#and individual terrorists who could be living next fucking door??????

[moonspads]

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[danasmonster]

Comparing the SKAM Remakes: SANA (Part I)

Sana (SKAM original)

Sana is constantly having to defend and explain herself to others - her friends, her family, strangers. We see this with Vilde when she says Sana can’t have sex, and Sana clarifies that by explaining that she can have sex, she just chooses not to. There is also the assumption that Sana isn’t interested in boys or that she can’t participate in russefeiring “because she’s not ‘allowed’ to drink alcohol.” We see it with her parents when she has to explain to her mom that not all aspects of Islam fit her, and with her brother when she references him discouraging her from wearing a hijab in order to fit in more and avoid stigma. And finally, she explains during her season that she has experienced watching her brother being spit on, being asked racist questions, and other rude or hateful acts because she and her family are Muslim. 

The struggle to be both Norwegian and Muslim turns into a competition she gets lost in, and she ends up doing some very non-Muslim things like bully the Pepsi Max squad and lie in order to procure a russ bus. She also develops feelings for former Muslim and current atheist Yusef, which opens up an internal debate about the “Muslims only marry Muslims” rule.  

With all of her bitchiness, her prickliness, her rudeness and her mistakes, I still absolutely adore Sana. She is strong, outspoken, and takes absolutely no shit from anyone. Her story is so incredibly relevant to the world as a whole because of the way a lot of people view Islam or other “restrictive” aspects/sects of Christianity or other religions. It is a reminder that ultimately we should strive to love and understand each other, whether you are a theist or an atheist, a Muslim or a Norwegian. All is love. 

Everything I Love:

The opening scene with the contrast between Sana’s view from the bus with terrorist attacks and None of Dem by Robyn & Royksopp is so fun, & the look Sana gives the woman giving her a look over on the bus is pure Sana perfection 

The scene when Elias called Sana a slave woman and all of his friends gave him a verbal beatdown 

When we heard that Eskild was redecorating Noora’s room without her permission 

The Hot in Here scene with all the Balloon Squad working out while the girl squad ogles them, and the way Sana visibly snaps herself out of her trance. Also the shot of them coming up the street with a bunch of balloons to meet the girls is iconic

The way Yousef comes over to talk to Sana while she is over in the corner being a grump on the bus - I knew there was a reason she and Isak became friends. They’re both grumpy pants. 

When Sana catches Yousef dancing in her living room

The happy little look on her face when Yousef sends her a friend request on Facebook. She always smiles so freaking bright when she’s having fun with him

When Yousef showed off his carrot peeling skills

The way the Pepsi Max squad always has Pepsi 

When Yousef took the rap for the vodka left out at Sana’s party, then Sana was hit with a metaphorical brick when Yousef told her he isn’t Muslim. You could see the shock on her face, and now she is conflicted because “Muslims only marry Muslims” and she clearly has already developed feelings for Yousef

When Sana and Noora drink coffee and bask in their solidarity that Vilde and Magnus are gross

When Sana and Yousef play basketball together and we see her smile - we have NEVER seen her smile like that. And then they have a heart to heart about their individual religious beliefs and it is PURE GOLD

“I just feel like Islam, or religion in general, creates a lot of anxiety in people . . . I personally feel like I’ve taken the best out of the religion and thrown away the rest. It’s like, compassion towards others, being grateful for what’s best, having compassion. That’s it. Don’t you think I can remember to be a good person without praying?” - Yousef

“For me, everything can be total chaos during the day, but the moment I start to pray, everything turns quiet and clear. Because even though there’s all this chaos, you’ll remember what really matters. It’s fine because everything has a bigger context and a meaning. Because every little part of the universe is so complex. Imagine that! Even the brain of a cockroach has greater meaning on earth. I just can’t believe all of that is a coincidence,” - Sana

Her chat with Elias was also fantastic

“What’s more important, saying you believe in Allah or behaving as though you believe in Allah?” - Elias

Watching everyone join in during “Imagine” definitely almost had me tearing up - another song added to my playlist. Honestly this scene was so sweet and touching and then everything just came crashing down. It was intense. And Sana’s face just looked freaking broken. Then when she overheard that her suspicions about being pushed out of the group because she’s Muslim were correct it was like an extra stab through the heart

The scene where she’s walking through the schoolyard was excellent - very reminiscent of Isak’s similar scene, and another way in which the two of them parallel one another 

And this line is so, so true from Sana to Isak regarding why she never told Isak she knew Even before he met Isak

“I think Even should get to choose for himself how much he wants to share about his past. I mean, you might not want to share every thing about your past.”

When Sana and Jamilla have the conversation about all the different ways people fast, and Jamilla references her friend who won’t even swallow her own spit. So this friend goes around spitting all the time while she’s fasting. “She’s really confident about it, too.” 

Both Sana’s expression of how she thinks the world views her and Isak’s response are very powerful

Sana: “Do you know what people think when they see me, when they see my hijab, which is the first thing they see? They think I’m wearing it because I’m forced to, not because I want to. And if I say it’s because I want to, then I’m just oppressed because I can’t have my own opinion. We talk about freedom of religion and all kinds of freedoms here in Norway, but being allowed to wear an extra piece of clothing, that’s wrong? Do you know what people do when they see Elias and I walking down the street? They spit at him because they think he’s oppressing me! He doesn’t even want me to wear the hijab because he doesn’t want me to get hate. Do you know how fucking tiring it is to walk out the door everyday knowing it’s yet another day where you have to prove to a whole country that you’re not oppressed . . . I’ve received so many dumb, racist questions in my life.”

Isak: “The dumb questions are so fucking important. People can’t stop asking the dumb questions because when they stop asking the dumb questions they start making up their own answers. And that’s dangerous. You just have to stop looking for racism in dumb questions. Even if they feel racist, it’s so fucking important to answer them.”

The Los Losers bus definitely had me tearing up

When Linn admitted to sending a used tampon to someone who flirted with the boy she liked 

When we see Eskild picking up his guru mantle once more and he compares The Bible to Beyoncé . . . “The Bible says ‘The greatest of these is love’ or as Beyoncé would say ‘Love on top,’” while giving Sana advice

Noora’s face both when she saw William getting out of his car and when she got out of his after a four day sex and talk marathon

The conversation between Sana and her mom about why it is important for her to eventually marry someone who understands her beliefs and reminds her of them, not because she should be Muslim but because she chooses to be Muslim and she “would be very lonely if she were the only one in the relationship who believes.” So, whether or not she marries a nonbeliever or a non-Muslim is Sana’s choice, but there would be essential parts of Sana’s own wellbeing that would effected if she chose to go that route because her faith is an essential part of who she is. 

The conversation with Noora was equally important. They may not necessarily be fated to be together, but there is a reason this person (Yousef) came into Sana’s life and avoiding him would be ignoring this sign from fate that this person is supposed to be a part of her life right now. Life is now. 

When Yousef and Sana have yet another philosophical/religious discussion and Yousef proposes: “Maybe that’s why society needs religion. Democracy isn’t based on the idea that all people are different. It’s based on the idea that all people have equal worth. And that idea doesn’t exactly come from science. But I don’t think it helps to pretend there aren’t prejudices. What you have to do instead is show what Islam is.” 

And The Finale!!!

When Vilde was putting on her makeup and listening to Pretty Hurts by Beyoncé, and everything else about her segment. I loved getting that glimpse into some of her life and mind for a little while. I’m still disappointed she never got to tell us her story during the original SKAM.

When Eva reminds Chris that he’s a fuckboy so they can never be together. Sure he’s momentarily disappointed and probably felt sad for a little bit, but he was really quick to move on to Emma - proving Eva was smarter than him and knew him better than he knew himself. Seriously though the scene where Penetrator Chris and Emma first see each other is fucking awesome

I LOVE LOVE LOVE that the school nurse has a big white dildo on the desk next to her while she has her chat with Chris

When we see Even stressing over making Isak’s birthday perfect 

The interaction between Eskild and Linn when Eskild tells Linn she has to wear a hijab to Sana’s party because Sana is Muslim was hilarious. And then he told her they are always going to be there for each other and it got me right in the feels

And then when Eskild was proposing he, Noor, and Linn could share everything together if William moved in . . . shampoo, and William, and dish soap . . . 

Then Vilde to Chris; “You know why you’re my best friend? Because no matter how hard my day is, you always find a way to make me laugh. Sometimes it makes you feel better to pretend that you’re fine.” 

And the final speech!!!!

“Dear Sana, This speech is for you. And you’re getting it because what you’re inviting us to today overthrows American presidents tomorrow. We live in a chaotic world where it is difficult to understand the rules. Because why are some people poor and other people rich? Why do some people have to be refugees while others are safe? And why is it that sometimes even though you try to do something good it’s still met with hate?

It’s not weird that people give up, that they stop believing the good. But thank you so much for not giving up, Sana. Because even though it sometimes feels like it no one is ever alone. Each and everyone of us is part of the big chaos. And what you do today has an effect tomorrow.

it can be hard to say exactly what kind of effect, and usually you can’t see how everything fits together. But the effects of your actions are always there, somewhere in the chaos. In 100 years we may have machines that can predict effects of every action but until then we can trust this: Fear spreads But… But, fortunately love does too.”

I’m going to go cry now. 

[berniesrevolution]

In the beginning there was… well, I don’t know what there was. But then there was a tremendous explosion. Then, for a few hundred million years, there was nothing of much interest. After that, stars and galaxies began to form, and they were fascinating and beautiful, but nobody was there to notice. Billions and billions of years went by, until a molecular cloud happened to collapse, inadvertently giving us the Sun, moon, asteroids, etc. Our humble planet Earth formed by accident, and for billions more years it was wet and gassy, with little to recommend it save some bacteria here and there. Then plants emerged, then all of a sudden there were animals—weird ones—and they lived and they died and they evolved steadily into dinosaurs, who met an unfortunate fate, then very recently we showed up, looking something of a mess, and our ancestors struggled to stay alive, and they fashioned tools and they built little dwellings and they made do and then died, and then the next batch did the same, and they learned to farm, and they learned to build, and slowly something quite impressive emerged. (They were also often killed or enslaved, or did the killing and enslaving.) They built civilizations and they discovered math and they gave birth to Socrates and then they murdered Socrates for asking too many questions. And they fumbled along and tried to figure things out, and they mostly failed, but they learned how to fill their bellies and minds, and they discovered their incredible potential, building printing presses and cotton gins and hundred-story buildings and gigantic ships that sometimes sank. Together, based on what those before them had learned, they invented steam trains and then pickup trucks and then jet airplanes and then television game shows and then internet pornography and then six different kinds of poop emoji pool float. And all through the process people fell in love, and were torn apart, and worked their asses off, and watched their children screw up or do well, and went on adventures, and played with Legos, and built too many cars and clogged the roads but refused to carpool so they got stuck in traffic and it served them right, and did monstrously cruel things, and tamed a lot of diseases, and ate a lot of tacos, and petted a lot of animals, and treated the planet in highly irresponsible and ungrateful ways, and just generally acted out a stunningly violent, heartwarming, infuriating, inspiring collective drama on an inconceivable scale.

And what I refuse to believe is that all of this was just the buildup to Donald Trump being given the power to end all human life, neoliberal capitalism devouring the earth, Elon Musk buying all of outer space, and everyone eventually ending up working as a drone in an Amazon warehouse until the planet boils or eventually the sun explodes. That cannot possibly be the end of history. Surely not. No. That isn’t how this story goes. That would be a tale told by an idiot, signifying fuck all. I would want my money back. Zero stars. Liked the plot but that ending was garbage.

Yet this is the direction a lot of people seem to believe we’re heading in, and I don’t think they’re wrong. I mean the first thing already happened: the United States gave the world’s most selfish and ignorant man control of its 4,018 nuclear weapons. He’s joked about making himself president for life. Monopolistic corporations are steadily wrapping their tentacles around every part of the economy. There should be hardly any doubt that the U.S. in particular is one major terrorist event away from a frightening concentration of power in the hands of a single unstable person, if you’re not already frightened by the whole nuclear weapons thing.

This makes a lot of people I know feel hopeless and uncertain. They see people with no qualifications except wealth being put in charge, and see Jeff Bezos building a 42 million dollar clock in the desert while his workers pee in bottles because they can’t take bathroom breaks. They see their fate in the hands of grotesque individuals who could not care less about anyone but themselves, and many ask themselves the question that Navy veteran Seth King asked himself when he found himself in the “revolving door of bodies” known as the Amazon fulfillment warehouse: “If this is the best life is going to get why am I even still here?” Every year, in the United States alone, 40,000 people take their own lives because they cannot find a satisfactory answer to that question.

From one perspective it’s strange that that should be the case, because we’ve come so far and done so much as a species, and as George Orwell put it, the Earth is a raft sailing through space, fully stocked with enough provisions for everyone. And yet, history is a record of brutality on an unthinkable scale. Chattel slavery was ended only just recently, and the century that brought us Motown records and the Golden Gate Bridge was, for hundreds of millions of people, also a machine of death creating pile upon pile of corpses. For a few decades, it’s been comparatively peaceful, but only because the world’s great powers keep civilization-ending missiles pointed at each other, and one false move could destroy everything. Oh, and let’s not even talk about climate catastrophe. (Living in New Orleans, I cannot bear to contemplate it.)

How can anyone have hope when Donald Trump is the president? How can anyone have dreams about the Star Trek future, in which we all go on adventures through space together in a spirit of equality and shared purpose? The resurgence of “nationalism” spells absolute doom; nationalism is one of the silliest and most destructive imaginable ideas. Silly because nobody, looking at human beings in the context of the Universe, can think national distinctions worth worrying about. (Even Reagan admitted that existing global conflicts would seem trivial if the aliens showed up.) “Most destructive” because nationalism operates like a purpose-built empathy inhibitor, making other humans seem less and less like ourselves and thus making it easy to distrust, detest, or destroy them. Nationalism makes it possible to put on a uniform, strut around, and denounce the enemies who will destroy our culture and way of life, without realizing how ridiculous you look to the Universe.

(Continue Reading)

[benbarnesescape]

Lies and Distractions

Billy Russo Prompt Challenge – for @daughter-of-mayhem

Prompt # 39 – “Shut up and kiss me already”

Warnings: None. Cursing at worse. Mentions of sex

A/N: Ok pre-warning this may or may not be sad. I’m done with angsty Billy after this for a while but I really wanted to write about the transition from when Billy leaves Anvil to meeting up with Curtis the next day. Where would he go? What would he be thinking?  promise, promise the next posts will be happier.

You flickered your eyes open, disoriented and confused as you took in your living room surroundings. Netflix was asking if you were still there, wanting to watch another episode of Parks and Rec. A fire truck sped past your building, the red and blue lights lighting up the already dim space and you blinked, trying to figure out the true source of your disorientation. Then you hear the incessant pounding on your door, loud and with purpose and you groan, dragging yourself off the couch. You glance over to your stove clock checking the time and felt fear grip your heart. Who the hell could be knocking on your door at 11 pm on a Tuesday night?

You grab your baseball bat from your closet, nearing the door and looking through the peep hole.

You give a relaxed sigh when you notice Billy Russo standing on the other side, looking around cautiously before he pounds again and you flicker on your hall light as you start to unbolt your locks. When you finally throw the door open he’s standing there, a duffel bag slung over one arm and he pushes past you into your space with no snarky remark or hello.

“Hello to you too.” You mumble, closing the door and relocking the door. You turn to him as he looks out the windows cautiously, in a way that you had seen with lots of the paranoid vets and soldiers when you were holed up in a fighting zone and you know that there’s something wrong. Something that had you gripping your baseball bat just a bit tighter as you lean against the door, trying to debate what to say next.

Billy Russo always had a flair for adding more drama in your life.

“Were you planning on hitting a homerun against my skull with that thing?” he finally says when he’s satisfied with his position, throwing his bag on the ground and walking to your kitchen. He looks through your cabinets until he finds what he’s looking for, walking back out with the old bottle of gin he had gifted you with a few months back.

“Still debating if I should. The fuck is going on Billy?”

Billy uncaps the bottle, grimacing a bit before taking a seat at your kitchen table and taking a large swig. His eyes never leave yours as he drinks and when he puts the bottle down he throws his head back, slumping in the chair.

“Why does alcohol make everything better?” he mumbles. You don’t shift. Don’t make a movement from your spot at the door. He cracks an eye open and looks at you before heaving a deep sigh,

“Still got those old medic skills from back when you served in the sandbox?”

You cross your arms, falling back on the door before asking,

“What makes you think I’m an old army medic?”

He snorts, taking another swig of his drink before answering.

“When you’re a soldier, there’s just something about the way you move. Especially if you’re a good one. Curtis tells me that once a week you go down to his old center, do free medical exams for old vets. Besides, you got your old arm paraphernalia hanging in your bedroom. Won yourself a ribbon for saving a whole lot of soldiers. Your bathroom is littered with medical supplies. I wasn’t that distracted the last time I was over to note notice all those small details.”

You watch him skeptically before wandering over to him, placing your bat back in the closet before doing so.

“You don’t seem like the kind of guy who wants to know the details of a girl that he casually bangs.”

He smiles, that side grin that always gets your stomach tied up in knots and his left hand reaches out for you, grabbing your own.

“Is that what you think this is?”

“I’m not stupid Billy. You only call when its late, tend to leave before I wake up in the morning. When was the last time we sat and had a conversation? An actual conversation? You’re not looking for commitment and I’m so fucking messed up I’m willing to take what I can get.”

He’s watching you, those dark ebony eyes staring into your own before he whispers,

“I didn’t mean for you to feel used. I just thought that’s how you preferred it. This relationship.”

He grimaces again, shifting his right shoulder and you sit up in your chair, shaking your head.

“Doesn’t matter now does it? You won’t be staying much longer from what I can gather. Guessing you either got shot or stabbed in your right arm.” You nod in the direction of his discomfort and he nods.

“Show me.”

Another complacent nod as he shrugs out of his jacket and you notice the way his t-shirt is soaked with blood. You get up quickly, making a beeline for your linen closet. Grabbing your medical box of supplies and an empty tub before you’re making your way back to him in the dining room.

“Slug still in your arm?”

He shakes his head as he watches you, his dark eyes taking you in as you come alive. This is what you lived for. Missed. Working in an ER couldn’t curb the way it felt to support soldiers when they’re bullets moving past you. You had been promoted to doctor quickly on the field – when you were a basic nurse that had to learn how to perform surgery, patch up wounds and minimize damage when limbs were blown off it became easy. Back in the states, though, you had to go to school to prove your worth. Utter bullshit but you did it because you missed the itch. Just like you knew Billy did, rather he wanted to admit it or not.

“Pulled it out.” He answers, snapping you back to the present

“Was it a clean through and through? Or is there shrapnel I’ll have to dig around for.”

“Clean break.”  

“How long ago?” you ask, cutting his shirt and examining the wound before pouring water on it. He gives a light gasp before muttering out,  

“Thirty minutes max.”

You look at him for a second before your shaking your head.

“You’re an idiot. Whoever shot you figured as much.”

He laughs, taking another drink before asking,

“Can you sew me up? Or am I going to have to endure more insults.”

You smile, digging through your kit for your needle and thread. He was definitely going to need stitches and a proper cleaning which you knew he’d love.

“I can patch you up. You gotta tell me what kinda heat you have on you though. Because if the cops come sniffing for you, its natural they’ll come visit me.”

He gives a deeper sigh, his jaw set as he debates his next move.

“Deal. But only on one condition.”

You snort, shaking your head.

“Shouldn’t I be the one demanding the conditions.” You ask, carefully threading your needle before digging through your box for antiseptic.

“I tell you and in return you give me a –goddamn that burns! No warning?” he throws you a nasty snarl as you press the alcohol filled cotton ball against his skin and you smirk, shaking your head.

“You soldiers – men – are such babies when it comes to basic antiseptic. Pull a bullet out sure. Swipe a wound with alcohol and your all curse words and tears.” You smirk, throwing the bloody gauze on his table. You look up at him and ask,  

“You were saying?”

He looks at you skeptically before saying,

“I was trying to barter for a kiss. Don’t know if it’s worth it or not now.”

You laugh, scooting your chair closer to him.

“Might want to grit your teeth on something. Gonna start stitching you.”

“Can’t be as bad as the way you cleaned me up.” He mutters, taking another drink as your needle pierces his skin. He stiffens, but is still as you silently start to work on the small wound.

“You ever hear the name Frank Castle?” he asks after a minute and you falter a bit on stitch before continuing.

“Isn’t he known as The Punisher in this city?” you finally ask and he smirks, shaking his head.

“Yea. I guess that is his public name.”

“Frank Castle – the terrorist of New York. He sounds more like a political cover up.”

You can feel the intense way Billy is staring at you, knowing he’s curious to wonder your thoughts on the matter and you cave.

“I say that because the men he attacked, the men he was being charged for were known criminals. Prior to all of his ‘misdemeanors’ he served our country, bagged up a lot of individuals for the sake of America. Sounds like these men did something shitty to him and in return, he killed them. And maybe those men were linked to some dirty politician or two, god knows this damn country is being run by one let alone this city. Just think Frank got mixed up in some shit and unfortunately had to take the fall for it.”

You sit back as you look at the first couple of stitches, reaching over for a new roll of string. You throw him a side glance before asking,

“What I’m curious is why Frank Castle was shooting at you. You one of those dirty men Billy?”

Billy chuckles as he watches your movement, the precise way you thread the needle again before your bending over his arm.

“Frank didn’t like that I was supporting a politician, an old army friend. He may or may not have done some dirty shit. Not my place to ask. I was hired to protect him with my detail and that’s what I did. Frank got caught up in that, didn’t think I was serving him and now….” He drifts and you nod, your hands effortlessly moving before you stop, clipping your thread and tying it immaculately.

“You seem like the kind of kid who facilitated the bullying from behind the scene on the playground.” You smirk falling back in your chair. He starts to say something but you hold up your hand, shaking your head.

“Listen, I don’t care what you have to say about it. If the cops come I’ll tell them what I basically let my friends know. That sometimes we fuck but you don’t really stay around and we aren’t really friends. Done and done.” You get up, grabbing up the pile of gauze, taking it to your kitchen sink and throwing it in. Then you grab a match, catching it on fire as you watch.

“Can’t have your DNA all over the place.” You say as you pad back to him, feeling suddenly cold inside. Knowing that when he left, it wouldn’t be like all the other times where you lied to yourself, saying that maybe things would change. Maybe he would see you beyond the 20 minute waves of pleasure. Want to understand why you distanced yourself.

Looking at him now as he watched you, eyes hooded and lips pursed you knew you were wrong. There was no way in hell you could have that life with him. He had never been yours to begin with.

“What are you thinking about?” he asks as you stand in front of him, walking between his stretched out legs as he wraps his arms around your lower half.

“Just memorizing this handsome face.” You answer back softly and he gives a lazy grin, looking up at you as you card your hand through his hair while your other free hand cups his face. Memorizing his touch, painting his features into your mind to hold onto forever.

“I’ll be back you know. When things have simmered down. I’ll be back. Then you can talk to me like a real adult. Tell me what you’ve truly been meaning to say all this time.” He nuzzles against your hand, a lazy smile planted on his lips but you know it’s a lie. Know that he doesn’t care. Know that he’s incapable of it. He just wasn’t made that way.

But you don’t tell him this. Instead you do exactly what he expects you to do. You lie.

“Sure you will Billy.”

He blinks up at you, trying to read you. Trying to remedy what he knows can’t be true. You cut him off instead, placing a finger on his lips and murmuring,

“Oh, just shut up and kiss me already. Before I change my mind.”

He smiles, leaning up to grant you your requests. Ignoring the way your tears stain your mouth, or how you cling onto him as desperately as he holds onto you. Ignoring the pain throbbing in his shoulder as he pulls you down onto his lap, needing to forget for a couple of minutes the severity of the situation.

When he’s gone the next morning you’re not surprised, caressing over the place that he once laid. When he’s mug shot is advertised all over newspapers and the television, you also aren’t surprised. Aren’t surprised when the cops come to question you and you lie about him.

You lie about him until he becomes just a whisper in your mind, his promise an unforgotten tale in your string of romantic encounters.

It’s the two years later, in the dead of night when he’s knocking at your door, a shadowy finger even in your apartments well-lit hallway that all of this comes back to you. You almost don’t open the door. But then he’s saying your name in that voice that can only be distinctly Billy and your shaking, opening it up.

“I know it’s been a while sweetheart. Ready to have that heart to heart?”

For the life of you, you aren’t.

[glitchinthesystemspiderbyte]

[37] Glitch in the System - Lost & Found

By K.

Tentacles happen. _ Despite its reputation as the world’s foremost authority on unpredictable acts of insurrection, day-to-day life for even the most elite of Talon’s operatives was shockingly mundane given its organizational ethos. While the events which bookended individual deployments were suitably chaotic, the days between them were less so. Barring any exceptional circumstance or need for debriefing, the inner council left its constituency well enough alone, their expectation that each agent perform their due diligence regarding physical and tactical training providing structure to their days.

As such, routine was the ironic norm. In addition to establishing considerable predictability, it meant that when something was out of place, it was almost immediately apparent to everyone. What “something” was could be anything: an employee, a case report or dossier, weapons, tech. For those working and living in closer quarters, it was often the most inconsequential of everyday objects.

“What’s this?”

One such object appeared without fanfare, unheralded and unremarkable in absolutely every way but for its  location. Left anywhere else, its presence would be anything but suspect; in fact, many would welcome it with curiosity, if not excitement.

Children and adults the world over adored Pachimari, after all. Its image was practically ubiquitous, right alongside those of Rikimaru’s various mascots and even Hana Song. But what a palm-sized, stuffed version of the famous tentacled onion was doing on the kitchen table of Talon’s Venetian headquarters was as much a mystery as it was a thematic non-sequitur.

Gabriel stood before the toy, his midnight excursion for junk food interrupted by its baffling existence. Though it was fundamentally harmless, he couldn’t help but entertain the instinctual suspicion it aroused

“Strange,” he muttered, tugging idly at his goatee as he racked his brain in search of the operative who’d be so childish as to purchase the thing, nonetheless leave it in a communal space. His mental rolodex proving fruitless, he considered a different, more harrowing reason for the toy’s placement.

Picking it up in scarred hands, Reaper turned the plaything over and over, appraising it with pointed scrutiny better reserved for fresh recruits. As he ran his fingers along its surface, he searched for any signs of tampering: sewn patches inconsistent with the rest of its craftsmanship; unnecessary seams; strange scents or, worse, ticking. Toys, after all, were a common plant for both explosives and illicit substances, and Gabriel was renowned for being a man disinclined toward easily-earned trust.

His review lasted  less than two minutes. Finding nothing, he returned the plush to its original spot on the tabletop, its pristine off-white and kelly green a marked contrast to the dark oak and the looming void of night filling the estate’s corridors.

“Fucking stupid,” he growled at last, pulling the hood of his sweatshirt more tightly about his neck before turning his attention to the refrigerator.

Widowmaker found it the next morning, pausing in the kitchen doorway beside Sombra to level a critical eye on the stuffed toy. Sombra, hardly awake and far from functional, only acknowledged the sniper’s questioning glance with a yawn.

“Is this yours?” the taller woman asked, padding lightly across the room toward the item in question. When no answer came, she scooped it off the table and turned back to her colleague, head canted in silent reiteration. It certainly seemed like something the hacker would own, and of the agents stationed in Venice with on-site living quarters, Widowmaker couldn’t think of anyone else who might.

Blinking against the heavy cling of sleep, Sombra shook her head. “Nah. S’cute, though.”

“It still has a tag,” the assassin observed as her partner began to drowsily rifle through cabinets in search of the requisite ingredients for breakfast.

“He gonna’ help you make these pancakes?” Sombra asked over one shoulder.

Widowmaker sighed in a shadow of annoyance. “Still with the pancakes?” she asked. Setting the plush aside, she joined the shorter woman at the counter to assist with the procurement of certain ingredients placed further overhead: flour, baking powder, and vanilla extract.

“Jeez, spider. Why all the pancake-hate?”

Turning the bottle of extract over to check its use-by date, the sniper shrugged. “They’re just so terribly American.”

Sombra chuckled at Widowmaker’s nigh-tangible derision, laughing even as she shooed her away from her workspace. She grabbed the little Pachimari en route, tracing the embroidered lines of its smiling face with her thumbs as the sniper set to washing her hands. “You gonna’ keep this thing?” she asked after a spell.

Widowmaker’s sole response was a sideways glance that declined the suggestion more loudly than words ever could, one eyebrow cocked in the most vociferous incredulity she could muster. As she reached for the hand towel hanging off the oven door railing, however, a single flicker of thought crossed her mind: an idea as asinine as it was uncomfortably amusing and, either way, bound to bear interesting fruit. “Actually.”

Sombra blinked. “Actually?”

“I have a better idea.”

The hacker inclined her chin expectantly. “Go on.”

“I am bringing it with me to see Moira.”

Sombra’s delighted peal of laughter was interrupted only briefly by the cheery, artificial squeak the stuffed onion produced when she squeezed it incidentally. Its chirp lit up the kitchen anew — a small, innocent blip on the radar of the world’s most feared terrorist organization The contrast wasn’t lost on either of them, and even Widowmaker couldn’t help the bemused chuckle that slipped past her lips.

“She’s gonna’ shit,” Sombra grinned. “You have to tell me about it.”

Nodding her agreement, Widowmaker tossed the towel across the counter to her partner and set to work. “I will deliver a full report.”

Though it didn’t alter the cold war of their rapport, Widowmaker acknowledged that Moira’s begrudging directive she return to a modified training regimen was offered with the implicit understanding the sniper’s initial weeks of recovery had been miserable. The geneticist offered no outward indication the alternating routines of intense physical therapy and endurance training were anything but standard, yet the fact their work often ran well over the scheduled handful of hours indicated something like consideration, if not a shadow of sympathy.

That said, there was nothing easy about the work given her. Despite Widowmaker’s commitment to reclaiming mastery over her own body and Moira’s willingness to facilitate it, the increments by which the doctor increased the difficulty for her patient were broad. This was the norm, and had always been the norm: Moira, pushing each agent to the extremes of their ability while they, in turn, pushed to meet that expectation out of some combination of spite and muted professional detestation.

It was Hell, but it worked. The nanotechnology that expedited healing was of remarkable benefit, reducing what would in decades past have been months of recovery to fewer than one. But the actual work - the hours of alternating sprints and distance runs, of acrobatics and weight training and aerial silks and climbing - was entirely Widowmaker’s responsibility.

“Excellent,” Moira murmured, waving the sniper down from below as she, one leg crooked around a length of silk, hung suspended from the ceiling above. With a few, deft adjustments, Widowmaker followed the scientist’s cue, tumbling with controlled grace to a few feet above the ground. “If only everyone we kept on retainer were quite so determined.”

“‘Retainer’ is not entirely honest,” the assassin sniffed.

“Regardless,” Moira continued, waving off her commentary as if it were some irritating gnat, “you are cleared for active duty. I would recommend you spend some time with your rifle, but I doubt you need my encouragement. I will apprise Akande of your progress.”

“Merci,” Widowmaker replied, watching coolly as the taller woman terminated their conversation by stalking wordlessly toward the console against the far wall of the room. Assuming her departure as dismissal, the sniper stooped to pick up the small collection of belongings she brought: water bottle, towel, and, beneath it, the Pachimari plush she and Sombra discovered earlier that morning. Draping the towel over her shoulders, she glanced about the facility in search of a drop point. The whole thing was excessively silly, but placement was absolutely crucial.

“Amélie. One more thing,” Moira rejoined, turning on her heel suddenly. “The recoil on your rif— what the bloody hell is that?”

Glancing between the toy in her hand and the doctor before her, Widowmaker froze for precisely one second, and, thinking as quickly as possible, hung her head in mock mourning of a surprise well-thwarted. “A thank you,” she said, perfectly straight-faced as she approached the other woman. “I am an abysmal patient.”

Without so much as another word, she leveraged Moira’s flabbergasted silence as an opportunity to deposit the wayward toy in her free hand, turn on her heel, and move with mechanical precision toward the exit. As the doors whispered open, she heard Moira’s voice, weighted with uncertainty, behind her:

“…the recoil on your rifle may aggravate your shoulder…”

Then:

“These idiots.”

True to Moira’s prediction, Widowmaker spent the rest of the day outside, reacquainting herself with the Widow’s Kiss while Sombra logged hit/miss percentiles at the sniper’s request. Doubly true was the doctor’s warning that the rifle’s recoil, normally so innocuous - comforting, even - grew irritating with time as the butt stock hit the still-tender shoulder that only a few weeks ago had been firmly dislocated.  

“Damn,” the she hissed, pressing ungloved fingertips against the nexus of joint and socket as she switched the gun to her off-hand.

Waving her holoscreen out of existence, Sombra sidled up beside the other woman, looping an arm about her waist. “Call it a day. There’ll be more angry holographic men for you to murder tomorrow.”

“Probably for the best,” Widowmaker admitted, allowing the hacker to lead her up the graduating stairs toward one of the estate’s many entrances. Warmth greeted them beyond the threshold, immediately easing the hacker’s shaky grip as they traversed the network of halls toward the westernmost wing serving as their living quarters.

“You give Moira that thing?” Sombra asked, glancing up to meet the taller woman’s eye from the corner of her own.

“I did,” she replied. “It was sufficiently uncomfortable.”

“For you?”

“For everyone,” Widowmaker said, trying and failing to suppress the smile threatening the corner of her mouth. As Sombra’s chuckle began to give way to some further inquiry, they turned the corner toward the hacker’s room and ran, almost bodily, into Gabriel. The man’s expression was unreadable - somehow removed from his usual, passive scrutiny and irritation. On anyone else, it may have read as muted delight; on him, it seemed like discomfort. Widowmaker recognized it well and immediately as his default expression of  lukewarm amusement.

“What?” she asked suspiciously, eyes narrowed.

Shrugging broad shoulders, Reaper merely cast a long glance over his shoulder, as if expecting some shadow other than his own to follow. “Nothing.”

“You are making that face.”

“What face?”

“The face you make when something is funny.”

Sombra glanced between the two of them, brows raised. “Jefe?”

Shaking his head, Gabriel only shouldered past them with a grunt.

“Everyone here is fucking weird,” Sombra murmured at the exact second Akande turned the far corner, hands curled around a small, white and green object.

“How convenient,” he said, stopping before them. “Just who I needed to see.”

The silence that attempted residency between the three of them never had a chance against Sombra’s gleeful cackle. Akande, stifling his own smirk, averted his gaze to the object in his hands.

“Lacroix,” he began, voice broken by the faint lilt of laughter trying to break through. “Is this yours?” He unfolded his hands with the question, revealing the smiling face of the mysterious Pachimari.

“No,” Widowmaker replied tonelessly. “It is Moira’s.”

Snickering, Doomfist shook his head. “Moira, it seems, finds its presence particularly distracting” he said. “Which, frankly, I think is her way of saying she liked it but doesn’t have a place for it.”

“Like everything she likes,” Sombra murmured beneath her breath - a statement both Akande and Widowmaker seemed perfectly capable of acknowledging without actually acknowledging it via an exchange of glances.

“I think it’s prudent I return this to you for the time being,” he continued, proffering the stuffed creature with a degree of delicacy that seemed infinitely at odds with the strength he both possessed and embodied “In the future, I recommend scotch if you’re in need of a gift for Doctor O’Deorain.”

Before Widowmaker could even think of accepting the toy, Sombra scooped it deftly into her arms. “Gosh, araña. How thoughtful,” she grinned. “Just what I always wanted.”

Shaking his head, Akande simply stepped aside and allowed them to continue on their way. “Thoughtful, isn’t she?” he smirked.

“Shut up.” Widowmaker replied, waving him a lazy goodbye.

*Read from the beginning or check out our intro post! All stories tagged under #glitchfic. Table of contents located here.

[symbianosgames]

Most players won't play to the end of your game. That's not a tragedy -- that's a feature of video games' design landscape. Ubisoft creative director Jason VandenBerghe explains, in this reprint from the final (June/July 2013) issue of Game Developer magazine.

Argument: As a game designer, you are more free when crafting your ending than you are for any other piece of your game.

First of all, having an ending at all is your choice. Don't want one? All good! Games are loops, and if you want to leave yours closed, you will be in good company. No one has ever "finished" poker, or football.

But for games that do have an ending, only a small portion of your players will ever see it. We are, as an industry and as a culture, still confused about this. We are dismayed at the low finish rates of our games, and a player who puts down the controller before reaching the end is left with a vague sense of having dissed the game team.

Yet, the ability for players to stop playing whenever they feel like it is inherent in the form! This is not a bad thing; this is a good thing. It is part of the game-design landscape. And if you learn to worry less about insisting that everyone who starts finishes, and put your attention on the advantages this fact of gaming gives you, you will not find a more personally liberating moment in game design than in designing your end.

The question is: How will you use that freedom?

For several years back in the late 1990s, I lived with an eccentric friend named Dylan. Dylan was a carouser, a lover of swords and theatrics, a collector of experiences -- and an avid video game starter.

Dylan played dozens, maybe hundreds of games per year, and this was before the Internet, so they mostly came from the store. But, for all his passion, I don't know that I ever saw him put more than an hour into a single one. He would buy them, try them, love them... and then set them aside forever. This was a man who stopped playing Diablo after an hour or so (!). Even more weirdly, he was always perfectly content with his purchases, never showing a single hint of regret at not seeing the end.

He never did this with movies or books. Ever.

Watching Dylan's weird relationship with the games he played taught me that it is absolutely not required to finish a game to appreciate it.

Last year, you may remember that CNN published an article by Blake Snow that regaled the Internet with the news that only 10-20 percent of gamers actually finish the games they started.

No argument. When we see game finish rates over 30-40 percent, we sing the praises of the team and pop the bubbly. Numbers like that imply that we managed to make some seriously compelling content, and smooth out all the bumps along the way. Precious few games reach that goal.

But, I have a beef with an unspoken assumption in this article, and in many articles like it. Here's how the article's author put it:

"Let [this] sink in for a minute: Of every 10 people who started playing the consensus 'Game of the Year,' [Red Dead Revolver] only one of them finished it. How is that? Shouldn't such a high-rated game keep people engaged? Or have player attention spans reached a breaking point? ...Who's to blame: The developer or the player? Or maybe it's our culture?"

My beef is with the idea that failing to finish a game is a bad thing.

Putting down the controller somewhere before the final climactic scene in a video game is not a sin. It is an intrinsic part of our art form.

I never finished the first BioShock, yet it remains a game I thoroughly enjoyed. Grim Fandango? Never finished it. But I sure as hell use it as an example in design discussions! I have never finished a single Z, but, man, they are fun (usually).

There are a ton of games that don't even have endings. Most arcade-style games and most MMOs don't have real endings. The Sims doesn't have an ending. Poker? Chess? Football?

In fact, a broad majority of the world's long-standing favorite games are specifically designed to never be finished. One game of Sudoku leads to another, which leads to another... In game design terms, even putting an "ending" into your game is, clearly, optional. We know this. It's self-evident. So, then, why do we gnash our teeth and tear out our hair when only 20% of players reach the end of our (story) games?

I believe that the idea has its roots in our beliefs about other media. There is an implicit rejection that is present when someone walks out of a movie, turns off a show on TV, or sets down a book unfinished. For those mediums, the message of this action is clear: "I'm not enjoying this story enough to continue."

When someone stops playing a game, however, the possibilities are far, far more varied:

"I'd love to keep playing, but the time commitment is too high for me."

"I enjoyed the beginning, but now it's getting sort of grindy, and that's not for me."

"Love the game, but I'm weary of the player culture, so I'm going to hang out somewhere else."

"My friends stopped playing."

These are not necessarily sins of the designer. Gaming is as much a lifestyle as it is entertainment, and if a game doesn't fit into an individual's life, they are going to put it down. That's not a tragedy. That's a feature of our design landscape.

So, instead of looking guiltily at our completion rates and fantasizing about a world in which 99% of the players who start our (story) game reach the final scene, let's flip it around and see what we can do to take advantage of this fact, instead.

More than half of your players are not going to finish. You know that going in, so think of it as a design constraint! What does that mean to you?

First: The deeper into your game your content is, the more likely it is that the players that are still with you have been having a good time. They're in. They've bought it. You have earned a certain amount of faith capital with them, and they probably want to see what else you've got up your sleeve.

Second: Because your producers and various high-mucky-mucks have seen the finishing stats for other games, they know that dev time spent in detailed iteration on your ending is effort going to a small subset of players. They will prioritize the team's time accordingly. They will thus be more likely, whether through disinterest or lack of time, to let your crazy idea for the end slip through the cracks.

Third: Players themselves already know that arriving at the end is a rare occasion—because they, personally, most likely don't do it very often. Every player has put down the controller on at least a few games. If they do decide to complete the whole thing, they will wear that fact as a badge of honor (we hope). So, they are psychologically primed to receive some kind of acknowledgment for their effort. Bright-eyed, with the end in sight, your players look to the designer expectantly, ready to interpret whatever you present as a kind of reward, while your producers turn a blind eye...

I only have one piece of real advice for you about this moment: Tell the fucking truth.

Whatever it is that is in your heart, whatever it is that has drawn you into making this game in the first place, do that with your faith capital. Spend it telling them that, somehow.

The first Modern Warfare had a great example of this: The final mission was the most over-the-top crazy, punishing, nearly-impossible-to-complete madness-fest in their game. It had almost no explanation, required none ("PLANE! TERRORISTS!"), and it was simply brilliant. The level was a celebration of the game that you had just finished, a self-referential guns-blazing cherry on the cake that was completely unnecessary, but became legendary.

One of the most satisfying endings I have ever played was the ending of The Darkness. It laid bare the truth of the fantasy they had created, and gave me full rights to punish an evil that I had come to loathe. The truth there was consistent with the story, but it was the play that they created that made that last scene true. I hated the villain of that game, and in the end the game did nothing to force my hand (beyond closing the door behind me). When I took my revenge, it was me that did it, and that act stayed with me.

But it is the ending of the first Metroid, perhaps, that best demonstrates the strange liberty we have with this moment. It could have ended with Samus Aran raising a blaster into the air in victory. That would have been satisfying, and it was an amazing game all the way through. Hero pose! Instead, Samus stepped out of the battle suit, demonstrated her gender, and shattered the 8-bit preconceptions of players everywhere. It is still one of the most celebrated endings in gaming history.

Let's say we were to apply these principles to this article.

You've stuck with me this far, so I can perhaps assume that you're interested in what I've had to say so far. We're near the end, so you are maybe starting to think about what you'll read next, or putting down the magazine. Perhaps you are looking forward to the internal satisfactory tick-mark that comes from reading the last line.

How might I use this receptive state of mind? What is my truth about endings, right now?

Speaking of endings, did you know that this is the final issue of this here magazine? Funny story: Through random luck, I've ended up with the honor of writing the final Design of the Times. That's this article, right here.

You know, the first time I picked up an issue of Game Developer was back in 1996, in the offices of Hyperbole Studios. I was a late-20-something, blown away to be suddenly making games after long years of professional wandering.

It was the existence of this magazine that gave me my first glimpse into the murky, somewhat-secret society of game developers. The magazine's professional-looking cover and its interior pages full of post-mortems and dev tricks all were clearly aimed specifically at a readership made up of people who made video games. Flipping through the pages, I gradually discovered that I very much wanted to be part of that target market.

It's much later now. We have internets, game developers are meeting with vice presidents, and 99.9% of people under 25 have played video games. It's a world in transition, and I cannot wait to see what happens next. But I, for one, won't move forward into that future without fi rst pausing and, maybe just for a moment, placing an affectionate hand on the magazine that was the warm face that greeted me as I entered this industry.

Thanks. Thanks for that, and for all the other stuff.

That is my truth on endings: I mark them, I use them to reflect, and if I can get away with it, I give thanks to people who have had an impact on my life.

As a game designer, you are more free when crafting your ending than you are in any other piece of your game. So, in the end, tell the fucking truth. Tell as much of it as you can manage. Tell it as best you can. And see if you can give the world something to remember.

[casualeclectica]

Why?… (in response to a good friend asking, post-Trump inauguration)

First off, I respect you greatly for calling for clarification.

I do not just heedlessly jump on the liberal train or follow my friends to “keep the peace” or “avoid drama”.

I am not one to unquestioningly follow.

Even in the Army, after basic…I was sent to Hawaii…spent 2 weeks in reception where the SGT there tried to hammer into us, “Keep your head down…keep those uniforms tight…salute and just do what you’re told!” Guess what…my first week in my actual unit, I was promoted and reported straight to my battery officer each day and helped arrange training schedules and duty rosters, why? Because when I went in to speak to the Sergeant Major that first day, I was the only one of the incoming group who did NOT parrot the same reasons for joining the military…”To be the best SM!…To become a Sgt Major, Sgt Major!…To kick ass SGT Major…To serve our country sgt major!…blah blah blah butt kiss Sgt Major!” My answer was simple…”To experience the world as a soldier and see how I can make a difference in this way…SGT Major…”. The next day, my platoon sergeant called me out of formation and told me to report to our Commander…

I was raised by a very strong, independent woman (I was adopted when I was 2) who not only raised me and my brother but also over a dozen foster children, one other who was adopted as my sister. My mother ran the Northwoods Humane Society for many years when I was a child so I was exposed to caretaking of wildlife, environmental conservation efforts, heck I don’t remember it, but she says that when I was a toddler, she marched in a GreenPeace protest with me in a stroller! When I was ten we moved to Eau Claire, WI where I completed grade school. During this time, my mother worked on many community projects, started an after-school kids club, and was on the City Council for 12 years I believe. I, along with school, choir, and other activities, very much enjoyed being involved, even as a kid. I did camera work for the local Public Access TV station for several years learning basic filmography as well as video editing and tv station operation, even aired a fun little craft show episode with an older lady making bead animal key chains. I was involved in set-up and operation of several local festivities, school events, recorded local government sessions.

Now, my mom is a die-hard text-book far-left, liberal, ride or die democrat…and yes, many of my views may be influenced by that…but besides that, I have retained my individual versions of the same views. I do not believe that either side is wholly right or wrong…I do not believe that the system is set up out of concern for you, me, or any individual citizen. The cops, congress, judges, none of them are there to serve US…they are there to maintain and enforce a system (which ideally Should server US)…an outdated and very riddled system, built on old ways, hard-headedness, silly rules and laws put in place because setting an unnecessary law with unreasonable punishment is easier than a judge actually making a common-sense ruling. I am also heavily influenced by the law, morality, and ethics courses which I have attended over the years…as these have instilled in me, what I perceive to be a rather neutrally controlled aspect of right and wrong.

To actually answer your questions as much as I can at this time…

I cannot say that your feelings of support for Trump are unfounded or wrong (this leads to many arguments that I have even with other liberals and activists, many do not look at the other side of the situation with the proper question of “why do THEY think they are right?” as you yourself have asked me)…

I do not wholly know your situation, your upbringing, or your true feelings toward other people or situations…

More than being against Trump, the entity, himself….I am wholly and forever against what has been coined as a small population of Americans who now, influenced by Trump’s campaign and current statements, believe that it is okay to be racist, hateful, un-humanitarian, generally everything, EVERYTHING, I was taught was bad in the world…and now there are people, who because of Trump’s messages and implications, openly express this hate and such that have been termed by nations worldwide to be inappropriate, un-civil, and in a word, bad…

I will not sit here and say Trump is stupid…he’s obviously not! It takes some intelligence to lose several businesses to bankruptcy and still remain one of the most esteemed and valuable people on the planet… one of us misses a mortgage payment and life is hell til we’re paid up!

Borders is a fragile issue for any country…

First, I believe we are coming to an age where borders should be starting fade…with communication, trade, nearly no war as far as national, and relations, til now, pretty good…are countries truly an idea that is relevant now? This administration seems hell bent on rolling the clock backward on this and many other things. My concern is that it seems we are taking a several hundred year step backward with the intentions of the Trump administration.

Besides that, no, I do not believe “uncontrolled” borders are a good idea and I support heavily enforced immigration…but I do support immigration.

Diversity, immigration itself, hospitality are all things that made America a beacon of hope and a symbol of freedom to the world. Closing our doors, cutting ties, halting aid efforts and denying asylum…these are the marks of a selfish, nationalist, country…North Korea does exactly this…to the extreme, but yes this.

The immigration process in place right now, even refugee transference, is actually a very long and arduous process!

My feelings on terrorism being a reason to restrict immigration further? Well, if someone is hell-bent on making a terrorist statement…they will! Any system we put in place will have some kind of hole, sleeper cells from the cold war could very well still be awaiting orders possibly even passed to offspring…nothing but “NO IMMIGRATION” POLICY will prevent such deep convicted action…but as the UNITED STATES OF AMERICA, can we righteously shut off immigration and continue to be the nation we see ourselves as?

I am for true freedom, true unity, true equality and the fight and/or progress to those ends…anything besides those, I am against!

This is what I believe is right.

Trump has never lived on the same plane of existence as any of us! I really don’t understand how it can be believed that a man with his name on Towers around the world, who gold-encrusts the rooms of his apartments and homes (all plural), has been depicted as a comic-book “rich a-hole” character since we were all kids, who is having his wife and son stay in their NY home, at tax payer expense, to “ease the transition” for his son and wife because it is absolutely a STEP DOWN FOR THEM TO MOVE TO THE WHITE HOUSE (thus any impeachment or such wouldn’t exactly be a punishment for him since he can just go back to his palaces and money)!!!

How?…How does this in ANY way relate to the common citizen? To the average worker? To those who did or were expected to vote for him (of course it was the very system HE claimed to be “rigged” that elected him…NOT The People, We did not elect him as the popular vote shows…)?

If I am allowed only one statement as to why I did not vote for him, it would be that, sorry, I can’t relate to him in really any way besides, yes, the system needs to change. Yes, I hope, HOPE, he doesn’t fuck things up! I hope he actually flips again (the amount of and the things he has turned on should be alarming to everyone!), and shows true concern for the citizens and well being of the nation…

I watched the inauguration…many said to boycott, but I need to keep an eye on this!

I watched, and I saw a new Soviet Union being announced…I saw North Korea being introduced….I saw a dictator, with his generals lined up behind him, just saying “we are tearing the system apart!” No plans, no assurances, it was a religion weaved, call to arms, war on everyone, Nationalist-Fascist (at least the Nazis had the Socialist facade at first), utter horror show of a national address, I hoped to never witness in my or my descendents existences!

I agree, we need change, we need to truly “drain the swamp”…but filling it with crocodiles and snakes does not seem right…Wall Street bankers…CEO’s…people known to have ties to HATE GROUPS…these are what run the country now…and you don’t understand my problem?!

One of the signs I saw in pictures of the Women’s Marches that really touched me was one held by a little old woman in a wheel chaire, it read, “90 yrs old, and I STILL have to fight for Equal Rights?”

The pussy hats…the burning crap…the insults…those are all people venting…people need to express themselves and what is wrong is that things are SO BAD THAT THESE ARE THE ONLY WAYS MANY PEOPLE FEEL THEY CAN BE HEARD!

Comments of “move on”, “accept”, “he’s your president now, get over it” all show very precisely the problem we are calling out!

Do our voices not matter? Do our opinions have no weight?

Are we a nation that should just cow-tow to whoever is in charge because “that’s just how it is?” (because conservatives sure didn’t during the entire Obama administration…just google “anti-obama signs”).

I post, share, and participate in these things because I will always do what I believe is the truly right thing.

I don’t believe in mob decisions, I don’t believe in trend followings, I don’t even just curb my tongue because “Grandma may have a problem”, I believe what I believe and stand behind what I do and say no matter who I am around or who may hear it. People liike to say “I say what I want!” and “I’m the most straight-forward person you’ll ever meet!” when all they actually mean is, I’ll act exactly as comfortable as I feel like acting and I don’t care about manners…except in certain situations and around certain people. This is not so for me, I have and show a base level of respect at all times, I swear on occasion but not out of “outspokenness”, out of admitted bad habit, and I apologize. I say that I stand for something, and if a real opportunity to support it arises, I do it!

This is how I have always been.

You know, I spent some time in Texas as an adult, I was born there but hadn’t been back since a baby, and while I rode bulls, traveled to beaches, experienced a lot!

The one thing I remember most, was when me and a buddy (who I stayed with a while) were doing a day labor job, just for something to do and some extra beer money. We were on a construction clean-up assignment.

Me, my buddy (who was like poster boy texas white frat bro type) and several men of apparent hispanic influence got to the site. My buddy and the others called the supervisor “boss” or “hoss” while I called him “Sir”…I don’t know if it was a northern attitude difference or what but I couldn’t say “Boss”. I asked what the orders were and was told just to grab whatever wasn’t attached to something else and get it in a dumpster. I said I was on it.

I worked all morning…the others trolled about picking up odds and ends, taking smoke breaks, sitting on phones, working but not working…my buddy spent all morning chatting with the “boss”.

I cleaned out 3 floors of the gutted building myself that morning…the others got 1, and after lunch my buddy pulled me aside and said “you’re workin too hard man, don’t worry about the afternoon, we’re listening to the game on the “boss”s radio, let “them” finish up”…now I looked at him and all I could say was “What? Why?”

…now, you do remember I am not white right? I am of mixed background and have black hair, brown eyes, and light tan complexion…

Well this guy leans in and says…”cuz we’re white dude!…let the mexicans do it…we’re gettin paid no matter what…”

I looked at him and said, “You just lost my respect man…I am not white! I may not be mexican, and I may speak proper english…but I am not going to work or be hanging with you!”

I walked off the work site…grabbed my stuff from his place, and went on my way…THAT is who I am…even though the other men were not even working how I was…I was not about to even think I was better than them, deserved anything different, or thought of the job differently. I was there to do a job and not judge others…that’s what I see life as…

At a very basic level…why is it okay and protected, that acknowledged Hate groups like the KKK (extreme white supremacy) or even the Black Panthers (extreme black takeover from their actions, not the ACLU and not sanctioned by other peaceful groups) have been free to march openly for their causes and beliefs of hate and racism through our nation’s capitol…but it is not okay, and made fun of, for me to walk with a sign showing MY opinion.

What I am against are double standards…mistruths…and things that we can all agree are bad things.

I have walked right by Trump supporters rallying in my town…been yelled at to “Go Home!”…my girlfriend was at one, taking pictures for her photography class, she was spit on because they thought she was “with the media” and would “portray them badly”…which they seemed to do well enough themselves…

No, not all conservatives are bad…not all republicans are bad…but they are being represented by those who ARE bad in their actions and messages and influence! Oh, and yes, supporting them, either actively or passively, will bring you to question in many people’s minds.

We live in a socialist republic with layers of democracy entwined…good business is good…good people are good…really, I believe that if the question needs asked as to whether something is good or not…it’s generally not.

I would be all for Real compromise, Real unity, Real negotiation, Real government…heck I would be happy for our nation to just simply decide whether or not it IS a racist nation…a religious nation…which religion…a war-like or peaceful nation…a productive nation…a cooperative nation…but it’s like everything that could describe a nation, America is in flux over!

Land of the free…except the millions incarcerated for minor offenses and the utter dependency on the credit industry and wall street…

Home of the brave…except many who would be brave are cowed into submission, even our heroes, soldiers, many come “home” to not be able to afford a “home” or even the care they may need to be healthy…

Land of opportunity…really only if your cards fall right, hard work actually gets few people much further than a dead end job, maybe with health insurance and some fragile attempt at retirement benefits which are always changing and the hope of maybe a 1 week vacation out of state once a year…

Land of diversity…We are, but it seems like many don’t want to be, stereotypes are exploited and often encouraged, descrimination is rampant, we spent too much effort learning the word Tolerate, and not enough time learning mutual acceptance and respect…

No, even church go-ers, those who preach tolerance, love, acceptance on a podium, dress up nice on Sundays and Holidays and kneel to a higher power, how are these some of the most judgmental, in a land of the free, practicing a religion of love, peace, and non-violence…?

What IS America? Are we just going to be a maybe-improved-version of old Russia? Are we going to start the American Empire, maybe we are jealous that other societies have such a further history than us and we must play catch-up by making every mistake they did over thousands of years, in a mere few hundred? I don’t know what it is…but I will not stand for it.

I can’t be okay with constants of “Now I’m not racist, but [something racist here]” or “I’m the last to judge, being a Christian, but [judgment of someone else here]”…you are OR you’re not!

America is like the rebel teenager of the world, with the never gonna die attitude and the definatley-not-ready for the big leagues brain…and now with direct permission to “just be an asshole, let it all out, do drugs, be nasty, jump off a cliff” kind of parenting from a leader who has nothing to lose and really doesn’t care about any of us, because in his gold-encrusted Towers, he is not one of us…and never will be. He has never lived by the same laws or the same expectations as a normal citizen, and now he is the figurehead of the nation, the main spokesman yelling to the rest of the planet “I AM AMERICA, I SPEAK FOR AMERICANS, AND I SAY SCREW YOU,WE DO WHAT WE WANT!”

I can’t, I won’t.

I may be ridiculed by many…I may one day, even be arrested…but I can promise you, as myself and how I believe.

I will not harm anyone if it is not necessary.

I will not show unwarranted disrespect.

I will not break any just laws.

My children, and their children will not be able to say our family stood by and did nothing.

I do and will make a difference.

Why should it be a peaceful transition to a nation of discrimination and hate?

Should I just accept that because of our skin color, my son and I will probably have to show our ID if we travel within US borders while others do not?

Should I just accept that statements have been made that those who even peacefully protest or voice opinion may be prosecuted?

While these may not come to reality, they have been stated by current administration, and I cannot respect or follow those who would believe these things to be good.

Take from this what you will…you have your views.

I have to say, share, do, and influence what I believe to be right…

I hope this at least gives you a glimpse as to my stand on the matter.

~D.A. Stanley 1/23/2017

originally posted to https://medium.com/@dastanley/why-in-response-to-a-good-friend-asking-post-trump-inauguration-f6f532bdcf8a#.x5jdotosn

[symbianosgames]

Most players won't play to the end of your game. That's not a tragedy -- that's a feature of video games' design landscape. Ubisoft creative director Jason VandenBerghe explains, in this reprint from the final (June/July 2013) issue of Game Developer magazine.

Argument: As a game designer, you are more free when crafting your ending than you are for any other piece of your game.

First of all, having an ending at all is your choice. Don't want one? All good! Games are loops, and if you want to leave yours closed, you will be in good company. No one has ever "finished" poker, or football.

But for games that do have an ending, only a small portion of your players will ever see it. We are, as an industry and as a culture, still confused about this. We are dismayed at the low finish rates of our games, and a player who puts down the controller before reaching the end is left with a vague sense of having dissed the game team.

Yet, the ability for players to stop playing whenever they feel like it is inherent in the form! This is not a bad thing; this is a good thing. It is part of the game-design landscape. And if you learn to worry less about insisting that everyone who starts finishes, and put your attention on the advantages this fact of gaming gives you, you will not find a more personally liberating moment in game design than in designing your end.

The question is: How will you use that freedom?

For several years back in the late 1990s, I lived with an eccentric friend named Dylan. Dylan was a carouser, a lover of swords and theatrics, a collector of experiences -- and an avid video game starter.

Dylan played dozens, maybe hundreds of games per year, and this was before the Internet, so they mostly came from the store. But, for all his passion, I don't know that I ever saw him put more than an hour into a single one. He would buy them, try them, love them... and then set them aside forever. This was a man who stopped playing Diablo after an hour or so (!). Even more weirdly, he was always perfectly content with his purchases, never showing a single hint of regret at not seeing the end.

He never did this with movies or books. Ever.

Watching Dylan's weird relationship with the games he played taught me that it is absolutely not required to finish a game to appreciate it.

Last year, you may remember that CNN published an article by Blake Snow that regaled the Internet with the news that only 10-20 percent of gamers actually finish the games they started.

No argument. When we see game finish rates over 30-40 percent, we sing the praises of the team and pop the bubbly. Numbers like that imply that we managed to make some seriously compelling content, and smooth out all the bumps along the way. Precious few games reach that goal.

But, I have a beef with an unspoken assumption in this article, and in many articles like it. Here's how the article's author put it:

"Let [this] sink in for a minute: Of every 10 people who started playing the consensus 'Game of the Year,' [Red Dead Revolver] only one of them finished it. How is that? Shouldn't such a high-rated game keep people engaged? Or have player attention spans reached a breaking point? ...Who's to blame: The developer or the player? Or maybe it's our culture?"

My beef is with the idea that failing to finish a game is a bad thing.

Putting down the controller somewhere before the final climactic scene in a video game is not a sin. It is an intrinsic part of our art form.

I never finished the first BioShock, yet it remains a game I thoroughly enjoyed. Grim Fandango? Never finished it. But I sure as hell use it as an example in design discussions! I have never finished a single Z, but, man, they are fun (usually).

There are a ton of games that don't even have endings. Most arcade-style games and most MMOs don't have real endings. The Sims doesn't have an ending. Poker? Chess? Football?

In fact, a broad majority of the world's long-standing favorite games are specifically designed to never be finished. One game of Sudoku leads to another, which leads to another... In game design terms, even putting an "ending" into your game is, clearly, optional. We know this. It's self-evident. So, then, why do we gnash our teeth and tear out our hair when only 20% of players reach the end of our (story) games?

I believe that the idea has its roots in our beliefs about other media. There is an implicit rejection that is present when someone walks out of a movie, turns off a show on TV, or sets down a book unfinished. For those mediums, the message of this action is clear: "I'm not enjoying this story enough to continue."

When someone stops playing a game, however, the possibilities are far, far more varied:

"I'd love to keep playing, but the time commitment is too high for me."

"I enjoyed the beginning, but now it's getting sort of grindy, and that's not for me."

"Love the game, but I'm weary of the player culture, so I'm going to hang out somewhere else."

"My friends stopped playing."

These are not necessarily sins of the designer. Gaming is as much a lifestyle as it is entertainment, and if a game doesn't fit into an individual's life, they are going to put it down. That's not a tragedy. That's a feature of our design landscape.

So, instead of looking guiltily at our completion rates and fantasizing about a world in which 99% of the players who start our (story) game reach the final scene, let's flip it around and see what we can do to take advantage of this fact, instead.

More than half of your players are not going to finish. You know that going in, so think of it as a design constraint! What does that mean to you?

First: The deeper into your game your content is, the more likely it is that the players that are still with you have been having a good time. They're in. They've bought it. You have earned a certain amount of faith capital with them, and they probably want to see what else you've got up your sleeve.

Second: Because your producers and various high-mucky-mucks have seen the finishing stats for other games, they know that dev time spent in detailed iteration on your ending is effort going to a small subset of players. They will prioritize the team's time accordingly. They will thus be more likely, whether through disinterest or lack of time, to let your crazy idea for the end slip through the cracks.

Third: Players themselves already know that arriving at the end is a rare occasion—because they, personally, most likely don't do it very often. Every player has put down the controller on at least a few games. If they do decide to complete the whole thing, they will wear that fact as a badge of honor (we hope). So, they are psychologically primed to receive some kind of acknowledgment for their effort. Bright-eyed, with the end in sight, your players look to the designer expectantly, ready to interpret whatever you present as a kind of reward, while your producers turn a blind eye...

I only have one piece of real advice for you about this moment: Tell the fucking truth.

Whatever it is that is in your heart, whatever it is that has drawn you into making this game in the first place, do that with your faith capital. Spend it telling them that, somehow.

The first Modern Warfare had a great example of this: The final mission was the most over-the-top crazy, punishing, nearly-impossible-to-complete madness-fest in their game. It had almost no explanation, required none ("PLANE! TERRORISTS!"), and it was simply brilliant. The level was a celebration of the game that you had just finished, a self-referential guns-blazing cherry on the cake that was completely unnecessary, but became legendary.

One of the most satisfying endings I have ever played was the ending of The Darkness. It laid bare the truth of the fantasy they had created, and gave me full rights to punish an evil that I had come to loathe. The truth there was consistent with the story, but it was the play that they created that made that last scene true. I hated the villain of that game, and in the end the game did nothing to force my hand (beyond closing the door behind me). When I took my revenge, it was me that did it, and that act stayed with me.

But it is the ending of the first Metroid, perhaps, that best demonstrates the strange liberty we have with this moment. It could have ended with Samus Aran raising a blaster into the air in victory. That would have been satisfying, and it was an amazing game all the way through. Hero pose! Instead, Samus stepped out of the battle suit, demonstrated her gender, and shattered the 8-bit preconceptions of players everywhere. It is still one of the most celebrated endings in gaming history.

Let's say we were to apply these principles to this article.

You've stuck with me this far, so I can perhaps assume that you're interested in what I've had to say so far. We're near the end, so you are maybe starting to think about what you'll read next, or putting down the magazine. Perhaps you are looking forward to the internal satisfactory tick-mark that comes from reading the last line.

How might I use this receptive state of mind? What is my truth about endings, right now?

Speaking of endings, did you know that this is the final issue of this here magazine? Funny story: Through random luck, I've ended up with the honor of writing the final Design of the Times. That's this article, right here.

You know, the first time I picked up an issue of Game Developer was back in 1996, in the offices of Hyperbole Studios. I was a late-20-something, blown away to be suddenly making games after long years of professional wandering.

It was the existence of this magazine that gave me my first glimpse into the murky, somewhat-secret society of game developers. The magazine's professional-looking cover and its interior pages full of post-mortems and dev tricks all were clearly aimed specifically at a readership made up of people who made video games. Flipping through the pages, I gradually discovered that I very much wanted to be part of that target market.

It's much later now. We have internets, game developers are meeting with vice presidents, and 99.9% of people under 25 have played video games. It's a world in transition, and I cannot wait to see what happens next. But I, for one, won't move forward into that future without fi rst pausing and, maybe just for a moment, placing an affectionate hand on the magazine that was the warm face that greeted me as I entered this industry.

Thanks. Thanks for that, and for all the other stuff.

That is my truth on endings: I mark them, I use them to reflect, and if I can get away with it, I give thanks to people who have had an impact on my life.

As a game designer, you are more free when crafting your ending than you are in any other piece of your game. So, in the end, tell the fucking truth. Tell as much of it as you can manage. Tell it as best you can. And see if you can give the world something to remember.