#heldig thoughts

[rudnitskaia]

Why are you doing this?

The question that appears so often in the game and that I also have been asking myself the whole day.

Pardon me the adaptation of Russian saying that will sound like an awful pun considering the forthcoming topic, but what started with a toast to health, ended with a prayer for repose.

The weekend has begun and I finally dedicated it to the long-awaited Asylum. I played to it… and I feel the urge to spill my raw thoughts on the topic here. As always, many words, many ramblings. You're warned.

But let's start from afar. I'll highlight the spoilers section in advance before it starts.

I got acquainted with the predecessor of Asylum, namely Scratches, somewhere back in 2008-2009. I'm around 14, I love horror point-and-click adventures, and I'm buying a CD with a gloomy house on the cover, which became a treasured memory for me later. So much so that I even still have an account somewhere with Blackwood login, and I repeatedly promoted the story itself to my acquaintances as something truly worthy of attention.

With all respect and deep love to the genre, I have to say that many point-and-click adventures (and many stories in general, I'd say nowadays) have one frequent issue – they have no problem with creating atmosphere and intrigue, but the denouement... er... more often than not feels like, pardon me, a fart in a puddle. It's as if the screenwriter is publicly admitting that he doesn't know what he wanted to say, where he was leading the story and how to end it in a beautiful, monumental way, being tired of writing it. Most of such games I remember fondly for one reason or another have that same disease. You can't imagine how much I mourned, for example, for Darkness Within series or for the first part of Black Mirror, both of which created pleasantly terrific tension but failed in the task of bringing it to its proper culmination.

Scratches didn’t suffer from this. Moreover, unlike most horror point-and-click adventures, it left a duality of interpretation: it allowed the player to decide for himself whether the cause of the events was really something supernatural or whether everything had a completely ordinary, logical explanation – a series of accidents that led to the tragedy. For me, it was (and is) a wonderful example of a good script.

So when, in those distant years, I found out about the beginning of Asylum's development, I waited for the project with burning eyes. But its release date was rescheduled from 2010 first to 2011 and then indefinitely. My focus of attention shifted to other things over time.

Sometime in 2019, I learned that the team had released another mini point-and-click adventure, Serena. I played through it and again found myself enchanted by the wonderful and in every sense chamber script. A little later I also found out that Asylum was still under development, wrote a supportive comment to the developers in Steam and started waiting for the game again.

When the notification about the release came to my e-mail inbox, my “NO WAY!” was heard, I think, throughout the whole building. :D Of course, I bought the game right away and now finally launched and played it through.

And I responsibly declare that it hurts. It. Hurts.

The game quickly draws you in with its atmosphere and captivates you with its mysteries and story in general. The controls were perplexing at first, but the retro gameplay is more of a plus for me because it evokes a sense of nostalgia. Critically disliked only the lack of inventory and, in general, the lack of puzzles. Also, the mini-map for fast teleporting could’ve been useful, but not necessarily, since it could’ve slightly ruined the atmosphere. The witty jokes and Easter eggs about Scratches added to the first positive impressions.

But, unlike Scratches, Asylum's storyline, amazing in the beginning, gradually becomes a complete mess from the second half of the game. Since both games are from the same writer, I naturally tend to compare them, and I still can't figure out what happened to Asylum's plot, considering enough time for it to be developed (15 years to be exact), that it became so badly crumpled and illogically resolved.

THE FOLLOWING TEXT WILL CONTAIN HUGE SPOILERS, I'VE WARNED YOU. IF YOU HAVEN’T PLAYED THE GAME AND PLAN TO PLAY OR WATCH A PLAYTHROUGH, I RECOMMEND YOU TO NOT READ MY RAMBLINGS UNTIL YOU DO.

The minor inconsistencies were there from the beginning. For example, the fact that neither the receptionist Julia nor the guard Bruno asks our name can be written off as a game convention, but when Bruno asks Julia through the speakerphone to “send someone to help him” because “a violent patient has escaped again”, in a place where the only people who are not locked in the “wards” are himself, the old Dr. Miller, the receptionist girl and a quiet skinny patient Lenny who has brittle bones, you involuntarily raise an eyebrow. Who, which one of them are you asking to send to help you with a dangerously strong violent man, Bruno? You've been there for days; you must know there’s no one to help in such cases!

Or, Julia lets us into the hospital on the condition that we won't go up to the top floors of the building, because there's some dangerous equipment up there. Yes, it's really there, as we’ll know further, but it already shows that Julia is definitely a character who should know more than she's saying. But for more than a half of the game, like all the other characters, she's simply absent.

These are really minor things; I can chalk them up to inattention and to game conventions. As opposed to all of the following.

The first half of the game copes with the plot – our protagonist, who remembers the period of his stay in the institution very vaguely, is sure that he belongs to a group of patients under the supervision of Dr. Ann, who applies mild methods of psychotherapy. Noticing that something terrible is happening to her patients, which they refuse to talk about, Dr. Ann discovers an unusual fungus on the clothes of one of them and, after examining it, realizes that it provokes hallucinations and brain tumors. She is sure that this is the reason for the deterioration of her patients' condition, but she can't understand where this fungus came from and why her patients are constantly receiving strange injuries.

However, as the story progresses, we realize that the protagonist was never a part of that group, but is still somehow connected to those patients.

At the same time, we discover the story of the head of the mental institute, Dr. Hanwell, who gradually delved into the occult topics. Due to a lack of funding, Hanwell enlisted patients to work on remodeling the asylum’s facility through the system of underground tunnels and accidentally discovered some sort of ancient and/or alien shrine with an entity that only a “broken mind” can embrace. With the support of two people, his pen pal Dr. Miller (coincidentally the current head of the clinic) and his coworker Dr. Hawthorne, Henwell engages the patients in further excavation of the tunnel and “contact” with the “creature” in the shrine in an attempt to find out what it is. Upon leaving the shrine, the patients cannot remember anything but feelings of fear, so Dr. Hanwell and Dr. Hawthorne torture them to recreate this feeling of fear and therefore to make them recall details about the “creature” under extreme conditions.

The game repeatedly emphasizes both the hallucinogenic qualities of the fungus in the tunnel and the strange, foul-smelling air there as well. Thus we, as in Scratches, get a fork in the road – Is there really a chthonic deity under the building, or did everyone simply inhaled poisoned air and spores of carcinogenic fungus and imagined everything, especially Dr. Hanwell and his companions, who initially fanatically believed in the supernatural and wanted to find and see it?

That's a good part of the plot. A great one. Delicious and logical. Except it deteriorates rapidly from this point.

Dr. Ann no longer appears in the story. Dr. Ann – a character who logically should’ve been the reason this asylum was shut down, because she would have grown from indifference to her patients to genuine sympathy for them. Dr. Ann, who should’ve done her own investigation into where the fungus came from, where the patients' injuries came from (by following them secretly, for example), and should’ve made the facility inspected by someone, or should’ve gotten herself into a direct confrontation with Dr. Hanwell and Dr. Hawthorne, giving up her career… does none of these things. She disappears from the storyline after we learn that she found the fungus. That's it. Zero development of such a POTENTIALLY fascinating character.

In almost all flashbacks of the protagonist, i.e. in 5 out of 8 cases, there is a schizophrenic woman Rebecca, who got pregnant as a result of being raped outside of the hospital. She is also called the most intriguing patient for the study by Dr. Ann. Rebecca also appears in the opening scene of the game, when the protagonist rides in a car to the hospital (it could have been Dr. Ann, but I still think it was Rebecca). The game screams at us from every possible corner: Rebecca is important. Rebecca is important to the protagonist and to the entire story. But no! Rebecca's story doesn't lead to any meaningful outcomes of the main storyline. Yes, the fact that her gruesome self-abortion was the final straw in the horrors of this hospital, leading to its closure, is NOT important to the plot. Narratively, it leads the protagonist NOWHERE.

Dr. Miller is a talented former chemist who bought out and decided to take over the mental institute after his pen pal Dr. Hanwell. The character who tarnished his reputation by developing and releasing a disastrous medicine… who had reliable knowledge of Dr. Hanwell's experiments and was his eager supporter and even provocateur in occult matters… and he shows up for one unimportant brief conversation and then completely disappears from the narrative. What is his motivation for reopening the clinic? Why is he there after all those years? WHAT FOR? WHY IS HE NOT REVEALED AT ALL??

Also, in the present timeline, there are some patients who were relocated to the hospital BEFORE the building was renovated, including patients from Dr. Ann's group. WHAT FOR WAS IT DONE? Because it can't be coincidental within the narrative! It just can't, that's all! Especially in conjunction with the Dr. Miller’s unrevealed story above! It's just a gun that didn't shoot! But, you guessed it right – the game doesn't give us an answer.

Over the course of the narrative, there’s no one who tries neither to interfere with us, nor to create any difficulty in searching the clinic or uncovering its secrets. W. H. Y?

The game, on top of that, also messes up the timelines of events. The protagonist sees visions/memories/flashbacks of a time when the hospital was not abandoned yet – which, I presume, was at least 5 years ago, and judging by the state of the hospital, at least 20. But then we see in his vision how one patient ingests a macguffin, and… the game leads us to the morgue to dissect that patient's corpse and get that macguffin out of it. HELLO! Why hasn't that patient decayed in 5-20 years??! Same situation with a corpse in a tank in the sewer system. The soft tissue would have decomposed long ago! What time are we in? What's going on?!

However, the game doesn't give us any answers.

And in the end, it turns out there really is a fetus-like chthonic deity under the building, and the protagonist is… *drum roll*… Dr. Hanwell! And that's why he is not listed as a patient. Finita la commedia.

And don't tell me the protagonist just made up all these characters like Julia, Bruno, Lenny and Dr. Miller and the hospital was empty the whole time. It's just… it's a disaster of a narrative. And you couldn't find a person more disappointed than I was at the time I finished the game.

The twist that we are Dr. Hanwell simply negates all our research. A person cannot critically forget everything. Or rather, they can, in case of total amnesia, but in such cases people around them notice it and ask for help. We are social creatures; we don't live in isolation. Even those who have no family and friends somehow communicate with colleagues, encounter neighbors, people in stores or in public transport, after all. Look at elderly people lost due to dementia – they may leave or travel to distant places, but their strange behavior often attracts the attention of store and public transport workers, so they are usually taken to the police or the nearest hospital and identified. If Dr. Hanwell has forgotten everything, why hasn't anyone helped him? And even if he had, say, some sort of dissociative fugue, he would still have made up his own identity and had to deconstruct those fiction facts about himself as the story progressed! Besides, in the case of a dissociative fugue, common memories are retained, and Dr. Hanwell had an extremely extensive scientific knowledge of medicine. Okay, fine, build the narrative around this twist that we are Dr. Hanwell, for God's sake, but then be so kind and put the focal point on these memories and strange feelings that we know too much for a mere patient! Let the character, to his own horror, recognize HIMSELF in the voice on the recordings, in the handwriting in the medical notes, in the portraits, in the video footages… if the protagonist slowly understands that he was the one who did these horrors, it also would've been a strong narrative method.

However, without that “awesome” twist, the protagonist gave the impression of a man who can't remember only a small part of his past, an important piece of the puzzle, but who has built and lived his life outside of the hospital, at least those very 5-20 years… he knows who he is. But he simply can't settle down without remembering some personally important events. I was sure that his connection to the pregnant Rebecca would lead to the fact that either he was her son (though that would leave the question of how he remembered anything from inside her womb and would’ve required significant changes in flashbacks) or that he was just another woman's 4-7 year old child who had a mutual attachment to Rebecca. Maybe in her own child Rebecca would still see a spawn of the devil, whereas in this boy (the protagonist) she would see someone she would want to care for. This would also explain why the protagonist is not listed nowhere as a patient, but was present on therapy sessions and everywhere where Rebecca was, and does not remember this period well. He was simply too young and was not mentally ill, so when the hospital closed and Rebecca apparently died or was relocated, he was finally given to some foster family, probably from among the former asylum’s employees. His connection to Rebecca could justify his stay in the hospital – the separation of the two provoked hysterics in both of them, and so the boy was made a “hospital child” and kept with Rebecca, whose condition would improve considerably in the presence of the boy. It would also explain why Lenny only vaguely remembers the main character – he saw him only as a child. And that would explain the large amount of kids' stuff all over the hospital – just make the protagonist remember them as something once his own, and that’s it!

Bring Dr. Ann's character to the forefront, under the main spotlight. I mean, this is a fascinating character! A career woman, a scientific progress activist who, under the influence of circumstances, becomes, literally, the only voice of reason and the protector of the weak from the truly crazy occultists in this story. Make us follow her path, investigate the story of her confrontation with the fanatics in charge of the hospital in the past. Make us find out the reason of why suddenly Dr. Ann's patients, including us in some way, were brought back to the hospital, make us discover Dr. Miller's current intentions and confront him in the present, or maybe even join him in the end, if we wish. And let there really be an ancient/alien shrine in the basement, just leave it to us, the players, to decide whether there was something inexplicably Lovecraftian about it, or whether the head doctors and a number of patients fell victims to hallucinations due to occult fictions and poisonous airs and spores… it's… it's so simple, gosh… all the musical notes were there, but how wrong they were played! And you can't even chalk it up to the rush in the game development – Asylum had 15 years, if not more… I feel deeply pity for a story that could have been really interesting and, without exaggeration, a masterpiece, but in the end became the same fart in a puddle as many stories do lately. I can't take it anymore.

If you read it to this point – first of all, wow, my respects, and secondly – I'd love to hear your impressions on the game. My impressions are very strong, as you can see, and I, as usual, tried to justify them with arguments and offer a variant of correction, but I don't claim it to be the only truth. It's simply my usual mental gymnastics, nothing more, and I believe there're plenty of other variants of how everything could be logically structured.

And now… I think I’ll go and find something to drown my grief in.

UPD from 03/30/2025: I read a few very interesting theories in Steam, one about all these events and people we see being a metaphor of struggling but failing delirious mind, and one about everything being a metaphor of lobotomy, but even if any of these (unarguably good) interpretations is true, in my point of view, it wasn't revealed enough in the game narrative to have such a conclusion without feeling that it's far-fetched. With no offense to these theories' authors, because they really did an awesome analytical job to find a meaning in the original writer's script, but so far it all looks like the deep meaning search syndrome, and for me it only highlights the lack of narrative consistency in the game.

[rudnitskaia]

Ha-ha, yeah, in my case: both is good. :D

When I say ‘I do it for myself’ I generally mean three things:

I don’t earn money with it.

I do it due to my personal interest and inspiration.

If no one likes it (or in some cases – even sees it) I won’t be disappointed. I simply need to pull the idea that gave me inspiration out of my head, and by creating something I’m already in win-win situation, because I entertain myself and enjoy the process.

However, creating something for yourself doesn’t mean not appreciating attention.

Of course, I do, all attention is valuable; healthy criticism is even more useful to improve your skills, you know. But the feeling that your artwork echoes in someone’s heart enough to click on the ‘like’ button, to leave a comment or even to share it with someone else… is one of the most heartwarming things ever.

So, yes, many, many thanks to everyone who pays attention on creators around them.

Personally, I shine as bright as a nova star every time I see notifications related to my posts. 😊

#artists

[norwegiatlas]

I've started practicing Nynorsk (again)

Next year I'm taking a lexicology/lexicography course in university where it's required to master Nynorsk. My Nynorsk skills are far from perfect, as my main written standard is Bokmål. In high school I more or less despised Nynorsk, as I found it unnecessary when Bokmål is so much more used. I therefore barely put any effort into it. That has now come back to bite my butt ... So now I have started practicing my Nynorsk again. I'm kinda lucky in the sense that my dialect, Moldenser, isn't too far from Nynorsk. However, I'm still struggling quite a bit, needing to use the dictionary a lot. Oddly enough, though, I'm having a lot more fun with Nynorsk than I thought. I wouldn't mind starting to use it more.

(The dictionary I use is ordbøkene.no, a great dictionary site for both Bokmål and Nynorsk developed by the Language Council of Norway and the University of Bergen. I highly recommend it. You can change the interface language to English.)

Nynorsk translation

Eg har begynt å øve på nynorsk (igjen)

Neste år skal eg ta eit leksikologi/leksikografifag på universitetet, kor det er påbydd å meistre nynorsk. Mine nynorskferdigheiter er langt frå perfekte, sidan mitt hovudmål er bokmål. På vidaregåande forakta eg meir eller mindre nynorsk, sidan eg syntest at det var unødvendig når bokmål er so mykje meir brukt. Derfor har eg så vidt putta noko arbeid i det. Det har no kome for å bite meg i rumpa … So no har eg begynt å øve på nynorsk igjen. Eg er ganske heldig i det at dialekta mi, moldensar, ikkje er so fjern frå nynorsk. Men eg slit framleis ein del, og treng å bruke ordboka mykje. Men merkeleg nok so har eg mykje meir moro med nynorsk enn eg trudde. Eg hadde ikkje hatt noko imot å begynne å bruke det meir.

(there may be some mistakes here)

[meinggyu]

The precious gemstone, Kim Mingyu.

Kim Mingyu ㅡ was born on April 6, 1997. Mingyu is a rapper, song writer and dancer from South Korean, under Pledis Entertainment. He’s a member of a male vocal group SEVENTEEN and belongs to the sub-unit Hip-Hop. Before entering the group, Mingyu trained for 4 years. He once got the most handsome man for two years in a row in 2017, because of his handsome face and his tan skin. Proudly to say, he is very easy to conquer women’s hearts. 

Mingyu is also the visual of the group. He is known for his good looks and charming personality, as well as his talent as a vocalist and dancer. He has contributed to the writing and composition of several of Seventeen’s songs, including “Very Nice” and “Thank U”. In addition to his work with his group, Mingyu has also participated in various television shows and variety programs, showcasing his comedic skills and winning over fans with his charisma.

Overall, Kim Mingyu is a talented and beloved member of Seventeen, known for his contributions to the group and his endearing personality.

Watch Seventeen’s music videos and performances: This will give you a better sense of Mingyu’s dancing and vocal abilities, as well as his stage presence.

Listen to Seventeen’s albums: This will give you a more comprehensive understanding of Mingyu’s contributions to the group.

Read Mingyu's interviews: This will give you insight into his personality and thoughts on his career.

Follow Mingyu on social media: This will allow you to stay up-to-date on his activities and get a glimpse into his personal life.

Check out Mingyu’s appearances on variety shows: This will give you a chance to see him in a more casual setting and see his comedic skills.

Here’s bears the memories of the home he once cherished:

The Heldig

Truth nor Lie

Nostalgic Vault

RobbeHeart

Mid90sLove

[rudnitskaia]

...so, our inner joke about Skynet is now confirmed

[rudnitskaia]

Боже, это просто ОБЯЗАНЫ были быть ЧЕРЕПахи авхахахахах

ОРУ

Lemme explain, dudes. In Russian the word 'черепаха' ('a turtle'), as you can see, contains the word 'череп' ('a skull'). So, the fact that Gaster Blasters are actually turtle skulls becomes an EXTREMELY HILARIOUS PUN in Russian. 😆

SANS' APPROVED, I would say. x))

Я по какой-то странной причине слишком сильно прониклась их динамикой клоуна и заебаного помогите

[faithambr]

Priceless Chapter 7

(Author’s Note: Please be advised that this chapter contains the mentions of rape. So be prepared for some brutal stuff. Rated M for this specific reason!)

Previous Chapter

Master Post

Why is he here? Anna thought just as Hans had arrived in the bedroom. Why am I here?

Her mind was a bit cloudy, after her friend Meg had given her some pills to take. She knew that she was still in the same room, yet she didn’t expect someone else to join her. She figured that he was probably just going to help make her feel better.

“Å, jeg plager deg, Anna?“ Hans gave her a concerned look as he sat right next to her. (Oh am I bothering you, Anna?)

“Å nei.” she mumbles, her mind in a haze. (Oh no.) “Du plager meg ikke i det hele tatt.” (You’re not bothering me at all.)

“bra.” Hans lets out with a sly grin. “Nå hvordan er du fornøyd med det her?“ (Good. Now how are you liking it here?)

“Det er fint..” Anna answers while Hans was making her a drink. (It is fine.)

“bra.” Hans smirks, knowing what he was going to do next. “Nå hvor vokste du opp i Norge?“ (Good. Now where did you grow up in Norway?)

“I nærheten av Oslo.” Annas answers. (Near Oslo.)

“Hvor?“ (Where?)

“En liten by som heter Arrendelle.” Anna continues. “Du har sikkert aldri hørt om det før.“ (A small town called Arrendelle. You’ve probably never heard of it before.)

“Å jeg har.“ Hans chuckles as he sat back down and offers her a drink. “Her må du være tørst.“ (Oh I have. Here, you must be thirsty.)

Sure she was. Hell, she has never been more thirsty in her life. Maybe it was from what Meg had given to me. she thought while Hans was giving her an intensifying look. 

“Takk, hans.“ she had finally spoke as she gulped down her drink. (Uh, thank you Hans.)

“Du er hjertelig velkommen, min kjære. “ Hans lets out with a sly smirk. “Si at du ikke har noen venner i Arrendelle?“ (You’re welcome, my dear. Say don’t you have any friends back in Arrendelle?)

“ja,” Anna nods with her head still in the clouds, “ja jeg gjør.” (Yes, yes I do.)

“Hva var deres navn?“ (What were their names?)

“Jeg husker ikke.“ Anna answers just as he leans into her comfort zone. (I can’t remember.)

“Vel jeg kan være din venn hvis du vil.“ Hans gave her a mischievous smirk as he placed his hand on her thigh. (Well I can be your friend, if you want.)

“Det høres fint ut.“ she whispers with uneasiness in her voice. “Jeg tror det.“ (That does sound nice. I guess so.)

“Men vennskapet,” Hans began with a cold look, “mitt kommer til en pris.“ (Except my friendship comes at a cost.)

What? Anna had thought while Hans was gently massaging her thigh. No!

“Du ser,” Hans continues as he gently removes a strand of her hair behind her ear, “mange av jentene ville ønske å være her, men i stedet jeg valgte deg, Anna.“ (You see, many of the girls would want to be here, but instead I chose you, Anna.)

“nei.” Anna trembles in fear. (No.)

“nei?” Hans gave her a cold stare. “Jeg sa jo at du er heldig som er her hos meg?“ (No? Didn’t I just tell you how lucky you are to be here with me?)

“nei!” Anna cries out. “Nei jeg vil ikke gjøre det!“ (No! No I won’t do it!)

“Gjør du ikke det?“ Hans groans in frustration.

“Jeg vil jobbe av gjelden,” Anna continues with tears spilling on her cheeks, “men jeg vil ikke gjøre det.” (I will work off the debt, but I won’t do it.)

“Ja, det vil du.“ Hans bellows as he grabs Anna by the arms. “Du ser noen jente som fungerer for meg, får dele noen av kjærlighet som jeg har for dem.“ (Yes you will. You see any girl that works for me, gets to share some of the love that I have for them.)

“Nei,” Anna chokes out with pain, “dette er ikke det kjærlighet ser ut som.” (No, this isn’t what love looks like.)

“Nei,” Hans smirks, making her feel terrified, “dette er hva min kjærlighet føles.“ (No, this is what my love feels like.)

“Nei,” Anna argues back, making his grip on here even more tighter, “dette er ikke kjærlighet!“ (No, this isn’t love!)

“Vel jeg beg å variere.“ Hans sneers in satisfaction. “Faktisk er jeg sikker på at din søster ville elske å bli med oss akkurat nå.“ (Well I beg to differ. In fact, I’m sure that your sister would love to join us, right now.)

No! she thought in fear as she watched a cold dark Hans form into the existence. She knew that Hans would do anything to her, yet she didn’t expect him to talk about her sister. Her heart was pounding at the thought of him taking advantage of the both of them. She couldn’t allow that to happen. She couldn’t allow Hans to take advantage of her sister. She couldn’t allow him to do all of the things that he wants to Elsa. Therefore, she had to make the decision and she had to make it now.

“Duke!” Hans calls out as he shoves Anna down on to the bed. “Bring her in!”

“Anna!” Elsa cries out just as she was brought into the room.

“Now this is what I like to see,” Hans smirks, making the two sisters shake in fear, “two sisters protecting each other.”

No! Anna had thought. I won’t allow this! I won’t allow him to hurt her!

“Makes me wanna have even more fun, huh?” Hans sneers, causing Anna to sob even more tears.

“Anna!” Elsa cries out.

“No!” Anna sobs into convulsions as she stood right in front of her sister.

“No?” Hans quirks an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

“I will do it!” Anna chokes out in both fear and pain. “I will do it!” 

“Alright then.” Hans smirks in satisfaction, making Elsa cry even more. “Duke, take Elsa away and I’ll take care of her later.”

“No, please, no!” Elsa calls out in emotional pain while she was being dragged away from her sister. “Anna!”

“Now,” Hans lets out with a cold grin, after Elsa was out of the room, “where were we?”

No! Anna had thought with her eyes filled up with fear and pain.

“Oh yes.” Hans smirks as he pulls her in for a forceful kiss.

As Hans was doing what he wanted with Anna , Elsa was cowering in fear for her sister. She couldn’t believe that her sister was protecting her, even when she was doing something that she didn’t want to.

“Hyggelig Gud,” she had silently prayed with tears, as she covered her ears to muffle the cries of her sister, “hjelp henne! Hjelp oss! Få oss ut herfra!“ (Please God, help her! Help us! Get us out of here!)

A few hours later

His heart was pounding at the thought of what to do next as he leaned up against the dresser in his small motel room. He knew that he had to figure out a plan to rescue the two sisters, but how? How is he going to get them out of the unknown? How can he help them escape from that hellhole? Sure he’ll find a a way but how can he protect them from the others that would want to kill them? Hell, will he even be able to protect them?

I don’t know. he thought with such pain and grief in his heart. I just don’t know. 

He figured that the two sisters were hurting just like him. He knew that they would probably never trust him again, no thanks to him delivering them to that hellhole. However, his heart was aching for Anna as he pulled out his cell phone just to look at her picture. He knew that she was the younger sister out of the two, yet he didn’t expect his heart to beat faster with each look from her eyes. Maybe she’ll give me a chance. he thought with a small smile forming. But how will I ever find her? I need to find her!

He knew that his resources were limited to finding her, but he had to try. He had to figure out to even get a hold of Hans. He knew that Hans was some kind of pimp, yet he just had to be sure. I just have to know. he thought as he took a glance over at the alarm clock. I just gotta know.

The alarm clock was telling him that it was way past his son’s usual dinner time, but that didn’t really matter. All that had mattered to him was finding out where the two sisters were and then to rescue them. He knew that finding them would take risks, but he didn’t care. He didn’t care about how some people were gonna come after them. He knew that the risks would be inevitable, but he has to try. I just have to. he thought as he quickly pulled out a card from his pocket. I just have to know.

He took a glance at the card at the palm of his hand. He knew that this could be his only chance to save them; therefore, he had to make that phone call. 

“Yeah,” the person on the other line had answered, “what do you want?”

“You got an available girl for tonight?” Kristoff had asked.

“Yeah sure.” the man spoke. “What do ya want?”

“A girl,” Kristoff began as if he was ordering her online, “with reddish hair, freckles, and blue eyes.”

“I see.” the man states. “Let me see if I can get one for you.”

“Okay.” Kristoff replies back, not knowing what else to say.

“Well it looks like I don’t have her available just yet.”

“Look,” Kristoff began with such urgency, “I am willing to pay for her. Only her.”

“How much?”

“How long?”

“$1000 an hour.” the man spoke, making Kristoff’s stomach plummet to the ground. “Just only for her.”

“Okay.” Kristoff lets out in despair. “Where do I meet you?”

“Motel 28, off of Swenson,” the man begain his instructions, “Room 24b, second floor.”

“Thanks.” Kristoff adds as he wrote down all of the correct information.

“Welcome.” the man replies back just before he hung up the phone.

Great. Kristoff thought as he took a look at his phone. Just great.

He couldn’t believe it. He couldn’t believe that he had just ordered Anna to be his prostitute for the night. He knew that Anna was going to hate him for it, but he had no choice. He had to do it. He had to call her pimp, just so that he could save her from that hell of a home. His mind was telling him to forget about her, yet his heart was telling him to rescue her. He knew that Anna would want him to rescue both her and her sister, but he had no choice. Maybe if I rescue her tonight. he thought as he walked on out of his motel room. Then I should be able to rescue her older sister.

A few miles on down the road

Well this is it. Kristoff had thought as he stood right in front of Room 24b. This is where I’m suppose to save her.

It was close to midnight, by the time Kristoff had arrived at the dingy motel. He knew that the motel was a bit dirty and old. At least the curtains look new. he thought while he was waiting at the door. He figured that the man would probably have her in that room, but couldn’t see. Everything around him was dimly lit, including the motel room.

“It’s you.” a voice had interrupted his thoughts. “What do you want?”

“You know,” Kristoff had tried his best to smile, “what I am paying for.”

“No.” the man snapped. “You can’t have her. You just transported her here today.”

“Look,” Kristoff began with some uneasiness in his voice, “I just want to get a piece of her before I go.”

“No.” the man argues.

“I’ll double it,” Kristoff offers to the man, “and I’ll pay with cash.”

The man then remained serious at his words, making Kristoff feel terrified on the inside. “Fine,” the man had let out with a raspy breath, “I’ll make a phone call.”

“Thanks.” Kristoff breathes in, hoping for the better. 

However that may take a long time for him to see. 

[nils-elmark]

Min tidsrejse tværs over Amerika

Under corona nedlukningen bingede min hustru og jeg det ene afsnit efter det andet af Boardwalk Empire på HBO. Det er en gangster-serie, der starter i 1920 i Atlantic City på den amerikanske Østkyst. I afsnit 4 er der en scene, hvor en af hovedpersonerne, Jimmy er i Chicago med sin kæreste, den prostituerede Pearl, der pludselig sidder og læser en bog. Som litterær opdagelsesrejsende spoler jeg naturligvis tilbage, for at se titlen på bogen. I en serie, der koster 35 millioner kroner per afsnit, giver instruktøren ikke en af personerne en bog i hånden, uden at han har tænkt over, hvilken bog det skal være. Bogen er “Free Air” af Sinclair Lewis; den blev udgivet i 1919 og er altså en tidstypisk bog.

Jeg går på jagt efter originaludgaven og konstaterer, at der er 26 eksemplarer til salg i hele verden, de fleste i USA, til en pris på mellem 50 og  200 dollars plus 20 dollars i porto. Det er for dyrt, så jeg fortsætter jagten og finder tilsidst det eneste eksemplar i England hos et London antikvariat. Her er prisen £6 og det samme i fragt. Den 101 år gamle bog, jeg modtager, er slidt og gennemlæst, men den fungerer stadig helt efter hensigten.

Jeg kan godt forstå, hvorfor gangsterpigen Pearl er så optaget af sin bog: Den er spændende, godt skrevet og romantisk. Den handler om den unge overklasse pige Claire Boltwood fra Brooklyn i New York, der sammen med sin stilfærdige far, kører tværs over Amerika i bil fra Minneapolis i Minnesota til Seattle i Washington. Det er Claire, som sidder bag rattet; hun er den nye frigjorte amerikanske kvinde og hun er på en 3.000 kilometer biltur 70 år før Thelma & Louise. Undervejs gennem Midvesten møder hun den unge Milton Daggett. Han er  født og opvokset i den lille flække Schoenstrom, hvor en stor del af emigrant-indbyggerne stadig taler ‘Pidgin-German”. Milt er den moderne unge mand af folket. Han har ikke den store uddannelse men er begavet og entreprenant. Han er mekaniker og har sit eget værksted, for i Free Air er bilen symbolet på den amerikanske drøm. Toget er for snobbet aristokrati, bilen er for folket og fremtiden. Titlen ‘Free Air’ refererer i øvrigt til et skilt på en tankstation, som fortæller, at luften til bildækkene er gratis.

Forfatteren Sinclair Lewis tog selv på tur gennem Amerika inden landet blev asfalteret. 

Milt bliver vildt forelsket i Claire, opgiver sit værksted og fortsætter i hjulsporene efter overklassepigen og hendes far. I 1910′erne var USA stadig ikke asfalteret hele vejen på tværs, og det var en krævende tur at køre i over prærien i hjulsporene fra indvandrernes hestevogne. Milt redder datter og far ud af en række vanskeligheder - vi får undervejs et on-line mekaniker-kursus, som minder om “Zen og kunsten at reparere sin motorcykel”, men Claire er i øvrigt ikke nogen hjælpeløs pige og de to unge mennesker udvikler hinanden på rejsen over Amerika. 

Så er det, at de litterære omkørsler dukker op. I Gopher Prairie giver Claire 2 bøger til Milt for at højne hans boglige uddannelse. I Schoenstrom, hvor han kommer fra, er det nemlig kun præsten, som læser bøger.

Den ene bog er digtsamlingen “The Congo and Other Poems” af Vachel Lindsey. Den skal jeg naturligvis også have fat i. Bogen blev udgivet 1914 og handles til hundredvis af dollars, men jeg finder en eksemplar fra 1916 til 18 dollars i et antikvariat i Califormien. Da jeg åbner bogen for første gang, kan jeg se, at den tidligere har tilhørt en vis Margaret C. Anderson. Hvem var hun? Hun var såmænd en af USA mest progressive redaktører, som introducerede en generation af verdens førende modernistiske digtere til det amerikanske publikum. I sit magasin trykte hun blandt andet 13 kapitler af James Joyce’s Ulysses, før den overhovedet blev udgivet. At få hendes signatur med i købet er ‘drummer boy’s luck’. 

Digteren Vachel Lindsay er i 1919 en ung amerikaner - han er Milt Daggett’s alter ego - og da sidstnævnte slår op på digtet “The Santa Fe Trail” udbryder han:

“Lord! I didn't know there were books like these! Thought poetry was all like Longfellow and Byron. Old boys. Europe. And rhymed bellyachin' about hard luck. But these books—they're me”

Lindsay skriver digte for folket; han er repræsentant for det 20. århundredes “americanism”; man skal bevæge sig i tiden og ikke dø, hvor man er født.

Den anden bog som Milt får af Claire, mens de kører gennem Yellowstone Park er “Merchant from Cathay” af William Rose Benét. Benét er som Claire født i Brooklyn, og denne bog fra 1913 er hans første. Jeg har fundet den til blot 7 dollars, men pakken er endnu ikke kommet med posten, så jeg har det som Milt: Jeg aner ikke, hvad den handler om; men det er derfor, mit univers hele tiden vokser.

For hver gang, der dukker en ny bog op med posten - det indvarsles af en rasende gøen af hunden - lægges en ny brik til puslespillet om, hvad mennesker tænkte og beskæftigede sig med for hundred år siden. Jeg føler som Howard Carter må have gjort det, da han i 1922 åbnede forseglingen af Tutankhamun’s grav i Ægypten. Jeg sprætter ganske vist kun bølgepap og gaffatape op men er lige så spændt på, hvilke antikviteter, der dukker op. En hundred år gammel bog er en antikvitet. Bare det at skrive sætningen lige nu, får mig til at spekulere på, om Carter mon skrev en bog om sine oplevelser for 98 år siden. Det er fascinerende at tænke på, at samtidig med at Carter finder en 3.000 år gammel mumie, er Claire og Milt på vej over prærien og ved at udtænke det moderne industrielle Amerika.

Ind i mellem er det henkastede bemærkninger, som får mig til at grave ned i litteraturen. Som da Claire i en lille by på prærien med stor ærefrygt hører servitricen på caféen diskutere Ibanez’ romaner. Claire formoder, det er en skolelærer, som har taget et sommerferiejob, men Milt har hørt, at hun vistnok er litteratur professor på et lokalt universitet. Det får Claire til at udbryde: “Dette er Amerika - jeg er glad for, at jeg har fundet det!”

Selvfølgelig skal jeg have fat i Ibanez; jeg vil vide, hvad servitricen taler om? Og jeg ved nu, at hun er optaget af romanen “The Four Horsemen Of The Apocalypse”. Den blev skrevet i 1916 af den spanske forfatter Vicente Blasco Ibanez og handler om to svigersønner, der kæmper på hver side af fronten under 1. verdenskrig. Den blev oversat til Engelsk i 1919 og blev en bestseller i USA, hvor anmelderne karakteriserede den som “en sublim menneskelig historie fortalt af et geni”. Når servitricen således taler om bogen og dens forfatter, er det fordi, det var en bog, man talte om, mens Sinclair Lewis skrev sin egen ‘road-movie’.

Ad snørklede veje finder jeg den engelske version af “The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse”  i et tysk antikvariat for 12 Euro. Så slipper jeg for at købe den i USA, hvilket er en stor fordel. Dels er portoen billigere i Europa dels undgår jeg emsige toldere. Hvis jeg er uheldig, kan pakken nemlig blive stoppet af statsautoriserede posekiggere i lufthavnen, som let kan fortolde og for-momse prisen på en billig støvet bog med et par hundrede kroner. Det er ikke kun Trump, der lægger afgifter på varer fra Kina! Danmark har skam også sin told-mur til Amerika.

Én til litterær afstikker er jeg nødt til at have med fra “Free Air”, nemlig digteren Amy Lowell. Hun dukker op, efter Claire er kommet igennem Spokane og kører ad det gamle stejle indianerspor, der leder gennem Blewitt Pass. Monotomien ved at køre mile efter mile får Claire til at opremse staten Washington’s bynavne på samme måde, som børn engang gjorde med danske bynavne, når de spillede bold i skolegården:  Odense Bogense, Middelfart - bom - Assans Fåborg Svendborg - bom. 

I Claire’s version bliver det til  “Klickitat, Kittitas, Spangle, Cedonia -  Pe Ell, Cle Elum, Sallal, Chimacum - Taholah, Synarep, Puyallup etc. Det som Claire synger kaldes også ‘noise art’. Det var ekstremt trendy i 1910erne. Noise art er i familie med dadaismen og futurismen, hvor maskinerne tager over og laver deres egen musik på samme måde, som lyden af traditionel western-musik er skabt af rytmen fra hestenes hove mod jorden.

Og her er det så, at Claire Boltwood ekstatisk fremhæver digteren Amy Lowell, som hun i øjeblikket føler, hun overgår med sine indianske bynavne, der flyder sammen til et digt til musikken af den 8-cylindrede motor. Og jeg er helt med i bilen. Lige nu tager Claire mig nemlig ind i den nye amerikanske tankegang.

Ingen kan længere være i tvivl om, at jeg også er nødt til at få fingre i noget poesi af Amy Lowell. Jeg  vælger en samling digte fra 1926 med den vidunderlige titel “What’s O’Clock”. Jeg er heldig at finde den i en engelsk antikvarboghandler i en nedlagt biograf i Hereford, der i øvrigt udtales, så man kan høre alle tre stavelser: He-re-ford.

Fantastisk digtning - jeg er vild med Amy Lowell og What’s O’Clock, som indbragte hende en Pulitzer Price i poesi i 1926. Hun røg store cigarer, fandt ud af, at hun var lesbisk - det var de alle på den tid, i øvrigt - tog til London med sin elskede og kuppede den nye kunstretning “Imaginism”, hvilket fik blodtrykket banket i vejret hos Ezra Pound, som ellers gik rundt og troede, at han ejede bevægelsen. Lowell var en litterær disrupter og fornyer. 

Og så fortsætter Claire og Milt ellers bilturen til Seattle, hvor hendes overklasse slægtninge og østkyst-kæreste gør alt, hvad de kan, for at udstille og latterliggøre den unge mekaniker fra Midtvesten. Men dette er en romantisk fortælling, så til sidst trækker Claire sit trumfkort: Aunt Hatty! Hun er familiens Tante Møhge, der kan huske, hvordan slægten kom til penge og hun er mere end villig til at minde de snobbede efterkommere om, hvorfra de fik deres amerikanske blå blod: 

“some of 'em got it by stealing real estate in 1820, and some by selling Jamaica rum and niggers way back before the Revolutionary War.

Østkyst aristokratiet får ludo-brikkerne slået tilbage til start, Milt frier til Clair mens de kører tilbage gennem de åbne vidder i hans skrammede bil. “Men vi skal nok klare det”, forsikrer den galante Milt. “Jeg har sparet tusind dollars op fra mit værksted.” 

“Det skal du såmænd ikke spekulere over”, siger den unge amerikanerinde fra Brooklyn og ser beundrende på sin frier fra Schoenstron, “jeg har 5.000 dollars af mine egne penge”

Free Air var den første amerikanske ‘road novel’ og forfatteren Sinclair Lewis blev i 1930 den første amerikanske Nobelprisvinder i Litteratur. Han var en kritiker af amerikanske kapitalisme og materialisme, og jeg kan ikke finde på noget bedre tidspunk at blæse støvet af hans bøger end nu, hvor Trump tromler frem og Silicon Valley profitmaksimerer. I 1935 skrev Lewis så romanen “It Can’t Happen Here”, der midt i fascisternes europæiske sejrsgang berettede om den amerikanske demagog Berzelius "Buzz" Windrip, der møvede sig til magten som USA’s præsident. Minder det om nogen, vi kender? 

Mit litterære eventyr startede med tv-serien Boardwalk Empire for tre uger siden og “Free Air” har efterfølgende lukket mine øjne op for fødslen af den moderne amerikanske sjæl. Jeg har ikke blot læst en god bog af Sinclair Lewis, jeg har bogstavelig talt genskabt hans bogreol! 

På mit skrivebord står nu de antikvariske men ultra relevante forfattere: Vachel Lindsay - Vicente Blasco Ibanez - Amy Lowell og Sinclair Lewis. William Rose Benét  er på vej det samme Lewis’ “It can’t happen here”. Når jeg regner efter, har bøgerne kostet det samme, som jeg før Corona-nedlukningen flere gange om måneden betalte for en returbillet til London. Men lige nu flyver jeg selvsagt ingen steder, men jeg rejser stadig. Jeg er time-traveller og jeg er ikke hjemme endnu. Jeg har en stribe bøger, jeg skal have læst først; ikke blot fordi fortiden er historisk interessant, men fordi den giver et fingerpeg om, hvordan vi skal agere i fremtiden for at lykkes. Noget som har slået mig ved læsningen af tyvernes amerikanske bøger er drømmen om frihed - frihed til at rejse, frihed til at skrive som man ville - frihed til at opleve. Det har vi glemt i 2020. Vi er optaget af at indskrænke menneskers råderum. Vi kan ikke bare tømme skraldespanden, vi må ikke bare tage bilen, vi må ikke spise kød, vi må ikke sige “eskimo-is”, vi må ikke sige mand og kvinde. Vi har kvalt eventyret i gule veste og cykelhjælme.

Free Air slutter med, at Clair og Milt kører på eventyr og kommer til et vandløb fyldt med mudder. Milt spørger: Jeg er ikke sikker på, at vi kan komme over. Skal vi prøve? 

“Ja for pokker”, svarer Claire. “Gi’ den gas!”

[buybeck]

Jeg var i et uheld i fredags på motorvejen på vej hjem fra arbejde. Alle klodsede bremsen, jeg nåede at bremse, dem bagved gjorde ikke. De nåede at dreje fra, så de kun ridsede min bil, men vi skulle stadig snakke forsikring mv. Der sprang fire gutter ud, der straks begyndte at råbe og skrige af mig. De andre biler kørte bare videre og der stod jeg så.. de var enormt truende. Jeg brugte fornuften og fik dem talt ned (nåede i mellemtiden at tænke: “Nu kommer du ikke hjem til V. Jeg reddede mig selv fra et frygteligt uheld, men nu får jeg prygl 👊🏼”). Jeg har liget skullet sunde mig ovenpå oplevelsen, men jeg føler mig så heldig, at det ikke gik værre - både uheld OG den efterfølgende episode.. 😓 . #biluheld #uheld #e45 #ridser #råbe #skrige #gutter #enekvinde #skræmmende #motorvej #tæsk #prygl #bange #fornuft #heldigemig #morogsøn —————————————- Friday I was in an accident on my way back home from work. All the cars stood on their breaks, the one behind me didn’t totally make it and scratched my car. We had to talk insurance and four guys jumped out the car screaming of me. All the other cars just drove off and there I was with those guys. I used my common sense and talked them into a state where I didn’t fear being beaten up anymore. I thought that I wouldn’t make it home to V. I’ve needed some time to gather myself and I just feel so lucky both regarding the car crash AND the episode afterwards.. 😓 . #carcrash #highway #episode #scratches #car #guys #onlygirl #terrifying #scared #luckyme #momandson #survivalmode (her: Aalborg, Denmark) https://www.instagram.com/p/B1lb5CSBK8o/?igshid=e27wokjfy7o9

[rudnitskaia]

Can't agree more. I just finished watching and I'm both frustrated and furious. In what I'm sure for 98,9% is that s2 arc3 was written and made the first in line, and then they thought "hey, we need to explain how we got to that point from the s1 ep9, and also shove a list of things rito wants us to show (like the black rose), but we have only 6 episodes, so let's press this plotlines' accordion as tight as we can".

That's it, I'm leaving to scream into a pillow for the next five hours.

arcane s2 arc 3 was trashfire, minus ekko's brief arc, that was good food tldr same thoughts i had about the first two arcs, needed 3 more years AND maybe 16 episodes to be presentable, eh, disappointed overall, tho again i loved what they were trying to do, my head can literally fill in those needed episodes, just wish we actually...got them, yknow? i think we needed an entire other season just for the magic stuff second season shouldve had more eps, at first focused on fleshing out the politics, the noxians, cait's regime, piltover's gradual oppression over its OWN people even, and the arcane stuff happening in the bg, building up slowly, quietly + we get to see the black rose gradually introduced, not hamfisted we wouldve gotten to see viktor go from hopeful messiah to chaotic mind number it wouldve been so fucking good man

[ftmdemi-male-blog]

Gender dysphoria --- Kønsforvirring

(Danish below for those interested ^^)

In this post, I want to talk about what it’s like to grow up in the wrong body. How it is to be born with the wrong sex and which effect it has had on me. I’m not going to claim that everyone is feeling the way I did and still do. I can only tell what I felt. Remember, the only one who can be a specialist on how you feel is you. 

As a small kid, I didn’t really feel the gender dysphoria. I was out playing with the boys and I was hardly aware I had female genitals instead of male. I didn’t really pay attention to it back then. My gender dysphoria didn’t really start until puberty hit. And god, did it hit. I’ve always been the big kind of girl. before puberty, I was small and skinny. I was tall, yes, but I was skinny and slim and didn’t really have any insecurities with myself. Not in that aspect at least. I have always been late developed compared to my other peers. My boobs didn’t start growing until I was well into year 13. This is where my world came falling apart. I wasn’t aware that that was what was going on back then, but looking back at my life a decade later, I understand better. 

I remember when everyone in my year developed boobs - and even the ones below my year - I wanted them too, or so I thought (I’ll do a post on bullying soon and that should explain this problem). I didn’t really get them for a while. Not until I was like 13 or 14 did I begin to develop anything remotely close to being boobs. But then I got them. And I got them big. Hips settled too, and that’s when everything went downhill. Combined with other things happening in my life (here I’m going to refer to the future blog on bullying too), things got heavier. Literally. I gained weight like crazy. I was eating for comfort as bullying started and the more I ate the bigger I got. And the bigger I got, the bigger my boobs and hips became too, and the sadder I became. Bottom line, everything was SHIT when I was a young teen. And I hated wearing bras. I was always self-conscious when I wore bras. I hated wearing them and tried not to, but shit happens and newsflash, when you get so big you get boobs you can’t control until wrapped tightly in something.

Like I said, I’m tall. I’m a full 183 cm (6ft). As a female that is tall. I like being that tall. Well, I like it now. I didn’t like it when I was younger. I hated gaining the attention that came with being so tall. I didn’t feel good about myself and I hated people looking at me like I was some sort of zoo animal. Being placed in awkward situations as a teen has kept me from seeking out a social life. I didn’t want people to look at me and I simply didn’t feel good among others. I stayed away from social contexts until I found a way to bond with people online. I made friends online instead of real life friends. I lived in a very isolated bubble where I only engaged in chats online and refused to go out with real people. Making friends was simply horrible. I hated making new friends as everyone expected me to be a certain way for my sex. I was expected to wear dresses at family gatherings and I didn’t really feel like it. I have occasionally worn a dress before of my own will and liked it, yes. But not something I’d do all the time.

I haven’t really been keen on shaving. I’ve always considered myself lazy. While I do like the feeling of smooth legs, I can’t be bothered to shave. I like the hairy feeling too. Though it isn’t appreciated the same way for women to show off hairy legs and shorts, so of course I didn’t either. All in all, gender dysphoria has been one hell of a thing that I didn’t realize existed until a couple of years ago, and ever since I found out what was wrong with me I’ve been much more social and more likely to engage in social activities. I have amazing friends both online and in real life and they are all supportive this far. It’s wonderful really. I still have to tell my parents and the rest of my family, but I’m starting somewhere. And now that I’m out I’m feeling like it’s time for me to start working on getting a body I like. I’m starting at 93kg and will lower my weight into one where I can consider binding. My chest is simply too big to bind now. 

So here goes a starting picture for my way to become the male body I want to be.

That being said, I would love it if you’d write to me, ask questions or whatever. I want to talk to other trans people, or supporters/allies ^^

DANSK!:

I denne post vil jeg gerne tale om hvordan det er at vokse op med den forkerte krop. Hvordan det er at vokse op med det forkerte køn og hvilken effekt det har haft på mig. Jeg siger ikke at alle har det sådan. Mange kan sagtens have det anderledes. Jeg tror ikke på at der er andre der har det præcis ligesom jeg har det. Husk, at den der bedst ved hvordan du har det, er dig.

Som barn mærkede jeg ikke rigtig min kønsforvirring. Jeg legede med drengene udenfor i skolegården og jeg bemærkede knap nok jeg havde kvindelige kønsdele hvor drengene har haft noget andet. Jeg lagde simpelthen ikke mærke til det. Min kønsforvirring startede ikke rigtig før jeg ramte puberteten. Og vor herre bevares, den ramte. Jeg har altid været en stor pige. Før puberteten var jeg slank og tynd og havde ikke rigtig nogle usikkerheder omkring min krop. Jeg har altid været langsomt udviklet rent fysisk. Mine bryster begyndte ikke at udvikle sig indtil jeg var godt inde i mit 13. leveår. Det var så her at mit liv begyndte at falde fra hinanden. Jeg var ikke bevidst om at det var det der skete, men nu da jeg kigger tilbage et årti senere, så kan jeg godt se sammenhængene.

Jeg kan huske dengang alle omkring mig udviklede bryster - selv dem der var yngre - jeg ville også have dem. I hvert fald troede jeg det (jeg vil skrive et indlæg omkring mobning der skal give lidt andet forståelse af dette). Jeg fik dem jo ikke indtil jeg var 13-14 år. Det var først der at jeg begyndte at udvikle noget det kunne kaldes bryster overhovedet. Så jeg dem dog. Og de kom meget. Jeg fik store bryster og brede hofter. Det var her det begyndte at gå ned ad bakke. Kombineret med de andre ting der skete i mit liv på det her tidspunkt (jeg referere til indlægget om mobning der kommer snart), blev tingene tungere. Bogstaveligt talt. Jeg tog på i vægt som åndsvagt. Jeg trøstespiste som mobning blev værre, og jo mere jeg spiste jo større blev mine bryster. Og jo større de blev, jo mere ked af det blev jeg, og så spiste jeg mere. Pointen er, at alt var bare lort da jeg var teenager. Og samtidig med at mine bryster var store, hadede jeg at gå med BH. Jeg var altid meget selvbevidst når jeg havde BH på. Jeg hadede at have dem på og prøvede at lade være. Men ja, jeg havde så store bryster at gå uden en eller anden form for kontrol ville være til fare for mine omgivelser.

Som sagt, er jeg høj. Jeg er 183 cm (6 fod) høj. Som kvinde (fysisk) er det højt. Jeg har egentlig altid godt kunnet lide min højde. Altså, jeg kan lide det nu. Jeg syntes ikke den var så fed da jeg var yngre. Jeg hadede al den opmærksomhed jeg fik. Jeg kunne ikke lide at folk kiggede på mig fordi jeg var så høj. Jeg følte mig lidt som et dyr i zoo. Jeg opgav at opsøge sociale situationer som ung. Jeg gad simpelthen ikke at folk skulle kigge på mig. Jeg undgik simpelthen sociale samlinger og stak af til et online liv med en online identitet. I levede i en online bobbel og nægtede at gå sammen med andre. At få venner var simpelthen så forfærdeligt. Jeg hadede at danne nye venskaber da alle havde forventninger til hvordan jeg skulle opføre mig fordi jeg er født en pige. Folk forventede at jeg havde kjoler og nederdele på til familiesammenkomster. Og det gad jeg rent faktisk ikke. Jeg har dog haft feminint tøj på nogle dage og haft det godt med det, så jeg afviser det ikke helt. 

Jeg har aldrig rigtig været glad for at barbere mig. Jeg troede bare jeg var doven, men jeg har altid været fascineret af hår på kroppen. Jeg er så heldig jeg har PCOS oveni, så jeg har mere mandlig behåring end andre kvinder. Jeg gider simpelthen ikke at barbere mig hele tiden for at holde hår nede. Men på den anden side så gør jeg det da piger ikke ses med hår på benene når de har shorts på. Så det gør jeg heller ikke. Ikke endnu i hvert fald.

Alt i alt har kønsforvirring været noget af rutsjebane som jeg ikke anede eksisterede indtil for et par år siden. Efter jeg har fundet ud af hvad der ‘var galt’ med mig, har jeg været noget mere ude i det sociale billede og har fået nogle fantastiske venner også. Både online og i virkeligheden. Og de støtter mig alt hvad de kan. Jeg skal stadig have fortalt min familie det men jeg har fået startet processen med at komme ud. Nu er det mere tid til at arbejde på min krop i stedet for, så jeg kan føle mig bedre tilpas med mig selv. Jeg starter på 93kg og vil arbejde mig ned så jeg kan overveje at binde. Mine bryster er ganske enkelt for store til det nu. Ovenfor det danske afsnit er der billeder af it statspunkt, så håber jeg på det bedste. Motivationen er i hvert fald i top.

Nu hvor jeg runder af, er i mere end velkommen til at skrive til mig, spørg og generalt bare snakke. Jeg vil gerne snakke med andre trans personer. 

[morganerpost]

I had DnD on Friday! Also a date with Eric!<3

It was a busy session!

Date: 2/14/20

We had two new players, R and S! Also returning was J, A, myself, and E! R made a female dwarf, named Snowsunder, and S made a human mage, name of Heldig. A brought Rudolph, also a mage, now recovered of being shanked by the relatively late vampire. J brought out Harry the gnome(level 5), also a spell caster. E brought out a new character, Thummer the dwarf, and I brought Dolly the priest( Now level 4!). All new characters were level 3.

After discussing recent events and catching the new players up to speed, we decided that we were not prepared for the possible gorgon/catoblepas (PREFEREABLY PRONOUNCED CAT-TOE-BULL-PAS,or even CAT-TOE-BLEH-PAH any other way is awful.), and weren't in the mood to mess with that last wraith. Wraiths are pains in the butt.

We visited our pals the goblins, for the latest dungeon news and for Harry the gnome to gift them a keg or two. They told us that the Forest Ogres have been going into the dungeon, and that relations have been tense. We have floated the idea of having a meeting between the goblins, us, and the ogres, primarily for the purpose of letting them know we would prefer our dealings to be conflict free in the futue, if we leave them alone, we hope they will leave us alone. And on further exploring the dungeon, we might honestly consider all three groups simply sealing the dungeon off. But I'm ahead of myself.

After visiting the goblins, we thought we'd do some light exploring of the newly discovered 8th level. The first room we entered, had a discomforting, fertility(?) idol. Nothing else seemingly in the room. We continued on, after checking with all magic users and my priest to identify the thing. Heldig detected evil somewhere on this floor, but it didn't seem to be moving. We continued on... Harry the gnome mysteriously disappeared at this point!... because J had to get home.

The next thing we encountered was an oddly large set of double doors. We discussed looking into the room. Thummer shot that idea down very quickly- "I don't want to meet anything that would need a door that big." The party agreed this was wise, and we spiked the door shut, to be on the safe side. We continued down some halls, noting it was weird we hadn't met with any kind of encounters. We collectively felt worried. Harry the DM chuckled. We felt worse.

We came to a simple seeming door... with light peeking under door. Considering, we haven't met anything in this dungeon that didn't have night vision, or was undead, this was unusual. Expecting the worst, we peeked in. Clean, lit metal lanterns were hanging from the ceiling. Nothing appeared in the room. We very cautiously entered- upon which, smoke started to boil out of the lanterns! We fled immediately, expecting some sort of demon. We spiked the door shut with 4 spikes, and Dolly put some holy signs and a protection from evil on the door just to be on the safe side. First time I've gotten to use that ink and pen, too! Whatever it was, it did not try to follow us.

Backtracking down a hallway, we found a room. It featured a large, swept out fireplace, and four enormous, vague, abstract paintings. Upon examining them, Snowsunder the dwarf felt weird. Harry the DM started rolling dice. The party broke into a cold sweat. We agreed to try to examine the paintings without directly looking at them. Yes, it was awkward. Dolly the priest took a candle, and brought it close to canvas to see if there was any sort of reaction. The candle dimmed. Thummer attempted to take the paintings down. They were bolted on, but he managed to get one down, tearing the canvas. We burned the broken frame in the fireplace. No reaction from the frame, or the fireplace. We burned the torn canvas. It didn't burn well, but no other reaction. Heldig attempted to divine if the canvases were magic. She got a success, but couldn't divine their purpose, or how they were magic. We considered resting there, but Harry the DM looked too happy at that possibility, so we pressed on.

We came to the last room. It was featureless, just a plain stone room. We were gathered at the Eastern door and there were doors on the Southern, Western, And Northern walls. I had misgivings. Unlike the other rooms, the ceiling was not vaulted, simply flat stone. I cautioned the party members not to enter, fearing some kind of trap. Snowsunder threw a torch into the room. No reaction. I said it might be only triggered by a heavier weight. Impatient, Thummer strode into the room. No change. The rest of the party walked in, and the door shut behind us, unnoticed. The Southern door was tested. Wouldn't budge. Thummer and Snowsunder tried to force it, and got a critical success! It still didn't move. We got worried. The same with the Western door. We consulted the map we'd made. It seemed very possible that the Northern door would connect to the sinister lantern room. We decided to go back we came, as we were coming to the end of the session... and noticed the shut door. Which was now also immovable.

We considered our options:

a. try to break the door down, which might attract the attention of something, and also not work.

b. run through the lantern room, and hope that we all make it,before whatever triggers, triggers, and flee the floor.

We figure b. is our best option. The northern door opens, and Thummer cries out in dawning horror- "OH GOD I SPIKED THE DOOR SHUT!" This sinks in.

We're probably going to deal with something horrible. We break up roles, Thummer and Snowsunder will attempt to knock the spikes loose, as their physically the strongest, and Heldig with help. Dolly and Rudolph will run interference, with Rudolph casting shield on himself, and Dolly casting Protection from evil on herself.A mentions to the new players if it all goes south, and anyone goes down, DO NOT ATTEMPT RESCUE! We've had TPKs before, and we need to avoid that. The plan is made. We go for it.

We're running, and smoke is boiling out of the lanterns, coalescing into a big, humanoid form, wreathed in smoke and jewelry. The dwarfs and mage are pounding on the door! We hear 2 spikes dislodge themselves! The figure starts striding slowly towards us. Rudolph and Dolly are jazz-handing like crazy, trying to distract it! With the frantic pounding the other spikes come loose! The door is open! We break for it!... And it grabs poor Rudolph by the throat. In an instant, he is charcoal. We get out.

Back at camp, we identify the creature- it was probably an efreet. Thummer states that this dungeon is horrible and he hates it. The party unanimously agrees. We place Rudolph's name in the graveyard sack, alongside Qarl. A is allowed to give the XP Rudolph would have gotten to another character.

[rudnitskaia]

I'll probably regret this note later, but I need to sort my thoughts on this somehow, so let it be. It's not a review, not a feedback, it’s just a skein of thoughts.

Let me start from afar: I wasn't going to watch Joker: Folie à Deux after all the scathing reviews I've seen. But then I accidentally found out that Sylvain Chomet took part in the creation of the credits for it, and I decided: to hell with it, at least for the sake of the credits, but I have to see it. I'll watch the first part and then the sequel in a row.

And now I'm in such contradictory feelings that it's hard to describe.

Don't get me wrong: this is a really bad movie. Everything about it is broken beyond repair: the genre, the plot, the pace of the narrative, the dialogues, the characters’ development arcs. Everything that could be screwed up is screwed up…

…on purpose.

The team that made the first movie couldn't have made its sequel so exceptionally bad by accident. It's really pure sabotage.

And from that point of view, this picture is genius. Joker: Folie à Deux is the bloody Taras Bulba of the cinema world. “I gave you life, I will also kill you!” Todd Phillips says from the screen with every misplaced song, every drawn-out scene, every gratuitous feint. I know of only two precedents of this sort, and both are from the world of literature, not cinema. Burgess, who considered and told everyone that A Clockwork Orange is unworthy of attention and even dangerous to read, and Conan Doyle, who hated Sherlock Holmes so much that he tried to kill Sherlock, but had to resurrect him anyway to meet the public's desires.

Joker: Folie à Deux truly fell victim to its creator's hatred of both the character and the industry that demands to put a comma, or even never-ending ellipses, to the place where a period is unquestionably placed. I can only applaud Phillips’ courage to bring this statement to the screens so unashamedly explicitly.

What I can't neither understand, nor justify, on the other hand, is Phillips' apparent inability to draw the line between fiction and reality. To treat a character as a real-living person is sacrilege. A fictional character, no matter how vivid and solid this character is, is still a character who is meant to tell a story, to be a tool, a prism through which the viewer or reader perceives certain events. For some unknown reason, Phillips hates his character, or, to be more precise, his actions, as if he was a real person. And this statement he conveys through the story of Arthur Fleck in the second part in full. Phillips literally forces his character to become pathetic, so that God forbid anyone to have pity for him or desire to empathize and sympathize with him, forces the character to personally debunk the image he himself created, as if telling us from the screen: “Wake up, idiots, this is not the way it fucking happens”.

Thanks for the revelation, bro, we're aware. We're watching a movie. A fictional story about fictional people.

I can kind of understand that level of judgement from people who’re not involved into creating any fictional stories, at least it’s explainable, but from a person who is a long-term director himself? Never. That's a level of judgement like "videogames make people violent".

I'm fully convinced that if there was to be a second part of Joker, it shouldn't have been about him. Arthur Fleck's story didn't need a continuation, at least not a direct one. But the world Phillips created in the first movie still had plenty of material to explore, and Harleen Quinzel's character could have mediated that journey for us. She is a fan of a serial killer (there is a wagonload of such people in reality), a person living in illusions, a victim of a fake idol. You want a musical? Let it be. In her head. Like that very episode of Scrubs, you know which I mean. But it had to be her story. Not Joker’s/Arthur’s story. Not a love story, not at all — or rather, not a story about the romantic kind of love that Phillips mocks and makes fun of for the entire sequel. It must have been a story of love that was fanatical, sick, false a priori, doomed to shatter in the end. In this story, Joker was needed purely in the background, not as a real character, but as an image in fantasies, and then Harleen, blinded by his fame she extols over herself or anything in her dull unremarkable reality, would’ve been our guide to the world that was changed by Joker’s unintentional influence, and I think you yourself are quite capable of realizing how many subjects could’ve been explored in interesting, multifaceted ways from such a delicious starting point. Not to mention the fact that it's just one variant of the starting point, because the main character could have been someone other than Harleen, and the time period relative to the events of the original could’ve been different... well, you got it, there was plenty of material to explore and develop.

And that's a damn shame it wasn’t.

One thing I know for sure is that I will not forget this movie. It's a fascinating specimen that I'll put in my personal mental cabinet of curiosities for two reasons. Adoration for how filigree bad it is — it takes courage, ingenuity, and a lot of resilience to do so, for any creator; and frustration over the fact that a really existing potential that could’ve been perfectly brought into existence in talented hands was thrown into the trashcan because of the creator's mere lack of understanding (which is doubly ironic in the context of the movie I’m talking about) of where the line between fiction and reality lies.

[rudnitskaia]

It's too early to judge about S2 basing on just one episode, but I just watched the premiere of Arcane S2 and I'm lost, I'm so lost, babygirls

[rudnitskaia]

I must be either dreaming, or re-living my early 2010s. Just found out that both Adam Elliot and Sylvain Chomet announced their new animated films, Memoir of a Snail and The Magnificent Life of Marcel Pagnol accordingly.

Did I tell I love 2024? I love 2024.

[rudnitskaia]

NOOOOOOOO WAY.

NOOOOOOOOOOOOOO WAY.

HOOOOOOORAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAY!!!

ElfQuest animated film is in the works

ElfQuest animated film is in the works #comics #animation

Fox has given ElfQuest a script commitment for an animated film. The one-hour drama is based on the fantasy comic series by Wendy and Richard Pini. The series is coming from Rodney Rothman and Adam Rosenberg‘s Modern Magic. Susan Hurwitz Arneson is penning the adaptation and will be the showrunner and executive producer. Rothman and Rosenberg will executive produce for Modern Magic along with…