#also the fact that he likes looking for aliens and is probably low-key a conspiracy theorist

[paranoidginger]

Middle of the night post because I cannot sleep.

I think more people need to acknowledge the fact that Sniper probably looks older than he is because his organs are literally failing and he probably lives off of caffeine and painkillers. (Aside from him living in a van and roughing it out in nature probably without any sunscreen)

Not enough people talk about this imo. It's always "haha funny piss man" never "Oh shit, he's taking medicine that literally enlarges his kidneys and is killing him slowly"

Proof: panel from the comic The Insult That Made a "Jarate Master" Out of Sniper

My man is literally dying.

[lovely-necromancy]

A Cure for Insomnia CH 1.

This is a reader insert I originally started posting on AO3. I’m cross posting here because I know some of the fandom still lives here.

Quick Disclaimer:

This is a fic I'm writing for my own comfort.

I was inspired by RaeBees (you can check out their works over on Quotev and AO3), and how they characterize the "proxies". Having always seen the characters different than most of the fandom I've interacted with I never really shared my thoughts until now. This work is only placed in the Creepypasta tag so it reaches its demographic. However, I am fully aware of the fact that no main character is considered a Pasta.

It may also appear to lean more Toby X Protag in the beginning but end goal is protag with all three, and Brian and Tim already in a relationship. How I picture it now is a slowburn but Toby and Protag will be in a friends with benefits relationship before either has any feelings, so I think that counts. Some may be confused by the asexual protag tag but it'll be explained in story, as an Ace myself I get frustrated with media that only show one version and say it goes for us all. That being said I don't represent the whole Ace community but I hope to provide a bit more representation for some others out there.

Protag will be depicted as agender, and will have a few tics that stem from their Autism. Again I don't speak for any others with Autism but I hope to provide some representation for those in similar positions.

Tags will be updated as the story progresses. Canon-Typical violence and mental health issues are to be expected if you feel uncomfortable with those aspects I advise you to not engage. This story will also have a lot of NSFW themes and scenes so I highly discourage anyone under the age of 18 from viewing this work. You will get warnings on chapters with NSFW and I will make it skippable as well.

I'm also very nitpicky and gave the main characters birthdays just because it irritates me when it gets mentioned once and you have to do the math or imagine your own conversation when a birthday was too close to a character's.

Tim January 1st, home state Alabama

Toby April 28th, home state Virginia (saw this years ago no clue if it's accurate)

Protag May 13th, home state Virginia

Brian May 23rd, home state Alabama

Connor the service dog July 18th, home state Kentucky

I've referred to Protag as Protag here but in story they're referred to as YN.

Everything felt impossibly dull; your senses, the dark room you're currently in, the noise coming from the fan just to the left of the bed on which you laid. Turning to the window beside your head you stare out into that weird midnight summer sky. More of a gray than a true dark blue night, cast in an orange glow that made the night seem closer to day than it truly was. While the time was just half past twelve, you felt it may have been more accurate to say it was closer to four in the morning.

You're exhausted but that true sort of exhaustion where whatever energy you have left buzzes all around. It consumes your entire being, dances between being deafeningly loud in your ears to giving you twitches in your legs. You'd laid down hours ago thinking you'd be tired enough to sleep once your tics started to spasm in closer intervals, but to no avail were you able to rest. That buzzing preventing you from dreamland. Maybe the hum of your body was right, you didn't really need to sleep, you just wanted it to feel normal.

Knowing the battle had already been lost you push yourself off the bed and grab a pair of shorts off the floor. Slipping them on you contemplate your options for the night. Going into town was out since it was Sunday...well Monday now, but there would be nothing but bars open and you were never one for drinking. And as fun as a drive sounds right now, you feel the buzzing in your bones grow stronger, you need to move. A late night hike should keep you occupied, with it being so quiet and the middle of the night you wouldn't even have to take your headphones to cancel out the sounds of other people, you aren't likely to run into many people tonight.

Deciding on a hike you grab a mask and car keys and make your way to your yellow Kia Soul. A going away present from your parents that they gave you the moment you got your driver's license after your 24th birthday. Having anxiety throughout your life you'd never been in the head space to start driving till later on, and while you still don't enjoy driving you are pretty good at it even with your “late” start. Surfing through radio stations as you let the car warm up you find your latest obsession, it's a conspiracy theory podcast that someone in Kepler managed to blast through the limited air ways of the town. Impressive considering Kepler was in a radio quiet zone and even cell phones couldn't work in the small town, luckily you lived just outside of the zone so you could send texts and call your parents every weekend.

It seemed today's episode was a rerun, Mothman: Murderer, Man, or Myth. It was actually one of your favorites, the paranormal stories tended to be more entertaining than hearing about how a man could murder sixteen people while working as a cop ruining evidence to lead the others off his trail. Humans could be more vial and cruel than any little gray alien from the future or tall Fresno Nightcrawler could ever be. And they weren't as entertaining to hear about, nor were their exploits as impressive. You could always see patterns, either connecting clues first or finding connections no one else saw, it was never hard to tell where a certain case would lead so you'd always end up disappointed in humanity when they overlooked such obvious clues. Though that often led you down a path of deep diving for information to see just how obvious it was, more often than not you'd find that the most logical conclusion was shady public officers. After investigating so many cold cases you're sure if you're ever in trouble you'll never involve the police, in the end they'd probably just ignore you and rule your case closed if anything ever did happen to you.

'I'd haunt them if they did.' You decide and you shift gears and begin driving to the Monongahela National Forest, as the timeline of Mothman sightings and events play out before for your ears.

Instead of going through town and possibly loosing the signal of the show, you drive on the old dirt road that runs along the very edge of the town, partially covered in trees. This over grown road is the main reason Kepler doesn't see many visitors, the second someone makes their way onto it coming off the interstate they floor it until they see civilization. Over the few months you've been here you've nearly been run right off the road by spooked tourists, trying to escape whatever ghouls their wild imaginations created. The only real thing on this road was a mini mart gas station, and even though it was shady as hell the cashier didn't bug you too much when you came in in the dead of night. Plus they had a cat, how could you not stop in and say hi to little ole Magnolia?

Speaking of which you should probably get a drink for your hike, you could already feel your throat drying out. Turning into the parking lot you're happy to see no other cars around, putting your face mask on you make your way inside. As usual the store is dead at this time, and Ronnie is manning the desk. What's unusual is the man also behind the counter, he has dark brown hair that he's tied into a small and low ponytail, thick sideburns frame his face. You immediately take note of the slight imperfections of his face, most would see the slit in his eyebrow as following the current trend or even just a genetic thing, but you can see the slightly off color of a healed scar that starts just above his eyebrow and ends mid eyelid, he has a few smaller discolorations on his crooked nose, you'd guess he's had it broken at least twice.

Briefly taking a glance to his brown eyes before looking away, today is not an eye contact day. Nodding in their directions, the best acknowledgment you can give right now, you make your way to the freezers. From the freezer section you can hear Ronnie “explain” you.

“That's YN, a regular mainly at night though. A bit skittish and rarely ever says more than 'thanks have a nice day'” Even though she's whispering you can hear everything. Including the high octave her voice takes to mimic you, it feels more like mocking.

If being mocked hadn't already put you on edge the eyes boring into you have. The eyes may not be roaming over your body but the icky crawling of your skin sure makes it feel that way. The feeling of being put under a microscope has always made you sick, the stares, the leers and sneers, and the judgment just makes you want to implode on the spot. Cease existence, be swallowed into the abyss. You're about to set yourself into an anxiety attack with all these thoughts.

'Mask, mask, mask' you repeat over and over in your head, it's the only thing you can focus on. You are wearing a mask, there is one thing they can't perceive, the face is the most important for humans to perceive, your mask protects you.

Without looking you pull a water bottle from the cooler. You don't think you like this brand but the sports mouth makes up for it, and you can't focus enough to grab another. As the imaginary spiders crawl their way under your skin and your breath hitches you make your way over to the counter head down, never looking up at the employees beyond the counter. Your vision is blurring in time with the beating of your heart, you can't tell if it's due to nerves or from being up for five days in a row.

“Hey YN, how're you?” Ronnie asks, her tone is different from the past times you've been in. It's higher and has a lilt in it that you'd expect from a teasing friend. But Ronnie isn't a friend and has never spoken to you like this, you hate it. You nod to politely move on with the process, between the crawling of your skin and the buzzing underneath it you feel sick. And you're now very aware of the existence of your eyelids, you try to focus on ignoring that awareness. You need to move.

“Hmm, that's good. Anyway this is Tim! He's just started so go easy on him.” you hear the sound of a hand hitting fabric and assume she's patted Tim's shoulder as she introduced Tim to you. Why was she doing this, what purpose could introducing you two have? You nod again, was anyone going to ring you out?

“Hi, this all?” a deep voice asked, it isn't extremely deep more of a standard baritone that has a slight raspy quality, probably a reformed smoker. You don't smell cigarettes currently so he could've quit after years. Unfortunately despite your efforts to stave them off your blinking tics emerge. Making it difficult to keep your eyes open for longer than a nano second.

Startled and ticcing you look up and catch his eyes, you see pity in them, before casting your glance back to the counter. You can never tell what's worse people seeing you as weird or seeing you as something needing to be fixed. Nodding again, Tim tells you the total; a dollar fifty eight, and you hand him two dollars from your wallet.

Tim doesn't ask if you want the receipt or a bag, he prints out the receipt and hands you your change. The change goes immediately into the cat food fund for Magnolia. She got diagnosed with diabetes about a month ago and having worked in shelters and pet stores you know just how expensive her prescription food is. After folding the receipt into your wallet, Tim gently slides the water bottle over to you.

“Have a good night.” he says it so low and gentle, as if he thinks you'll shatter in front of him. As kind as the gesture seems, you aren't that fragile...or maybe you are if you have to keep repeating 'mask' over and over in your head to ground yourself. With a final nod you turn and make your way to the door, and just as you open it you hear Ronnie call out.

“Awwww, c'mon YN at least say 'Hi' to Tim.” You really don't like how she squeaked out 'hi'.

Taking a deep breath you prepare yourself, you'll show them both you can do this simple task. Even if you can't stop blinking long enough to see straight. Once you've steadied yourself you turn and look at Tim. He's sending you a look that says 'You don't have to' all that's missing is a slow head shake to complete his unease with this “peer pressure”.

But you can do this you can say 'Hi, Tim.' Two words super simple, nothing complex like 'Hi, Tim, nice to meet you.' and so much better than the option of your next meeting saying 'Hi, Tim. Sorry for spazzing out the other night.'. Yup you can do this just breathe, you open your mouth and...and you've forgotten what to say. Looking like a deer in headlights, well at least the tics stopped, you say the first thing that pops in.

“Mask.” You've said it loud and clear both cashiers heard you.

Tim stares with wide eyes and you see Ronnie failing to hide her laughter. Out of all the ways this could've gone this was probably the best outcome for her. The blinking has started up again, this time growing more frequent. You can't even hold your eyes open, to the two cashiers it must look like you're in pain or crying. And while you want to die of embarrassment, crying is a bit of an extreme for you.

So with red face and the inability to see you leave through the door, and try to make your way back to your car. Once in you lock the doors, switch the car on, and rest your head on the steering wheel. Out of every way this stop could've gone, being perceived by a new comer and Ronnie was not what you expected. While this hadn't been the worst five minutes or so of your life, it definitely would be another thing keeping you up at night for the next twenty years.

Calming down in the cool quiet dark of your car your slowly brought back to the world by the beginning of a new episode. This one talking about the Tailypo legend. A favorite story of yours from when you were a kid living on the coast of Virginia. So with yet another deep breath and the wave of nostalgia, you pull out of the parking lot and slowly coast down the old dirt road. Heading yet again for the Monongahela forest.

It's nearly two in the morning when you roll up to see an RV parked by the forgotten entrance of the park. It isn't surprising at all to find an RV out here since the Monongahela Forest is one of the most beautiful parks you've ever been to. You also don't think anything of them being parked by this unused entrance because you use it all the time since finding it accidentally. Figuring they just wanted to camp and be left to their own devices rather than use the RV sites and be bothered with other campers here for the summer.

Climbing out of your car you notice the RV isn't new by any means but it isn't a total rust bucket either, looks like it's been passed around throughout the years. There isn't anything to suggest it's been here a while, nothing left set up outside, must have just gotten into town then. You do happen to notice dog tracks around the sandy dirt you've parked in, good to know they have a dog before you slammed your car door. Closing the door gently behind you so you don't startle a pup and wake up it's owner or owners, you make your way through the woods. No real direction in mind, with no real thought in your head. Just the thought of moving and to keep on moving.

You could walk the same path every time you came through and always find something different. In fact that's exactly what happens, you're almost positive that you've deepened the imprint of the path just from walking through several times a week. Following the same winding path you usually do, climbing over the fallen tree, and through a scattering of blueberry thicket's you find yourself on the edge of one of the forest's many streams. It's your favorite spot in the forest so far, and about as far as you've gotten considering these hikes of yours take place during the dead of night.

The wind picks up and sends a chill through you, taking that as a sign you slide down to sit by the stream. Vans placed to your side as you sink your feet into the cool water. It's peaceful out here, so cool, and quiet, save for the slight noises the stream makes, various bubbling and drips. You try to think on things like your recent move, your job, the embarrassing 'mask' incident, just life in general. But you can't seem to form a single thought, this happens a lot, you've recently been conscious of the fact that you've been running on auto pilot for the past two months, hell a lot longer than that. You think everyone must get like this from time to time, but you think you've always been this way. Keen to dissociating and slipping in and out of existence.

It's quite nice really, except for the times like right now where you'd love to figure out why the silence in your head is so painfully loud. The more you think on it the louder it gets and the stronger the buzzing under your skin feels. And right now the static in your mind has been getting louder and louder for the past few minutes. You feel your head jerk to the right of it's own accord, moving back in place it happens for a second time, and then a third, then jerks up, before jerking a forth time to the right effectively cracking you neck.

“There we go.” you mumble, you can relax a bit as the verbal tic indicates the end of this round of tics.

Sighing you look at the sky...that can't be right. The sky has been painted it's fresh baby blues for the day, but again that can't be right. You just got to the stream, that path is a thirty minute walk meaning it should be just about two thirty in the morning, but the sky suggests it's five or six at the latest. Reaching for your water bottle you find it empty next to you. You didn't fall asleep you know that much, perhaps you did dissociate tonight. Well this hike was disappointing if you knew you were going to dissociate you'd have saved yourself that embarrassment and stayed home. Maybe done some painting or tidied up.

Sighing you push yourself off the ground, collecting you vans you're about to put them on when you notice a figure off in the distance. You freeze out of shock and stare at the figure, it stares back. The figure is about ten yards away, god your near sighted ass should really remember to not leave your glasses in the car when hiking. The figure starts to make it's way to you and after a few steps you realize it hasn't moved from it's spot. Rolling your eyes you ignore the hallucination.

You'd really needed to get sleep last night, today is day six of no sleep and though you haven't had many episodes these past few days, you have a feeling they'll start to get more prominent today. Hopefully tonight you can manage to get some rest, the longer you go without sleep the more realistic the hallucinations become. But for today you're content with the knowledge that it's just shadow like beings that you'll be seeing.

After putting on your shoes you start the thirty minute hike back to your car. You're thankful for the weather in Kepler, nothing like back on the coast. Here you can go for a morning hike through the forest while a gentle breeze passes by and the sun starts to give the area a pleasant warmth. Back on the coast you couldn't run and grab the mail without getting drenched in moisture from either sweat, humidity, or a mixture of both.  The coast sucks, hell Virginia sucks altogether, you're glad to be in Kepler.

“I want to go home, home.” you say out of nowhere.

Before you reach the entrance you hear barking, oh the RV campers must be up. Should you be careful not to scare them, or just walk normally and say 'Good morning' in passing, maybe just nod your head in greeting. Oh and you've stopped just beside the entrance as you got lost in your rambling. You didn't mean to come to a stop here, and as you try to move you notice how silent it's gotten. Did the dog go inside, maybe they've already passed...no it's too quiet for that. No the silence is oppressive like the one you deal with nightly, there's a reason for the silence. The situation's making you feel uneasy, but that could be the sleep deprivation talking.

You're about to brush it off and move when you hear a whispered, “Seriously man, I don't think anyone's out there. Let's get inside.”

There's a noise of agreement before you hear shuffling. Oh no, you zoned out and now you look like a weirdo stalker. Just perfect, maybe if you wait around a little more you'll seem more normal or at least feel normal. Not knowing how long to wait you walk along the tree line for a bit, looking at the ground as you do making sure you won't step on any snakes. In you quest to not step on any snakes you spot something suspiciously off white. It seems purposefully buried under a dead blueberry bush and some fallen branches.

Having listened to too many true crime shows, you know better than to implicate yourself in a murder. Grabbing a stick off the ground you gently brush the foliage away from the supposed corpse. No way, you can't believe your luck, it's an actual fucking skull. An intact skull of a deer! That is so cool, you've only seen taxidermists on TikTok getting so lucky and finding these dudes. Since the jaw bone is connected by tissue it of course isn't with the skull but maybe it's close by? Clearly this got planted or hidden by someone, maybe they were planning on pranking a friend by 'uncovering' a skull later. Oh well, finders keepers and all that, you have way better plans for this guy, hopefully you can find that jaw bone.

You set off searching through the foliage and near by bushes with the branch while holding the skull in your other arm. After searching about three feet around and finding no more bones you decide that this is the only part of the deer's skeleton in this area. A little disappointed but still thrilled with your find, you decide it must be a good time to go back to your car.

Surely you won't look weird now. You a little forager with their treasure in hand. Looks like you'll be busy cleaning, then bleaching, and cleaning these bones today. Is that the order to treat found bones? You aren't sure but you can look into that later. Placing the skull in the trunk so it doesn't roll about and get damaged you make sure it's secure before closing the trunk and getting into your car and locking the doors.

Not once did you notice the pairs of eyes that had been watching you. One watching as you found the deer skull, and the other set seeing you place bones into your car. They kept watching as you fiddled with the radio while the car was starting up. They watched as you pulled out of the sandy dirt lot and drove back down the old road a little faster than before now that you could clearly see.

[xaidyl]

You could explain individual stuff! I find these explanations very fascinating, actually! OwO

okay! lets do this (this may be a very long post with lots of my random opinions but we’ll go with it) (and also please bear in mind these are jokey and in no real way a representation of these real people with real actual lives.)

***spoilers for most D20 seasons with this cast***

1.The babysitting 

Actual parent:Brennan 

From my experience DMing, you are effectively a parent to the players. He would also be an excellent dad

Wine aunt: Siobhan

Siobhan gives me vibes of someone who would take a bottle of wine to go babysit, then sit and tell the kids stuff about cults that they weren’t meant to hear. She would definitely teach the kids swear words, and they would love their cool auntie 

Great at babysitting: Lou

Part of the key to babysitting is being relatable to the kids, but also self assured enough to get them to behave. the person who holds that key is Lou Wilson. He also has played dad-energy characters, and that is the kind of vibes that you look for in a babysitter. 

Mediocre at babysitting: Murph

This scenario needs some theatre of the mind. Imagine Murph, he’s read all the babysitting books, he knows everything he could need to know, he lives with Emily Axeford. He’s more than prepared for this task. He tries so hard. The kids love him. The kids also walk all over him. They don’t get to bed in time. He wanted to do a good job. He tried so hard to do a good job. Yet somehow, luck is against him. 

The house is on fire, God is dead: Emily

Fig. Sofia. Jet. All three of these characters would set a house on fire without hesitation, and not one fears God. What does this have to do with Emily’s babysitting ability? Well, all these characters are teaching us to be chaotic beings, just like Emily. We are the children, and D20 is our babysitter. Emily would only replicate the same thing in this babysitting scenario. 

The children: Zac and Ally

I believe it was episode 9 of the unsleeping city. Neither Zac nor Ally were involved in the scene in question. Siobhan makes a reference to Eliza Doolittle, to which Zac makes a Dr Doolittle joke. Beardsley then shouts ‘I can see my dick’, a reference to a different film. This is fairly normal behaviour, and would not make either of them children in this scenario, had they not continued to hysterically laugh for the next ten minutes or so. Sat at opposite sides of the table. I think Zac starts crying at some point. They are absolute children, and also both have strong baby energy. Neither babysit, they are the ones that need babysitting. 

2. Can they be killed?

Cannot be killed: Brennan

The man is a God. Enough said. Also I’m pretty sure your body would reject your soul before it allows you to kill him. 

Can only be killed by one thing: Siobhan

You would be tricked into thinking Siobhan would be easy to kill- her constitution score is so low, after all. However, you would be wrong. The low constitution score has only made her stronger. More aware. What is the one thing that can kill her, though? Nobody knows, she’s only told those she truly trusts. It could be the most rare poison in the world. Or it could just be Mike Trapp. He (allegedly) has previous.

Can be killed but it won’t last: Emily

It is not anything to do with Emily that her death won’t last. In fact, Emily would be pretty easy to kill. However, if you kill her, Murph will do everything in his power to bring her back. He travels to the end of the earth, and then Emily Axeford is back and gets her new death date in a fancy gothic necklace.

Can be killed but at what cost?: Lou

What cost? The cost to the world. The world would be significantly worse off. You wouldn’t be able to live with yourself. It’s not worth it.

Can be killed but it’s not worth it: Murph

It’s not worth killing Murph because you would have precisely 0.7 seconds before you were killed by Emily. There is no way you can profit from this scenario, you would be dead before you even realise you’ve been successful. 

Can be killed and it would be pretty funny: Zac

I feel like we don’t discus the correlation between Zac Oyama characters and dying enough. Gorgug was the first D20 death. Lapain was the first D20 perma death. Ricky just like had a weapon that causes him to die. If you killed Zac, it would just be funny because its happened so much. Sorry Zac.

Can be killed but why would you, you monster?!?!: Ally

We’ve already discussed this. Beardsley is Baby. Leave them alone. 

Please kill them they suck: Box of Doom

I dont trust them

3. The fitness gram pacer test

this is definitely the most controversial of the charts, but there’s three of things you need to understand about my reasoning.

1. Zac is fast at running  

This has been seen a couple of times, namely: adventuring party, where Zac tried to tease Brennan about showing off how fast he his at running, but it turns out it was just Zac speaking his mind, and he is the one who always shows off at how fast he is at running. Also, the video on Siobhan’s instagram of Zac jumping over that table. 

He is also very bad a squats. Why would you be bad at squats? Bad knees. Why would you get bad knees? Running without sufficient warm up. Why would you skip warm up? Because you are very focussed on being able to run fast. 

2. Zac is willing to defend his title of running fast

The way he accused Brennan on adventuring party, he knew what he was doing. Sabotage. Brennan may also be able to run fast, but Zac would prevent him from getting a good score. How? He has his ways. Zac is a good boy, but not when it comes to running fast.

3. I felt bad

I had to give Zac at least one good one :)

Anyways onto the other choices:

Actually tried and got a low score: Brennan, Murph, Siobhan

We’ve already spoken about how Zac sabotaged Brennan to be the best at running. Murph is here because he would try really hard but something unlucky would happen. His shoelaces come untied. He accidentally gets caught in the Zac/Brennan feud. 

Siobhan started off with the intention to try, but after Lou, Emily and Ally had all done, she realised they were in fact much more interesting than the fighting going on. She walks out mid lap 

Didn’t try, got a low score, doesn’t give a shit: Lou and Emily

Its important to understand that both Lou and Emily are capable of getting a high score, they are just better than the whole thing. Why is their DnD group doing a pacer test? Why did Zac suspiciously force them to do this whole thing? 

The difference between them is Lou knows the feud is stupid and has like actual work to do? He sits and auditions for some other big film. He still watches over his laptop. 

Emily however, simply wants to watch the world burn.

Despite their different approaches to the situation, they both have a bet going on who’s going to be the fastest runner.

Ran one singular lap and finished: Ally

Ally Beardsley shows up at the track wearing a rainbow bucket hat and a tie dye shirt that is impracticable to run in. They have a llama with them. At no point do they explain this. They walk round the track once, drink their water from a plant pot, then spend the rest of the time cheering on the others with words that don’t quite make sense. 

4. Storming Area 51

They cant stop us all: Zac and Brennan

Neither mean it maliciously, but both believe entirely in what they are saying. 

Brennan is definitely the guy to go mad over a conspiracy theory. He made all the crown of candy NPCs. He is basically betraying himself. He knows not to trust anyone. He doesn’t trust area 51. The next season of dimension 20 is this as a subliminal messages all the way through. 

Zac says it accidentally. He’s making a character for the charity livestream. He’s still got a hundred hours of character making left. He’s done so many bad squats. Unintentionally, he makes a character that forces all the zesbians to storm area 51. 

Have fun getting shot, dumbasses: Lou

The rest of the cast are being weird again. Lou is equally as capable of being weird, but sometimes they need to chill. It starts with Emily talking about diner ice. It finishes with Brennan wearing a foil hat at all times. 

You guys stop, someones actually gonna do it: Murph

Murph is a good, lawful boy.

Actually shows up: Emily and Siobhan

They ride a motorcycle there together. They wouldn’t have gone alone, but as a duo they are an unstoppable pair. Emily wants to break into a government facility. Siobhan desperately want to be in the real life x-files.

One of the Aliens: Ally

Emily and Siobhan open a door at area 51. Behind it is Ally Beardsley. They are wearing a rainbow bucket hat and a tie dye shirt. They have a llama standing behind them. This is not explained at any point. They drink from a flower pot and eat a quesadilla that appears out of nowhere. 

5. Stabbing 

Would never stab anyone: Murph

Murph is a good, lawful boy

Would stab in retaliation: Lou, Murph, Zac

Lets be honest, the entirety of a crown of candy so far has been these three taking stabs (or metaphorical ‘where is your bulb now’ stabs) as retaliation for a stab another one of these three had done.

Yells “I won’t hesitate bitch” first: Ally and Siobhan

I can’t really explain this one much more other than i’m pretty sure both these people have said this phrase at least once in their life.

Would stab as a warning: Emily

This would be promptly followed by Murph getting her to stop stabbing. Or, depending on the situation, encouraging her to keep stabbing.

6. The water fountain

Fills up a bottle and drinks from it: Lou and Siobhan

This is the normal way to drink from the water fountain. They were also both very concerned at watching Beardsley’s various different drinking apparatuses in adventuring party. 

Bought 4 water bottles so this wouldn’t happen: Murph

He is prepared. Something probably still goes wrong, but at least he’s got three water bottles left. 

Drinks straight from the tap: Brennan

Brennan is a busy guy. The tap is there, it’s convenient, he needs to get back to planning. There’s so many campaigns, so many characters, so many voices. 

Dehydrates: Zac

Honestly I’m not sure if this man would drink water if nobody told him so

Drinks from a puddle: Ally

like they drink from a vase with a flower, a puddle really isn’t that much of a stretch.

Licks the tap: Emily

She just wants to see the world burn. Also, she knows Brennan drinks straight from the tap. She has to get payback somehow. 

7. A child starts crying

Makes the child laugh: Lou

We’ve already discussed how Lou has dad energy. I feel like he’s know exactly what to say and how to act to get the child to stop crying. This is less stupid than the rest of my explanations, but I always love how expressive Lou is when he plays dnd. I’m not sure whether its the way he holds himself or the way he gestures, but I’m pretty sure if I was a crying child, I would stop crying if Lou Wilson told me a joke in that very soothing point.

Tries to play with the child: Siobhan and Ally

These two kinda give me older/younger sibling vibes. As a team I recon they could create a game that would calm this child down. Also Ally knows techniques to help adults calm down, they could probably implement these ideas into a game for children.

Gives detailed instructions: Murph

His knowledge comes from the books he has read to learn how to babysit, and the one time he babysat. His explanation is rather frantic however, mostly because he is trying to defend Emily in his answer.

Cries with the child: Zac

He’s sad because all his friends are speaking to this child an nobody noticed how fast he just ran.

He’s also baby, as we’ve said previously, so he probably relates to the child somewhat

The reason the child is crying: Emily and Brennan

The child just watched episode 9 of a crown of candy. 

[tsainami]

wip prep tag #2

tagged by: @isherwrites​ tysm!! sorry it took this long to get to.

rules: answer the questions and then tag as many writers as there are questions answered (or as many as you can) to spread the positivity! even if these questions are not explicitly brought up in the novel, they are still good to keep in mind when writing.

last time i did this it was for cheat (which you can find here), this time i’ll do grave mercy.

FIRST LOOK

1. describe your novel in 1-2 sentences (elevator pitch).

a girl against a theocracy (but for its religion) and a boy against its religion (but for the theocracy) who have very ? confusing ? backgrounds ? (and are vampires) somehow end up meeting while investigating a cannibalistic angel. they end up doing something ridiculous together: unraveling ‘god.’

2. How long do you plan for your novel to be? (Is it a novella, single book, book series, etc.)

as far as i can see where the plot’s going, probably a trilogy.

3. What is your novel’s aesthetic?

vampires. religious ones! in priestly/nun-ly (not a word) clothing! which comes in mostly white or bright colors because they’re not fans of black vestments. black armor yes, black clothes no. and since there’s vampires, there’s blood. but also gore. and also cults. and devils, angels, monsters, conspiracy! plus a lot of french gothic architecture.

4. What other stories inspire your novel?

book of the ancestor trilogy by mark lawrence. if you’ve read it, it’s probably obvious.

5. Share 3+ images that give a feel for your novel.

i haven’t done any edits for this a whole either rip. it’s not much right now, but here’s its pinterest board.

MAIN CHARACTER

6. Who is your protagonist?

my main protagonist is a girl called ines nenci. she’s a novice at a convent known (or, unknown) to reform young girls whose faith are tainted.

7. Who is their closest ally?

her closest friend is this younger novice named dafne who she constantly worries about and is very protective of. she views dafne as her closest ally, and throughout the story she retains that sentiment. objectively speaking though, it’s probably reuven. after they meet and her fight or flight response when it comes to him calms down lol.

8. Who is their enemy?

the theocracy. namely the ava santi who sits at its head. and also herself.

9. What do they want more than anything?

this is going to sound anticlimactic maybe, but emotional comfort and security. ines really just wants to stop having to be scared all the time. stop having to hold on to anger and allow herself to finally express her hurt and pain after all the years she’s spent oppressing it. she wants to depend on someone and be able to trust them instead of just being the one depended on while in truth she’s just being manipulated. she honestly just. wants. inner peace (lol).

10. Why can’t they have it?

there are many reasons. let’s start with a few minor obstacles in the shape of people who keep her alive solely for the purpose of using her to further their ambitions: 1. the abbess of the convent. this chick keeps ines in her house only to serve as a tool in her plot of overthrowing the theocracy. the convent’s pretty much a facade for this group of heretics to eventually hold some sort of rebellion. but they’re being really dirty about it. 2. the ava santi (aka ye olde pope). he killed her dad. he was also supposed to kill her, but this amazing idea popped up in his brain and he decided “nay, send her to the convent dear men o’mine.” reasons for this is because a) he hates that fucking place and has wanted it dead for years and b) he can’t touch that fucking place because politics and also One Deep and Dark Secret that would cost his position and probs life should it be exposed. 3. the so-called cannibalistic angel she meets, whose reasons for using her are too spoilery to share at the moment. but it’s got something to do with the one ‘god’ of their faith.

11. What do they wrongly believe about themselves?

that she’s cursed. it’s repeated a lot in the first chapter, actually. her dad’s death and some of his last words really drilled it in her. and it makes sense, because her existence is scorned by the faith and she learns more and more about this (with the misfortune of having to witness her papa burn ffs as lesson 1 of all things) as she grows up.

12. Draw your protagonist! (Or share a description)

she’s got thick, wavy black hair. pretty long (goes up to mid-back i think) and it’s always braided and then tied up into a low bun. she’s always wearing her habit (which is white) and even if she isn’t she tries to wear something close (usually white too) because it makes her feel secure. she has a black cloak she wears when she goes walking around the capital or the woods (that she really and i mean really knows how to work, especially when she’s killing something so not too much of nasty stuff stains her clothes). usually armed to the teeth. hidden blades everywhere. though you can’t really see that i guess. 

sometimes, she carries a sword.

PLOT POINTS

13. What is the internal conflict?

ines is moroi, which is a race that is treated little better than rabid dogs are in montevena. there aren’t many moroi in existence any more because of wars that involved genocide long ago + the fact that as moroi all you have to do to get sentenced to death sometimes is to accidentally bump into someone. anyway, her internal conflict mostly revolves around her struggle between hating what she is and yet having to depend so heavily on it. she wants to separate herself from being moroi, but that’s impossible since she has to face it everyday. even if people weren’t there to remind her, her body can’t lie. she really, really hates it but there’s no other choice but to live with it.

14. What is the external conflict?

everyone is against the theocracy for their own reasons and the theocracy is against everyone. the teams switch up sometimes though and things get wild when a cannibalistic angel appears and the OG residents of the world, the devil-gods, get weaved into the mayhem (did i mention this takes place in an au hell? because it does).

15. What is the worst thing that could happen to your protagonist?  

if ines is put through what she went through as a child, having her world break like that (it wasn’t only her dad’s death, it was all the things about the world she was totally clueless about because up until then her dad had limited her knowledge of it, so her whole life was a big fat lie), it would be B A D. the people currently capable of hurting her that way is an older nun from the abbey named sister aura and dafne.

16. What secret will be revealed that changes the course of the story?

huge spoilers so i’ll be vague. something monumentally of relevance to not just ines or reuven, but the whole world is a total sham. also if you can believe it or not, aliens are involved (but it totally isn’t what it sounds like lmao).

17. Do you know how it ends?

a little, but not too well right now.

BITS AND BOBS

18. What is the theme?  

there’s an absolute truth to everything. but a lot of the times it gets corrupted by people with ill-bred intentions. that doesn’t mean the truth itself is horrible, though. so it’s always good to discriminate and keep in mind that, just like that guy who yells about global warming but clearly doesn’t know what he’s talking about while he goes ‘round the world in private jets that secrete shit tons of shit, sometimes we don’t know everything either.

19. What is a recurring symbol?  

i have no idea. (yet)

20. Where is the story set? (Share a description!)

a city-state called montevena which is loosely based off of vatican city but much more french gothic and kinda creepy. later the story moves through parts of canza, one of the three sanctified states that reuven is from.

21. Do you have any images or scenes in your mind already?

yes. predominantly one that occurs in a cave.

22. What excited you about this story?  

the development of the characters. particularly ines, reuven, gabriele, dafne, hazael, mirta and other supporting characters (including the abbess and the ava). it’s just... so interesting. i low-key had a mindfuck about it.

23. Tell us about your usual writing method!  

a copy paste from my previous post on this:

my method is freak out! write a sentence. think about useless things (why would a pigeon be at the city square at night? that doesn't make sense? is it a normal pigeon? what is the purpose of its life?). try not to get distracted (i always do though) and write another sentence. 

the day i’m 92 is the day i finally have two fully written novels with my name plastered all over them in my arms.

TAGGING: @brekkerings @pilipalea @apollchiles (if you guys haven’t done this yet) and anyone else who wants to.

[space-lions-and-imagines]

A Very Merry Voltron Valentine’s ft. Pidge

Alternate title: Lance is a little instigating shit and pidge is a huge sappy nerd

A/N this was done with literally no editing or beta so mistakes be damned! Take my trash and do what you will with it lol

~1900 words

“There is no capitalism in space Lance,” Pidge said with a roll of her eyes as she tried to find the perfect ratio of alien ingredients to make the brown sludge in her cup taste like coffee. “And even if we were on Earth I would still try to fight the good fight against corporate schemes that disguise themselves as holidays. Its evil to try and trademark love,” she said pushing herself onto the counter and taking a long sip. Still terrible but if it was giving her at least some sort of buzz so worth it for the time being.

Nothing, however, was worth seeing that horrible ‘I know something you don’t know’ look that Lance wore so proudly. Pidge frowned, tapping her fingers against the ceramic mug trying her hardest to not ask. Asking would mean giving in and admitting she was curious in whatever gossip he had. Even if she was dying to know why he even brought up the subject of Valentine’s Day she didn’t want to feed into his teenage soap opera ways. Lucky for her though he wasn’t very good at keeping things to himself.

“That is very noble. I’m sure you must have been very popular amongst all your tech nerd buddies who also never had dates. But things are different now pidge! You do have a date and maybe they don’t share the same fight the system inclinations you do,” Lance said with what he must have thought was a very casual wave of his hand as he leaned on the counter opposite Pidge “But if you don’t care that s/o got you something well then that’s none of my business,” he continued looking down to pick at his nails.

Pidge’s first thought was that with the right forward momentum she could easily knock Lance to the floor and force him to tell everything he knew about the gift. Of course that’s probably what he wanted judging by his eyebrows lost somewhere in his hairline and toothy smile. So instead she cleared her throat and said “I have to go. Right now. Immediately. And you still can’t pressure me into this …. No matter what may happen in the future know that you had nothing to do with it!” as she ran out of the kitchen.

Pidge’s time off was supposed to be spent working on some personal projects, mostly working on some of her language courses before the castle started beeping at her and projecting holographic reminders in her room. Now she was desperately trying to figure out exactly what romance was even supposed to be. She had visions of hearts and fat babies with bows dancing around her head as she tried to remember what Valentines was like back home. She groaned, pulling at her hair and slumping onto her bed. “Sure Pidge you’re suuuuuuch a genius. Alien tech, no problem. Giant lion weapon system, no problem. Get your date mate a nice present and suddenly I’m as intelligent as a snail. Ugh no … that’s an insult to snails!” she mumbled grabbing a pillow to scream into.

She did nothing but simmer like that for a long time, the wheels turning and turning in her head to the point she was sure there was smoke coming out of her ears. Then suddenly she sat up right, the fire moving from her brain to her eyes. “I’ve been looking at this all wrong. I can’t figure this out the way Lance would. I have to solve it my way. Besides my way is going to end up being much more efficient and not only help myself but all other romantically troubled people to come!” she announced to her audience of scattered tools and crushed energy drink cans before setting to her new task: finding the scientific solution to the perfect Valentine’s Day.

It was at best a show of her dedication to s/o but at its worst, and somewhere a little closer to the truth, it looked like a conspiracy theorist wall. Pictures and words taped to the wall with multicolored string creating a makeshift obstacle course. Several people had tried to come check on her only to look at the mess, decide it wasn't their problem and walk right back out. Even s/o had been warned about Pidge’s strange project and hadn’t been around except to leave snacks and the occasional ‘remember to drink lots of water!’ note. At long, long last though she was certain that she had the key. A fool proof plan she had gotten all of the details perfected at three o’clock in the morning.

Well almost perfect, she had neglected one detail in her pursuit of scientifically backed romance; she had absolutely no idea where to get any of it. They were currently trying to lay low which meant there was no guarantee of the next time they would be going off ship. The only option she had was to work with what was around the castle … it was going to be a long day.

~*~

Pidge had looked rough before, forgetting to sleep for a couple days could do that but it was nothing compared to how she looked and felt now. It seemed like it was just disaster after another, she tried to not think of it as a metaphor for her life. First it was the flowers, a classic and what she assumed would be the easiest considering Allura had a greenhouse tucked away in the upper stories of the castle. Pidge had found the most appealing colors and shapes, trying to match those she knew from Earth, to create the ultimate bouquet. It was going great until she broke into a rainbow of rashes in some equally as colorful places on her body. That dream was quickly squashed.

Pidge thought that at least she could have a nice dinner and some chocolates to give to s/o, Hunk was a sap for that mushy kind of stuff. Heck he had been making everything heart shaped for month in preparation for the big day! Yet Pidge had all but been laughed out when she brought her requested menu. “Dude I would love to help you and I can do what I can buuuuut this is not Earth. I don’t have anything that’s even close to, what was it you wanted steak? Really, steak? And truffles? Oh man I wish I had access to some chocolate! It’s a nice thought but the best I can do is like a trio of space goo,” Hunk said before Pidge kicked that damned goo machine and left.

The rest of her tasks when just about the same. The closest thing to a stuffed animal she found was the training robots. The shiniest thing she could find to try and make jewelry was scraps of galra tech which just seemed ominous. She had managed to blow up something resembling a balloon but discovered whatever gas she used was very unstable finally leaving her empty handed and half an eyebrow short.

She trudged back to her room late into the night, worse for the ware and completely down in spirits. “This is what I get for turning my back on my morals, karma apparently works over time in space,” she snorted as she belly flopped onto the bed wondering if she suffocated in the sheets if she would be allowed out of the Valentine’s celebrations that she was sure Lance had planned for later the next day. She was perfectly willing to wallow in her own sadness until she was dragged out to see what amazing thing s/o had gotten her when suddenly there was a knock on the door.

Her heart fluttered, knowing who it had to be but almost hoping that it wasn’t. The soft footsteps could only belong to one person and despite the fact nothing was going right Pidge was happy to hear them. After all the trouble and disappointment they were the only person she could think of that she would want to be around. Even if she had nothing to give in return. “Hey there stranger, I didn’t realize we had someone new living in the castle. I have heard a ghost has been roaming as of late though,” they teased as they sat on the edge of the bed with legs crisscrossed. “I did try ghost hunting but haven’t had much luck …. Ya know I missed you Pidge,” they added with quiet sincerity.

It wasn’t posed as a question or even with the air of sad guilt for which Pidge was eternally grateful. It was something she appreciated with their relationship; there was never any need to explain her weird habits until she was ready to talk. “Im a weirdo who doesn’t deserve your patience but I will selfishly accept it,” Pidge said slumping and twisting around until her head was resting in their lap, her arms hugging their waist. “But good news is ghostbusters have stopped by and eliminated all ghosts. I’m back to being my usual annoying goblin of a person,” she said grinning up at them.

“Mmm you are definitely more of a troll but whatever you decide to be, as long as you’re mine again, I’m happy~” they cooed down at her, rubbing her arm and bending down to kiss the top of her head. Pidge gave a content sigh and wanted to bury herself in this moment, get lost in the warmth and serenity of being reunited with them. “Aaaaaaan because you’re mine I kinda got you something. Lance has been on my case about Valentine’s Day, which I personally think is a sort of emotional cop out but I couldn’t resist a chance at arts and crafts,” they grinned, gently scooching Pidge over to reach for something in their pocket.

Pidge expected to be a nervous wreck, feeling so low that she would want to puke but she instead found herself actually anxious to see what it was. The earlier disdain of not being able to make a perfect gift a shadow in the back of her mind, almost laughable in that moment. She held out her hand to accept what she now saw was a card, pushing herself up to get a better view of what it said. On the front there was a cartoonish picture of a galaxy, stars and planets dotting the shimmery blue paper, and bubble letters that read ‘Are you stuck in space Valentine?’ then opened up to a very crude sketch of what was undeniably a butt surrounded by all capital letters in harsh red print ‘BECAUSE THAT ASS IS OUT OF THIS WORLD.’

There was silence for a minute, while s/o sat biting their lip, opening their mouth stuttering about how they weren’t a great artist and that she didn’t have to like it she just thought the joke was funny but they could totally forget the whole thing. Only shutting up when Pidge crashed her lips against their own, laughing into the kiss so hard they seemed to be vibrating against each other, tears wetting their cheeks before they pulled away gasping for air while the last fit of giggles left their systems.

“This is perfect. You’re perfect,” Pidge said, arms wrapped around s/o’s neck with her forehead resting against theirs. They giggled again and kissed the tip of her nose “Only cause I have someone to be perfect for,” they replied with another smile which Pidge happily returned. Again she didn’t deserve someone this amazing but she wouldn’t want anything else.

[noiseartists]

SUBZERO FUN (France): The gritty and warm noisegaze from Paris

Subzero Fun is a Noise Pop outfit from Paris, France. They propose beautiful and refreshing music that caressed our ears from the first time we heard them. The sound is raw and direct to connect better, without artifices.

Talented, they have released 3 EPs to date that you can listen on Bandcamp and the usual streaming platforms. They are also part of the Noise Artists Bandcamp collective. We love their music.

Discover the band and their music in this article with a great interview and some great music for your expert ears. Of course, do not forget to support the band by buying their music and sharing the love on social media.

THE MUSIC

Regarding the EPs, we scheduled from the start that we would release 3 EPs in 12 months, then an album. We don't want to release 4 titles every 3 years, even if it means we can't spend as much time, effort, money in order to make everything perfect. The point is for our music to reflect our state of mind of the moment. So far we have stuck to the plan, and we are very happy with it. Our third EP will be there in May 2020, and the plan is then an album for later this year.

The music work to date is:

2019: EP1, EP; SF2, EP

2020: Space Drone 3, single; ON3, EP

On each of our first EPs (and also on the one which we released in May 2020) there's a different song called "Space Drone". Some people actually think these songs are linked in some way, they are linked by the fact that they are based on a Drone. Apart from that, they are very different songs with very different themes, keys and related to very different experiences.

THE INTERVIEW

Who are the group members?

Rémi : There is Hakim who plays the drums, JB at the bass guitar and vocals and myself at the guitar and vocals.

How did you meet?

JB : Via zikinf.fr, a French website about music ; it is kind of our tinder for bands. We met with Rémi in 2015, and with Hakim last year. He gave some musical influences that were cool and said that he wasn't interested in people playing shit-pop music... as this is not what we do, we got in touch and it worked!

Rémi : We have in fact played under the name « Chemtrails » with our first drummer for quite a while. We met JB in 2015 in a bar called Sputnik in Paris. After some Deliriums we got along. Then around end 2019 we started to look for a new drummer and that’s when we met Hakim. We got along as well while drinking beers (beers are key it seems). We did our first gig all together after just 3 rehearsals, opening for Dead Horse One. It was awesome.

How did you come up with your name?

JB : It was a long process, just to find a name that we like and that is not already used by 100+ bands. So we ended up with the good old choose-a-name-from-a-song-you-like: Subzero Fun from Autolux.

Rémi : The process of finding a name was endless, we first struggled to come up with “Chemtrails” which is quite an obvious one for a shoegaze/psychedelic influenced band like us. Then after a while another band came up with the same name in the UK and they had an album released so we thought: “oh no, we need to change”. People contacting us on Facebook to tell us we will let world know the truth regarding planes+chemicals conspiracy theories was fun. Only at the beginning though. So yeah, Subzero Fun. We get compliments for it too, but for different reasons.

What is your music about?

Rémi : Alienation caused by modern life in big cities and mixed feelings about the past. Mainly.

What are your goals as an artist artistically/commercially?

Hakim : Do as many concerts as possible. Make money with our music.

JB : And to play music that I like, to start with.

Rémi : I guess the point for me is to make music I’d like to hear, that nobody is making at the moment.

What are you trying to avoid as a band?

Hakim : Doing boring stuff.

Rémi : Music that wouldn’t have a memorable melody, a special atmosphere or some kind of tension.

Why do you make the music you make? Is it in you? Is it your environment?

Hakim : Because we love it...I guess.

JB : I mainly play music because all the bands I listened to made me have the will to. I don't really feel what i do is connected to my everyday life or my environment, it is more about being able, while playing, to get the same sensations and emotions that i got when i listened to music i like.

What inspire you for the music or for the Lyrics?

Rémi : 99.99% of the time, lyrics are a chore for me. It’s always the instrumental parts first, until the song is almost done, and then I struggle to finish it with lyrics.

One thing that I do like though, is to write randomly or even sing randomly, until something comes up. Then most of the time it starts making sense to me, as if I’m discovering what’s in my mind and that I was singing unconsciously. 

Tell us what you are looking when trying to achieve your sounds. Do you experiment a lot or have a clear idea of what you want?

JB : I guess that having a clear goal or idea is interesting, also because sometimes unsuccessful attempts can lead to interesting ideas.

Rémi : I have a rather clear general idea of the direction. Then for guitar sounds I like experimenting to find the main riff of a song for instance.

Explain your songwriting process.

Rémi : Either I have a guitar & a singing part that go well together and I try to develop it into a full song. Or (more often) it starts with a guitar riff, then a harmonic context around it, then a fully orchestrated demo shared with the band. If everybody likes it we start working, everybody on their part. If someone doesn’t like it we don’t. 

Describe your palette of sound.

JB : On bass side it is quite simple, i like to keep the low end of it and blend it with more fuzzy sounds to get it a bit dirtier.

Rémi : On the guitar I always try to find the nice ethereal sound that is going to complement the heavy bass riff. Could be with reverb or delay.

Who would you want as a dream producer, and why?

Hakim : Steve Albini for sur. Because I like his work suit.

JB : I personally don't have enough culture about music production.

Rémi : Butch Vig. Because I love so many records he’s been working on as a musician or as a producer. Or Mark Gardener for the same reason.

If you could guest on someone else’s album, who would it be and why? What would you play?

Hakim : Genesis because it's the worst band ever. It would be a great experience to play..nothing. I definetly hate this band.

Rémi : I’d add that drone/fuzzed guitar part on the next Cake album.

What musical skills would you like to acquire or get better at?

Hakim : Playing at the same BPM from the beginning to the end of the song.

JB : I would like to improve my playing in general, and to be able to keep things very simple but exciting and interesting.

Rémi : Everything around mixing, mastering and recording process. I’d like to be able to do very minimalist music.

Which other musician/artist would you date?

Hakim : Taylor Swift because she's cute. 

You are from France what are the advantages and inconvenient?

JB : The main inconvenient that pops out is probably that there is not really a big indie scene compared to other countries ; but it might make it easier to be part of it. We recently played a gig opening for Dead Horse One, it might have been more difficult for us to play that night if there was plenty of indie bands available?

Also being in Paris means a lot of distractions outside of music, and this is maybe not the best place for playing live music. But it forces us to be efficient, creative, to find DIY ways to create and not to rely on anybody if we want to move forward quite fast.

What are some places around the world that you hope to play with your band?

Hakim : Wembley. I love big stages.

JB : Brussels.

Rémi : SXSW

When is the next album/EP due?

Rémi : Our plan from the start is quite simple: one release 1st of May, and one 1st of November, every year, forever. So see you 1st of November 2020 for our fourth EP.   

Some artists you recommend.

Hakim : Foreigners Society (ok it's one of my bands).

Rémi : Tapeworms, So Many Lines, Dead Horse One.

JB : Bank Myna.

MORE ON THE BAND

Some good interviews on other sites:

Soonglider

Shoegaze Blog

Social Media & where to find their music

Facebook

Instagram

Soundcloud

Youtube

Spotify

Bandcamp

[illustir]

Highlights for Neoreaction a Basilisk

Angela Nagle’s appalling Kill All Normies, which takes the jaw-droppingly foolish methodology of simply reporting all of the alt-right’s self-justifications as self-evident truths so as to conclude that the real reason neo-nazis have been sweeping into power is because we’re too tolerant of trans people.

This brings us to our second relatively uninteresting question, which is what to do about the alt-right. In this case the answer is even easier and more obvious than the first: you smash their bases of power, with violent resistance if necessary. If you want a more general solution that also takes care of the factors that led to a bunch of idiot racists being emboldened in the first place you drag all the billionaires out of their houses and put their heads on spikes.

The lethal meme, known as Roko’s Basilisk, used the peculiarities of Yudkowskian thought to posit a future AI that would condemn to eternal torture everyone from the present who had ever imagined it if they subsequently failed to do whatever they could to bring about its existence.

I want to be clear, with all possible sincerity, that I love the braggadocio here. I want what he is selling. Yes, Mencius, savagely tear away the veil of lies with which I cope with the abject horror that is reality and reveal to me the awful, agonizing truth of being. Give me the red pill. The problem is, once we get our golf ball-sized reality distortion pill home, put on some Laibach, and settle in for an epic bout of Thanatosian psychedelia, we discover the unfortunate truth: we’re actually just huffing paint in an unhygienic gas station bathroom. Jesus, this isn’t even bat country.

By “crap,” of course, I do not mean “wrong.” Rather, I mean obvious, in the sense of sounding like the guy at the bar watching the news (probably Fox) and muttering about how “they’re all a bunch of crooks.” Liberal democracy a hopelessly inadequate and doomed system preserved by a system of continual indoctrination? You don’t say.

And this really is stunningly weird in the context of all his red pill rhetoric about the corrupt horrors of liberal democracy. Because while there are a great many obvious critiques of contemporary society, “there’s just not enough respect for profit” really doesn’t feel like one of them.

With this, we have a genuinely tricky moment, simply because of the sheer and unbridled number of unexamined assumptions going on here.

But all the same, if you’re going to talk about suppressed ideologies that oppose the interests of entrenched power, you’ve really got to talk about the original red pill: Marxism.

It is tempting to suggest that Moldbug is a failed Marxist in the sense that Jupiter is a failed star, its mass falling tantalizingly short of the tipping point whereby nuclear fusion begins. Over and over again, Moldbug asks questions much like those that Marx asked, and his answers begin with many of the same initial observations. But inevitably, a few steps in, he makes some ridiculously broad generalization or fails to consider some obvious alternative possibility, and the train of thought fizzles into characteristic idiocy.

This sort of “the world can be saved if only everyone listens to me” narcissism belongs in the genre of fiction, where it can accomplish something, and not in the visionary manifesto, where it only reveals its own impotence.

That is not to say they can get away with being wrong, at least not straightforwardly so, but it is to reiterate that the key problem with Moldbug, Yudkowsky, and Land is that they are in key regards uninteresting—that they offer dull and unsatisfying answers to their most compelling questions, of which “hang out with a bunch of racist nerdbros” is merely the worst.

Terence McKenna’s suggestion that DMT is an alien intelligence’s attempt to communicate directly with the human brain

That’s the whole point of the right to exit—a final and decisive rescue of individual liberty at all costs. But exiting requires that people stay behind; if we all go, we’ll just have to storm out again. The entire point of the project is to separate the wheat from the chaff.

He posits that in this situation the “absolute limit to our ability to adequately understand the world at all” becomes increasingly relevant, and observes that this is a frequent theme of both philosophy and horror.

The truth is that, despite Land’s evident fascination with them, the bulk of neoreactionaries are not people one would want to have a beer with, and there’s not a great case for reading their books either.

Yudkowsky isn’t just running from error; he’s running from the idea of authority. The real horror of the Basilisk is that the AI at the end of the universe is just another third grade teacher who doesn’t care if you understand the material, just if you apply the rote method being taught.

Hauntology comes from within us; the Weird from outside.

The red pill, pwnage, and for that matter the horror reading, monstrous offspring, and Satanic inversions all follow the same basic pattern—a sort of conceptual infiltration of someone’s thought in which their own methods and systems are used against them.

It is, after all, the great one-liner critique of Mencius Moldbug: he’s exactly what you’d expect to happen if you asked a software engineer to redesign political philosophy. And crucially, Moldbug basically agrees with it—he just also genuinely believes that the Silicon Valley “disruptor” crowd would be capable of running the world with no problems if only people would let them.

Which is to say, Satan opens by negging Eve, accusing her of looking at him “with disdain, Displeas’d that I approach thee thus, and gaze Insatiate, I thus single, nor have feard Thy awful brow,”112 which may be the earliest instance of telling someone they have resting bitch face.

In the face of an ecologically brutal planet, the guys with guns and tribal loyalties are a depressingly compelling bet to stick around.

With Moldbug the sense is overwhelmingly that empathy just never crossed his mind as something to factor into his design. He flat out didn’t think of it. Yudkowsky, on the other hand, thinks about it a lot and cares very deeply about it; he’s just incompetent at it.

The result of this approach is that Yudkowsky, without really meaning to, tends to look at everyone else in the world as inefficient Eliezer Yudkowskys instead of people as such.

Moldbug, Yudkowsky, and Land don’t just “do poorly” with empathy—they represent the most visible and explicit edge of a Cathedral-scaled system of values that casts the desire to listen and try to understand people who are different from you as anathema to reason itself.

This forces us to consider white culture as a set of perpetual ruins—as something that has always been lost, and that can only be apprehended as a tenuous and incomplete reconstruction.

No, what’s really notable here is Moldbug’s doe-eyed certainty that such a thing as an absolute truth service could be built; that there is a general plan of action so self-evidently compelling that if he only expressed it properly everyone would immediately flock to his side. In short, after thousands of words railing against the Cathedral for secretly being a religion, he’s accidentally reinvented religion. And then lost the holy text. You couldn’t parody it better.

They have that marvelous feature of the best gods: perfectly answering a question you didn’t know you had.

And a few, such as Ahania, are genuinely breathtaking in their scope: a pleasure goddess representing intellectual curiosity who is bound in a Persephone-like structure of death and rebirth is a metaphysical/literary construct to rival Milton’s Satan, and one Blake barely scratches the surface of.

And it’s hard not to suggest that the world would be a better place if Yudkowsky had stuck to children’s literature for adult geeks as opposed to starting a weird AI cult that derails efforts to curtail malaria.

And while Gamergate usually doesn’t have a product to sell in quite the same literal way, it’s worth noting how, for instance, two doors down from them is someone like Stefan Molyneux, whose output amounts to 30-60 minute PowerPoint presentations consisting of a by-now familiar sort of low-content dissembling, and whose business endgame is literally a cult.

The Gamergate narrative has always required a vast quasi-conspiracy to function, some story whereby feminists or SJWs or cultural Marxists exercise near-complete control over video games and video game journalism.

Not even a monoculture then—an anticulture, with Vivian James ironically its perfect representation. It’s a desire to befit their worldview, its adamance dwarfed only by its fundamental emptiness. There’s nothing there. There’s never been anything there.

And Gamergate as a whole is scarcely better. It’s always been notable for its near-complete lack of actual discussion of videogames.

More interesting is where his basic inclination towards racial stereotyping originates from: the material realities of New York real estate, its patterns of historical ethnic migrations geologically stratified across the city’s expansion.

He might have had a name. But then he literally built a six-hundred-and-sixty-six foot tower to which he offered up that name, sacrificing it upon its black altar such that the building became a titanic sigil of the sixteenth Major Arcana of the Tarot of the Golden Dawn, symbolizing destruction and ruin, with only the remnants of the man whose name it ate living within the rotting heart of its penthouse.

He sold his name, yes, but what did he get out of the deal? The answer, simply put, is what he would hereafter treat as his most valuable asset: his brand. In short, he became a creature of pure image.

But it also includes the raw allostatic load of living under his rule; the basic psychological wear and tear of waking up every morning in a post-fact world dominated by a bullying narcissist. The act of living in a world where the basic validity of your identity is contingent and perpetually imperiled, where the very definition of “fact” is in dispute, and where a brutish logic of dominance and humiliation pervades the entire social order.

Individuals can act all they want. They won’t make the end of the world go away, any more than their freedom to quit work can make them free to not starve

It helps that one can be against today’s racist wars—though not on the grounds of anti-racism, except of the most specious variety—while quietly accepting and utilising the racial inequities inherited from the racist imperialism of the past. As usual, reactionary thinking is dependant upon amnesia.

It admits that value is a mental construct, but one that is ‘real’ because it has a real social basis and real social effects. Value, for Marx, is neither a thing nor an essence, neither quality nor spirit. It is a social reality because of what humans actually do.

Theoretically detached from the objective and the material, and connected to business as a client, mainstream economics has become—to a large extent—an ideological discourse.

This is how Moldbug and Thiel’s view that democracy is incompatible with liberty arises. A democracy is a society in which the mass of the population—who are, by definition, mostly without property—can shape policy so that it curtails the freedom of the propertied to make their choices. In a free society—by their definition—the capitalists get to make their choices unfettered.

For the Austrians, democracy is to blame for capitalism going into crisis. Democracy breeds special claims by people who are not really concerned with making the choices that regulate the economy. The people without a big stake—the masses—thus destabilise the system.

This is the so-called Austrian ‘Business Cycle.’ Boiled right down: crashes and recessions happen because central banks set interest rates too low. Easy credit results, which screws up market signals. Loaners go crazy. Bubbles inflate and burst. Such lopsided production can only be remedied via letting interest rates rise to their ‘natural’ rate. In other words, the Austrian prescription is: let the crisis rip. It will be harsher but quicker. The only cure for god’s wrath is to wait for the plague to exhaust itself.

Opposition to democracy is entailed by the Austrian view of how capitalism works. Democracy is the rule of the ignorant and selfish public, and the state is their tyrannical arm. Moronic majoritarianism wields unjustifiable power over the propertied and the entrepreneurs who are, for Hayek for instance, almost promethean artists in their special sensitivity and understanding.

The logically consequent idea that emergency dictatorship may be necessary to preserve liberal society from democracy is in neoliberalism’s source code. Neoliberalism, contrary to myth, is an authoritarian ideology, committed to defending property and wealth by violence both physical and structural.

The leaders of Rothbard’s revolution would be the libertarians and the minarchists. The troops would be the masses, spurred to fight the elites. And the spurring would take the form of appeals to racism.

The disproportionate number of former-libertarians in American fascism is revealing because conservatives are far more numerous in America than libertarians, which suggests that libertarianism is statistically over-represented.

The Cultural Marxism conspiracy theory now espoused across the alt-right is a reiteration of what the (actual) Nazis called kulturbolschewismus, an idea central to Nazi dogma, about degenerate art and culture being manufactured by Jewish communists to undermine the unity of the German people. The resurrection and repackaging of this idea across a movement soaked in libertarianism is not surprising, because antagonism to socialism goes right back to the dawn of libertarianism, to the Austrian School’s foundational and self-chosen role as the intellectual foe of Marx.

People might not necessarily formulate their objections to the content of newspapers that way, but they’re nevertheless absenting themselves from daily exposure to one of the main means by which the ruling class produce ideology and public consent. This is at least as big a concern to the people running the media as the need to claw back profits.

In all of these cases, the strategy is to play on insecurities of young men in an age where there are mounting ideological challenges out there—especially on the Internet—to their untroubled social privilege. Coupled with the twin legacies of decades of neoliberalism—increasing ideological and political disorientation, and a future far less secure than that which faced their parents and grandparents at their age—such challenges can terrify the semi-privileged layer of young, white, middle class men, who enjoy all those privileges without also enjoying actual material security.

Reactionary politics once again takes advantage of having a wide batrachian mouth, both sides of which may be used for talking.

The reason actions don’t lead inevitably to goals isn’t because there are complex material structures of oppression that heavily shape people’s lives, but because we exist in linear time. Not only does Rothbard not connect time to what dominates it for most people in capitalist society—work—but hilariously, he doesn’t even bother connecting time to its ultimate horror and constraint, death.

To quote the monster directly: “Milton produced Paradise Lost in the way that a silkworm produces silk, as the expression of his own nature.” Marx would like all labour to be like that, and sees no fundamental reason why it shouldn’t.

It’s pretty clear that the Austrian School doesn’t even remotely care about this fact, but it doesn’t inherently contradict anything they say. But that is, in the end, the point, and one I’ve made before: they don’t care. That’s clear, in a sense, all the way back in the basic axiom, with its active foregrounding of the heroic individual acting upon the world, as opposed to the state of affairs that most actual people experience, which is mostly being buffeted around by various external forces, whether they be governments, history, or the class system. Indeed, “individual human beings are acted upon” would be every bit as justifiable an axiom as “individual human beings act,” if not moreso.

They have been hugging Marxism on the brink of the Reichenbach Falls for a century and a half, staring into its eyes, but have never really seen it.

Mises’ only invocation of courage is in the context of statesmen standing up to labor unions. Decency only comes up in the context of “laws of morality and decency.” And his sole mention of kindness is a complete and grotesque misunderstanding of the very concept as he declares that “the indigent has no claim to the kindness shown to him,” as if being unearned isn’t the entire fucking point of kindness. It is a conception of human action without a shred of concern for empathy – human action devoid of all humanity.

But the real reason for this is that, more than anyone else, Marx provided an alternative to the charade on which their entire philosophical edifice was constructed. He showed the need for the destruction of that which, to them, gives the world meaning—and a method by which it might be achieved.

Given that no small number of conspiracy theories are, in point of fact, anti-Semitic, any attempt to uncritically synthesize them will be as well.

Icke’s theory is much the same way. We know wealthy elites control our minds. Knowing they’re lizards (or, for that matter, Jews) doesn’t actually change anything. It is, to borrow a phrase, malignantly useless knowledge.

Not only does nothing follow from Icke’s conclusions, nothing follows within the argument itself. Icke does not so much lay out a case for the lizard people as blunder among vague associations, hoping that the aggregate of a bunch of extremely tenuous connections will somehow be persuasive instead of a discombobulated mess of shoddy research and sloppy reasoning.

The history of the world consists of a lot of wealthy assholes sleeping with each other and killing people. Changing up which assholes slept with and killed who doesn’t actually make much of a difference.

Ridiculous arguments, especially ones that recognize their absurdity, are capable of revealing things that do not follow obviously, if at all, from self-consciously serious approaches, but that are nevertheless true and valuable realizations.

So is his inclination to be skeptical of the “official” version of history. The value of this, to be clear, is not simply skepticism for its own sake (an approach that is just as likely to lead to things like climate change denial or creationism as it is to some productive insight), but rather the realization that, as the saying goes, history is written by the victors, and the standard version of history is inevitably the one that most flatters those in power.

It is not entirely clear why monstrous truth must take reptilian form, but just as the weird turns instinctively to tentacles and the hauntological inevitably drifts towards skulls, for some reason awful truth must take the form of a reptile, whether a petrifying basilisk or just a bunch of pan-dimensional aliens.

This is a leftist book, and so must engage in a circular firing squad at least once.

This set a pattern whereby trans rights were repeatedly employed by the gay rights movement as a bargaining chip—as the thing they were pointedly willing to sell out in the name of compromise, as they spectacularly did when lobbying for the Employment Non-Discrimination Act, which excluded trans people in every version that was brought to Congress prior to 2009.

Thiel’s vision of corporate success is blatantly just the Moldbug/Land vision of how authoritarian capitalism will save us from the Great Filter.

Rather, it’s that once you’re willing to question the basic fact of Thiel’s competence it rapidly becomes apparent that the only actual evidence for this competence is that he has a lot of money.

And his fascination with seasteading numbers him among the litany of people interested in micronations, which is such a rich vein of complete crackpottery that I’d hate to deprive you of the pleasure of Googling it. This borders on the investment portfolio you’d get if you gave David Icke several billion dollars.

Who would craft such a thing as the alt-right? Only a fucking idiot. What other answer were we possibly going to find? It’s been idiots all the way down. And so of course even its billionaire supervillains bankrolling world-conquering AIs, vampiric life extension, and Donald Trump are idiots. This borders on “A is A.” And yet for all its obviousness, it captures what is perhaps the key realization about the alt-right—one that’s been implicit through much of this book, but is worth making explicit as we come to a close: they’re stupid.

I do not suggest this to diminish their horror. Far from it: the essential horror of the abyss is stupidity. That’s why it’s an abyss. The unique and exquisite danger of stupidity is that by its nature, it is beyond reason. There is nothing that can be said to it, because by definition it wouldn’t understand. It is an ur-basilisk—the one terrifying possibility that haunts every single argument that has ever been made. It is a move without response, playing by no rules other than its own, which do not generally include any obligation towards consistency. It is, in its way, the only approach that can never lose an argument. And in the alt-right and its affiliates we have one of the most staggeringly vast nexuses of raw stupidity the world has ever crafted.

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