#there was a point where there were dozens of posts on the terror on my dash at any given moment

[eriexplosion]

Fandom osmosis is so funny because for months upon months I thought The Terror was a completely non supernatural story about a failed polar expedition where they succumb one by one to the elements, man's entitlement to nature, and each other in a tale of cannibalism and homoeroticism and then I look it up and it turns out that there was a whole supernatural bear that killed like 50 people and nobody I saw ever fucking mentioned it.

[smol-and-scared]

G/t Analysis: Gods Among Mice

Before I begin, I want to say two things:

This post is not meant to disparage anyone or question their value as people, all of this is exploration of linguistics, its cultural implications and potential narratives that could arise from them.

It is not a statement of fact or a claim I’m making.

Also… Let’s put aside the “Step on me Goddess” bullshit that has unfortunately plagued much of the g/t community’s DMs (It deserves to be called out, but not what this is about)

I will be using ‘God’ as a gender-neutral term here.

The God-like power of Size💪

Throughout history, Gods have often been depicted as being physically massive. This makes sense, as physical power is the most easily understood form of power. Likewise, a creature's size is one of the most universally recognized sign of one's physical power. So it's a good way to instantly depict the strength of a God. And these depictions have had a weird memetic side effect: The idea that 'massive size' makes a creature 'God-like'.

This does have a bit of psychological merit. If mountain-sized Giants actually existed, (without our arch-nemesis: 🔥the fucking square-cube law🔥) their full size and strength would be so hard for humans to understand that their power is basically arbitrary. At which point it becomes indistinguishable from Godhood. Also, our primitive lizard-brains evolved to fear much larger creatures. And fearing your gods is a major part of many religions.

Because of this there are dozens upon dozens of G/t fics, comics, etc; where the larger party is compared to or (metaphorically) referred to as, a God. In the case of actual giants and characters growing larger, this makes complete sense and is usually well-suited to the narrative.

But in my eternal quest for more angst™ I’ve recently started to question it’s use in Human/tiny stories. It feels kinda… lazy? I mean, not in the context of the story, many fantastic fics do it. But it just feels like it was copied over from the giant fics and never fully questioned or explored.

Okay, but what if: 🤏 smol.

Now obviously, all of this depends on the exact size difference, scenario and world-building of the story. But I still think it applies to a huge amount of fics who play up the Human/tiny size difference as ‘God-like’.

I personally think If a tiny views their resident human as a God-like figure (with all of the fear and awe that entails) …then they are optimistically delusional.

Because Gods are, in most cultures, special.

I have yet to see a fic where the Tiny is struck by the simple and harrowing realization that the humans they view as unstoppable, God-like entities are... in fact, painfully average.

It’s one thing to live in terror of the massive entity that could kill you in an instant. It’s an entirely further step to realize that there are dozens, if not hundreds of them between you and the nearest human-free environment.

And what if the Tiny realizes that their human isn’t even average? Imagine their horror when they realize that the person who is so big and powerful that they can barely even grasp it… is some 4’ 3” (~130cm) little stick? And the average human could snap ‘their human’ in half like a stale fuckin’ Cheeto.

Objectively, the Tiny knew this. They knew that the human they live with was small and weak compared to the others. But they never had an opportunity to actually understand it. And nothing gets that message across like seeing the 'God' of their tiny little world casually picked up and playfully carried on someone’s shoulder.

And It still gets worse...

Depending on the setting, the Tiny may not know or feel connected to any kind of civilization (A borrower colony, a scavenger camp, etc). This is especially true if Tinies are rare and/or oppressed.

And if that Tiny were to realize how average their 'God-like' human was? It would break them in the most pitiful way.

Because that ‘God’ isn’t a god. They’re average. They have a job. They have hobbies and friends. Things that this Tiny could never even dream of having. And that’s normal. That’s expected. They get to live, instead of just survive. Because they’re a person and that’s what people do.

And if their ‘God’ is just a person-

“Then…what does that make me?”

In conclusion:

I believe a character referring to someone as a God/Goddess implies that the speaker is a ‘person’ and they are looking at something greater. It’s ‘Normal’ looking up at ‘Godhood'.

But given the right story, plus a healthy amount of fear and awe. I think many Tinies would start to understand how small they are. And that they’ve been looking up at ‘Normal’ the whole time.

[tumblingghosts]

hi backpacks i’m about to do something crazy and send an ask not related to tbosas!! but i been having the marauders on my mind today and i was wondering what your thoughts were on each of them?

woah, non-tbosas ask :0 !!

but yeah!! i'm more than happy to yap about the marauders! i don't interact much with the wider marauders fandom bc it gets pretty polarizing with who gets villainized & made innocent, but i do like them all as characters-

james potter

i think that he's an incredibly loyal person, but also very privileged. his parents had him when they were older, and he's an only child, so he was pretty spoiled growing up. he's a great friend to the people that he cares about, but can also be thoughtlessly cruel to the people that he dislikes. out of the marauders, he's closest with sirius, and even though he does care for peter and remus, sirius is always the first person that he turns to.

sirius black

i usually headcanon that he and james have seen each other at outing during their childhood, but the first time that they properly spoke was on the train to hogwarts, where they immediately hit it off. he has a pretty strained relationship with his parents by eleven, and his relationship with regulus is pretty complicated because they were close growing up, but after they both started hogwarts, that got incredibly strained too. most of their interactions as they got older devolved into arguments, but he'd also get really angry if he heard regulus got hurt.

remus lupin

i think that remus started hogwarts with the intention of keeping his head down and laying low. james and sirius were mostly doing their own thing at the start, but remus made friendly acquantainces with peter pretty quickly while they were sharing a dorm. by the end of their first year, james and sirius would drag him and peter into their friend group of four. as much as i like wolfstar, like i mentioned before, i think that james and sirius were the duo of their friend group. while remus did grow closer to sirius over the years, i think the first couple of years at hogwarts, was trying hard to keep his distance and avoid any personal talk, which sirius understood because he wasn't keen on talking about his home life either.

peter pettigrew

i don't think he gets enough credit or notice. a lot of the time, he's written out of their friendship and dismissed as a "tag along", but he was really close with all of them. that's what made the betrayal hurt. i think he was the one who often had to play peacemaker, and as such, was usually the one to face their anger when they were in the middle of arguments. i remember reading a fic post werewolf prank where remus and james weren't talking to sirius, and peter was the first one to talk to sirius in the aftermath, which made james mad. i think dozens of interactions like that would build up resentment over time, and even after their friendship was mended and the argument was over, peter still internalized those moments of anger until it reached a breaking point. i really like his characterization in terror by night by hsvh- it really highlights his survival instinct and doing whatever it takes to stay alive.

[knickynoo]

marty loves his father just so so much. to the point where his father's death, even in a timeline that they were already going to have to fix, was the point where Marty is the most emotionally devastated in an entire trilogy full of tragedies. how immediately we see him stand up for his father when he so much as thinks Old Biff is calling him a loser in the Cafe 80's. how proud he is both times he sees his dad finally stand up to Biff, the moment he always wished would happen his entire life. the sheer emotion in his voice when he says "my father's alive!" marty loves his dad so much.

cannot believe I forgot him literally jumping in front of a moving car to save his dad with zero hesitation, as if it wasn't the main catalyst for the entire plot of the first movie. I love this kid and he loves his dad - pants anon

Hello again, Pants Anon. Nice to hear from you. Also, yes. I love thinking about this.

I've written a dozen posts about my thoughts on the core of the trilogy being love, but I don't think I've ever focused in on Marty and George before. It's true, though. Marty's love for his dad runs so deep in parts I and II.

The scene of him stumbling around the graveyard and finding his father's tombstone is absolutely the most emotionally intense version of Marty we get in all three films. He's already seen and experienced so much terror by that point, and we've seen him in tears and scared out of his mind at several moments, but none of it compares to the way George's death shatters him. It's a Marty who has truly hit his breaking point, and MJF's acting in those scenes is so good.

It makes sense of course—how else would a kid react to the sudden news of his dad's death but by screaming and crying like that—and at that point, Marty doesn't know what's caused the timeline to skew, so that sense of despair is real. But I feel like even if he knew what was up, even if he knew he and Doc would end up fixing things, George's death still would have hit him that hard.

As for the scene in front of the Baines's house, there's that part of me that goes, "Well, wouldn't anyone rush into the street to push their parent out of harm's way? Marty was just doing what most people would. It's instinct." Then there's the other part that does see Marty's reaction as a conscious act of love. He could have panicked or frozen up and just let things play out the way they were supposed to, but he made that split-second choice to "sacrifice himself" instead.

Which, by the way, is one of the themes of the movies that makes me lose my mind. So much of this trilogy centers on sacrifice. Doc and Marty in particular are constantly having like...a tennis match back and forth of, "No worries, I'll just go ahead and die for you," "No, no, I'll die for you." "I insist that I die for you." They just take turns putting their life on the line for each other.

Out of the plethora of lovely qualities Marty has, the intensity of his emotions is high on my list of why I like him so much. There's just such a depth to the love he has for people. It's what drives so many of his actions throughout the movies.

It's love that urges him to put himself in the path of a car in order to save his dad.

It's love that pushes him to storm up to Biff in the cafeteria in an attempt to protect his mother from the unwanted advances, even though Biff is twice his size.

It's love that makes him sit at the diner the night of the lightning strike to agonize over how to write a letter that can save Doc's life

Rushing at Biff in the hotel to (once again) protect his mother from abuse, falling apart at his dad's grave, willingly going to the Old West when he's been explicitly told not to? All acts of love.

I really don't even think the kid has a choice in the matter when it comes to people he cares about. No matter how scared or unsure he is, the enormity of his love for his family and friends automatically overrides it.

I truly think that's what makes Back to the Future, and Marty as a character, so special.

Thanks for the ask!

[batwynn]

I’ve gotten a few insistent anons lately demanding I state my thoughts and opinions on the current and past history of Palestine on this blog. (You can tell they don’t follow my more personal side blog, I guess.) On the one hand, I do understand people wanting to know that someone they follow has similar opinions on severely important things like this. But on the other hand, most of the asks have that certain… tone that gives me the feeling that they are more interested in ‘catching’ me in something, than any actual concern over my politics or the actual people involved. They’re worded in a way that is very immature—in a way that leaves very little room for anything other than the exact statements parroted back to them that they expect. Which I can’t do. One, because I can’t read their minds to say exactly what they want me to say. Two, because I’m an entire person with a whole life that they know nothing about—something that comes with all the flaws of being a human person with my own history and education based on where I lived and who I knew. And three, because I don’t want to parrot someone else’s words to appease a random person I don’t know. And the thing is, I’ve had this conversation already with nearly everyone in my life. I’ve gone over it at least a dozen times with friends and family from all walks of life. Some conversations were harder than others. All of them were hard. Partially because what is happening is hard to talk about, and partially because I don’t really know what to say. What do I say that changes anything? What do I say that isn’t speaking over someone who is directly affected? What do I say that won’t be misinterpreted by someone willingly misinterpreting/looking for a fight? What can I say that doesn’t hurt anyone at all? Because someone out there will always be hurt, no matter how carefully I try to word things. And I have tried. I’ve written this post 80+ times for months now. I’ve read other’s words and found parts that spoke to me and for me very well, but then have that certain edge that goes into the harm territory. Some lean into Zionism, some lean into antisemitism. Some are just outright racist, some are full on fascist. And that’s really the entirety of it. I just don’t want people to be hurt anymore. So to answer your questions, anon:

I don’t know what the right thing to say is and no matter how careful I am, it will never be correct enough for you. I am angry and horrified at the harm that has been done over many years to the Palestinian people. None of my words can really summarize that history, or what is happening to them right now. Every single day I learn something new, and every single day it is someone doing irreparable harm to innocent people. I am disgusted by the never ending terrorism and harm done by people who think that killing innocents is a worthy way to get them what they want. And that goes for anyone who does this, including but not limited to the Hamas, the Israeli army, or my very own colonizing country. I am alarmed at how black and white people are treating this, and how no consideration is allowed for those who fall between the cracks or who dont follow their strict narrative. That people forget that Jewish Palestinian people exist when they go on their rants, or what people from every ‘side’ or corner of the world can want the end of the harm. That people have hatred for Jewish and Muslim people with no regards to who they actually are and what they believe. That there are so many who support Palestinian freedom, and then parrot outright fascist talking points. That many come to support their Jewish friends, but then say that Palestinian children deserve to die because _____. So, no. There is nothing I can say that really matters. Because no matter what I say someone out there will twist my words, or misunderstand, or tell me that I’m supporting something I don’t support. Because no matter what I say, I just can’t write the right words on fucking Tumblr to stop the harm from being done.

[wanderingnork]

wanderingnork's Top Ten Horror Movies

At the time of this posting, I've seen 197 horror movies (that I can remember), ranging from The Haunted Hotel in 1907 to Five Nights at Freddy's in 2023. I've watched horror movies filmed on every continent except Antarctica, and I've seen a couple horror movies that were at least set there. Out of all of those, I'm finally choosing my ten favorite movies. Subjective, of course; you might think differently.

It's a tough list to make. I could list SO MANY movies as favorites for many reasons. For effects, for monsters, for acting, for music! In the end, though, I decided to go with the movies that I remember best, moved me most deeply, or call me back again and again. So, in ascending order: here's the list.

10. Gonjiam: Haunted Asylum A brilliant piece of found footage that has me climbing up the walls every time. The use of various camera angles allows us to get up close and personal with terror in a very intimate way. At one point, we the viewers are literally face to face with a monster as if we're the one holding the camera. With some big twists, it's fun to follow. And, while it's heavy on the jumpscares, the timing of them and the relentlessness of the escalation makes them incredibly effective. When I'm really in the mood for a SCARE, this is the one I go to.

9. It Follows One of the prettiest horror movies I've ever seen, It Follows creates a liminal and uncertain atmosphere like nothing else. What season is it? What year is it? How old are the protagonists? We just don't know. It's not the most original plot, but it's so breathtakingly lovely that doesn't matter. The colors are vibrant, the textures are wide and varied, the props are unique and beautiful. Composition of shots is incredible, I swear every other frame could be a poster or framed image on its own. It also encourages personal interpretation. What's the monster? The looming specter of adulthood? An STD? Childhood trauma revisited? It's up to the viewer to decide. I love that.

8. Carnival of Souls This one's beautiful in a different way. In black and white, it incorporates unexpected landscapes and angles to create a surreal, dreamlike atmosphere throughout. The background music is limited if there at all, and often is only the echoing music of an organ. This one's pretty liminal too, and with good reason. I also love it for a meta reason: one of its scenes was a direct inspiration of Night of the Living Dead, so Carnival of Souls has an impact that resonates all the way to the present day. We can still see it in our modern zombie movies. And that's just such a fitting legacy for this movie.

7. The Bay My favorite piece of found footage, The Bay effectively splices together DOZENS of sources of found footage to create its narrative. Security cameras. Home videos. Investigators' records. Recordings of video conferences and calls. Police dashcam videos. News broadcasts. We see the unfolding ecological disaster through so many points of view that we can get a comprehensive view of how it's affecting individual children all the way to a national crisis. Plus, it contains one of the most disturbing scenes I've ever seen: a running still shot through a police dashcam, where enhanced audio gives us a horrifying window into what's happening inside a house.

6. The Void Top-tier cosmic horror. What are the weird pyramids? What's the motive? What in the fresh fuck is through the portal? Why is everything so OOZY? Some reviewers say that the movie is nonsensical--well, welcome to good cosmic horror. We're given a glimpse into a vast, hostile, incomprehensible universe which snaps shut at the end...and we're left to wonder. Most of the monster effects are practical, and they're done so beautifully and fluidly. Utterly gorgeous. Between axe-dragging cultists, zombies, howling mutant beasts, and giant space pyramids, it's a wonderfully wild ride.

5. Nightbreed A movie lower on the "scary" side of things, this movie holds a special place in my heart. It's a tale of embracing your own monstrousness and finding a home where you belong, no matter how strange you are. Full of gorgeously monstrous characters, who embrace their desires no matter how taboo, it's easy to believe why someone struggling with their identity would want to join the hidden society of the Nightbreed. "Everything's true. God's an astronaut. Oz is over the rainbow. And Midian is where the monsters live."

4. Martyrs (2008) A TRULY unexpected addition to this list, Martyrs is often classed as torture porn. The director, and I, disagree. I read it more as an exploration of the power of women in horror, the scream queen or final girl who suffers to grant the audience catharsis. It's certainly a challenging watch, because the violence is unflinchingly shown on screen in all its details. But I came out of the movie feeling cleaned out and oddly healed. The protagonist, the martyr, shouldered my burden of hurt and fear...and I got to be free of it thanks to her.

3. Alien Aside from having one of the greatest of horror creatures and greatest of final girls, Alien is just a goddamn good movie. The tension is so well-handled. The grandiose scenes of a ship in space, the explosions, the vast alien planet, those are a glorious backdrop for the intimate horror happening within the ship. I can never look away, from the beautiful and strangely sensual awakening sequence to the peaceful hypersleep at the end. I find myself shrieking at the characters to LOOK UP, to get OUT of the vents, to HURRY with shutting down the self-destruct, and on the edge of my seat the whole time. No matter how many times I watch this movie, I always flinch at the chestburster scene. And every time I see Alien, I feel like I'm seeing it again for the first time.

2. The Thing As close to perfect a horror movie as is possible, I think. The Thing itself is slimy, toothy, tentacle-y perfection. The bleak, alien landscape of Antarctica, with its stark beauty, creates such a sense of inescapable tension that there's never relief once things begin. From the pounding heartbeat of the opening soundtrack as the dog flees over the snowfields to the final scene as the camp burns to frozen ashes in the finale, it's relentless. The lighting is gorgeous (as we expect from a John Carpenter movie). It keeps you guessing all the way through, suspecting anyone and everyone of being The Thing in disguise. One of my impossible bucket list items is to view this at McMurdo Station after the last flight has left for the winter.

1.The Ritual Truly my comfort horror movie. With a beautiful, beautiful creature who uses a combination of CGI and practical effects to perfection, this is a story of human determination overcoming even the worst suffering. The claustrophobic yet beautiful wilderness, the monster who is herself an integral piece of the landscape, and the soundtrack work together to create an immersive atmosphere. I could go on and on about how this movie handles grief, guilt, ecology, relationships between men, the weight of history, the power of the human spirit--but instead I'll just recommend you watch the movie and interpret it for yourself. I certainly will be.

(If you've enjoyed this rec list, check out my other horror movie recs here.)

[blackmageeljin]

Tw: vent post about feeling unsafe due to political climate

Went to the local beach bc I was having a bad mental health day. Most of the trip was fine but... At some point this old white guy showed up, about a dozen pro trump flags attached to his wheelchair, and he's hovering around my car- which could be because it is just in one of the spots next to the grass, or it could be because it has queer positive and pagan bumper stickers. (Note that I myself am disabled, used to be chair bound, and have handicap parking permits. There are no handicap spots at the beach so we weren't parked in one or anything.)

And already, every time I go to the beach in my small town I worry about getting heckled for being openly trans, that someone will make comments about the scars on my chest, and yet would still rather that happen then get continuously misgendered. It's bad enough that the time before last my beach visit was cut short by rowdy teen boy shouting racial and other slurs at each other and I was just so uncomfortable I left.

The man didn't say anything, but he did stare at me as I got in my car and continued to stare as I waited for my spouse to catch up. As soon as we pulled out he moved away from where we had been parked, which did not fill me with confidence. I have been left once again terrified and lost in worry that the people like that in my town will find my home and try to hurt my family, that the cops will be on Their Side.

I love this beautiful farm house, I love being able to keep farm animals and have freedom over my property. I love being close to the water, the sandy soil and trees as old as this nation. We literally cannot afford to live anywhere else. We spent what we had moving away from terror once already. Not even an hour away is the city and it is full of queer people and other pagan and diversity and open-mindedness. But we are just far enough away somehow- or perhaps rather no matter where I go these people, who claim they are simply advertising their beliefs but in actually are advertising their desire for my systemic eradication, will continue to be there and be the loudest and make every space possible just feel hostile and unwelcome.

There was a Republican vote trump booth at the local fair I went to in the city. The one where everyone was gay and pagan and there were dozens of apothecaries and pagan churches and pflag and queer groups. They didn't instill fear there, because they were clearly the minority, because the good happy people celebrating their reality without hatred were louder, but they were still there, still lurking about, still trying to fill enough space to push others out of it even if for once they failed.

I am so tired of being antagonized and feeling afraid.

[whyshedisappeared]

How do you stand this website being so evil and ignorant and blind to reality? Every day I feel like I block dozens of people, and I've lost a ton of followers (not that they're really a loss, antisemites and terrorism supporters gtfo, BUT the depressing part is having to know that many mutuals and followers were antisemitic and full of hate all along). It feels hopeless and I want to delete.

thb I feel like im screaming into a void. the only people who interact with my posts about the war are Israelis and Jewish. and even they only like them and don't reblog.

I feel like im just surviving one hour at a time.

as to your original question, first of all I filtered the tags free pal*stine and pal*stine. i don't know how long you've been here, but I've had this account since 2012. I've been here during protective edge, during the almost war in 2021. I'm honestly used to the feeling of being isolated and called a monster because I don't want to die. I've had more than one person I thought were my friend essentially ask me to justify my right to live and when I didn't beg them to believe me that I'm not a monster and I actually support hamas and blah blah blah they blocked me. I lost over 200 followers, I blocked even more.

I see people wishing soldiers death knowing that my little brother is in the south, keeping people safe, having to lay on the ground more times than I would like to think while missiles shoot over his head. to the point that while on the phone with him there were missiles launched, he saw the trajectory and said "oh there's an alert in tel aviv" and 10 seconds later we saw tel aviv in the alarm list.

I'm going to my 6th funeral tomorrow, where two girls from my choir who lost their dad. I went to a funeral of a 23 yo childhood friend who was killed in kfar aza. another of a 25yo big brother of another childhood friend who was killed in gaza. to one of a 23 yo old guy who was with my brother in the volleyball team and my brother couldn't go so we went for him. to one of a 23 yo girl who went to the party and helped my brother for years with his bagruyot. to the funeral of an honorary uncle whose sister and her husband were murdered (to the point their limbs had to be gathers and they could only be identified with dna) while protecting their 21, 19, 16 yo kids safe. their kids lied in their parents' blood for 10 hours under the bed waiting to be rescued.

if people refuse to believe us, if they believe hamas are justified in their actions, I don't want anything to do with them. I'm ashamed of ever thinking they were nice people I wanted to interact with. I don't want them on my dash, or my blog, or anywhere near me.

I post so much about the war to force people to see the truth. and I will never be quiet about it. the youngest child kidnapped is no longer 9 months old, he's 10 months old. how can a baby be an occupiar? support an apartheid? support genocide? forget the fact that it isn't the truth. how can a 3 year old be a bad person? she's 3. if you can justify hamas' actions, I don't want anything to do with you.

I sometimes go to specific tags if I need to escape a little and I'm seeing a little too much about the war. I don't always have it in me to go and block and deal with it. and to be honest, I found who my real friends are and i learned about some new people who see the truth and it's great to know who the people I can trust are.

unfortunately the truth of being an Israeli jew is having hypocrits wish you happy Hanukkah and then when it actually matters, when your life is on the line (literally) wish for your death and celebrate it. the joys of being so detached from here that you don't even realise these are real people living through the most extreme life or death situation and you have the luxury of giving people lectures as if you know anything because you read a cute little 3 word comics on Instagram so now you consider yourself an expert.

all of this is to say, moderation is key. fuck nazis and I wish everyone who support hamas a miserable, sad (and long) life. use this as an opportunity to learn who your real friends are and fuck the rest of them. they aren't worth your time and effort, when all they wish for is your death.

[mostlysignssomeportents]

The Bezzle excerpt (Part V)

I'm on tour with my new novel The Bezzle! Catch me TONIGHT in SAN DIEGO (Feb 22, Mysterious Galaxy). After that, it's LA (Saturday night, with Adam Conover), Seattle (Monday, with Neal Stephenson), then Portland, Phoenix and more!

I'm out on tour with my new novel, The Bezzle, a cyberpunk revenge thriller about Marty Hench, a two-fisted forensic accountant, and a guerrilla war he wages on a prison-tech provider that treats incarcerated people as assets to be strip-mined:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/02/16/narrative-capitalism/#bezzle-tour

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this thread to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/02/22/self-censorship/#acab

As part of the promotion for the book, I've been serializing an excerpt: Chapter 14, in which Marty takes on a side-quest to recover the stolen royalties of one-time funk star Stephon Magner (AKA Steve Soul) which were stolen by his scumbag manager and then sold on to an even scummier sample-licensing clearinghouse.

Today, I bring you part five, in which Marty's simple cross-referencing project is violently altered by an encounter with the criminal gangs of the LA Sheriffs Deputy departments, a real crime-syndicate whose reign of terror continues to this day:

https://www.latimes.com/california/story/2023-05-17/dozens-of-lasd-deputies-ordered-to-show-suspected-gang-tattoos-reveal-others-who-have-them

I'm posting this installment en route to San Diego, where I'll be appearing tonight at Mysterious Galaxy

https://www.mystgalaxy.com/22224Doctorow

From there, it's back to LA, where I'm appearing on Saturday evening with Adam Conover at Vromans:

https://www.vromansbookstore.com/Cory-Doctorow-discusses-The-Bezzle

And then on Monday I'll be at Third Place Books with Neal Stephenson:

https://www.thirdplacebooks.com/event/cory-doctorow

From there, I'm off to Portland, Phoenix, Tucson and points further:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/02/16/narrative-capitalism/#bezzle-tour

Here's part one of the serial:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/02/17/the-steve-soul-caper/#lead-singer-disease

Part two:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/02/19/crad-kilodney-was-an-outlier/#copyright-termination

Part three:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/02/20/fore/#lawyer-up

Part four:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/02/21/im-feeling-unlucky/#poacher-turned-keeper

And now, part five!

The storefront had an old break room with a first-­aid kit, and a bathroom with a sink. I sponged myself clean in the mirror, ate two expired Aleves and three 200 mg expired Tylenols out of the kit. The ass was ripped most of the way out of my pants, so I moved my wallet to my front pocket, which my massage therapist had been nagging at me to do for years.

I opened the door more carefully this time and limped out into the parking lot. My rental—­a little red Civic—­was the only car left in the parking lot, except for a rusted junker with no tires that was the perennial sentry of its farthest corner.

I bipped the doors open with my fob, checked the back seat, then slid inside. I checked my reflection in the rearview mirror and winced, which pulled at my bruises and set blood oozing from my lip and cheekbone again, which made me wince harder. I was already halfway to Quasimodo and I tried to remember if there was a 7-­Eleven on the route home where I could buy a couple of bags of frozen peas for the swelling.

I reset the mirror and backed out of my spot. The pain was increasing. They’d have Advil at the 7-­Eleven, and I’d remembered where there was one on the way back to my Airbnb.

As I waited for a red light at Eagle Rock and Colorado Boulevard, I watched as a homeless man labored across the road with his shopping cart. I was still watching him when I realized the light had been green for some time and had just toggled yellow. I made the turn and headed up Colorado, but I was barely a hundred yards down the road when I heard a siren blat and saw the police lights. I checked my mirrors and saw the LASD cruiser directly behind me, racing right up to my bumper, slowing only at the very last moment. The cruiser’s high beams blinked insistently and the siren whooped.

I pulled over.

I waited while the officer slowly got out of his car and walked to my driver’s-­side window. I kept my hands at ten and two. The officer tapped my window and made a roll-­down motion, so I hit the button, moving slowly, putting my hand back.

I got a light in my face, squinting and thus reopening my cheekbone and lip.

“Everything all right, sir?”

“Yes,” I said, feeling the blood ooze down my chin. “I was beaten up,” I said, stating the obvious.

“That is unfortunate,” the officer said. “License and registration.”

I got my driver’s license out of my wallet and found the rental papers in the glove box and handed them over. He crunched back to his cruiser and I watched him in the side mirror. He’d left his cruiser’s headlights on and in the glare it was hard to tell, but it looked like there was another cop in the car whom he was conferring with. After a long delay, he came back.

“Step out of the car, please.”

I did. He turned me around and had me plant my hands on the hood, kicked my feet apart, and roughly frisked me, getting his hand inside the rent in the seat of my pants and patting my boxer shorts and giving my balls a hard squeeze.

“Sir, do you know why I stopped you?”

“I don’t,” I said.

“You proceeded unsafely through a traffic signal. Have you been drinking, sir?”

“I haven’t.”

“Have you consumed any cannabis or other drugs?”

“I haven’t.”

He turned me around and shone his light in my eyes. “If I search your car, am I gonna find any drugs?”

“No, sir.”

“Because I am gonna search that car and if I do find drugs and you’ve been lying to me, this is gonna be a lot worse than it needs to be.”

I didn’t dignify that with a response. My head hurt. My face hurt. My back hurt. This was a bullshit stop.

I expected the deputy’s partner to get out of the cruiser while my tormentor tossed the rental car, but he stayed put. I did, too. Obviously. I wasn’t going to take off on foot. I’m a forensic accountant, not a gang kid getting fifteen minutes of fame on Cops.

He spent long enough on the rental that I started to worry. Who knew what some previous driver might have shoved between the seats? But after pulling out the floor mats and tossing them onto the grassy verge beside the car, he finally stood up.

“All right, sir. I’m going to go and get a breathalyzer test. You can refuse it and I will then suspend your license for twenty-­ four hours. I will arrest you for a suspected DUI and bring you in for a blood test. If you fail that test, you will be subject to additional criminal penalties. Do you understand me?”

He had old coffee on his breath. My face hurt. “I’ll take a test.”

Back to the cruiser. It had been half an hour at least. Once the breathalyzer was done—­fifteen minutes, if memory served—­I could go to the 7-­Eleven for painkillers and frozen peas. I decided I’d add a six-­pack, I was so tired. My face hurt. I knew that mouthing off to this cop wouldn’t make things go faster, quite the opposite, but as he took his leisurely time coming back to me, I was hard-­pressed not to.

I blew. “May I sit down?” I asked. “My face hurts.”

He didn’t bother to look up from his phone. “Stay where you are, sir.”

I stood. My face hurt. Time crawled. Finally, the breathalyzer beeped. He held it up and squinted at it, then used his phone to light up its face.

When he did, his sleeve rode up and revealed the “998” tattoo on his forearm. Suddenly, I didn’t care so much about the pain in my face.

The cop looked at me. He was an older guy, but quite a silver fox, in a Clooneyoid sort of way. Had the same smile lines at the corners of his lips and eyes. But on him, they looked mean. Dangerous. A man who would smile at you while he beat your face in.

“All right, sir,” he said. “I’m going to write you a citation for reckless driving and you will be free to go.” He smiled. “Thank you for your cooperation.” It sounded like “fuck you.”

Back to the cruiser again. When he was done writing, he switched off his headlights, and the bubble light inside the car lit up his partner. Heavyset. Smiling. Excellent teeth. He gave me the same look as he had just before kicking me in the ribs. I gasped involuntarily and my ribs burned. His smile got bigger.

The Clooneyoid deputy returned with my ticket. I looked at it and then I realized he’d said “reckless driving”—­not “dangerous driving.” This was a summons, not a citation. For a misdemeanor. Two points off my license and I’d have to go to court. Depending on the judge, I could be in for fines or even a jail sentence.

Clooneyoid saw me figuring this out and he smiled, too. Everyone was having a great time tonight except for poor old Marty Hench.

“See you in court, sir,” he said.

I exercised extreme care on the drive to the 7-­Eleven, even backing out of my parking spot and reparking so that I was perfectly centered between the white lines. The clerk didn’t bat an eye at my hamburger face. I gave myself five minutes to bury my bruises in the frozen peas before I backed out and drove the rest of the way to my Airbnb.

I drove five under the limit the whole way, and when I got out of my rental, I looked long and hard up and down the street for an LA Sheriff’s Department cruiser.

ETA: Here's part six!

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/02/22/self-censorship/#acab

[cinematicnomad]

what is the Terror about? is it inspired by true life events? it feels like it is but my brain only brings up unrelated soldier things i sort of learned through the magnus archives (that is 99% due to the fact that i have studied ancient-medieval history and the last time i looked something modern history up it was bc tma mentioned it😭) anyway. it looks...good? is it good?

the terror IS based on real life, but it is definitely a fictionalized take on this piece of history. this is specifically an adaptation of a work of historical fiction by the same name.

there was an expedition in the 1840s where the british were trying to find the northwest passage...aka a potential trade route from britan to asia through the canadian arctic. the real expedition did include two ships, the hms erebus and hms terror, that were manned with 130 men of which none ever returned. evidence tells us they were trapped by ice for more than a year, that at least two dozen men died during that time, and that the men eventually abandoned the ships to try and walk to rescue only to disappear and, presumably, perish on that journey as well. what evidence remains points to a lot of different causes of death (scurvy, lead poisoning, starvation, exposure to the elements, and more....but also some signs of cannibalism).

the show follows all of those facts, and the characters are all made up of the real men who worked on those ships (jared harris plays captain francis crozier who was second-in-command, and tobias menzies plays erebus's second, commander james fitzjames). the fictional element comes into play through the addition of a massive, mystical creature that is terrorizing the ships and the men.

i am VERY obsessed with the show if you can't tell from my daily gifsets, and if you like TMA i think you'll get a kick out of this show. it's definitely a horror show but the relationships between the characters are SO good. i binged the whole first season in a single night (there IS a second season but the show is an anthology series so it's not related to the franklin expedition and i have never watched it). i highly recommend it to anyone who is even vaguely intrigued by the gifsets i've been posting. if you're in the states, the show is available on hulu!

[badmusejail]

Since he made his first appearance on his blog, let's talk about WD

(WD is specifically Gaster's sci-fi/space variant.)

WD does share a few traits with classic Gaster, but a lot of things have been adjusted in accordance with the AU.

First of all, this is not a Spacetale or whatever you want to call it where monsters were exiled to space instead of the mountain. This is a simple space AU.

Monsters and Humans still exist and still quarrel and fight; almost certainly with wars over the years but nothing so extreme as in Undertale.

There's also a third classification which is simply "Alien," referring to non-human, physical creatures. (As opposed to Monsters, which are still non-human magical creatures.)

Again, the exact relationships between these are complicated and probably worthy of a few books and outside the scope of this post.

WD can speak normally as opposed to his classic version; in this AU, wingdings is a reference to exactly what it is in real life: an esoteric font used to print symbols. Its not exactly a strange name; the time and era results in a lot of abnormal names, many people picking from a large variety in order to try to be more unique.

WD's past starts just the same as it normally does; a person who just wants to help improve society, and working on technology under King Asgore was the best way to do it.

At this point, his name was simply Wingdings Gaster, Doctor if you want to be polite, as he has no shortage of credentials to his name.

His specialty was engines and warp drives; making ships as efficient and powerful as possible. His CORE technology is still commonplace in a variety of ships across the universe.

Warp drives were his biggest interest, however; the technology existed prior to him but had a lot of potential for improvement and he felt the benefits would be monumental.

And for years, everything was fine. He gained a reputation as one of the Federation's brightest, pushing warp technology beyond what was thought possible.

Until one day he vanished.

It was a routine experiment--practiced and safe, even with a backup drive should the new one prove unstable. Gaster and four of his co-workers departed on a newly built ship.

The experiment shouldn't have taken long; they were expected to return in about ten minutes.

They never did.

The strange occurrence resulted in no shortage of theories about what happened, but the accepted outcome was that there was simply an unrecoverable error and the crew perished on the trip. As much as attempts are made to minimize such chances, it was always a possibility.

Most days, Gaster himself doesn't remember what happened. He remembers waking up, face down on the cold floor of the ship, laying in a sticky, black substance, emergency alarms blaring. The other crew members were gone and the ship was severely compromised.

Something was wrong and there was no evidence what.

In his terror, he never returned to the place he called home.

That was a long time ago. How long depends on the flexibility of my partner, but typically several hundred years ago; which as per canon isn't abnormal for monsters.

After the ACCIDENT as its simply called, he changed. Both physically and mentally, and while he still holds the name Gaster, he rarely if ever uses the name Wingdings, instead shortening it to the initials WD which would become known intergalactically.

This Gaster is larger than his past self; standing at just over six foot five, and though he's still, well, bony, he's noticeably thicker than before.

His mental state is tricker to pin down. He's still compassionate, caring, and loving; and his primary interest is helping people, but unlike other versions of himself, he has absolutely no qualms wiping out dozens of people at a time if he deems it necessary. He's fair and just, but has absolutely no sympathy for those that willfully attempt to deceive, cheat, or steal from him, and rarely offers second chances. He clearly sets the terms of his agreements and expects them to be followed, lest consequences strike true.

What happened? What caused these changes?

Truthfully, these are questions that WD himself refuses to dwell on, answers that he doesn't want to have. But, sometimes, in the corner of his mind, he remembers that day; being struck down without mercy, pinned to the wall of the quivering ship and screaming in agony as something forced itself into his SOUL. Sometimes he wonders if he's really the scientist known as Gaster, or if he's the parasite wearing his shell.

While standard Gaster is a person that was pushed to the eldritch and is trying desperately to be normal again, WD is instead a person that has fully embraced the eldritch and has no problems using the power that comes with it.

He's uncertain of the exact reason he never returned to the Federation. Maybe its because he knew he was different now and knew they would react poorly. Maybe its because he was aware of the corruption and didn't want to contribute to it anymore. Maybe something new was growing in him, a thirst for chaos, a hunger for danger.

Whatever it was, his empire started humble as most do. After all, he was just one person, even if he did have vast powers to simply create things and destroy them just as easily.

He reached out to the isolated planets; the far off places, the backwater worlds that had been deemed unworthy by the Federation, left to fend for themselves. He came to these worlds, he offered them technology beyond their wildest dreams; he offered them opportunities, a chance to be equal to the giants in the universe.

And for what?

A single condition: If I need your help, you will come.

Of course, some places were too skeptical, too cautious, too xenophobic to accept his offer. That was fine; there were hundreds, thousands more. There were those that greedily accepted his offer, those that thanked him with tears in their eyes. There were those that saw him as a god.

He wasn't trying to be a god.

He was just trying to be a decent person.

His faith and optimism was too high. It didn't take long before people attempted to take advantage of his gifts; now, people using his technology to defend themselves was understandable and even intended, but he did not condone people starting wars with his machinery.

It wasn't a problem, though--with a tsk and a snap of his fingers, each of those ships they sought to abuse exploded without a single warning.

He added another condition to his deals: Do not start conflict with my tools.

What started as a one-man operation slowly grew; becoming a haven for all sorts of individuals that were on the run or looking to start a new leaf.

WD started as a callsign to identify himself outside official transmissions, but over the years, it became associated more with the entire enterprise.

Most, if not all, of his parts and equipment are serialized somewhere in the format of WD-XXXXX, clearly designating equipment that came from his business.

WD is traditionally known as a criminal arms dealer--but in his eyes, its a vast oversimplification of the situation. For one, to be criminal, you have to be under some sort of legal system, and he is his own legal system. He prefers the designation of independent supplier. The fact that his business goes against the Federation's regulations is beyond his concern as he's not part of the Federation. That being said doing business with him is illegal in all Federation aligned organizations and planets. He doesn't care and will still do business with these individuals--with a disclaimer that under their jurisdiction, they're breaking the law.

As the enterprise grew and the amount of clients grew with it, it became necessary to adopt a more formal structure, hiring mechanics and assistants to process, analyze, build, and ship the orders they receive.

As such, the vast majority of orders never personally come into contact with Gaster himself--either mass-produced or handled by the assistants for more custom work.

The orders that Gaster himself takes up tend to be odd or technologically demanding; very specific tech meant for a very specific job and highly specialized for the specific contract in mind. The nature of the work results in a lot of negotiation and close contact with the client--a situation that has lead to some unfortunate "accidents."

Projects that Gaster himself takes on usually have the following mark on them:

Colloquially, these projects are referred to as ODs or "omega-diamonds" or, for the ones who want to be cheeky, OGs for Original Gasters.

Somewhere along the line, he created Sans and Papyrus; as children or assistants; maybe a bit of both--whichever it is, he does love them both very much, even if Sans has gotten a bit skeptical of what Gaster really is and Papyrus decided to join the Federation.

(Gaster and Papyrus still love each other very much and are still on the same 'side,' Papyrus was simply attracted to the idea of the Federation; unbothered by the fact his father is one of their wanted criminals. Funnily enough, Papyrus has explicitly stated on numerous occasions that WD is his father--people just don't listen. Undyne usually just tells him to knock it off.)

It's definitely not the life Gaster would have imagined having some years ago, but he can't say he's not satisfied. He works on fascinating projects, meets interesting people, and in his own way, helps the world.

(As for the encroaching darkness inside of him...well, he'll worry about that another day.)

Links

WD's Federation File Dr. Gaster's Portrait About the Voidling Narrative Territories / Associated Locations Appearance

[charlesdesvoeux]

terror rewatch time!!! i'll be using this post to comment on ep. 10 "we are gone" block the tag terrorwatch2 if you'd like :-)

"you and I once shared a drink, on a wednesday" goddddd. you are so obsessed.

crozier was thrust into leadership at what was at the time their absolute lowest moment and little eventually was also thrust into leadership at what was at the time their absolute lowest moment.

and like. what little says makes absolute sense. none of them have ever been in the arctic and none of them speak netsilik. crozier is indeed their best chance. also the breakdown of all hierarchy!!! "there has been a vote, edward". that's so cool. i mean honestly they were fucked either way. i don't think retrieving crozier at that point would have changed their fate. and I suppose on some level they knew it too. so why bother coming into conflict with hickey's camp?

le vesconte still tries to keep a semblance of rank by saying "no, I mean, you're totally in command of this camp- buuuut" when that is absolutely not true. the fact that it is a fellow lieutenant who makes this empty nod towards hierarchy is telling.

and crozier then saying "I know lieutenant little's nature, he'll be here with a dozen armed men"....... and like that is true. by his nature he would but. you know. outvoted!!!!! and to be clear I absolutely don't blame the guys who staged the coup against him. obviously leaving the ill behind is a shitty thing but I understand it; "well these guys are practically dead but we- WE still have a chance to live" except of course they don't. and then one day one of those guys who voted to leave will become one of the sick and then HE will be the one left behind until there's a lone man fruitlessly marching south and then. there will be none.

it's been so long. there have been so many deaths. goodsir can't even remember david young's name.

jopson's death scene :-((((

hickey actually has a pretty good read on crozier TO SOME EXTENT however he is just. soooo blinded by his own narcissism it becomes his undoing. "then why have me brought here at all?" because of his obsessive need to be seen!!!!

"i didn't have anywhere near an equal in this expedition except for you" babygirl there is something soooo wrong with you

"you must be a surpassingly lonely man, Mr. Hickey" even after everything. after all he's done. crozier still manages to muster some compassion for the man who ruined him.

"private armitage"

if he couldn't- and under the normal naval hierarchy he indeed could never- rise up to crozier's level, then he would bring him down to his

hickey just. knocking out tozer in cold blood. tommy reaching towards him.

oh my goddddd the jcr + barrow jr scene..... "then you're sure to find it" the way this immediately rings an alarm in jcr's head. horror dawning on his face as he realizes barrow jr. is NOT referring to the men he's referring to the passage.

HODGE JUST BUSTING OUT THE FRENCH OH I LOVE THIS MAN.

"you think you're going back?" GODDDDD

"you could've just joined up" ICONIIIIIIC

the way some of the men ACTUALLY JOIN HIM IN SINGING WHAT.

robert golding desperately crying out "captain!". hickey's look of disbelief and betrayal as tuunbaq rejects his offering.

GET FUCKED DES VOEUX AHSHSJSHSHS

the look on silna's face as she sees goodsir's body.

the scene where he's just reciting the names of the crew.....

"close". but it was nothing. it was worse than nothing.

just. francis. his best friend right there, he hears his voice- but his back is turned. as another person has said here- eurydice refusing to be saved.

he was right in a way- aglooka may live, but francis crozier is dead. dead and gone.

oooooh I hadn't realized before that the song in the end credits is a distorted version of the silver swan. that's a nice touch.

[all-my-writings-and-musings]

I have been under the weather, and only writing some incredibly self indulgent fluff has helped. Hopefully it makes you feel a little better too!

If you like this, you can request a snippet in my inbox!

Cute snippet of Macaque being soft with baby monkeys post season 3, with the faintest hint of ShadowPeach if you squint.

Macaque took a deep breath under the shade of a particularly lush tree, picking up the bouquet of a million different breeds of flowers and fruits mixing together in the late spring air as he folded his arms behind his head. It was impossible not to relax in the dappled light, especially as a trove of ripe mangoes danced on the branches overhead. With a small waterfall cascading into the pool at his side, it was almost impossible just to keep himself from drifting off. The naps on Flower Fruit Mountain were like no other…

Yet he knew he wasn't alone, not that he was too worried about the company. They weren't nearly as sneaky as they thought they were.

Halfway tempted to jump into the bushes and surprise his crowd of onlookers, he settled for calling out in their direction, not bothering to move now that he'd gotten comfortable. "I know you're watching me, you little ankle biters…" 

The dozen or so young monkeys that had been watching him cried out in a panic, tripping over themselves to hide as Macaque frowned from a most unexpected burst of guilt at having frightened them. Sighing, he sat up and looked at the wide eyes staring at him through the leaves. They were shaking in obvious terror, twisting his heart further and making him want to apologize for the scare. 

"Come on out, I know what you're here for." he offered, pointing to the fruit overhead that had obviously been their initial target. Though he'd chosen this spot to have some for himself, he was more than capable of sharing. These monkeys lived here anyway, it would have been rude to keep it all to himself. When they hesitated, he focused his energy and knocked an elbow into the trunk with expert aim, sending the ripest fruits tumbling down from the branches above. Catching one, he held it out as a peace offering.

"I won't stop you from getting a snack."

Eyes wide with fear filled with awe at the trick, and he couldn't keep from smiling as the young simians hurried out from the bushes to grab as much as they could carry, hollering in delight at the bounty he'd just offered up. An especially brave little one came right up to him, accepting the fruit he held out with tiny hands and taking an enormous bite for his size. He could see why Wukong liked hanging out with these guys after so much time, they never lost their sense of wonder…

"You gonna tell your king I'm here, huh?" he playfully asked the little monkey nomming the mango he'd gifted, looking past them to eye the top of the mountain where the Shame Temple sat. If his presence was already known, the Monkey King was indeed holding up his end of the bargain; allowing Macaque to visit whenever he liked, so long as he didn't cause trouble. Having a hard time believing that, he had to figure that Wukong just wasn't aware he was here… yet. Looking back at the admittedly adorable monkey dribbling juice down his white fur, he tried not to smile at the cuteness. "I bet once you've finished up your lunch, you'll head on back to let him know-"

To his great surprise, the baby monkey crawled into his lap without being invited, still munching away as he curled up with the fruit in his tiny hands. Caught quite off guard, Macaque was only frozen for a second before the act melted what remained of his pretend apathy to their cuteness. Settling his back against the tree trunk, he smiled softly. The monkey's velvet soft head moved into his palm as he offered a few gentle pets.

"Ah… I missed you guys too."

[offender42085]

Post 0316

“If you had a modicum of intelligence, you should know that what you did, repeatedly, was despicable,”  -- Judge

Thomas Traficante, Federal Inmate 90578-053, born 1996, incarceration intake in 2019 at age 23, discharged from prison 05/17/2021

Cyber-Stalking, Distribution of a Controlled Substance

A college student was jailed to a sentence of four years for terrorizing his ex-girlfriend by posting her information on prostitution sites and mailing drugs to her university address after they broke up

Thomas Traficante, 23, from Long Island, New York, pleaded guilty to cyberstalking and possession of illegal drugs as part of a two-month harassment campaign.

US District Judge David Larimer said Traficante's actions were 'despicable.' If you had a modicum of intelligence, you should know that what you did, repeatedly, was despicable,' Larimer said.  

On three occasions Traficante sent drugs, including cocaine and methamphetamines, to the young woman's address at the State University College at Geneseo.  He then called police about the drugs in order to set her up.

She also showed officers texts from Traficante in which he threatened to share her personal information on a prostitution site if 'she did something he strongly disagreed with.’

Traficante then posted her phone number on backpage.com under a category known for prostitution solicitation.  She told authorities that she received more than 60 calls from men in the area asking for sex as a result.

The victim also said her former boyfriend hacked into her Amazon account and sent her a book titled I'm Watching You. He also hacked into her email, cellphone and social media accounts. The woman also claimed Traficante gained access to her school account and took quizzes under her name, and failed on purpose.

In the plea, Traficante also admitted to sending the victim a screen shot of her location and asking 'where she was'.

Traficante was arrested for allegedly terrorizing his ex-girlfriend and about a dozen of her Sigma Kappa sisters.

He also admitted to sending 'numerous threatening text messages to the victim and her classmates and her housemates.

Traficante sent the first threatening text message to his ex-girlfriend and her Sigma Kappa sorority sisters saying 'its [sic] not safe out there tonight kappas [sic]'.

Another message read: 'There are various people among different orgs who have hurt me. My plan is to hurt them.'

About a dozen Sigma Kappa sisters at the university told authorities they received the message.

The sisters said they ended up changing their plans for that evening and postponed their event after they received the text. Authorities said at the time that Traficante sent another text about 24 hours later.

‘Glad [sic] you all mostly took my advice last night, but moving it forward one night doesn't make kappas [sic] or their dates any safer. I mean no harm, im [sic] not the threat, but harm is coming,' the message read.

At one point, Traficante reportedly used a device to alter his voice, telling the woman's roommates 'I'm in the house.' The woman changed her cellphone number, but Traficante was able to find the new one and threaten her further, prosecutors said.

Traficante's ex claimed the man gained access to her school account and took quizzes under her name, and failed on purpose

Traficante and his girlfriend had broken up shortly before the harassment started. Officials said Traficante, who did not attend SUNY Geneseo, did most of the harassment from downstate.

University police checked on the telephone number that had a 585 Rochester-region area code, but found that it was generated by an online service and not linked to a mobile phone.

Traficante's lawyer, said they planned to appeal the conviction and the sentence.

2y

[mooniefics]

— a life in your shape

pairing : jean kirschtein / reader

word count : 2.5k

tags : unrequited love, pining, near death experience, confession of love, hurt no comfort lol

warnings : canon-typical violence, descriptions of injury to the reader

summary : you've always wanted it, always pictured it, always ached for it. you loved when jean looked you way. all you'd ever wanted was a life with him, not just a life in his shape.

— originally posted 1 / 22 / 21 on ao3 —

the mess hall was buzzing with life, rowdy with the chatter of dozens of cadets seated at long tables and speaking through swallows of their food. glasses were lifted and set down, bowls and plates clinking, utensils scraping sharply over various surfaces, nearly so loud that you could barely hear yourself think. but it all seemed to come to an abrupt silence when you settled your eyes back on him, taking in his formerly pale complexion now bronzy and sun-kissed from your hours of training, the annoyed yet playful glances he shot to connie and sasha as he worked through his soup and bread, full lips forming words that you couldn’t quite focus.

you were almost embarrassed of how smitten you were with jean, but in your mind, you couldn't understand how anyone wouldn't be taken with him. his thin frame had filled out with lean muscle in the year and a half that you'd been training together in the 104th corp, somehow managing to grow even taller than he already was on that first day, still so spirited with his persistence to be among the best of this class, a lively spark that never seemed to dampen gleaming behind his eyes.

"oh god, this again, jean?" you heard connie bemoan exaggeratedly, pulling you from the trance that you were surprised the other three at the table hadn't taken notice of.

jean was almost pouting now, and you would've found it so endearing had it not been the next words to spill from his mouth, indignant and full of tenacity. "don't be an ass, i've been trying to figure out a good excuse to sit with her for days now."

you followed his gaze despite knowing exactly who you'd find his eyes locked on, and forced yourself not to frown when you were met with the sight of mikasa just a few tables away.

"she's out of your league, man. not to mention having a thing for jaeger already, and not to mention that jaeger wouldn't hesitate to hand your ass to you again if you pissed him off like you always do. cut it out."

"connie, that's mean!" sasha feigned offense on jean's behalf, most likely for the sake of goading the reply that came as a distraction to snatch the remainder of bread from his plate.

"i'm just being honest with him here. he's asking for advice, so i gave him some. jean always talks about being realist and yet he— hey is that my food?!"

you turned away just as connie was lunging himself across the table, hearing the sounds of his fruitless efforts to tear the loaf from the girl's mouth, propping yourself up on your elbows and allowing your head to fall into your hands with a heavy sigh.

"what do you think?" in an instant, jean's eyes were on you, amber irises looking so intently at you that you could already feel a bothersome heat flushing your face. but registering his question sobered you, and stealing a glance at the beautiful dark-haired girl seated somewhere to your left was all in took to snuff out the light flutter in your chest.

"i don't know, jean. i think connie's kind of right about the whole eren thing." you were honest with him on a surface level, but it still didn't feel good to see him frown when you told him something he obviously didn't want to hear. you tried to remedy it by offering something more introspective—something a bit more true to your heart. "what i mean is that.. i think you're selling yourself short. mikasa obviously has her sights set elsewhere at the moment, and i just think you deserve someone who can bring the same sort of.." you struggled with your words for a moment, how could you not when he was leaning forward like that, listening so intently to you and you alone. "the same sort of passion. someone who can reciprocate." someone like me. but you bit those foolish words back.

"you understand, don't you?" he implored, looking past the bickering mess that sasha and connie had devolved to and gazing with such longing in the other girl's direction, "i mean.. i've never seen anyone like her, no one as beautiful.." each word gouged at your heart, a cold, empty sensation that left your chest feeling painfully hollow. "i know you're a girl, but you can see it too, right?"

you could see it, you were painfully aware of how you could never match up to her unfamiliar yet alluring features, that graceful, slender frame that could somehow soar through the air with ease and still thrown you down onto your back so hard it would knock the wind out of you, introversion that gave off such a charming air of mystery to her admirers.

"yeah," you mumbled back, ignoring how a huffing connie fell heavily back into his seat beside jean, defeated, sasha happily gulping down her unfairly earned chunk of bread, only taking notice of how jean was too fixated on mikasa to pay your dismay any mind, "i see it alright."

─── · 。ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

the air was thick with an unrelenting heat, stinking of steam and coppery with fresh blood, your vision fading in and out. your head was ringing with a deafening, high pitched peal and such an unbearable, crippling pain. you could feel your boots dragging across the hot dry dirt as something tugged you back by the collar of your shirt, and the terror of a titan with its misshaped limbs and mouth hauling you to your demise made you thrash aimlessly, screams for help spilling out as a disjointed groan of pain. and though it almost sounded as if you were underwater, sinking further and further beneath the lapping waves of your impending unconscious, you heard it, muffled, desperate, thick with tears, your name spilling from his lips.

and suddenly you remembered, you remembered the kidnapping and the unfaithful comrades and the mission to save humanity's last hope, your former friend now an almost unrecognizable abomination with ymir, bertholdt, and eren sitting atop his shoulders, clasped in his monstrous hands, that had now resorted to flinging titans in his primal desperation for escape. and as you blinked away the spots blacking out your vision, head lolling uselessly to the side, you could see your horse, half crushed in a puddle of red on the yellow grass, and realized that the warmth streaming down the side of your face is your own blood.

"jean..?" you mumbled, uselessly, barely coherent, but the near sob of relief from behind you is like an anchor back to reality.

you could see his calves on either side of you, feet kicking up clouds of dust as he pushed you both back, further from the fray and carnage, as far as he could muster. one of your blade scabbards was missing, you could feel that the clip on your gas tank had snapped off in your spectacular fall caused by the titan that was flung down in your path, irreparable damage most likely made to the fine mechanisms within the housing of your gear. you felt utterly hopeless, watching as the shade of a tree just barely shielded you from the blazing light of the sinking sun, hearing jean's gasping pants from behind you, feeling how rapidly his chest was rising and falling against the back of your head as you slumped into his body, leaden limbs weighing you down uselessly.

"jean." you wheezed, trying desperately to crane your heavy head back to meet his eyes one last time, eyes that no longer harbored the naive passion of youth but still gleamed so radiantly, "leave me.. here. you're g'nna— gonna die.. if you stay..."

you could feel his violent trembles now, feel him rip his green cloak from his shoulder to press against the throbbing wound on your head. "no. i-i'm staying. i n-n-need," he was scared, you knew he was terrified of allowing what happened to marco to happen to you, or sasha, or connie, or anybody, even if the boy's death was nowhere near his fault, "i need to s-save you."

but you could also feel something else—feel it coming—the terrible, earth trembling footfalls of a titan making a shambling, uncoordinated advance to you and the scent of your blood. and suddenly jean was screaming, a sound so raw and petrified that you couldn't help but cry yourself at the sound of it. he laid you down on the ground, bunched cloak pillowing your bleeding skull, unable to push himself to his feet but still drawing his last blade to swing at the thing coming to kill you both, covering your battered body with his own.

and in that moment, you hated yourself. though your head was swimming and your lucidity was waning, you knew that you would both die there, under the baking sun and in the jaws of a titan, and it would be your fault. every regret that you'd ever harbored flooded your mind: not hugging your mother long enough when you still had the chance, not drinking that liquor when squad leader hange had offered it to you, and, most of all, never having the bravery to be honest with jean.

and you mourned all that lost time in those final moments, every late night you'd spent as trainees under the stars when you and your friends would sneak out of the dormitories to talk at some ungodly hour, every shared meal where you didn't speak nearly enough to him, every second of the crushing embraces you'd offered each other when the thought of your fallen friends caught up to you and proved to be far too much to handle on your own. how could you have done so much yet so little with your life?

and just as the titan was stumbling upon you, jean's scream of terror dampening out into a faithless cry, the thing was gone, galloping away to join a newly assembled horde descending upon one single point on the plain. but somehow, you felt no relief, not as you reached out a weak, trembled hand to grasp the blood and dirt streaked fabric of his shirt.

and as he turned to you, eyes still wide and body shaking with horror, thrumming with the adrenaline of near-death, you whispered, hoarse and tired as your grasp on the world slipped away. "i love you, jean. i love you."

your eyes fell shut, the involuntary spiral down further and further into the deep waters of unconsciousness pulling you in deeper and deeper by the second. you were grateful that you at least got to say something meaningful as your last words.

─── · 。ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

there was a bright light, delicate, billowing fabric flouncing about in your bleary gaze as your eyes barely opened, something wrapped tight around your head, not making the pressure of the pounding headache any better. you couldn't fight the groan that even the small movement of turning onto your back caused, but you tried to force your lids open just an inch more at the sound of a gasp coming from somewhere in the room.

there were fast footsteps, a few shouts of "sasha, no!" and then a crushing weight on your chest, squeezing around you, pulling you up in bed as a tearful sob of your name came from a comfortingly familiar voice.

"sasha. please. h-hurts." you barely managed to croak out, feeling yourself been torn free—or rather, her  torn away—as connie yelled.

"get off them, you moron, they're fucking injured!!"

"i'm s-s-sorry!" she wailed, allowing herself to be dragged to the door by the disgruntled boy, "i'm j-just so happy you're s-s-still alive!!!"

"and i am too, but that doesn't mean i'm gonna go throw myself on top of them while they're in the hospital!"

their bickering was almost comforting in a way, allowing the strain in your chest from sasha's hug to ease as you watched them elbow each other in the sides on their way out of the room to take their loudness out into the hall, blowing raspberries and struggling to not laugh through their feigned anger. and finally your gaze was allowed to wander over to the furthest wall from your bed, and you saw jean, staring down at his shoes, brow furrowed and lip bitten. and he seemed almost startled to find yourself in his gaze, feet slowly taking him to your side.

"i owe you my life, you know?" you said as he settled himself on the edge of the mattress, still not meeting your gaze.

"you don't owe me anything. you shouldn't feel in debt to me."

"but i do," you risked to settle your hand over his, finally drawing his worried, amber eyes onto yours, and you could feel your heart beginning to pick up, the butterflies that you had always forced to settle with a pessimistic thought to squash your optimism light in your chest, "i meant what i said before i passed out in the field. i always have."

and for just a moment, you thought that this was finally it, that you would no longer have to languish over wasted time and wasted words, fingers just barely curling around his warm palm. then, a knock at the door, light and delicate before the handle turned, pushing open to reveal mikasa.

and you caught every small movement of jean's features, the way his eyes sparked with a familiar light, the sudden, faint flush of color across his slender face, lips parting and just barely perking up at the ends. an endless, unwavering adoration.

"eren is awake, if you'd like to talk to him." that was all she had peeked in to say, but jean was still gazing at the door for a moment too long after she'd left.

"u-um.. if you don't mind—"

"go ahead." you told him, gently, pulling your hand away, retreating as far as your body could into the mattress, under the covers, turning your gaze away.

and though he'd slowly, almost nervously exited your room, you could hear the clear pick-up in his pace as soon as he'd shut the door behind him and exited into the hall, probably rushing to try and catch mikasa for a moment alone in the hallway before he had to share her attention with everyone else.

and it hurt, like a blade buried between your ribs, being jerked and twisted with every memory of his affinity, the one that was never directed at you despite how you craved it. and you'd realized that you had melded a life in his shape, a life where you were always just a few steps too far behind, hand outstretched, reaching for him as you hurried to grasp at any minuscule opportunity to be with him, speak to him, hear his laugh and see his near blinding smiles that never seemed to last long enough to you.

but, perhaps one day, someday farther into the future. and if not then, maybe in another life.

[maxwell-grant]

Any thoughts on Darkman, the Liam Neeson movie? I heard it was originally going to be a Shadow movie.

I love Darkman very much, but I've realized recently that this love comes with some pretty bittersweet feelings at the story behind it.

Michael Uslan: I was going to produce a Shadow feature film with Sam Raimi, but Sam got consumed by back-to-back movies and we ran out of time. We were headed in a good, period piece direction and managed to do so without relying on yet another bout with Shiwan Khan. I later had another major director passionate to do The Shadow, but a person at the company wanted to do a modern day TV series instead, which ultimately did not go... - comment saved from a post in The Shadow Knows Facebook group

For those of you who only now got into The Shadow or don't remember, for much of the early 00s, when The Shadow basically had no current projects and Conde Nast was taking down webpages and fan content left and right, the only things that kept this "fandom" alive were occasional fanfics (many of which are gone now), and the dim light in the horizon that was the rumors that Sam Raimi was finally going to make his Shadow film. Dig back on The Wayback Machine for Shadow web page and you're gonna see this as consistently the only thing they had to look forward to in regards to the character. These rumors floated around for over a decade, at one point Tarantino was even supposed to direct it, but he confirmed in 2013 that it wasn't going to happen. At least, not with him at the helm.

The project has been dead for a while now, and Conde Nast seems to be shuffling around plans for the character, and I deleted my Facebook months ago so I haven't kept up with any news, although it seems the James Patterson novel wasn't received too well, so I'm not sure what other plans they have in the pipeline.

Back in the 1970s, after the release of Richard Donner's Superman and in line with The Shadow's pop culture resurgence, thanks to the paperback reprints and the 70s DC run, there were plans to make a Shadow feature film, and there were quite a handful of scripts being tossed around for the following years (Will Murray states most of them were horrible), several names attached to the project at one point or another. The plans died down a bit following Gibson's death and only really picked up again after the 90s, and of course we all know that the 1994 movie came out with spectacularly bad timing. From what I recall, it seems Sam Raimi wanted to make his Shadow film in the 80s, was unable to secure the rights, and then just made his own version, which would go on to be his first major motion picture.

Even after making Darkman, Sam Raimi still wanted to make The Shadow. I guess that's ultimately the bittersweet part for me. I imagine the current state of Shadow media would be significantly better if Sam Raimi, who was a fan of the character and the pulp version (and even knows of The Shadow's connection to Houdini and stage magic), got to make his Shadow film, years before Blood & Judgment, years before Burton's Batman made it impossible for a Shadow film not to be compared to it, in a time period where it wouldn't have had to compete with The Lion King and The Mask for box office. And second, I have been drawing up my plans for Shadow projects for, what, 5 years now? And I have just barely got my foot off the door as a filmmaker. Sam Raimi had a decade-long career as a cult filmmaker before he got turned down, and decades later, after becoming a household name in charge of Marvel's biggest icon, the project still fell through. It doesn't exactly get my hopes up, y'know.

I love Darkman, it's the best Shadow film that doesn't technically star the real Shadow, and it works pretty well on it's own regardless of that association, but I do get pretty sad looking at it from the outside, because I just can't help but think on what it could have been.

In some aspects I do think the film benefits from not being about The Shadow proper, because it means Raimi got the freedom to do whatever the hell he wanted. The character of Darkman already existed separately from Sam Raimi's plans for a Shadow film, already carrying off the Phantom / Universal Monster influence, and what Raimi did was basically combine the two ideas together.

He took the basic iconography of The Shadow, a terrifying urban crimefighter in coat and slouch hat, and add in other Shadow traits like his mastery of disguise, his disfigurement, and that wonderful scene where he's invisibly running circles around a panicky triggerman while laughing maniacally, a moment which definitely feels like Raimi taking a second to indulge himself to do what you can call The Classic Shadow Scene with a character he's, for the most part, succesfully convinced us (and Conde Nast's lawyers, most importantly) isn't supposed to be The Shadow.

But then he filters these through his own influences and style to make him a new character, so instead of a mysterious mastermind with lots of resources and a enigmatic background, instead he's a disfigured and psychotic scientist with a vengeance against those who made him that way. He's like Night Raven, in the sense that he's built off traits that The Shadow has, but develops them differently to the point he stands on his own as a character. It's The Shadow combined with The Phantom of the Opera, filtered through a 1930s Universal Horror lens, played for greater tragedy and a dash of Evil Dead 2 wackyness.

He hides away in trashed up ruins and bickers with a cat, he has fits of rage that make him endanger innocents, he has a doomed love affair, and sometimes he gets so batshit he gives us hilarious moments like "TAKE THE FUCKING ELEPHANT" and "SEE THE DANCING FREAK! PAY - FIVE - BUCKS! TO SEE THE DANCING FREAK!". Moments that really show why he was such a good fit for Spider-Man despite the liberties he took with the source material.

I think the big thing that helps to make Darkman works as a property in it's own right is also that, ultimately, these influences are ultimately at the forefront of it, and the core of it works on it's own. Darkman is a believable, engaging character in his own right, one who tells a story that would be more at odds with The Shadow proper. 

In some aspects, Darkman tries to be The Shadow, he is forced to become The Shadow by literally picking the clothes off a dumpster after he escapes the hospital, and it's a miserable, wretched existence, in a way rather befitting his status as a legally safe knock-off. He is a creature of nightmare who lost his face and takes on a dozen others to fight crime by turning terror against them, except he is still just a man in the end, and no man was ever supposed to live like this.

Raimi was also inspired by the Universal horror films of the 1930s and 1940s because "they made me fear the hideous nature of the hero and at the same time drew me to him. I went back to that idea of the man who is noble and turns into a monster".

He originally wrote a 30-page short story, titled "The Darkman", and then developed into a 40-page treatment. At this point, according to Raimi, "it became the story of a man who had lost his face and had to take on other faces, a man who battled criminals using this power"

A non-superpowered man who, here, is a hideous thing who fights crime. As he became that hideous thing, it became more like The Phantom of the Opera, the creature who wants the girl but who was too much of a beast to have her

I decided to explore a man's soul. In the beginning, a sympathetic, sincere man. In the middle, a vengeful man committing heinous acts against his enemies. And in the end, a man full of self-hatred for what he's become, who must drift off into the night, into a world apart from everyone he knows and all the things he loves.

For the role, Raimi was looking for someone who could suggest "a monster with the soul of a man"

It's the fact that Darkman is ultimately played for vulnerability and tragedy that really sets him apart. While I wouldn't go far enough to say The Shadow is a man with the soul of a monster, still, the difference in presentation is still there when it comes to these two. The Shadow is The Other, Darkman is You. Darkman is the victim of extraordinary circumstance that affects his life, The Shadow is the extraordinary circumstance that affects the lives of others. People react to The Shadow, Darkman reacts to people (and rather poorly).

One is the man who takes off his skin (or yours, staring back at you) to reveal the weird creature of the night ready to prowl and pounce and cackle at those who think they hold power over it's domain, and the other is the monster who falls apart bit by bit until you are left staring at the broken man within who has no choice but to be something he was never supposed to be.

The Shadow is The Master of Darkness. Darkman weaponizes the dark, but in the end, he's still just a man, lost within it. Not everyone can be The Shadow, and you would most likely turn into Darkman if you tried.