were times I just wanted thing’s to be slow.” He admitted to her, she furrowed her brow at his admittance.

“Why did you join then?” Valerie wondered. He sighed, her eye’s drifting down at the grass growing through the cracking line’s of the highway. He gulped as they continued to walk on.

“I just had to.” He says. She nodded her head, she guessed it was a story she had to hear by mouth, which she was sure she would never hear.

“Long story short?” She signed to him, he shrugged his shoulders. “How far are we?” Valerie wonder’s.

“We passed about two, maybe three gas stations.” He tells her, she scoff’s, she hadn't taken the time to note the landmark’s, only keeping in mind how long it will take to get to their destination.

“They all look the same.” She says.

“Everything does.” Bradley remark’s, his movement’s in his hands are slower. She noted that his signing was slower than hers, she guessed he wasn't as fluent or quick in ASL like she is.

“How far from the marina do you think we are?” Valerie asked him, his brow’s furrowed, he looked around at the street signs. He pulls the map from his bag, placing it lightly on a rundown car hood, bringing the red sharpie marking off on it.

“We were at Amo’s street and now we are on 163.” He signed to her. She stands close to him looking down at the map. He had taken the time to mark off on each site they passed.

“Okay and how much further?” She wonder’s. His brown eye’s look at the map. “Fourteen miles .” He guessed

“Seriously?” She ask’s, she dropped her hand’s at her side in frustration. ”I think you are pulling my boob.” She joke’s, he furrowed his brow at her signing, got to teach him some thing’s.

“It's only been a few day’s.” He point’s out, she rolled her eye’s. A few day’s in this world was a lifetime with how long it takes to travel.

“Feel’s longer.” She remarked.

“You can still get leave.” He reminds her, she sighed. He was right, she didn't have to stick with him, they could part way’s now and hope for the best.

Though it was nice to have someone to care about, knowing that when she woke up that someone was going to be waiting for her. In the world before she had thrown herself into her work, claiming it was her mistress. She hadn't given herself time for relationships, and frankly they never gave time to her either. No need to waste her energy in a world that seemed so bleak.

“We’ve gotten this far.” Valerie reminds him.

“We finish what we have started.” She signs to him. Her eye’s hardened with determination, he smirked at her ambition.

“If we keep walking we should get close enough to the bay area.” He summarized. “What about sleeping?” She asked him, his shoulder’s slump, as if to let out a sigh.

He put his hand in a salute looking at the skyline in front of them. Building’s once filled the sky high reflecting from the glass now covered in vine’s, some had crashed down. Slashed from the claw’s and talon’s of the sound seeking creature’s. She often wondered how it must have felt to watch from above seeing everyone going about their lives. They must have looked like ant’s compared to them.

“There.” He point’s

“You wanna go there?” Valerie asked him, he nodded his head.

“That’s far.” She mouthed to him, he furrowed his brow’s

“So is the marina.” He signs, he point’s to the top of the building. “If we get high enough we can see how far we are.” He tells her. Her heart thumped as it raced

“Can't we just go to a motel?” She wonder’s, he shook his head confused. “Thought you wanted to see how far we are?” He ask’s, she gulped.

“Just the height is intimidating.” Valerie tell’s him. He smirked amused at her fear. “The world has ended and you are afraid of heights?” He signed to her, she rolled her eyes.

“No, I'm afraid of a creature climbing a high rise to kill me.” She state’s.

“I won't let that happen.” He promised her, his signing in the end being wrong. She shook her head.

“Give me your hand.” She orders. He furrowed his brow. She guides his hands, moving them in the right motion’s, mouthing what they are. “That’s how you do it.” Valeria corrects him.

“Thank’s.” He signs. She smiled softly, she swung her backpack up further. “Come on.” She usher’s him, her heart pounding looking at the sun peaking through the two towers.

⏁⏁⏁

SHE HAD DECLARED it she hated height’s. Even more than before she climbed the eighteen floor’s of the forty one floors of the Pacific Gate. She had always wondered what it must have been like to stay in the extractive type hotels. She had grown up in Virginia, in a rural town mile’s from the urban city, she had come to Calafornia chasing a dream that sadly fell through.

Her fingers grazed the chipped paint on the wall, the pearl white had turned brown from the age and vine’s had grown in the hall’s into the room’s. They had luckily found a room that wasn't terribly covered in the reclaimed nature. Bradley had insisted that they stay close to each other, both taking a watch.

Though they doubted that anyone or anything would find them up there, unless they made a sound. He kept to himself mostly, she wondered before the end of the world had he been a social person, like her. She could see from his choice in wardrobe, a Hawaiian shirt underneath his black jacket that he certainly had a taste. His tan skin almost kissed by the sun herself, had he gotten it from all their walking, maybe he had it before the world went quiet.

Her feet step on the ripped up dark blue carpet. The sun had set on the city and the moon had shone over the window’s of the balcony. A warm orange glow lit the room from her lantern. He laid on the bed, white ear bed’s in each of his ears, plugged into an old IPod nano. His brown eyes focused on the world outside.

She stands next to the white unmade sheet’s. A buffalo plaid blanket laid on top, she had insisted that she take the couch on the other side. She had noticed he had been limping up the step’s, knowing that the fancy hotel probably had a mattress that would make him feel better. He refused, if she could she would have let out a frustrated yell.

She tap’s his shoulder, he shuddered at the touch from her, he snapped his head in surprise. His finger’s grazing the knife holster on his leg.

“Sorry.” He signed.

She shook her hand. “It's Okay.” Valerie take’s the seat spot next to him, keeping a distance between the both of them.

“How did you get that?” She asks, pointing at the old technology, he smirked looking down at the blue case, a smiley face sticker on the back that slowly chipped away.

“It’s mine.” He states, she nodded her head.

“It still works?” She asks curious, she hadn't used one in years, preferring streaming from her phone.

His pink chapped lips formed a thin line. “Yeah, all my music from college.” He tells her, his signing is still slow.

“Anything good?” Valerie wonder’s, he shrugged his shoulders. He handed it to her to look at, she held up the screen, beginning to scroll with the control’s, clicking with each movement of her thumb. His music taste ranged from almost every decade up until 2012. She was almost surprised with the variety of choices’ he had at the tip of his fingers’, she looked down sadly, she hadn't heard music in what felt like an eternity, she can't even recall the last thing she had listened to on day one of their new world order.

She stops scrolling. Her eyes widened at the song, Jerry Lee Lewis’s, Great Balls of Fire. A soft smile creased her cheek’s. Lonely nights in the bar were less lonely when everyone around her began to sing the sixtie’s jaunty tune. She brought her hand to her mouth.

His brows furrowed at her reaction. “What?” He signed. She shook her head.

“Nothing, it's just.” She stops looking down again, her thumb grazing the play button. “There was a guy at this bar.” He perked up, his brows furrowed.

“He played this on the piano.” She recall’s, smiling softly. His eyes widened, his lip’s parting as his thoughts raced.

“Yeah every saturday..guess he is gone now.” Valerie signed sadly, she brushed back a piece of her hair.

Bradley had finally realized something. In the store, he saw her through the broken isles and fallen objects. He could have swore it was his mind finally playing tricks on him, until he caught a glimpse of her face.

There were night’s he would go into the Hard Deck. She would sit in the same spot each night, order the same drink, she always seemed to have her mind on anything but where she was. He had been curious who she was, why was she always in her head. He did plan to talk to her, only any time he got the courage to talk to her, she would get up and leave before he could get a chance to speak.

He pulls one of the white ear buds out of his ear, handing it to her. She looked down at his hand, taking it from him, placing it in her ear, pressing the play button. She flinches at the sudden piano playing. He chuckled quietly.

She rolled her eyes playfully. She began bobbing her head slowly, trying not to move her head too much. The two of them doing different motion’s to the music, if she was alone she would be all over the place, dancing on the mattress belting her lung’s out. He bites his lips, closing his eyes, thinking of better times.

Valerie mouthed the lyrics, leaning her head back at the chorus. She shakes her shoulders leaning into him trying to get him to join in with her. Bradley smirked at her happiness, the two of them tried everything to bond. Seeing the other experiencing something other than fear made his heart flutter.

He begin’s tap with his finger’s the note’s of the piano. Recalling the filling of the key’s under his finger’s, each movement a phantom at his tip’s. Valerie hold’s her fist as a mock microphone as she mouthed the final lyrics.

An inhuman screech fills the air echoing off the city. Her heart raced, wiping her head to look at the balcony. She shook her head. Figure’s she thinks’. The world outside was still as bleak as ever. Her smile fell as she glanced down.

“I’ll take my first watch.” She signed to him. His brow’s furrowed. Her shoulders tensed as she stood to attention, pulling her jacket closer. She turns on her heels to walk.

“Wait”. she hears a faint whisper escape’s his lip’s. He reached out, taking her hand in his calloused one. Their eyes locked as his face softened.

“Stay.” He pleads

She gazed at him. He had before insisted that they stay in separate rooms so the other had the chance of escaping while the other could too. Now here he begged for her to not leave him alone. Was he really scared this time, did he need that comfort of knowing in the room he wasn't alone.

“Of course.” Valerie signed. He gulped, running his hand through his unkempt honey curls. He laid back down. Placing his headphones back in his ear, leaving one out one for her to hear the music he played.

Bradley stayed awake for as long as he could, fighting hard against the sleepiness in his body, losing in the end. Soft snoring escaping his lip’s. Valerie formed a soft grin at his peacefulness, the both had seen so much, so many things lost and so many stolen from each of them.

She leaned over him, pulling a navy blue blanket over his chest. He turns in sleep, not waking. Hopefully he dreamed, anywhere that wasn't there must be better. Her eyes grew heavier and heavier as she stared at the quiet city. She wiped away the feeling from her eye’s.

Desperately battling against her own body clock, she groaned softly, wiping her cheek’s. Just shut your eye’s for a moment, the last word’s she thinks before her head hits the pillow and the world becomes dark.

⏁⏁⏁

SHE SCRIBBLED THE WORD on the notepad. The two had grown bored on their adventure to the marina.  Valerie had been sneaking around the Pacific gate, and found a white board for Bradley to use to communicate.  Thinking it would make their communicating easier, as his ASL was slow, and now she could properly tease him. 

“A.” He signed, she smirked, shaking her head. They had started playing the game hangman in to past time, they weren't far from the marina, having woken up late didn't help the ground they would have to make up. 

He rolled his eyes as she drew another body part to the stick figure. She licked her lips as she waited for another guess. She had won the last five round’s of the game and him once, to be fair she didn't blame him for not being good at guessing games when there wasn't anyone to give hints verbally. 

“C.” He guessed, she nodded her head writing the letter on the white board. He pumped his fist, the machete in the other, his turn as her hands were preoccupied with the marker. 

“I hate this.” He signs, she smirks at him.  “You just suck.” She teased him, he pulls out a tiny notepad, writing down in big letters. He holds it up to her. 

“You have a lot of sass for a girl with no shoe’s.” It read, her eyes widened at the comeback. She uses her hoodie sleeve wiping off a bit of their game writing. 

“And who’s idea was that mustache?”She wondered. His lip’s parted agape. “You love it.” He signs, she shakes her head. “Fuck off no I dont.” She write’s down. He holds up his own notepad. 

“Everyone loves it, baby.” His read’s, she rolled her eye’s. “Not me.” She gesture’s. He scoffs silently. 

“Wanna find out why?” He challenged her, licking his chapped lips. She looked at the hair above his lip, his facial hair being a stand out to the rest of his features, other than his well built physique. His blonde hair is curly on the top and shaved on the neck, unkempt yet somehow it still made him look even more handsome. 

“No thanks.” She smiled softly.  She looks down at her whiteboard, wiping it off again. “Keep guessing.” She urged him. 

He runs his hand through his curl’s. “P” He sign’s. She looks at him disappointed, adding another limb to the stick man.

“That’s two arm’s.” Valerie point’s out. He shook his head. His step’s halt as he look’s up. “What?” She ask’s, her eye’s scan his sight seeing what he stopped for. Her heart stop’s in her throat as it began to race. 

Hundreds of boat’s laid out in front of them on the waterfront, docked in their areas. Some fell prey to nature while some still remained. 

Her breath shaked, she looked to the man next to her. Tears filled both their eyes, they had finally made it after so many long hours of walking, and dodging alien’s they reached their destination. 

“Come on.” Valerie urged him. 

She turned on her heels quickly scurrying to the stairs that lead down to the docks. He followed closely behind her as the both of them desperately raced for the nearest boat’s. Her feet pound against the wood as she stop panting looking around at their option for travel. 

“Which one?” She asked him. He put his hand on hips trying to catch his breath. 

“Anything with a cabin.” He writes on his notepad, she nods her head. 

She walked around each boat, checking each for a key. She doubted that any of them would be filled with gasoline, much less run. For the most part they were almost all sailboat’s, and small yachts. She had never been on a boat, well one as big as the one’s parked in the water. She had gone fishing before with her uncles in the past, though she knows a small boat wouldn't get them to the island they needed something better. 

The wood creaked as she stepped back down again.  Valerie walk’s back around to the other dock, he stood with his arms crossed irritated. 

“That bad.” She joke’s. 

“I'll check again.” She tells him. He shrugged. “Be my guest.” He signed to her. The dock creaked again as with the heavy step of her foot. She gasps as a sharp pain in his felt in her thigh. She snapped her head looking down, a long black stick stuck out of her, piercing through pant leg. 

A scream of anguish left her mouth as hot fire pain ran up and down her leg. She collapsed onto the dock groaning loudly, her eyes widened as her hot tears welled.

Bradley ran to her side, putting his hand over her mouth, muffling her scream. Valerie cried as she tried to pull the arrow out.

“Don't do that.” He whispered to her. She whimpered, leaning her head back. 

He grunt’s as a cold metal graze’s his neck. Her eyes widened as another man behind him held a knife to the blonde’s throat. Two men dressed in ragged clothes, walk slowly behind him and stand above her, her heart racing in fear. Bradley slowly get’s to his feet, lifting his hand’s up in surrender. The man nod’s his head at the two men. The grab Valerie under her arm’s bringing her to her feet, she groaned quietly. A woman walks around, forcing a bandana around her mouth silencing her, she walks around. 

Her cold eye’s analyzing both of them. No one dared to speak, she slowly paced around them. She removes a rope from around her waist, standing behind Bradley. She smirked, shooting dagger’s at Valerie. She grunt’s wrapping the rope around his neck, pulling it tightly. He gasped for air pulling at the rope that cut into his neck. He groaned as the man behind him forced him to turn around, beginning to drag him across the wooden dock. 

Valerie grunted against the two men’s arm’s, her heart raced as she watched him struggle, clawing at his captor.  The woman from before circle’s her, looking the restrained girl up and down, vulture to its prey.  She point’s with her knife at the end of the dock. 

She pant’s in fear, gritting her teeth. Her eye’s went to his kicking leg’s, a black leather strap on his leg laid a metallic flicker of the sun. Her brows furrowed as she understood what to do. She stomps on the wood. 

The woman in front of her raised her brow’s at her action. Bradley looked at her, she stomped again, gesturing to her leg. He grunted twisting around trying to slow the man behind him, he strained as he grunt’s pulling him closer to the water. Valerie stomp’s her foot again, slapping thigh again. 

His brown eyes darted to his own leg. The black leather sheath with his initials in the working laid his brown bowie handled knife. He reached with one hand, the other fighting the rope at his throat. His finger’s link through the hole in the handle, pulling it out. 

Valerie met the eye of the woman leader. She smirked as her confusion grew. She grit’s through her teeth, extending her leg kicking the woman in the face, she stumbled back falling over onto the dock. She huffed, grabbing the handle in her holster, unsheathing her blade plunging it into the man behind her groin. 

The man hollered out in pain. His scream echoing off the city. Screech and roar’s sound alert at the sudden disruption of their perfect world. The man with the rope looked up with wide eyes, his distraction end’s as a sharp cut is felt to his stomach. 

He released the rope. Bradley got to his feet, he grunted as he balled his fist and swung it into the man’s face. Valerie grabbed one of the men by their shoulders, plunging her blade into his chest, he groaned in agony. 

Shoving him away from her. Blood rushed through her ear’s as the creature’s cry’s began to get closer to them all. Valrie grunted limping, holding her thigh, crimson brown leaking through her jean’s onto the wood. She gritted her teeth trying to move as fast as her injury would let her get.  Behind her she could hear the clicking of the alien, as well as its talon slicing through a body. 

Bradley pulled the man against the dock post, pulling the rope tight as he fought against him.  

“Fuck you.” He whispered into the man’s ear, he jammed the knife into the killer's gut. He let out a cry of agony, the creature’s hollers cutting in with his. 

Valerie ducked out of the way, her head slamming hard into the wood. The former pilot dove into the water as the man was tackled into the bay water. 

Her vision blurred as she looked to the sky above. She gasped for breath, panting as hot flashes ran through her body. The world around faded in and out, eventually turning dark.

⏁⏁⏁

HER BODY ACHED. Never in her life had she felt this tired, each side of her felt like they were under rushing water, slowing her with fatigue and aches. Her eyes fluttered open as she took in her surroundings, the room around her rock back and forth, small and walled with dark oak. She groaned looking down at her leg. 

The arrow was gone, the pain lingered. Her pant leg was cut open, a part of her maroon brief’s visible. A white bandage wrapped around her thigh, a bit of blood stained brown on her leg. She pant’s as she looked all around her, she didn't recognize where she was at all. “Valerie, it's okay.” A deep voice spoke clearly, her heart skipped a beat. She whipped her head, he got to her side sitting on an ottoman close to the wall. His blonde hair dripped with water, though the rest of his clothes remained dry. 

She stuttered for a moment. “I got the arrow out but I had to dig around the tip.” Bradley inform’s her, crossing his hands over his lap. 

“You bled a lot, and you kept waking up each time I tried to remove it.” He says to her. The glow from the bedside lamp illuminated his features onto the oak of the room.  His brown eyes meet her widened one’s, he furrowed his brow. 

“Are you okay, what’s wrong?” He asked in concern. She shook her head.

“Nothing, it's just.” She gulp’s. 

“I haven't heard you speak before.” She admits, his gaze softened on her.  There were moments she could catch glimpses of his voice when he mouthed words, it was much deeper then what she had thought it was. 

“Where are we?” Valerie asks him. He gulps, clearing his throat.

“Couple mile’s out from the bay, the creature drowned itself so it didn't follow us.” He reassures her, she nods her head. 

“How far from the island are we?” She wonder’s, he shrugged his shoulders as though.

“About five miles, give or take.” He inform’s her, she listens hearing the sound of water slushing around, she was on a boat. 

“They can't swim, and it’s raining right now, so it’s safe to talk.” He tells her. She groans as she holds her thigh sitting up. He gets to her side. “Hey Hey take it easy.” He soothed her. 

“I'm fine.” Valerie state’s, he shakes his head.  “You were shot with an arrow and lost a lot of blood.” He reminds her. 

“You said you were a fighter pilot, not a nurse.” She teased with a weak laugh. He rolled his eyes at her comments.  “Gonna take a lot more than an arrowhead to take me out.” She tells him. 

“Clearly.” He chuckled. “Listen, what happened back there.” She start’s, he holds up his hand for her to stop. “Dont..its okay, its over.” 

“No, I'm sorry.” Valerie say’s softly, shaking her head. His brows furrowed in confusion at her guilt.  “We didn't know they were there, it's fine.” He assured her. 

“No I meant I should have done more, I should have swallowed my pain and killed him.” She ranted, biting her lip as she thought about all of it. 

“It’s not your fault, none of that was your fault.” Bradley says to her. “They were gonna kill you.” Valerie stammer’s out, she wiped her eye’s. “And you saved me.” He reminded her, and she shook her head. 

“You did, I wouldn't have remembered my knife if you hadn't been there.” Bradley admit’s. He stands up, sitting on the gray sheets of the bed she laid on. His plaid shirt unbuttoned, underneath he wore a black shirt.  

“They would have drowned me, and killed you.” He tells her.

“Valerie you saved me, you did.” He declares strongly. He glanced down at her bare thigh. Shiver ran down her body as goosebumps painted her arms. Her heart skipped a beat. 

“Should probably change your bandage.” He whispered, rubbing the back of his neck. He cleared his throat. He stands up walking out of the cabin room.  A breath of relief left her lips. she hadn't realized it.  She missed human’s, conversation, touching, feeling, and experiencing. She joked before that she ghosted through everything, living only to work. Now she lived to survive, that wasn't living. 

He came back into the room with first aid supplies. He sat down in front of her on the floor, and began to unwrap the bandage from her leg. His fingertip’s grazed her thigh, her heart pounded in her ear’s loudly. “You're staring.” He mumbled. She cleared her throat leaning back on her hand’s.

“Sorry..uh just talk to me.please.” She pleaded with him, chuckling nervously. “Um..what was your word on the highway?” Bradley wonder’s, she scoffs. “Sore loser.” She grumbled, shaking her head. He rolled his eye’s as he soaked a cotton ball with alcohol. 

“It was cowboy.” Valerie tell’s him.  “What!?” He exclaimed, she chuckled, shaking her head. “See what I mean.” She teased him. She hissed through her teeth as hot pain stung her, she grit her teeth sitting up, gripping his arms. 

“Fuck motherfuc-agh.” The women swore holding him tightly. His brown eyes looked her up and down. 

“Little warning would have been nice.” Valerie mutter’s. 

“Sorry.” He breathed out. She shook her head letting go of his arms.

“Can I ask you something?” Valerie wonder’s, he nods his head. 

“Yeah sure.” Bradley say’s, he brings cold wet cloth, wiping away the dried blood that dye’s the white red. She glanced at his lips watching as he worked around the wound. She could see the outline of the arrowhead and where he had to cut around her thigh. 

“Did you ever visited the Hard Deck?” Valerie asked calmly. He licked his lips looking up from his spot on the floor.

“You said you were a pilot, and that was the popular spot for them.” She recall’s. 

“Did you ever go?” She repeats’. “I did.” He answers, she smirks. He place’s a white gauze on the wound, soaking up the blood, placing more around it. 

“So you must have seen me at some point right?” Valerie smiled softly. He bit his lip as heat arose to his cheek.  

“I did.” He says softly. Her heart pounded, the blonde stared up at her from the floor. His eyes glancing between the wound on her leg, his finger’s working delicately to not hurt her, and her face. 

His breath hot on the bare part of her skin, his focus didn't deter him from how close the two were getting. More than they have been since they began their journey. “Did you ever try to talk to me?” She wondered. He wrapped the bandage around her leg tightly.

“I wanted to, you always left before I could.” Bradley admit’s. Her breath hitched at his confession. 

“I saw you every Saturday, you alway ordered the same thing.” His brown eyes glanced at her.

“Pale Ale, with a garnish.” He recall’s, her dropped slightly agape. 

“And you always looked like you had so much on your mind.” His voice vibrated. Her brows furrowed as she began to rerun scenes from the world before. Every Saturday. She thought. It couldn't be him, could it. “I never got the confidence though, kind of mad at myself on that one.” He chuckled weakly, he shook his head. Her thoughts raced as she played everything back, she only caught glimpses from behind, his sunglasses always his eyes from her, and the crowd’s of civilians and armed forces. 

He turned around. “It was you wasn't it?” Valerie say’s, she sits up with her hand in her lap. His heart pounded, he 

“Great balls of Fire, every saturday…the piano.” She lists,their eyes not daring to look away. 

“Was that you?” She asks softly. He smiled warmly. His hand’s stopped wrapping, he taped it sealing her wound off. Her hand’s hold his on her bare thigh.

"Yes." He anwserd, he looked down at the floor. "That was me." He says.

She smiled, caressing his cheek, making him look her in the eye. The gap between the two of them began to get smaller As his hand slowly trailed to her waist. She holds the back of his neck pulling him in, inhaling deeply as their lips begin to move in sync.

His finger grazes across her skin, the warmth of them contrasting with her cold body. He leaned forward, hooking his hand under knee .

Her back pushed into the grey comforter, the both of them keeping the rhythm of lips . She wrapped her bare leg around his waist, while her other hand played with the hem of his plaid shirt.

She pulled away as sharp pain shot through her body. Valerie held her leg groaning in pain.

"I'm sorry." He whispered, his hot breath on her face. She smiled, their foreheads touching. "It's okay…should take it slow." She says softly.

"Not really my style." Bradley teases her, she could feel him smirk.

"Me neither." She agreed. Valerie untangled herself from, he pulled himself away from her. His blonde hair messy from her fingers.

"You should get some rest, I'll see how far we are." He tell's her. He adjusted his pant leg as he turned around. She smirked at her effect.

"You know if this isn't a rumor, then we won't have to worry about that." Valerie teased him. He bit his lip, turning around to face her.

"Are you good on that promise?" Bradley challenged her. She smirked looking him up and down.

" I might be." She smirked. He shook his head as his cheeks became hot. His brown eyes gazed on the injured girl.

"Get some rest." He says walking out of the cabin room. She sighed leaning her head back against the pillow. Groaning loudly as she closed her eyes as the ache in body remained. The boat slowly rocked her back to sleep.

A/N: AND THAT IS ALL SHE WROTE, God i hope this dosent flop because if it does I have to go down with. Anyway's, your favorite smart mouth guy is next.

Tagged: @cowboysandpilots @bobfloydssunnies @sugarcoated-lame @sorchathered @fairyheart @senawashere @swiftsgirlfriend @

[shardssystem]

Lore24 Compilation - January

From the beginning of the year, I felt an interest in doing a writing challenge of some sort, but a NaNoWriMo is a bit of a tall ask considering work schedule and everything. I’d seen people doing the #Dungeon23 challenge, and that was interesting, but outside my area of expertise. And then I found a blog post about #Lore24, and shared it with a friend in a similar situation.

The idea is, that for each day of the year, you write something about a TTRPG setting (or similar), in order to help expand on concepts. Doesn’t need to be exceptionally detailed, but the idea is to work on vague ideas and solidify things for worldbuilding. I chose Matea, a D&D homebrew setting that had been kicking around in my head for a while. A post-apocalyptic world that was previously as advanced, if not more so, than real life 21st century Earth. When the magic sustaining their technology failed, the world fell into ruin and had to rebuild the hard way.

I thought it would be handy to keep every entry compiled in one place, so here are the entries for January. Original posts can be seen on our Mastodon.

Let me know if there’s anything that you like or even if it inspired something of your own!

1 - Matea, as we encounter it, is a world on the brink of change. What was once a world of technological marvel and magical prowess now finds itself with one of the primary rules of the universe fading. Where both schools of arcane and divine magics helped create a utopia, its wielders struggle to achieve even a fraction of the same skills. If a spell works at all, it is drastically weaker than in history. A worldwide collapse of magitech left the survivors in ruins, unable to adapt.

2 - In the beginning, the Father tried to make the world alone, every attempt failing. The Mother came to him, offering her aid, and so Matea was born. When the first of their creations died, neither could cope, so the Daughter was born to handle the grief and anger. Seeing her good work, the Mother and Father birthed a Sister. Without a domain of her own, she engineered a war to fight against her family; tearing open a rift for devils to pass the barrier and lay waste to creation. Seeing the potential for their work to be undone, the family fought back by creating the angels. The war raged, until the Brother was born to guide a peaceful resolution; quelling the Sister’s rage by suggesting domains she would take over, while he would take the load of the more civil aspects that grew from a progressing society that his elders had not foreseen. The Sister acquiesced, having a duty at last. And so a harmony was established.

3 - Dwarves (name pending) are the progenitor race/species/ancestry (specifically to spite the endless fantasy worlds that start with elves), and are hatched from eggs. Not conventional eggs; more a cocoon of mud and other related materials. They can have a minimum of one parent, and no functional maximum, though after 20, some serious identity issues arise. Prospective parents will start rolling their egg like people do with snow, while performing a ritual of offering to the Father.

4 - Dwarven children are born with a full grown beard, regardless of their future gender presentation. This assists with the development of musculature, though hinders their growth. You can typically tell the age or experience of a dwarf by how worn/damaged their beards are, as they are made of stone. Though some choose to damage their beards personally, for their own reasons, the effects are no less permanent. Some view their beards as a sign of a pact made for their creation.

5 - Elves (name pending) evolved from dwarves when (the story goes) one wished for the ability to fly, being jealous of birds. More long of limb than their traditional counterparts, the elves of Matea are feathered, have the ability to glide until their elder years where they achieve full flight, and prefer to make their nest homes atop the mountain peaks of the world. They still hatch from eggs, but their material choices are less earthy; more grasses and scrub.

6 - Perhaps the hardest hit by the loss of magitech, the Gnomes (name pending) of #Matea seek immortality through their creations, owing to their nature of existence. In their original development, a flaw in the process led to them being primarily formed from sand. This resulted in their lifespan averaging three years before they almost literally fall apart. The Warforged and Autognomes (names pending) are their primary legacies; though they seek further.

7 - Though they do not know it, Tabaxi are among the most powerful beings of #Matea, as they are connected to the universe through some strange magic unknown to others. The first Tabaxi dreamt itself into existence after people began telling made up stories. From there, they dreamt their family into existence, and opened a gate into the realm of the Fey. As they unknowingly created more and more however, their ability to do so dispersed and diluted among each of their number.

8 - During the Family War, the need for frontline forces presented itself to the then-forming nations of the world. Pressed for time, they hurried the process and took shortcuts, incorporating living beings into the mix instead of asking spirits. Thus, Goblins (name pending) were born. With a lower half reminiscent of arachnids and other insects, their quick deployment and ability to traverse a variety of surfaces without issue was key to victory in a number of skirmishes.

9 - Tortles (name pending) once held political sway over the seas and ports of Matea. Unfortunately, during an exceptionally tough harvest year and dire situations, they were discovered to be delicious. Following a terrible, bloody uprising, they are now extinct, remembered only through archaeological evidence and museum pieces.

10 - Tieflings and Aasimar (names pending) are the descendants of the devils and angels left behind after the war, closed off from their home realms. Comparing to their multiversal counterparts however, on the whole, it is tieflings that are respected, and aasimar that are viewed with suspicion. This comes from the direct aftermath of the rift being sealed. Cut off from the influence of the hells, the remaining devils felt remorse (natural or otherwise; scholars don’t know) and vowed to repent for their misdeeds, which carried through to their descendants. Tieflings tend towards contemplation and helpfulness. On the other side, the angels were mournful and angry about the loss of their divine grace, traits that modern aasimar bear. As such, they tend towards fits of rage and melancholy in equal, unpredictable measure.

11 - The world of Matea is in a binary star system. Thaus, the Star of Wonder, and Flaun, the Star of Hope dance around each other in an eternal 3-beat waltz leading religious scholars to point to it as evidence of the Father and Mother’s joint efforts in making the world. The stars eclipse three times during the day, two hours after sunrise, midday, and two hours before sunset. These hours are marked by the religious orders and observed in all variety of different ways.

12 - To contrast the twin suns, Matea has a single moon, which is home to the Elemental Plane of Earth. Once upon a time, spellcasters could simply travel to Pio but with magic fading, the only remaining path is via Sou’dare, the great geyser. Travellers are to bathe themselves in its waters, and perform a specific ritual to activate the latent magic in the spring; firing them towards the moon in a dramatic jetstream of water.

13 - The Elemental Plane of Air has no fixed location, and can be accessed from anywhere in the world. One must be EXTREMELY precise with the incantation however, as the ritual is centered around collecting fruit oils, anointing yourself with it, and setting yourself on fire. A successful ritual will transform your body temporarily and painlessly to ash, to be carried into the planar winds. An unsuccessful ritual just turns your body to ash the painful way.

14 - The path to the Elemental Plane of Fire was once sealed, but is now open to all, though perhaps not the most accessible. Rakhada’s Folly, also referred to as The Fall, created a spiraling crater that intersected with planar boundaries. The journey must be undertaken on foot, to acclimate to the heat over a timeframe of six weeks. Those wishing to expedite their journey must be immune to flame and possess the power of full flight, or face the firestorm at the crater’s centre.

15 - Getting to the Elemental Plane of Water is all about timing, but otherwise simple. It’s merely a little absolutely terrifying. During the Second Step, or the second of the three eclipses per day, the winds at the top of Mt. Sanmaya (the tallest peak on Matea) pick up and become almost unbearably strong. One must align themselves to the correct direction and jump from the mountain, fighting the winds. If successful, they will be blown off the peak, plummeting into the waters below, and transferring the planar boundaries. If unsuccessful, the same thing occurs, but without the transfer, dashing the bodies of prospective adventurers on the rocks among the waves.

16 - Though magic is weakened and fading throughout Matea, the island of Paana-Dûl is abundant with mana crystals, allowing magic to work not only as it used to, but in some cases better. Because of this, the use of magic on the island is reserved exclusively for healing. The crystals feed on the remains of one of the great dragons, Ibu the Profaned, spreading slowly like a fungus, though they are more easily formed nearer the corpse.

17 - The magitech age of Matea kicked off with the discovery of manasteel: metal pulled from the earth with magic, weaving into it and reinforcing its strength. Known for being hard to work with, skilled smiths wasted little time in using it for all manner of inventions. From buildings and bridges, trains and aircraft, even personal devices of all kinds, manasteel was the backbone of a dawning golden age.

18 - At some point during The Fall, the prison island of Dosoga was lost; taken by an impenetrable bank of mist and fog. An entire population of inmates, their guards, and even a number of small villages designed to support the facility, spirited away. There are reports recently of fog that drifts across the oceans, seeming never to settle in one place for long. People have investigated, only to come back, changed in a number of ways. Those that return (as not everyone does) undergo a complete behavioural overhaul. Their personalities become wildly different, they do not respond to their own names, and some seem confused to the point of madness at their own bodies. Information to the reasoning behind this change is lacking, save for a single report that claims that one returning adventurer, declared herself to be a convicted man historically to be executed, and noted as inappropriately touching her own skin.

19 - Historical records state that the last known Warden of Dosoga Penitentiary was infamous for his brutally strict adherence to the law, but fairness in administering the applicable penalties. Inmates were suitably cared for, unless they broke the rules, in which case punishment was swift and hard, though only as to the letter of the law. People of the time saw it as an acceptable alternative to capital punishment, though not much is known about their rehabilitation success.

20 - Though unimportant at the time, the once-small town of Dun has claimed the title of nation capital city, primarily due to its fate during and immediately following The Fall. No one remembers the original name of the settlement, but records show how it got its current name: When the great floating cities began their final, disastrous descent, the town was written off by people in power; declared not worth the time to evacuate. Done for.

21 - What elevates Dun above other towns and villages is that the floating citadel of Silwa’na crashed directly on top. Though obviously devastating for those unable or unwilling to attempt to leave, the survivors inherited a treasure trove of remnants from the citadel, greatly accelerating their rebuilding efforts and post-Fall discovery.

22 - The gods serve several domains, each with their own rituals and rites.

Father: Life, Light, and Nature.

Mother: Arcana, Knowledge, and Order.

Daughter: Death, Grave, Tempest, and Twilight.

Sister: Trickery, War, Blood, and Fate.

Brother: Forge, Peace, and City.

Each is referred to by their title; you would, for example, pray to the Father of Light, or the Daughter of the Tempest. While you could offer a generic prayer and ritual, you would get better results by being specific.

23 - The day of Rakhada’s Folly is remembered as the day when the great citadels fell from the sky, when airships dropped suddenly, when buildings of all kinds collapsed without warning. But all these events are due to a single, common cause: The unweaving of manasteel. The backbone of society, industry, and technology on Matea drained itself of magic, literally unravelling from any shape it had been forged into, ushering in a terrifying new dark age.

24 - Many of the great citadels had the misfortune of falling while over land, resulting in catastrophic injuries and damage. However, the city of Gunsul fell while over the deepest part of the oceans, and sunk to the bottom. People claim that due to this, the inhabitants survived, though altered, and the city became corrupted by the depths. Children are cautioned with tales of the Gunsul Deep Dwellers, who will come and kidnap them for their mischief.

25 - With magic weakened, the people of Matea sometimes turn to alternate sources for power. And while they are also subject to the fundamental rules of the universe, there are those that answer. The One Below is an entity that has been named by various cults as someone or something to serve in return for magical abilities. Many rumours exist about the true identity of The One Below, but none have proved factual to date.

26 - Counter to The One Below, there are also groups dedicated to The Watcher On High, another unidentifiable source of power. Whereas the cults of The One Below are recorded as committing crimes of varying magnitudes, those pledging to The Watcher On High appear at least to be involved with charitable endeavours and community involvement. While not officially sanctioned, many places will turn a blind eye to the actions of Watcher pledges.

27 - The Brightfields, analogous to the Feywild in other parts of the multiverse, is the domain of fanciful creatures of all shapes and sizes, including the Eladrin and Fairies (names pending). Ruling over the land, atop a golden throne of pure majesty is the Bright Lord, Colin McDaniel. Claiming to be from an unknown village known as “New York”, he has made a name with his experience as an “electrician” to introduce a number of ideas to the Brightfolk. But there is a downside…

28 - When night falls in the Brightfields, unpredictable and inconsistent though it be, the land and its inhabitants change, becoming dark reflections. This is The Nowhere Between. The Absent King awakens, and Colin becomes imprisoned, as per his (potentially unwise) pact. Travellers from Matea who find themselves Between at nightfall are also altered to suit the darkness. From palace to ruin, from garden to grave, from throne to cage, from light to dark. Such is The Nowhere Between.

29 - Though the Great Rift is long sealed, there still exists the vestiges of strength in the Northern Reaches, for those brave, reckless, or desperate enough to seek it. Ta’terra, the source of infernal energy, and the ancestral home of the Tieflings (name pending), is ruled by Maag, Mistress of Pain. Though her influence is waning, rumours persist of promises of riches beyond dreams for those who wish to bend a knee.

30 - Not all adventure promises reward, monetary or otherwise. Hard to find, and harder to leave, the Endless Asylum tempts you to stay within its labyrinthine halls, rooms containing the damaged and lost, taking more and more of you until you join them. Not a place to be taken lightly, or without thorough preparation, very few explorers have ever returned to tell of it, and none of them remotely whole of mind.

31 - While you can, of course, attempt to cast spells, construct sigils, or otherwise use magic in any fashion you desire, you run the risk of it failing. The weave of mana literally unraveling before your eyes, if one could visually distinguish it. Not so with a mana crystal. By crushing one in your hand during the casting, you unleash the dormant magic within to supplement and amplify your efforts. Be warned though, there is no way to ration the crystals’ power. It’s all or nothing.

[sparrow-orion-writes]

AU Tag

Tagged by: @catharticallysarcastic

Rules: make an AU of a WIP on the spot and fill in the following intro categories. 

(Luckily for me, I am writing a Neon Glow AU atm)

AU Title:

When the Dust Settles

Setting:

Post-apocalyptic fantasy

Concept:

What if the characters of Neon Glow in Gold Dust were gods, or somehow became gods?

A series of short stories talking about the sort of gods they would be from people who meet them/have interacted with them.

Tiny Scene/Line:

We found him in the forest, as they said we would.

As children, we would leave offerings at the base of trees, in hollowed out logs or hanging from branches, to him. Gifts we were told that he would like; food, alcohol, chocolate coins, we’d write jokes that we thought would make him laugh.

The adults would tell us that we don’t do this to appease the god that lives in the forest—the one they call April—that as long as we are good to each other, he will never harm us. We do this because we love him, because he saved us all once, long before any of us were born.

As I grew older, I long since ceased my belief in him. Gods are the things of superstition and fairytales; they have no place in modern society. Maybe when this little village was founded, in the ashes of an old revolution, but not now, surely. We have no need for Gods, now.

Still, we found him in the forest. It turns out it doesn’t matter what I believe; what exists, is what exists.

He sat on a low branch of the large oak tree, cradling a bottle of aged wine with a look of excitement. At first, I didn’t recognize him as a God, he didn’t look powerful, he looked…young, like a teenager.

You can’t mistake those eyes, though, as they looked up to meet my own. Vibrant green, the colour of the freshest grass, with the shine of a candlelight over dinner. He smiled at me, and the smile had this allure, this physical pull that I couldn’t shake.

It was then I noticed the plants; I’d thought they were decoration at first, but as he slipped from the branch to approach me, I saw the way the stems burrowed into his skin, growing from him. The mushrooms rooted in the dark, loose, curls of his hair. My heart stammered, and my legs froze like a deer in the headlights.

Sat on the branch, is a robin, bright red flames engulfing its wings. April’s sometime companion, though none of us know what it truly is. It flutters away, unperturbed by its state, but clearly not in a rush to be around us.

“Don’t mind Ember,” April chuckles, watching the bird fly away, “…he’s not very chatty, not even to me, not any more.”

--

Tagging: @notwritinganyflufftoday @highasfantasy @oh-no-another-idea @nopoodles @bloodlessheirbyjacques @nikkywrites @blushroomx @spacetimewraithwrites @emelkae @writing-is-a-martial-art @ink-fireplace-coffee

[lagomort]

im very intrigued about hatoful boyfriend lore because i have a friend whos really into it and i wanna support them in that

id also really like to hear whatever info you want to throw at me :) (if u vibe with it)

Today I have been fed.

I'll just stick mostly with Shuu for now since he is just... so much. He's so much. When I said his life was a shitshow I truly did mean it.

Long, LONG post under the cut. And spoilers, obviously.

On a basic level this world is a world where a new insanely deadly bird flu (H5N1) popped up and started killing humans en masse. Scientists developed a virus to attempt to wipe out the birds and save humanity, but it backfired and ended up making the birds (primarily doves) intelligent to a human level. Humans and birds went to war for thirty years and humans lost, presumably mostly because of the fact that the birds still carried and spread this bird flu. So basically the only humans that are still alive are humans who have a natural immunity to this bird flu, and they tend to live at the fringes of society.

In terms of bird politics, there’s the Dove Party who wants to make peace with the humans, and the Hawk Party who want to get rid of them entirely. That’s kind of the general political spectrum - there’s another party, the Crow Party, but we don’t really know much about them and they thus aren’t really relevant.

Yes, the pigeon game is post-apocalyptic. Yes, it rules.

Shuu Iwamine's place in this is... a lot. Bear with me.

(The birds all have human faces and this is his. Bless his heart and his hair ribbon.)

He was born Utsuro Ichijou - the Ichijou family being extremely rich and a pretty big political deal heavily implied to be aligned with the Hawk Party. His family so thoroughly neglected him that when a building he and his parents were in was blown up by a human extremist group, resulting in several permanent injuries and the deaths of both of his parents, he:

1. genuinely couldn't remember his own name without having to think about it because he was called it so infrequently.

2. felt only relief that they were never going to be around again.

3. had absolutely no resentment for the humans whatsoever.

The injuries in question are extreme muscular weakness and loss of fine motor control on his right side, and a complete loss of colour vision except for the colour red. He’s also blind as a bat without his glasses, a la Velma. It’s very funny.

He was four at the time this accident happened. It's very important to remember that he is a bird if you actually look at the dates involved here, which I try so very hard not to.

(As an aside, one of the characters in the game basically states outright at one point that despite the birds now being hyper-intelligent, they still mature at the same rate as they previously did - being sexually mature at the age of one, for example. However this game is well and truly ridiculous about this fact. Nothing about ages makes sense from any angle. Characters are in high school at 15 despite presumably having had emotional and physical maturity since age 1, and not actually having the full lifespan of a human despite their increased intelligence. It’s even a plot point that one of the romanceable characters is sad because the main human character you play as will vastly outlive him. Just... roll with it.)

He shortly after the accident gave all his inheritance money to his family and disappeared, reappearing under the name Souma Isa (at the ripe old age of nine) to join an extremist faction of the Hawk Party, the Earth Crawlers. In the case of the part of it Shuu joined, they’re basically scientific researchers in all kinds of fields doing weird unethical science. While not everyone associated with them is evil, they are on the whole developing weapons of all kinds to be used against humanity.

This is where he meets the man (pigeon, I guess, but stay with me here) who will accidentally ruin his whole entire life.

Ryuuji Kawara is a very nice man and also a very terrible man. On one hand for a brief time he made Shuu’s life better and he genuinely was well-meaning, and on the other hand he is a comically absent father and husband. He’s a genius and also a complete moron. He’s a man of opposites.

It’s canonical that the only reason he was working with the Earth Crawlers is because they were the only ones who would give him the grant money he needed, with no actual grudge against humanity. So that’s nice, at least.

He was the leader of the First Life Science Research Division (LiSciRe), a biological research division that Shuu ended up in after joining the Earth Crawlers. While working under him Shuu was frequently frustrated by his strange, whimsical attitude, but grew to care for him on an extremely deep level. Ryuuji taught him the elements of how to be a person that his parents never had, and was intelligent enough that it was easy for Shuu to listen to and respect him. He brought Shuu presents from his business trips and sent him postcards. He made sure he ate when he forgot.

He probably taught Shuu some bad habits like neglecting himself in favour of his work, but on the whole what Ryuuji was to him was a wholly positive influence. Despite the wiki’s insistence that it’s up for interpretation whether Shuu’s affection for him was romantic, it is very obvious to me that it is.

Especially given the bird he is, the chukar partridge, is a bird that symbolizes intense and often unrequited love.

And then... well.

Ryuuji died.

Ryuuji travelled to an island on a field expedition and became ill whilst there, withering away and dying shortly after his return, but not before doing something exceptionally selfish. He admitted that he neglected his family while he was alive, especially his son Ryouta, and asked Shuu to do something for Ryouta in his stead. He specified that Shuu didn’t have to go out of his way to do it, but this was still a case of someone absolving himself of his neglect by giving it to someone else. Admittedly done on his deathbed in the throes of a wasting disease, but still something he really should not have done.

Shuu is two things. The first is very literal. The second is extraordinarily devoted. Ryuuji probably knew the first, but not the second.

Shuu does not take all of this well, to put it lightly.

When Ryuuji finally passed away, Shuu didn’t attend the funeral - he went straight back to work on the day of it. When asked if he knew what he was supposed to be doing ‘at a time like this,’ he responds:

You can spot the moment where his heart breaks in half, etc. etc. But this is also the moment that really encapsulates Shuu as a person. Being so neglected and so out of touch with his own feelings from a young age means that he doesn’t understand himself or other people. He has to be taught things from the ground up that other people know intuitively. He’s grieving but he doesn’t know how it’s dealt with, so he deals with it by doing the exact same thing he’s always done - pushing it aside and never consciously returning to it. But unlike his parents, Ryuuji is going to haunt him for a long, long time.

Shuu, keeping his promise to Ryuuji, does go to find Ryouta. And that’s where everything kind of just completely falls apart.

But... hey, you know what? I think I’ll leave this here for now since this post took me such an insane amount of time to write and I want to get back to you in a somewhat timely manner. There’s a lot more to cover in this man’s Insane Life. Send me another ask if you’re interested in hearing more about this! I love to regurgitate nonsense about this weird, weird pigeon game.

[pippenpaddlopsicopolisthethird]

That person might not have said top ten but I would like to see the other five underrated animes 👀

(First post) I’LL KEEP ‘EM COMING, I LIVE FOR RECOMMENDING ANIME. I keep changing my mind on which ones to include because there’s so much good shit out there.

By the way, all of the recommendations in this list AND the last one are 26 episodes or less and tell a complete story. No cliffhangers, no “finish the manga to see the finale”, no “where’s the rest of it???” endings. That’s why, for now, Stars Align and Princess Jellyfish still get stuck with the honorable mentions even though what’s been made for both of them is incredible.

1. The Tatami Galaxy (Drama, Introspective)

The director behind Ping Pong the Animation and the original author behind Eccentric Family join forces to make Tatami Galaxy, which capitalizes on the best strengths of both shows. The protagonist is a lonely college student facing the prospect of graduating after having thoroughly wasted his college years. He bemoans how circumstances outside of his control, from conniving fake-friends to selfish and shallow extras, have conspired to ruin what should have been a “rose-colored campus life”, and wishes he could do it over again so he can get it right.

So he does, with the show using avant-garde animation and abstract storytelling to explore all of his threads of what-ifs. The plotlines seem separate but weave together and subtly build on each other, culminating to a finale that explores the meaning of relationships and who you are in the absence of outside forces that can define you. It’s heartfelt, funny, raunchy, and deep, and perfectly encapsulates the existential dread of being in college. I watched it for the first time when I was about to finish undergrad and it hit like an emotional freight train, then I rewatched it during quarantine and it hit like a truck. This is one of my top favorite anime of all time.

2. Re:Creators (Fantasy, action)

Most of the anime I’ve put on these lists get their spots for being deep, nuanced, and delicately crafted. This is not one of them. But, by god, is it one of the most over-the-top fun shows I’ve ever seen. Re:Creators is a rare reverse-isekai. Fictional characters from popular anime, games, and manga suddenly start turning up in the real world, instructed to “find your Creator and reshape the world you came from”. The soundtrack by Hiroyuki Sawano is bar-none one of the hypest things out there; seriously, just listen to Layers, the song for a character from a grimdark everyone-dies series begging her author to tell her why.

The characters in this show are so fun to watch bounce off each other, even if they’re not as “three dimensional” as others. Magical girls fight Stand users, mechs face down scifi-noir detectives, Lawful Good Paladins go toe-to-toe with Chaotic Evil light novel villains.  But by including the artists who imagined these characters as characters themselves, it also has a lot to say about the creative process, the reasons people create, and the relationship between an artist and their work. Between the high-octane fight scenes, there’s a surprisingly human and genuine throughline.

3. Sora no Woto (Slice of life, music, post-apocalyptic)

This show is another of my favorite examples of worldbuilding done right. A young girl joins the army as a bugler because it’s one of the only ways she can learn to play music. The episode plots focus on how she and her tiny regiment of young women stationed at a small town in the middle of nowhere deal with day-to-day troubles, while the details of the world around them slowly fill and round out the picture of a broken society where people still just... live. They still create myths, they still have festivals, they still blow glass and tell ghost stories and make art. The plots seem inconsequential, until the world built into the background becomes too prominent to ignore. The background art and music is some of the most gorgeous I’ve seen. It’s part of a genre I’ve been calling “soft apocalypse” and it’s been one of my favorites for years.

BONUS MENTION: Girl’s Last Tour (Slice of life, post-apocalyptic)

Yes, I’m cheating, but listen. Girl’s Last Tour fits perfectly into the canon narrative provided by Sora no Woto, just set in the far future, a few apocalypses later. It’s got less of a main plot, because there’s almost nothing of society left, just two girls wandering together through an abandoned world. It’s soft, introspective, and bittersweet, showing how humanity is still humanity no matter how few people are left. Despite having nothing about their productions in common, it’s the perfect spiritual successor to Sora no Woto and they deserve to be recommended in the same spot.

4. Tamako Market (+ the movie) (Romance, slice-of-life)

This show is the platonic ideal of a soft, heartwarming, sweet-as-sugar, slice-of-life romance. It follows the daily life of Tamako, a high school girl who lives above a family-owned mochi shop in a shopping center, who is followed around by a talking bird trying to find a bride for his prince in a far-off land. But really the show isn’t about the bird. The show is about love in all its forms. The love that the other families in the shopping center have for Tamako, the love that she and her friends have for each other, the love they have for the activities they’re passionate about, the love you feel when someone makes you a cup of coffee, fated love, childhood crushes, family love.

Something about this show that also stands out is how gently and naturally it incorporates some of the best queer representation I’ve ever seen in anime. One of the shop owners is a kind and soft-spoken trans woman, who is never the butt of a joke, never questioned, never treated as different, loved all the same. One of Tamako’s friends is gay, and her crush on Tamako is treated with as much respect and care as every other moment in the show. This series never makes you flinch for fear of “representation” that turns sour. It’s the epitome of a feel-good show.

5. ACCA 13-Territory Inspection Department (Political, mystery, drama)

Yes, I keep saving my favorites for last on these lists. I can’t describe this show as anything but the perfectly written plot. As a rule, I don’t like political dramas, and this is one of my favorite anime of all time. It’s set in a fictional country, where 13 regions all exist relatively independently under one collective monarchical ruler, and follows Jean, an agent of the independent Inspection Department, which acts as a check and balance to each power. The series begins with Jean being assigned a full review of each territory while the powers-that-be field whispers of a coup. This show masters foreshadowing, intrigue, escalation, and mystery. The stakes build and overlap on scales from intensely personal to national. The pacing is amazing, keeping tension balanced with plot twists that answer more questions than they ask.

Plus, it’s got one of the most visually appealing and stylized openings out there. I realize that political drama isn’t exactly escapism right now, but believe me, this series is worth it.

[aion-rsa]

Zack Snyder’s Justice League: Joker Epilogue Explained

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This Zack Snyder’s Justice League article contains spoilers.

Despite the heroes’ best efforts throughout the four-hour epic, Zack Snyder’s Justice League still ends in scorched earth, with Darkseid’s forces decimating whatever’s left of the planet’s surface, turning it into a wasteland. Even after defeating Steppenwolf and preventing the disaster of Unity, it’s still not enough to stop what’s been coming to Snyder’s version of the DCEU since Bruce had his first “Knightmare” in Batman v Superman: Dawn of Justice. Or so it seems in an almost 10-minute-long epilogue, which includes a cameo from Jared Leto’s Joker especially shot for the Snyder Cut.

Joker’s inclusion in the movie might seem jarring to some, considering he has no bearing on the actual story being told for most of the film’s runtime. In fact, you could pretty much skip the epilogue completely and not lose much of the experience if you’re only watching for the main plot. That said, the tense conversation between Batman and Joker — as they look upon what Darkseid’s wrought on their planet — does raise some interesting questions as to what might be next for these archnemeses were Snyder to get yet another shot at the DCEU.

Ironically, Snyder actually shot the brand-new footage for Leto specifically because he thought he’d never get another chance to work with these characters. The director “couldn’t leave this universe without having a Joker/Batman scene,” according to producer Deborah Snyder in an interview with CBR. But shooting the scene in the middle of a pandemic was tricky: it involved sending a truck full of costumes to Leto’s house, who would then try them on for the director during Zoom calls to see what worked. According to Deborah, “there was a lot of Zooming and photos and things like that, but so much thought went into creating the character.”

This might explain why the “Joker Christ” look — a version of the villain wearing a crown of thorns featured in a Vanity Fair article — didn’t actually appear in the movie. It was likely one of the costume ideas that were nixed before filming. Something similar happened with Leto’s now-infamous “We live in a society” line in one of the trailers for the Snyder Cut, which the director says was ad-libbed by Leto himself while filming the epilogue. As you now know, that line is nowhere to be found in the scene, either.

So, what did make it into the epilogue? How did Snyder use his final chance to have these versions of Batman and Joker meet in a DCEU movie?

The Batman/Joker History

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For one thing, Snyder touches on some very familiar elements of their dynamic. Like with past iterations of this relationship, Ben Affleck’s Dark Knight and Leto’s Joker are truly inseparable. Even when faced with the end of the world, when all bets are off and the rules no longer apply, the hero and the villain still decide to team up instead of settling the score once and for all. Joker is especially cognizant of their connection, mentioning how Batman created him and how his beloved Bat now needs him to undo what Darkseid did, even though it’s unclear just what the clown can do against such insurmountable, cosmic odds.

Bruce’s threat that he’ll eventually kill Joker is a particularly weak one when he’s also welcomed the Clown Prince of Crime onto his team, and equipped him with a bulletproof vest and an assault rifle no less. Their tense back and forth in this scene is just another section of their eternal dance, even as the Joker dares Batman to kill him. But if Bats were to give in to the temptation and end the clown’s life, who would be there to give him a reach–

Harley Quinn is Dead

We learn a few other things from their brief conversation (and one has to wonder why they’ve decided to do this in the open where they can be spotted by Darkseid’s parademons or Evil Superman): Harley Quinn has died in this possible future, but not before expressing her true hatred for Mr. J. Whether it was always the plan for Harley to break away from her insane beau in time for Birds of Prey or Snyder was trying to connect the dots after the fact is unclear. But her death is clearly a particularly sore spot for Joker, who for a second seems to want to break his own proposed truce and take a shot at the Batman.

“You’re good,” Joker finally says when he regains his cool, realizing the Dark Knight wants the clown to give him a reason to put him down for good. Self-defense ain’t the same as murder in the Snyderverse, right?

The Death of Robin

Robin’s death is finally addressed with one of the coldest lines in the entire epilogue: “I’m happy to discuss in any way you like, why you sent a Boy Wonder to do a man’s job?” the Joker asks Batman. This is in reference to a couple of things. The vandalized Robin suit displayed in the Batcave is a stark reminder of what is likely Bruce’s biggest failure in this universe, but we’ve never actually learned how the Boy Wonder died despite the references to the meteoric death sprinkled across Snyder’s earlier DCEU work. We know the clown did it but not how (perhaps for the best) or the events that led up to Robin’s death.

Read more

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Zack Snyder’s Justice League Ending Explained: The Sequels and DCEU We Never Saw

By Mike Cecchini

Movies

Zack Snyder Wanted to Make a Batman vs. Joker Movie After Justice League

By Mike Cecchini

But that single line of dialogue delivered by the Joker suggests that some version of the 1988 comic book storyline “Death in the Family” has happened in this universe. In those comics, Robin (the second one, Jason Todd) goes off on his own to find his biological mother against Batman’s wishes, and instead comes face to face with the Joker, who murders him in extremely gruesome fashion. It’s a death that haunts Bruce as much as the deaths of his parents, which Leto’s Joker also references, along with Batman’s real name.

Batman Must Die

Most importantly, the epilogue seems to exist so that the Joker can plant a seed in Batman’s head: only his own self-sacrifice will be enough to stop Darkseid once and for all. This is a storyline that Snyder had planned to explore further in future Justice League sequels, a proposed trilogy that would have culminated with the Dark Knight’s death and the rise of a new Caped Crusader.

It’s unlikely that we’ll ever see this trilogy now that Snyder and the DCEU are parting ways, but the epilogue leaves the road clear for a sequel nonetheless, with Joker alluding to a time-travel plot that would involve Batman’s new crew going back in time to undo Lois Lane’s death and Superman’s villainous turn.

The DC Comics Inspirations

This is hardly the first time the Dark Knight and the Clown Prince of Crime have joined forces to fight a greater evil. Most recently, they’ve teamed up in the DC comics by Scott Snyder and Greg Capullo, particularly in Dark Nights: Metal and Last Knight on Earth, post-apocalyptic stories set in nightmarish wastelands that the director might have at least skimmed while writing this epilogue. In both of these stories, Joker is a key part of Batman’s ultimate victory. In Last Knight on Earth, Joker even finally become’s his “best friend”‘s sidekick.

But in terms of what inspired the grungier look of Justice League‘s Joker, it seems that the filmmaker and Leto went back to the Grant Morrison era of the character for inspiration. Just as Morrison and Tony Daniel’s “reborn” Joker was a clear influence on Leto’s get-up in Suicide Squad, the jarring butcher (?) costume worn by the clown in the epilogue might have been inspired by a similar look introduced in Morrison’s Batman and Robin series (above). Either way, it’s a very odd fashion choice when you’re about to go fight a New God, but then again, Joker isn’t exactly your average dresser.

With this Batman and Joker scene, Snyder reaffirms his love for these characters. Regardless of whether you find his take on their relationship worthy or not, it’s impossible to deny Snyder’s attention to detail when crafting his final DCEU scene, one full of references to Batman and the Joker’s past as well as their potential future. In his own divisive way, Snyder writes a love letter to these characters and goes out with a smile.

The post Zack Snyder’s Justice League: Joker Epilogue Explained appeared first on Den of Geek.

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[rosecorcoranwrites]

When a Plot Hole is Not a Plot Hole (or, at Least, When It Doesn't Matter)

Much like 45 million other people, I have recently viewed Bird Box. I also watched The Ritual and re-watched A Quiet Place. All of this got me thinking about the horror genre, yet again, but it’s too soon for another “Thoughts on Horror” post. Thankfully I also watched a Youtube video about world building in the Divergent series, which gave me an idea for a more far-reaching analysis not just of horror, but of genre and plot holes in general.

A Matter of Genre

The fact of the matter is that Bird Box, A Quiet Place, and Divergent have gaping plot holes (The Ritual doesn’t. The Ritual is great… but freaking horrifying, so watch with caution). These plot holes, however, are only a problem in one of those stories, and this is due to genre, and I will climb onto my genre-soapbox for as long as it takes for people to realize that different genres work differently, and need to be read or watched differently.

Let’s step back a minute, and I'll explain what I mean. In my senior year of high school, we read The Little Prince by Antoine de Saint-Exupéry. My class loved it, not least because it was a welcome break from all the depressing literature foisted on us throughout our high school career. I was also a student aid in another class that read the same book and got to eavesdrop on their class discussions. I sat in the back, filing papers, and heard the students say they didn't like the book because, quote, "It was so unrealistic." The Little Prince? Unrealistic? You don't say! I'm not sure I have ever heard a more idiotic critique of a book. Yes, The Little Prince is unrealistic. It's a children's-book-esque fantasy/fairytale about a prince from another (tiny) planet who's in love with a rose. It's not supposed to be realistic!

A similar phenomenon happens when people—both Christians and atheists—treat the entire Bible as one genre. It's not! It contains poetry, myth, history, genealogy, letters, biography, parables, apocalyptic visions, and law codes. If you read poetry like you would read a law code, or a letter the way you read a myth, you're probably going to miss out on most of the meaning.

Back to my point, different genres require different ways of being read or watched. There are varying amounts of belief one should be required to suspend. Fantasy requires more suspension of disbelief than sci-fi, because the audience needs to accept that magic and magical creatures exist, whereas sci-fi only needs them to accept that humans have advanced to some future scientific point. Both genres, however, need internally consistent world building, no matter what other wonders we are shown. Otherwise, the audience will be taken out of the story, and the point of these genres is to immerse the readers or viewers into a believable, if fantastic, world. If magic works a certain way, it always needs to work that way. If smaller spaceships can’t use FTL, then no little ships should be shown using FTL unless you make a point of saying they have some new type of FTL drive. There is some wiggle-room in this, since "fantasy" and "sci-fi" are big labels that cover a lot of things. Fairytales or magical-realism stories tend to be a little looser about what is and isn’t allowed. These stories still shouldn't break their own rules, but they also don't have to explain themselves as much as other fantasies. Sci-fi that bleeds into fantasy, such as that which incorporates time-travel, other dimensions, or robots with kokoro still needs internal consistency, but don't need to be as scientifically accurate as hard sci-fi.

On the other hand, genres which rely on audience reaction can get by with much less in the way of tight world building and well-thought-out backstory. The two genres to which I am referring are comedy and horror. Obviously, these can intersect with fantasy/sci-fi, but taken as their own thing, they are a different species of genre altogether. They rely not on immersing the audience into a believable world, but on eliciting a reaction from the audience. A comedy is only a comedy if it's funny and horror is only horror if it's scary. Those are the requirements. Thus, a comedy or horror doesn't need unassailable world building to be a successful comedy or horror. Comedy, in particular, often relies on pointing out or playing with plot holes in whatever genre it's in. Horror, on the other hand, often focuses on the scary situation at the expense of backstory and world building.

Plot Holes in Horror

Thus, we come to Bird Box, or A Quiet Place, or Signs, or any other horror that, frankly, doesn't hold up if you think too much about it. People critique these movies by asking things like, “Why doesn't everyone in the world just blind themselves to be immune to the phantoms?”, “Did no one else in all of society think to use sound against the creatures?”, and “Why don't the aliens wear waterproof suits?”. These are valid criticisms for sci-fi or fantasy stories, but… these stories aren’t really meant to be sci-fi or fantasy. They are meant to be horror. Specifically, survival horror. For this genre, backstory is utterly irrelevant. In survival horror, a person or group of people are put into a deadly situation and need to use their wits and whatever they can find to survive it. The end. That's it. Are Sandra Bullock, the family in The Quiet Place, and the family in Signs put into a deadly situation? Check. Do they attempt to survive it? Check. Is it scary for the audience to watch? Check. All three movies pass the survival horror test. They aren’t trying to be good sci-fi/fantasy; they’re trying to be good horror, and do a pretty good job.

As a side note, I’m not some Bird Box apologist. Of the four horror movies I’ve mentioned in this post, it’s my least favorite. But the issues I take with it are not with the world-building (unlike some critics, I thought the rules regarding the phantoms were fairly well spelled out), but with the choices on how to induce horror. (SPOILERS INCOMING: SKIP THIS PARAGRAPH IF YOU CARE) From the beginning, we know the rest of the people in the house don’t survive because only Sandra Bullock and the two kids are alive in the current time; that undercuts most of the tension in the house. Also, I thought the first phantom-acolyte they encounter, at the supermarket, was horrifying, as he appeared to be stuck forever in his place, doomed to coax unsuspecting souls to their death. One character even commented, “How is that guy still alive?”, so I wondered if he even was, or if he was sort of an undead thing controlled by the phantoms. Scary! Unfortunately, the rest of the acolytes (aside from the one in the house, who we knew John Malkovich would kill because how else would Sandra Bullock and the kids be alive in the future? The structure of the narrative seriously undercut the tension!) are pretty much your run-of-the-mill murderers in any post-apocalyptic movie. Not scary! Finally, I took issue with the last few minutes, after their boat capsized; I felt it was unnecessary for them to run around in the woods. It would have been scarier if she reached out of the water to feel a person’s foot, making the audience think it’s an acolyte, until he taps a cane on the ground and it’s revealed he’s blind. But, I digress. I don’t mind that the story has a few plot holes; I do mind that it wasn’t as scary as it could have been.

Plot Holes in Dystopia

Where, then, on this spectrum of genre does dystopia fall, and why do so many YA dystopian novels seem to fail? Could not "dystopia" be a sort of parable, requiring little explanation and thus little scrutiny, in the same way that comedy and horror and fairytales can get by on little to no explanations of what, exactly, is going on? Yes. I'll say it again, yes. I think dystopias absolutely could get a pass on world building... if they wanted to. The problem with books like Divergent or Hunger Games is not that they explain too little, but that they explain too much. If they simply set up their messed-up situations—everyone is sorted into a Hogwarts House faction, innocents must fight to the death for the enjoyment of the rich—and left it at that, I think it would be fine. The problem arises when these authors, usually in subsequent books, attempt to hash out the reasoning behind these horrible societies which... kind of couldn't arise for any real reason, or if they did, wouldn’t last very long. The explanations we are given don't make sense, or are at least are very, very full of holes and inconsistencies.

To be fair, other dystopias also offer explanations for why the world is the way it is, but they don’t dwell on it. 1984, Brave New World, and Fahrenheit 451 offer lip service for how society got so bad—whether that’s due to government rule or human complacency—but then move on. We don’t need to think too hard about how Eastasia or Eurasia were formed; we need to care that the government keeps switching which one we’ve “always” been at war with. We don’t need to know who’s running the world in Fahrenheit 451, because they’re not the ones who caused Montag’s wife to O.D. or who hit Clarisse with a car or who made Beatty hate books; the society of that book is twisted because individual people are twisted. Though they contain sci-fi elements, these stories are not sci-fi books. They are much closer to horror, in that their events are supposed to provoke a sort of cautious fear in the audience. The idea is that this could happen here, and maybe it’s already happening.

Again, YA dystopia’s could do this, but that’s clearly not what they’re going for. If Hunger Games was only a nod to the dangers of media and decadence, I could get behind it. Instead, it decided to become a story about revolution, with a somewhat Chosen-One-esque figure. It went the sci-fi-fantasy route, following the epic story of a hero who attempts to save society. If Divergent only concerned itself with the idea that humans are sorted into groups based on a single personality trait… well, I would still think that was pretty silly, but I could see a skilled writer making it work. It goes beyond this, though, into this whole backstory involving genetic engineering and human experimentation. It’s a sci-fi. And because both of these stories have decided to be sci-fi, rather than only dystopias, they fail. Because sci-fi stories require a somewhat believable backstory and set-up and current world building, and the worlds of Divergent and Hunger Games could not happen, or at least would not happen like that, even if there were rebellions and mutations and human experimentation. There are too many inconsistencies and plot holes that strain belief, and sci-fi needs to be somewhat believable.

With that, I hoped I’ve converted some of you to my genre-focused cause. Before you criticize a story for having a plot hole or being unrealistic, first consider the genre. Consider what the story is trying to do, and if it does it well or not. The plot holes might not be as big of a problem as you thought.

[shinichievents]

Here’s the official compiled ShinIchi Week 2019 post!

ShinIchi Week 2019 will take place Sunday, February 3, 2019 - Saturday, February 9, 2019.

And this is the link to the AO3 collection: https://archiveofourown.org/collections/ShinIchiWeek2019

What’s ShinIchi Week? This is a casual weeklong event for the platonic or romantic pairing of Hirako Shinji and Kurosaki Ichigo from Bleach. Anyone can participate; this is just for fun. I was inspired by cywscross’s UraIchi Week a while back and wanted to put something similar together for a rarepair I’m more fond of.

How does it work? There are seven days in the event, each with a handful of prompts. You can participate in as many or as few days as you like and submit whatever kind of content you like - writing, art, graphics, etc. You have two main options for content creation: you may follow the prompts for each day (or combine prompts across multiple days), or you may create something ShinIchi unrelated to the prompts if you have something else in mind. Writers also have a third option to consider, if they have nothing in mind for the first two options: they may write a new chapter of any WIP fic they already have posted, so long as it is a Bleach fic. I’ve added this option because I realize quite a few content creators already have WIPs, and this event could possibly add to the strain. Plus, I want an option to help people get engaged with the event, even if they don’t necessarily like even the platonic pairing. The main goal is content creation!

How do I submit works? There are two main places for work submission for this event: Tumblr and AO3. Crossposting is perfectly acceptable in other places, too. To post something on Tumblr, make sure that ShinIchi Week 2019 is in the first five tags so it can be easily searched for and found. Submitting straight to shinichievents is also fine, but you may get less coverage. Once the event gets closer, I will be creating a collection on AO3 that you can add your work to when you post.

Is there a place to hang out and chat about this? Yep! There’s a Discord server. Here’s an invite link: https://discord.gg/RDa83AM

Is there a FAQ? Yes! …or there will be soon. I’m super new to this kind of thing. Eventually there will be a link up top for it. There’s also one on the Discord. If you’re viewing this post after the FAQ has been made, congrats! I figured it out between the time of posting and your viewing.

Finally, what you’ve been eagerly anticipating, here’s the schedule of prompts! Following TWO rounds of voting (you guys sent me so many prompts, yeesh), here are the finalists:

Sunday, Feb. 3, Day 1: Loyalty, Trust

The foundation of any good relationship and perhaps a hallmark of Shinji’s and Ichigo’s, Day 1 is dedicated to the fundamentals of this bond.

Monday, Feb. 4, Day 2: Time Travel, Dimension Travel

These seem to be popular tropes across the board. An escape from an apocalyptic future, being unceremoniously dumped in a place where established rules and relationships get thrown out the window, traveling back to a significant event or time before even being born - yanking people through the spacetime continuum is fun. Today, it’s time to do it to Shinji and/or Ichigo.

Tuesday, Feb. 5, Day 3: Canon Divergence, Alternate First Meeting, Gotei 13!Ichigo

Today is all about “what-if.” They randomly bump into each other on the street, Ichigo was born in Soul Society, different Shinigami are Hollowfied, Shinji replaces Rukia’s role, Ichigo is a subordinate of Shinji’s - how does a different set of circumstances affect these two?

Wednesday, Feb. 6, Day 4: Instincts, Masked, Birds of a Feather

Hollows are damn scary creatures. What’s it like to share part of your soul with one? Today’s prompts are all about being Other - canon Hollowfication, Arrancar!AU, SomethingOther!AU, or perhaps a shared experience of being Other. Or, you could wander in another direction entirely with a different interpretation of any or all of the prompts. Masquerade!AU, anyone?

Thursday, Feb. 7, Day 5: Soulmates AU, Clothes Sharing, Reincarnation

Fluff! Today is more about the feel-good stories (though Soulmates AU could go with any of the prompts on the other days). Reunions, comfort, home, happiness, romance, a happy ending… I’d say sweet enough to rot teeth, but I couldn’t see that happening without a bunch of snark and cheesiness.

Friday, Feb. 8, Day 6: Touch Starved, Hurt/Comfort

Ouch, ouch, ouch - today is all about the angst. Given Shinji’s and Ichigo’s canon experiences, there’s plenty of material to work from here.

Saturday, Feb. 9, Day 7: Strings, “Is that blood?” “No?” “That’s not a question you’re supposed to answer with another question.”

The final day’s prompts are looser and up for a wider variety of interpretation than the previous prompts. Strings could be metaphorical or literal, and who knows what shenanigans these two morons have been up to to produce the given exchange? For that matter, who’s even saying what? Is this a canon or AU ‘verse? Be creative!

And that’s it! That should cover all the basics. If you have questions, don’t be shy! Feel free to ask anything. Yes, you should absolutely start thinking about your submissions now. Get those creative juices flowing! I can’t wait to see what everyone comes up with!

May your muses never abandon you!

[cicivford]

#captionreview 🍂☕️ . Ok finally LOL. Bird box by Josh Malerman was really interesting, but unfortunately I can’t say I loved it. This story reminded me so much of the film, The Happening with Mark Wahlberg. I finished this in two days so the pacing is excellent, but it didn’t save the somewhat empty narrative. . The environment is post apocalyptic but I kept wondering how it actually happened and if it would ever be explained. It wasn’t. . Malorie and her two children are trying to figure out how to survive in this new world. Whatever happened has everyone maneuvering blindly or thinking that they have to. Malorie goes from place to place seeking shelter and safety. Subsequently, she stumbles upon a house full of strangers who all have different ideas about how and what to do to preserve life. . There were no layers to peel back with these characters. Very minute details about their experiences in this post apocalyptic society but not enough to get a sense of who they all were, not even Malorie. Even with time hopping from pre to post. . Sadly I was not a fan of the writing either. It seemed a bit forced & choppy as if under some “rule of a tone” in writing suspense thrillers. “He walked up the stairs. Malorie stared. He didn’t know there was a child there. Malorie said cut off the light. He did. He pulled the string. They walked back downstairs. Can they in fact face this new world together as strangers!?” . Practically the entire book is written this way. Malerman also wrote multiple questions within the story that a reader would typically ask themselves anyway while figuring out what’s happening but because there is such a lack of details they seemed like fillers. . What I liked is that Malerman took a risk in writing this story this way. I can see so much potential in a post apocalyptic story with minimal details all while identifying the unknown, but this book fell short for me. 2/5 . Hope everyone is having a lovely Thursday so far 💕 https://www.instagram.com/p/BnrfJiDB3o6/?utm_source=ig_tumblr_share&igshid=2ctespkbf8m

[faithfulnews]

Is Joe Blow “Anti-Intellectual”?

It’s a common claim among Darwinists that people who question “expert” scientific opinion on such topics as evolution, global warming, and the mind-brain relationship are “anti-intellectual” science deniers. Steven Novella, a Yale neurologist and credulous Darwinist and materialist makes the claim in a recent post:

As science-communicators and skeptics we are trying to understand the phenomenon of rejection of evidence, logic, and the consensus of expert scientific opinion. 

Ironically, Novella, who considers himself a skeptic, decries the skepticism of people who don’t agree with him.

Purity and Consensus

How can it be, scientific experts ask, that so many people doubt scientific experts? Novella:

There is, of course, no one explanation — complex psychological phenomena are likely to be multifactorial. Decades ago the blame was placed mostly on scientific illiteracy, a knowledge deficit problem, and the prescription was science education. Many studies over the last 20 years or so have found a host of factors — including moral purity, religious identity, ideology, political identity, intuitive (as opposed to analytical) thinking style, and a tendency toward conspiratorial thinking. And yes, knowledge deficit also plays a role. These many factors contribute to varying degrees on different issues and with different groups. They are also not independent variables, as they interact with each other. Religious and political identity, for example, may be partially linked, and may contribute to a desire for moral purity.

“Moral purity” plays a big role in Novella’s theory. A want of moral purity puts you in tune with the latest science consensus. Novella may have a point. He rambles about several scientific studies that cast aspersion on people who don’t sufficiently esteem scientific studies, and he concludes:

[The] alternative [to science credulity] is populist rejection of not only experts, but the institutions of expertise and the concept of expertise itself. This leads to intellectual anarchy (often justified by portraying it as intellectual freedom, but that is not the issue and entirely misses the point). The populist view is mostly about believing what feels good, going along with an explanatory narrative that makes some kind of sense of a complex and scary world and organizes that understanding around vilifying an enemy, who is to blame for our problems. What’s scary is that our political and media institutions may favor such simplistic and appealing populist narratives, and disadvantage more nuanced approaches.

To Novella’s chagrin, the rubes don’t fall in line with science experts nearly as often as scientific experts think they ought to. Why so? 

Joe Knows a Few Things

Consider Joe Blow. Joe has no scientific education. He’s a truck driver. He works a couple of jobs to support his family, he pays his taxes, coaches his son’s little league team, and goes to church on Sundays. He is anything but a scientific expert, but he does know a few things. 

Joe has been told since the 1980s that the world is going to end due to global warming. It sounds like those crazy guys with the placards who say the world is gonna end tomorrow. The earth’s sell-by-date keeps getting pushed forward — polar ice caps were supposed to melt, but didn’t, polar bears were supposed to go extinct, but didn’t, sea levels were supposed to inundate coastal cities, but didn’t, and tens of millions of climate refugees were supposed to perish fleeing the catastrophic heat. Joe’s still waiting. He is also still waiting for the apocalyptic global cooling he was told about in the 1970s (Joe ain’t no scientist, but he has a good memory). He remembers watching Paul Ehrlich on TV in the late 1960s warning that overpopulation was going to cause billions of people to die of starvation and cause nations to disintegrate over the next couple of decades. Joe wonders how a scientist could be so wrong and still keep his job and even get elected to the American Association for the Advancement of Science, the United States National Academy of Sciences, the American Academy of Arts and Sciences, and the American Philosophical Society. 

The Rules Don’t Apply to Scientists

Joe knows that if he screwed up his own job like that, he’d be fired before the day was out. But those rules don’t apply to scientists. Joe remembers hearing that DDT and other pesticides was going to kill all birds and give us all cancer. DDT was banned, and lots of people started (again) dying of malaria, and scientists were pretty proud of themselves for getting DDT banned and told people who didn’t want to get malaria to sleep with nets.  

Joe remembers being told by scientists in the 1990s that AIDS was going to spread to the heterosexual community and kill millions of Americans. He remembers the panic over Y2K, when nothing happened except that some scientists got big grants to study it. Joe has heard a lot about the science replication crisis — he doesn’t fully understand it, but he knows that it means that a whole lot of science is basically made up.

Joe remembers his father talking about when the U.S. government sterilized tens of thousands of innocent people against their will because scientific experts insisted that humanity was degenerating due to poor breeding. Joe isn’t exactly sure what eugenics was, but he knows that nearly all scientific institutions embraced it for nearly a century, and Joe suspects that it was just a way to make sure there weren’t too many people like Joe. 

Thinking About Evolution

Joe doesn’t know what to think about evolution. He believes in God, and knows that it’s obvious that a Higher Power made this beautiful and vastly complex world. He doesn’t have a problem with the claim that animals change over time, but he doesn’t think that scientists should drag his son’s teachers into federal court to force them to teach his boy that there’s no purpose in life. He thinks we should be able to question science, especially in schools. And he wonders why Darwin’s theory is so certain, since it can’t even stand up to questions from schoolchildren. 

Joe wonders why scientists say that babies aren’t really human before they’re born, when it’s obvious that life starts at conception. Joe wonders why scientists say that there are lots of genders besides men and women, when it’s pretty obvious that men are men and women are women, and saying otherwise doesn’t make otherwise true. Joe thinks that if scientists don’t like fossil fuels, they’re free to stop using them. Why do scientists fly to global warming conferences in big jets, Joe wonders? Why do billionaires who preach about climate change own so many houses? And Joe wonders why no scientists objected to taking money from a known child molester like Jeffrey Epstein. Heck, if they didn’t speak up about that, why would anyone expect them to speak up for scientific truth?

Joe Is No Scientist

But he knows that time and time again scientists have lied and cheated and said stupid things and they’ve even sterilized and killed people, and they never seem to be held to account. Heck, they even seem to prosper when they’re wrong. 

And Joe knows that he’s an expert on one thing: his own money. He pays his taxes, and when scientists call him stupid, what they always mean is that he doesn’t want his own tax money spent on what scientists want just because scientists want it. Joe thinks that scientists should explain why they screwed up so much in the past before we believe everything they say today. 

In a democracy, Joe says, the ultimate expert is the people, and scientists have done little over the past century to earn people’s trust. Unaccountability is the name of the game in the scientific world. Again and again scientists screw up, and then they insult the people who pay their salaries and they insult the people who point out that they’ve screwed up. Joe thinks that employees should be polite to their employers.

Joe may be anti-intellectual, but he’s no fool.

Photo credit: Veronica538 / CC BY-SA.

The post Is Joe Blow “Anti-Intellectual”? appeared first on Evolution News.

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[balogtas]

HOPE, OPENNESS, AND FAITH

by Awal, Bagtila, Edoc, Falawed, Murao & Tandoc

          It turns out that what drives people to instantaneous self-destruction is seeing a mysterious force - a real jolt for the survivors of the phenomena. One must avoid coming face to face with an entity that takes the form of their worst fears. Searching for hope and a new beginning, a woman and her children embark on a dangerous journey through the woods and down a river to find the one place that may offer sanctuary which required them to face hardships and challenges. To make it, they’ll have to cover their eyes from the evil that chases them and complete the trip blindfolded.

          Netflix’s, Bird Box with 45 million views online within the first week of its release could not resist us from diving in a little bit on this “post-apocalyptic” phenomenon. The movie was directed by Susanne Bier and is based on a novel by Josh Malerman. The movie’s script was written by Eric Heisserer and ranked at the top of the 2014 “Blood List” of best unproduced horror screenplays, and it’s a satisfyingly high-concept contrivance.

          Bird Box revolves around the story of, at first, a pregnant and emotionally unavailable woman, Malorie, who ultimately finds herself in the midst of an apocalyptic attack. This attack involves “beings” whom when you look at them in plain sight, force you to commit suicide. It ultimately caused a mass killing of the human race. It depicts the characters in their struggle to survive, and shows much of the world that surrounds them, but, since the survivors are the ones who never see the thing, the movie never shows it. It does, however, show just enough of the thing’s effect - a wind-like whipping-up of swirls of leaves - to deflate the potential existential terror of a completely traceless thing, a seeming neutron bomb of suicidal impulse.  From here, Malorie is brought into this house with a group of people, because being indoors with any view of the outside world blocked out, keeps you safe but not safe enough. Kindness at its highest level was in everyone’s heart at that moment. Up until, an insider with their worst fear was welcomed warmly.

          After all the struggle they had been, Malorie and her children survived. Malorie flee with her baby boy, the newborn child of another housemate who died which she named girl, and the one surviving member of the house that turned to be her lover to find a place where they could be safe together. They ultimately find themselves living in the middle of the woods, having trained themselves with blindfolds on how to survive, and in pursuit of discovering a community of which they could live with permanently. These dangerous schemes, whether with a larger group in city streets or with the trio of Malorie and the children in the wild, are filmed with illustrative approximations, in generic gestures and fragments. The melodramatic tone, and the increasingly menacing set of dangers that Malorie and the children face in their rustic flight - set throughout with looming closeups in which characters register and express a fear that the images don’t themselves convey. The story continues on with Malorie rafting down the river with the two children, having lost her lover right beforehand, with their blindfolds on, journeying forward against a battle with death in hope of finding a place where they can call home and live in peace.

          Bird Box is a toy-chest apocalypse in which the rules of the game are, to all appearances, never understood - yet that hostility with bewildering mystery never crops up as a theme of discussion among characters who have to confront it. The movie’s nuts-and-bolts protagonists never look past immediate needs to consider the societal or cosmic causes or implications of the catastrophe. Their hermetic self-reliance and self-“interestedness”, for all its ideological implications, are the dramatic reflection of a fictional world that’s thinly and lazily conceived.

          Bird Box uniquely differs compared to other post-apocalyptic films such as, The Quiet Place, It Comes at Night and I Am Legend. Within all of these films, the characters are introduced in a non-linear fashion, where the viewers meet them in the post-apocalyptic world. This forces the viewers to pay attention and pose the question, “How did they get there?” and the viewers keep watching to find out. Just as the rest of these films, Bird Box, shares with you the rules of the world, such as, you’ll see them if you look into the outside world, or like in A Quiet Place, if you make a loud noise, even while you’re inside, they’ll come after you. In addition, something is common in these films, besides in I Am Legend, is that there are other survivors with the lead character that could be either enemies or allies throughout the film. It differs in a way that you cannot see the monsters within this film, nor do you really know how they got there, or how the apocalypse even started.

          Bird Box is a story about learning to hope. It is as much a character study as it is a post-apocalyptic thriller, examining the different ways in which people cope with the apparent end of the world. It sensitively tackles the question of mental health in society. It probes into how it is perceived from those directly affected, to those who view it and how those attitudes are communicated. The movie suggests a split in society, an ‘us and them’ situation.

          Monsters within this film was not visible, nor there is any explanation about how the apocalypse even started. Relating this to us, humans - the monsters are our personal demons that only we, ourselves can see; such as comparing ourselves to strangers on the internet, hurting someone you loved so badly then fleet them away, looking at yourself and hating what you see, or really anything under the sun that could hurt someone. This is why we can’t see the monsters. It’s the personal demons and pain of the characters following them. This is related to our inability to connect as human beings. This is why we always feel lonely. We don’t take the time to ask people how they are doing and what’s going on in their heads. We don’t take the time to care enough or listen. We have become a selfish society, who thinks the world only revolves around ourselves, but if we got off our phones and truly see the world for what it was and the people in it, and gave reaching out a chance, then possibly we wouldn’t be so lonely anymore. This denotes to what Charlie, the shop owner in the film Bird Box was talking about that, “Demons come in all shapes and sizes, that once judged - will be the end of us as humans.”

          Did you know that by 2020, it’s predicted that worldwide, a suicide will be committed every 20 seconds? We put so much pressure on ourselves these days regarding work, love life, social-life, what we need to accomplish, and we never give ourselves enough time to understand that we are growing, along with time to practice self-love, take a walk in the park, eat a proper meal that is healthy and nutritious, and see the beauty of this world for what it simply is.

          Everyone is so afraid of being alone that they don’t open themselves up to be vulnerable, to actually live life  -  the most beautiful gift we’ve been given.

          What Bird Box, is saying is that the apocalypse comes from ourselves  -  from the human race. Suicide is spreading like wildfire across the globe, and if we have to have that plainly explained to us, there’s no wonder we can’t connect. We don’t look into the deeper meaning of things anymore. It’s been expressed to us that Bird Box, is an “Oh-kay.” movie, we looked at it and said, “Wow!,” the writer really had something important to say.

          Oh and btw, before you leave, watch our BIRD BOX CHALLENGE NOW @ www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZZygGlYiX-g&t=18s ENJOY! :))

[spynotebook]

Image: Leaving the opera in the year 2000, lithograph by Albert Robida (late 19th century)

FirstsThis week we're taking a look at first things, early things, and—for better or worse—things that are #1.  

Science fiction writers are professional future-dreamers, imagining worlds far beyond their own. With technology advancing at astronomical rates, real life feels more and more like sci-fi every day (for better or worse). So it’s fun to look back at those writers who, decades and even centuries ago, imagined what life would be like now—and some of their predictions were surprisingly accurate.

It’s difficult to pin down exactly who was the first to predict the internet, because the further back we go the more abstract these predictions become. However, these three authors are the best contenders for the title—within the very limited confines of Western European fiction—and you can decide which one of them was truly the first to predict the internet as it works today.

Edward Mitchell — The Senator’s Daughter (1879)

Edward Page Mitchell is far from a household name. Yet he was a foundational figure for modern sci-fi, dreaming up faster-than-light travel, cyborgs, teleportation, mutants, and time travel long before HG Wells and other more well-known writers developed these ideas. Despite being born in 1852, Mitchell’s short stories were amazingly prescient, and The Senator’s Daughter features a fascinating machine that parallels social media newsfeeds.

Written in 1879 but set in 1937, The Senator’s Daughter imagines the future of world politics, as a poignant, star-crossed romance plays out. Our young lovers are divided by politics and race, and Mitchell’s social commentary makes this story well worth a read. Although the focus is largely socio-political, Mitchell uses fantastic technology to place the events in the future—and that’s where we find our internet prediction. Here’s an excerpt:

[Mr. Wanlee] went to one side of the room, where an endless strip of printed paper, about three feet wide, was slowly issuing from between noiseless rollers and falling in neat folds into a willow basket placed on the floor to receive it. Mr. Wanlee bent his head over the broad strip of paper and began to read attentively.

“You take the Contemporaneous News, I suppose,” said the other.

“No, I prefer the Interminable Intelligencer,” replied Mr. Wanlee.

This unnamed contraption provides a constant stream of news from multiple different publications, reporting on live events around the world. It may seem small, but it’s quite amazing that Mitchell dreamed this machine up, considering that electronic printers were far from being invented. The immediacy of the reports, the breadth of publications, and the fact that this is all available in Mr Wanlee’s own home is reminiscent of social media newsfeeds, RSS feeds, and even Google News.

As Mitchell was primarily a journalist, it’s fitting that he predicted news culture in the internet age. However, although this story was chronologically published before the others on this list, Mitchell’s news machine is maybe a little too specific to be considered an all-encompassing prediction of the internet. But he wasn’t the only one to imagine live reports from around the world…

Mark Twain — From The London Times in 1904 (1898)

Mark Twain might be known for his sardonic depictions of quaint American life, but he occasionally branched out into other genres with his short stories. The 1898 story From The London Times In 1904 introduces a machine called the Telectroscope, described as a “limitless-distance” telephone that allows the user to view events all around the world in real-time, as well as interact with the people there. This provides comfort to one Mr Clayton, a man awaiting his execution after being accused of murder.

…day by day, and night by night, he called up one corner of the globe after another, and looked upon its life, and studied its strange sights, and spoke with its people, and realized that by grace of this marvelous instrument he was almost as free as the birds of the air, although a prisoner under locks and bars.

In Twain’s story, the Telectroscope reveals that the man Clayton supposedly killed is still alive. Clayton is released, but the courts rule that his execution must still be carried out. Despite the evidence, Clayton is executed at the end of the story. In our current culture of defiance in the face of apparently indisputable evidence (say, of a crowd gathering to see a president elected), Twain’s scathing tale of obstinate blindness to the truth certainly resonates.

Unsurprisingly, Twain is frequently credited with being the first to predict smartphones and social media, as the Telectroscope is similar to the livestreams and video chats we use today. However, there is another author who arguably got much closer to a comprehensive view of how the internet works…

E.M. Forster — The Machine Stops (1909)

Between two of his most famous works, A Room With A View and Howard’s End, E.M. Forster took a break from writing about class hypocrisy to pen a futurist novella that doesn’t just predict many of the functions of the internet, but also its effect on society. The Machine Stops is set in a post-apocalyptic future wherein humanity has retreated underground to live in pods. Their society is managed, maintained, and controlled by the Machine, an automatic entity that is revered by all. The Machine provides every material comfort for the population, as well as allowing them to access a vast archive of information, and communicate with each other visually and aurally.

Then she generated the light, and the sight of her room, flooded with radiance and studded with electric buttons, revived her. There were buttons and switches everywhere – buttons to call for food for music, for clothing. [...] There was the button that produced literature. and there were of course the buttons by which she communicated with her friends. The room, though it contained nothing, was in touch with all that she cared for in the world.

Although radio and telephones were becoming more widespread when Forster was writing, such a vast, automatic network was unheard of in 1909. The Machine parallels the internet in dozens of ways, from co-ordinating the practicalities of this society (much like how traffic lights are run automatically today), to archives of information and film, to instant communication.

This apparently comfortable society is not without its problems, however. People are wary of touching one another, and dare not question the Machine. In fact, we could even argue that Forster predicted the social media bubble, wherein people regurgitate ideas to those in their little internet community — at one point in The Machine Stops, a university professor warns people to “beware of new ideas!”

Although The Machine Stops was predated by Twain and Mitchell’s stories, Forster’s predictions are far more all-encompassing, with the Machine paralleling the internet beyond mere elements of social media. There will always be debate over who predicted the internet first, but Forster’s foresight is eerily similar to modern day. Ultimately, the Machine breaks down and with it, so does this civilization. We’ll just have to hope that this particular prediction doesn’t come true.

[dazzledbybooks]

The sun of the Chicome people has been destroyed six times. First by water, then by storm, fire, famine, sickness, and beasts. After each apocalypse, the creator goddess allowed one of her divine children to sacrifice themselves to save civilization. The gods paid their blood as the price for the lives of the people, and the people owed them blood in return.Mayana is a noble descendant of the water goddess and can control water whenever her blood is spilled. She has always despised the brutal rituals of her people — especially sacrifices. She can’t even make it through a routine animal sacrifice without embarrassing her family. Prince Ahkin has always known he would be emperor, but he didn’t expect his father to die so suddenly. Now he must raise the sun in the sky each day and read the signs in the stars. But the stars now hint at impending chaos and the sun has begun setting earlier each evening. Ahkin fears he might not be strong enough to save his people from another apocalypse. And to add to his list of worries, he can’t truly become emperor until he selects a wife.Mayana and six other noble daughters are sent to the palace to compete for Ahkin’s hand. She must prove she is a true daughter of water and face the others who have their own magical gifts from wielding the elements to the control of animals, plants and healing. And in a society centered on rigid rituals, Mayana must conceal her traitorous beliefs because if she doesn’t make Ahkin love her, she will become a ceremonial sacrifice to bless his marriage. But darker forces are at play and it won’t matter if Mayana loses if the world ends first…Rich in imagination and romance, and based on the legends and history of the Aztec and Mayan people, The Seventh Sun brings to vivid life a world on the edge of apocalyptic disaster. The Seventh Sun (The Age of the Seventh Sun #1) by Lani Forbes Publisher: Blackstone Publishing Release Date: 18th February 2020 Genre: Young Adult, Fantasy Links: Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/44100454-the-seventh-sun Amazon: https://amzn.to/2rcbsQF B&N: https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/the-seventh-sun-lani-forbes/1133399303?ean=9781982546090 Bookdepository: https://www.bookdepository.com/The-Seventh-Sun-Lani-Forbes/9781982546090 Kobo: https://www.kobo.com/gr/en/ebook/the-seventh-sun-1 Google Play: https://books.google.co.uk/books/about/The_Seventh_Sun.html?id=aIqtDwAAQBAJ&redir_esc=y Favorite Quotes: “A solitary flash of red splashed against the blue of the sky and distracted her from the twitching shadows of the birds. It looked like a comet, barely visible on the horizon but with a tail that glowed the color of blood.” “This will not be the last time we see each other,” he told her. “And when I see you next, I will be even more proud of you than I am now. Your compassionate heart may hold you back at times from doing what is necessary, but it is also your greatest fight. You see what others see, you feel what others feel. Use that, Mayana. It can be strength if you let it.” “Their attitudes will get us all killed by the gods, if you ask me. Sanctimonious fanatics. I hope the marriage arrangement they announced with the prince’s sister will do something to help smooth the tensions.” Yemenis shook her head slowly back and forth. Review: The Seventh Sun by Lani Forbes is unique in the fact that it focuses on South American cultures. It has a bit of Mayan, Aztec, and Egyptian cultures within it. I found that to be quite fascinating. This book starts off with a very dramatic bang. Ahkin’s father has died. Ahkin’s mother is off to kill herself per the tradition of their culture. His mother kills herself so that her son is able to marry and the new wife will be the next incarnation of the goddess. I mean what a way to start the beginning of a novel. Ahkin has to find a wife before he can inherit the title of emperor. Wow! There are so many rules for finding a wife. They have to be of noble descendant of one fo the gods. These gods are continually worshiped for the sacrifices to keep the people alive. The woman must prove themselves worthy of the marriage. The women that are not picked are sacrificed as a ceremonial blessing for the emperor’s rule and marriage. Quite intense right? Then we have Mayana who doesn’t believe in tradition and rituals. The beliefs she has about these traditions and rituals could get her killed if anyone found out. Mayana is an empath. She has a hard time with the sacrifices both human and animal. She doesn’t want to do them anymore and she questions why they are being done in the first place. All she truly feels is that she is letting her father down all the time because she has such a chard time with their way of life. I really liked the magic system in this book. I thought it was fitting. In order for someone with magic (or power) to be able to use it, they have to first cut themselves and spill their blood. There is also a fine line because they can’t spill too much blood or they will die. I feel like this book covers a lot of ground. You have Ahkin looking for a wife. You have Mayana falling in love with Ahkin but being conflicted due to her beliefs. You have conspiracies and traditions. So much information is dumped on you. This book is very hard to put down. It goes by fairly quickly. The Map: About the Author: Lani Forbes is the daughter of a librarian and an ex-drug smuggling surfer, which explains her passionate love of the ocean and books. A California native whose parents live in Mexico, she now resides in the Pacific Northwest where she stubbornly wears flip flops no matter how cold it gets. She teaches middle school math and science and proudly calls herself a nerd and Gryffindor. She is also an award-winning member of Romance Writers of America and the Society for Children’s Book Writers and Illustrators. Links: Website: https://laniforbes.com/ Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/18903487.Lani_Forbes Twitter: https://twitter.com/LaniForbes Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/laniforbes/ Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/AuthorLaniForbes/ Giveaway: Prize: Win (1) of (2) signed hardcover of THE SEVENTH SUN by Lani Forbes, a Worry Doll, a button and a bookmark (US/CAN Only) Starts: 12th February 2020 a Rafflecopter giveaway Tour Schedule: https://fantasticflyingbookclub.blogspot.com/2019/12/tour-schedule-seventh-sun-age-of.html February 12th The Unofficial Addiction Book Fan Club - Welcome Post February 13th Belle's Archive - Review + Favourite Quotes Story-eyed Reviews - Review Happily, Hedy - Review + Favourite Quotes Fanna Wants The World To Read - Review Dazzled by Books - Review + Favourite Quotes February 14th Artsy Draft - Guest Post biblioxytocin - Review + Favourite Quotes Book Briefs - Review Cluttered Books - Review + Favourite Quotes Popthebutterfly Reads - Review February 15th Kait Plus Books - Interview @onemused - Review Sohinee Reads & Reviews - Review Kati's Bookaholic Rambling Reviews - Review Bookablereads - Review + Favourite Quotes February 16th NovelKnight - Guest Post KookBookery - Review + Favourite Quotes Whispers & Wonder - Review Sometimes Leelynn Reads - Review + Playlist + Dream Cast Foals, Fiction & Filigree - Review + Favourite Quotes February 17th bewitchingwords - Review + Playlist L.M.Durand - Review Shelf-Rated - Review + Favourite Quotes The Reading Corner for All - Review + Playlist + Favourite Quotes mabookyard - Review + Favourite Quotes February 18th Bibliobibuli YA - Interview The Reading Chemist - Review Ya It’s Lit  - Review + Favourite Quotes For The Love of Fictional Worlds - Review Jheel - Review + Favourite Quotes Instagram Schedule: February 12th TUABFC The FFBC Tours February 13th Belle's Archive Story-eyed Reviews Happily, Hedy Dazzled by Books February 14th Book Briefs Popthebutterfly Reads February 15th Kait Plus Books @onemused Kati's Bookaholic Rambling Reviews February 16th NovelKnight Whispers & Wonder Sometimes Leelynn Reads Foals, Fiction & Filigree February 17th L.M.Durand Shelf-Rated The Reading Corner for All February 18th Ya It’s Lit The Reading Chemist Jheel

http://www.dazzledbybooks.com/2020/02/the-seventh-sun-blog-tour.html

[micaramel]

Artist: Dora Budor

Venue: Kunsthalle Basel

Exhibition Title: I am Gong

Date: May 24 – August 11, 2019

Note: An excerpt of The Sound Sweep (2019) is available here.

Click here to view slideshow

Full gallery of images, press release, and link available after the jump.

Images:

Video:

Dora Budor, documentation of The Preserving Machine, 2018-19, installation with biomimetic robot bird, tinted vinyl enclosure, custom audio-to-motion computer navigation system, detritus, parts of building remains from the construction site of the Musiksaal (elements from 1886, 1905, and 1930), architectural mock-up façade from the Musiksaal, dimensions variable

Images courtesy of Kunsthalle Basel. Photos by Philipp Hänger and Gina Folly.

Press Release:

Can an exhibition–typically an assembly of discrete, immutable things on public display– function like a reactive organism? Can it, in that sense, be alive? And can it, in order to be so, be fed by a confluence of historical and real-time events that propel it through an ever- changing choreography of transformation? These are the preoccupations underlying I am Gong, Dora Budor’s experimental exhibition and first institutional solo show in Europe.

Taking cues from cinema, science fiction, and architectural history in equal measure, the Croatian-born, New York-based artist often constructs her artworks as interdependent systems. Budor’s new exhibition, however, links these systems to Kunsthalle Basel’s specific historic and cultural context, from its origins to the present, in a quest to relinquish control over nearly every artwork in the show by submit- ting it to unpredictable external forces.

Basel’s Musiksaal, a legendary concert hall located across the street, is the show’s literal motor–or lifeblood, if you will. Designed by Johann Jakob Stehlin-Burckhardt and completed in 1876 (four years after its neighbor, Kunsthalle Basel, which he also designed), the concert hall was intended as a “sibling,” an acoustic counterpart, to a Kunsthalle dedicated to the visual arts. The Musiksaal’s current, almost archaeological reconstruction governs the formal, atmospheric, and sonic conditions of Budor’s exhibition. Sound-sensitive devices placed inside the construction site collect signals– shrill noises of construction drills, metal beams being welded, wind whipping past the windows– and transmit their frequencies in real time to Kunsthalle Basel, if, when, and with whatever intensity they occur. This sensory transaction system carries its own title, Tuning (Well, It’s a Vertebrate…), and metastasizes in Budor’s artworks in various ways.

The exhibition opens with the installation The Year without a Summer (Klug’s Field), a seemingly desolate environment enveloped in a slightly greenish light. Worn leather sofas, some battered and torn, occupy the space, their modular, 1970s utopian designs serving as the landscape’s ground. Overhead, four machines each sporadically release flutters of cinematic special-effect ash according to furtive rules. Piles of faux cinders accumulate on the floor and sofas as if in the aftermath of some unidentified cataclysm. In fact, the speed and quantity of the ash falls, and thus the sizes and shapes of the piles, each visibly manifest the noise level transmitted from a different area of the Musiksaal. The ensuing image-forms evolve over the duration of the exhibition.

Three large brass plates also occupy the space. Specially treated to display the patina and marks of age that would allow their being assigned to different historical moments, each is a representation of time’s passage. A fourth such plate in the second room, joins an architectural mock-up of the planned parquet flooring for the Musiksaal. The herringbone pattern of the wood pieces, mirroring Kunsthalle Basel’s own parquet floor, has holes filled with a gelatinous substance. Future floor laid upon historic floor, projection laid upon actuality, material rigidity interrupted by viscous goo–incongruities cling to The Devil, Probably, which takes its title from Robert Bresson’s 1977 film about a post-1968 society in crisis.

Neither entirely in the present nor confined to the past, neither nostalgic nor futurist, the exhibition produces a sense of temporal unease. So, too, is a kind of estrangement made palpable through a specially created soundscape that travels through the cavities of the building. It trembles and resonates from the walls and floors, concentrating in the exhibition’s third room. The composition is, again, modulated by activity at the nearby construction site. A darkly affecting, ever-mutating sound results, whose impetus was J. G. Ballard’s 1960 short story “The Sound-Sweep,” which like-wise lends Budor’s piece its title. Ballard’s narrative describes a world where technological developments have rendered audible music obsolete, but sounds have been deposited in solid surfaces, causing emotional flashbacks among inhabitants when these sonic sediments trickle out. History, both Ballard and Budor insist, is never entirely past, but instead lodged in the very fabric of our surroundings and seeping into the present.

The fourth room features a trilogy of sculptures, like hybrids between natural history vitrines, laboratory incubators, and industrial test chambers. Each intermittently spurts dust and pigments whose movement and hues evoke the atmospheres of J. M. W. Turner’s historical paintings (nearly contemporaneous with the construction of Kunsthalle Basel and the Musiksaal), which are said to portray visible changes in the Earth’s atmosphere due to industrial pollution and volcanic dust. Frequencies from the Musiksaal here too act as a live score generating the unstable image-forms inside each chamber, activating airflows and particulates to craft a psychogeography of dirt and waste expressive of the era spanning the Industrial Revolution to the present day.

In the final room, a lone robot bird endlessly flies above a pile of wreckage, visible through the yellow-orange cast of its enclosure. Its flight pattern is directed by a translation of Beethoven’s Symphony No. 9 (the first music piece ever performed by an orchestra in the Musiksaal, on October 4, 1876) into a movement vector. Below, historic architectural elements from the Musiksaal’s construction site are joined by contemporary mock-ups of the building’s facade, fashioning a ruinous landscape. Titled The Preserving Machine, Budor’s installation borrows its name from Philip K. Dick’s 1953 science-fiction short story, which describes an attempt to conserve classical music in the face of cultural collapse by encoding musical scores into animals. But beastly evolution mutates the scores to the point of unrecognizability: nature and culture compete in a fight for the survival of the fittest. The artist, for her part, erects her own mechanism for viewing and preservation, inscribing music in biomimetic movement patterns and allowing us to find future monuments amid rubble.

Although references to dark visions portending the perils of technology and of the future of culture and society infuse I am Gong, Budor’s approach is not patently or unequivocally apocalyptic. She stitches together history and the now, the visual and the auditory, one building and another, order and disorder, to create environments that make uncertainty visceral. To accomplish this, Budor has constructed what amounts to a variable-driven exhibition-system that effectively deregulates the fixity of the artwork and its presentation context. Rerouting the most basic functions of the solo show that normally make it a site of artistic agency and display, she transforms it into an assembly of constantly evolving contingencies. The result exudes a kind of disobedience. Such productive unruliness may be entirely apt, the artist seems to say, for a moment like our own.

Dora Budor was born in 1984 in Zagreb; she lives and works in New York, US.

Link: Dora Budor at Kunsthalle Basel

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from Contemporary Art Daily http://bit.ly/300S30I

[mikemortgage]

Iceland seeks financial crash closure with last prosecution

REYKJAVIK, Iceland — The Lehman Brothers bankruptcy threw the United States into an epoch-defining financial storm. Imagine 300 of them going bust at once.

That, in relative terms, is what Iceland endured a decade ago during its banking crisis, which on this rugged island steeped in myths of gods and giants is now known as “hrunid” — the collapse.

The last in a series of prosecutions of those deemed responsible started this month and the hope is that it will give this country of 330,000 people some closure after years of reckoning and reconstruction. Icelanders have become more cynical about political and business leaders, to the point of drafting a new constitution. The top financial entrepreneurs of a generation have been thrown behind bars and the economy has had to be reinvented more profoundly than most countries affected by the crisis.

“Icelanders experienced the crash as a deep betrayal, not just as a serious economic loss,” says Jon Olafsson, a professor who advises the prime minister on ways to improve trust in the government. “Politicians, businessmen and the media told the public, over and over, that everything was fine and people believed them.”

Everything was not fine. Over the span of one week, 90 per cent of the financial sector defaulted.

The collapse of Iceland’s three major commercial banks — which had grown 20-fold over the previous seven years through debt-fueled acquisitions abroad — amounted to the third-largest bankruptcy in modern financial history, according to the Icelandic financial regulator. For the United States, an economy 1,100 times bigger, it would be like if 300 Lehman Brothers defaulted simultaneously, it notes.

An economic depression followed that saw people line up for food aid, an unprecedented sight in this country with a progressive welfare state. Families stockpiled goods from supermarket shelfs and thousands emigrated.

Johanna Thorvaldsdottir, a goat farmer, had a mortgage in a foreign currency when the Icelandic krona lost nearly half of its value over night, ramping up the cost of her debt.

“I worked every evening, sometimes until midnight,” she says. Had it not been for a crowdfunding campaign, raising $90,000 from donors worldwide, the family estate would have been seized by bank creditors.

“We were lucky,” she says. “Many people were not.”

As big as the shock of the financial crisis was, so was the country’s determination to put things right. It emerged from recession in 2011 as it refocused the economy on tourism and technology, and it has been more aggressive than most countries in going after the culprits of the crisis.

Altogether, 29 men and two women have been sentenced to a combined 99 years of prison, for crimes ranging from insider trading to market manipulation. Six cases are still in the appeals process. By comparison, no top Wall Street executives have been prosecuted in the U.S.

Last week, Hreidar Mar Sigurdsson, the former CEO of Kaupthing Bank, stood trial in the last criminal prosecution related to the financial crisis.

The 48-year old has been sentenced in four prior cases, to a total of seven years in prison. He now stands accused of rigging share prices in his bank two months before it crashed. He denies wrongdoing. While a guilty sentence is unlikely to send him back to prison, as he has already served the maximum time for such crimes, it would help draw a line under the cases, which have dragged on for years.

Sigurdsson began his career at a fish factory in a small town before entering finance, and was during the booming years hailed as a self-made genius.

In some ways, his story reflects that of the country, which in the 1990s embraced the flashy world of finance to attain the wealth that the traditional industries could not provide. The media frequently referred to aggressive entrepreneurs like Sigurdsson as modern-day Vikings raiding foreign shores for acquisitions. In the end, it led to disaster.

Iceland is bent on “learning every lesson from the crisis,” says Iosif Kovras, director of Accountability after Economic Crisis, a research project based in City University-London.

He contrasted Iceland’s approach with that of Ireland, where the crisis was also traumatic but took longer to unfold. The country received a bailout from fellow European nations that took years of reforms to complete.

“It did not prompt the same political urgency,” says Kovras. “Iceland’s apocalyptic crash cleared the way for gathering evidence and data,”

The University of Iceland this month marked the 10-year anniversary of the crash with a symposium hosting over 100 speakers. They ruminated on topics like the crisis’ impact on cardiovascular health, pop-song lyrics, patriarchy and popular protests.

“There is no formula for restoring a peaceful, democratic society,” former President Olafur Ragnar Grimsson said in an evening-long public broadcast reflecting on the events. “Amid the crisis, when the situation was revolution-like, I feared not for the economy but our recovery as a nation.”

Reforms of the financial sector have focused on making it less risky. Already there are those saying the rules should be relaxed to allow for faster growth, as the U.S. did this year. President Donald Trump’s administration eased a 2010 law that had sought to limit risk in the financial sector and protect taxpayers from bailing out banks. Critics including Trump saw it as red tape holding the economy back.

Others suggest that loosening the rules would merely increase the likelihood of a new crisis and that Icelanders already seem to be forgetting the lessons of the crash.

Thorhallur Thorhallsson, who works as a tour guide in the capital, notes the proliferation of building cranes rising from the skyline.

“We are so used to cranes occupying the sky that it was decided to make them our national bird,” he tells a half dozen tourists gathered by the statue of the Norse explorer who is said to have settled the island 1,100 years ago.

“In fact, today, Reykjavik has more building cranes than before the 2008 crash.”

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