#Losing Sense of My Morality

[fanfics-and-love]

Losing Sense of My Morality

Ghostface!Sam Carpenter x fem!reader

Not my gif

Warning(s): canon typical violence, ghostface!Sam, mentions of death, mentions of blood, mentions of drugs, sexy Sam with a knife

Word count: 4.5K words

Summary: Sam had always known something was wrong with her. When she met you, she knew there's was nothing she wouldn't do to keep you safe, even if it meant truly becoming her father's daughter

masterlist | series masterlist

Sam wasn’t sure when the darkness began to take over, or if it had just been always present and she had never fully noticed, terrified of what acknowledging it would mean.

When she had first read her mother’s diary and had learned about Billy Loomis, she had almost sighed in relief, because it finally explained her erratic thoughts that would sometimes choke her. But it petrified her as well, because she wasn’t sure what was really stopping her from becoming his legacy, if there was really something holding her back or she was just a ticking bomb waiting to explode and take everyone she cared for with her.

She started reading articles about him, and his mother as well— her own grandmother. Every letter, word and phrase would sink her further into her fear.

At first she tried to drown it all with alcohol, petrified of snapping at her little sister or scaring her mother even more. However, it seemed to have the opposite reaction; she began to hallucinate him, in the clothes he wore when he betrayed his friends and made Woodsboro a place of nightmares in years to come. She would see him when she was blinded by anxiety or taken by fear. She sometimes wondered if he was really there, or if she had truly gone crazy.

And one day she couldn’t take it anymore, and packed her bags and left her house and family behind. She moved to a different town, found a job and thought she had finally everything back in control. She almost felt like a little kid who had tricked her way out of being grounded after breaking a vase.

Sam stopped drinking, and doing drugs, and found a nice balanced life that she told herself she enjoyed, even if she went to sleep every night looking at the photo of her sister smiling at the camera, showing off her missing front tooth.

Everything was okay, until she met you and she realized nothing had been okay.

You were a senior in high school, who had gone to the bowling alley to celebrate one of your friend’s eighteenth birthday, and she had taken a look at you and her heart had stopped beating for a moment. Her mouth had opened and closed a few times when you had approached her, asking for bowling shoes your size.

You were beautiful, to put simply. Sam had to lower her head a little to look into your eyes, but she found it adorable. She found everything about you adorable, and after a few weeks of talking on the phone, she asked you out on a date, and you said yes.

You began dating, and you couldn’t be happier. Sam was the perfect girlfriend; attentive, sweet, and loyal. She would sometimes pick you up from school and spend the entire day doing your favorite things when she knew you were feeling stressed out. She would also help you with your homework, and was exceptional in Math, which you were thankful for since you sucked at it.

You didn’t care that she was older than you, or that she was very reluctant to tell you much about her past; you loved her, and she loved you, and that was all that mattered.

Until she got a text message and began to freak out.

“What is it?” You asked when you saw her run off from the bowling alley. You had decided to spend the afternoon with her as she worked, since your parents were out of town and your friends didn’t have any plans for the day, choosing to stay in and study for finals. When you caught up to her, her face was completely white.

“My sister,” she whispered. “She— she’s hurt. In the hospital.”

“Shit,” you said, kneeling down beside her. She gave you a soft smile when you grabbed her face in your hands to look into her eyes. “Is it, like, serious? Is she okay?”

“I’m not sure,” she murmured, grabbing your waist and putting you into her lap. You allowed, knowing she was seeking out comfort.

“Are you going to check on her?” you asked after a moment. Sam put her face out of your neck and sighed.

“I’m not sure.”

“I think you should,” you said, moving a piece of hair out of her face. Her eyes were red.

“She kinda hates me,” Sam said. She wasn’t sure, of course; she hadn’t seen or talked with Tara in years, but if she was anything as she remembered her, she would probably scream at her and give her the cold shoulder. Especially if she told her the reason why she ran away.

“Better not give her a reason to hate you more,” you murmured, trying to make her feel better. She chuckled, but didn’t say anything for a while.

“I’m not sure I’d be welcomed.”

“You won’t know ‘til you try,” you said, smiling softly. “How about this— tomorrow is Friday, and I don’t have classes on Monday; I can go with you this weekend, and we can have a small vacation before I start with finals.”

“You can’t just leave, sweetheart,” Sam said, though she was wishing you would say otherwise. If she was going to face her sister, it would be better with you by her side. Everything was better when she had you close to her. 

“I can,” you said. “Listen. I understand if you don’t wanna go, or if you want to do it alone, but if you want me to accompany you, all you have to do is ask.”

“Don’t you think it’d be weird?” Sam asked. “You leaving town with your much older girlfriend right before graduation?”

You rolled your eyes. “You’re like, three years older,” you said, hating how often she used that argument. You sometimes suspected she used it to push you away from her, as if she was trying to punish herself for something. “And I’m turning twenty in a few months. Stop acting like it’s weird.”

You had been held back a year back in middle school after you spent the entire first and second semester sick. Your parents had thought it was the best idea, but you hated that decision since you were basically older than everyone else in your class, which made it hard to really connect with anyone.

“It kinda is,” she said, moving her head to the side. 

“Shut up,” you said, punching her shoulder. She laughed, kissing your forehead.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I want you to come with me. But I think I should tell you about why I even ran away in the first place.”

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to,” you said. Sam smiled; she loved how you never pushed her into doing anything she wasn’t comfortable with. 

“I kinda do,” she admitted. “Do you know Woodsboro?”

You thought for a moment. “I don’t think so. Should I?”

Sam looked a little taken aback. “The town with all those serial killers?”

“Oh, shit. Yeah,” you nodded. “Those wanky ass movies. Yeah. It’s close, right? Because I remember my mom freaked out about it when I was young. Almost had us moving out and everything. You lived there?”

“Yes,” Sam said. “Born and raised. I ran away when I was eighteen, and moved around towns until I found a job here.”

“Well, no wonder you left,” you said. “They say that town is cursed.”

“I might be as well,” she said. You looked at her questioningly. “When I was young, I… I discovered something about my father, and… I fucked things up at home, and I started to drink and do other things…” you caressed her arm, where needle scars could be slightly seen. “It was too much, and I just decided to leave one day.”

“Damn,” you said. “That’s a lot. I’m sorry that happened to you.”

“It’s okay,” Sam said, and it was true. Ever since she met you, her mind was too busy thinking about you to allow passage to those thoughts that used to make her wish for a glass of her mother’s best whiskey. “My father, he…” she swallowed. “He was Billy Loomis.”

You stayed quiet for a moment. “I’m guessing with your dramatic pause that name should ring a bell, but I’m not into murder mysteries or scary movies.”

Sam nodded. When she had first discovered you weren’t into horror movies, she had sighed in relief. Of course you wouldn’t know about him; you were too pure to be tainted by his presence. “He was one of the original killers.”

“Shit,” you whispered. “Jesus, Sam… of course you’d want to escape that place. I’m sure your sister will understand.”

“I’m not so sure,” she whispered.

“There’s only one way to find out.”

━━━ • 𖥸 • ━━━ 

It shouldn’t have happened this way. It was the only thing in Sam’s mind as she sat in the waiting room, killing time as you were getting surgery.

“A punctured lung,” one of the doctors had said.  “She’s lucky to be alive. We’ll do everything we can.”

It shouldn’t be you in that cold bed, with sheets as white as your face. It should’ve been me instead.

When you had gotten into town, things had been good. You had met her sister and her friends, and you had stayed with her as she told Tara the truth, and even when she was attacked by ghostface at the hospital (god, you hated that name so much). You defended her when everyone had started to point fingers in her direction, and had held her at night when she finally broke down and had told you about her father, whom she was starting to see in every corner, just like she used to before she met you.

Richie had attacked you. Amber’s weird old nerdy boyfriend, who everyone suspected of. He had thrown you into the ground and stabbed you, laughing as he did so, screaming about how he was going to kill Sam’s little whore.

Sam hadn’t been able to stop nor control herself. When she had seen the blood coming out of your mouth, she had thrown herself against Richie and grabbed his knife, stabbing him over and over in every inch of body she could get. She didn’t even stop when Tara called out her name, petrified at the sight of her sister’s crazened stare, nor when Sidney had tried to take the knife from her hands. The only thing that had made her break out of her thirst for vengeance was your gasps for air, watery from all the blood gathering in your throat and drowning you.

“Baby,” Sam had whispered, moving towards you. She had held you in her arms, hands shaking when she saw all the blood. Richie’s and yours, mixed up in her skin. She hated it. It was all her fault.

Something had snapped inside of her afterwards. She had carried you towards the ambulance that Gale had called, not even bothering to wait until they fully stopped driving before screaming that you were hurt and needed help. Afterwards she had been driven to the hospital by Sidney, with Tara in the backseat staring at her.

Sam didn't care. She couldn’t think of anything but the warmth of your blood as it escaped your body. The mere thought brought tears to her eyes.

That had been a day ago, and Sam couldn’t move from the chair she had sat on when the doctor had told her the news. She had only done so to awkwardly wash herself in the hospital bathroom sink, rubbing at her skin until it was red and raw; she had changed into the clothes Tara had brought with her, and had simply moved back into the chair.

“Sam,” Tara called out, watching as her sister rejected the food she was offering her. “Sam. We need to talk.”

“I’m not in the mood,” Sam whispered, resting her head in her hands. She knew once she opened her eyes again, she would see Billy sitting in front of her, smiling.

You did good, kid. He would say. You protected your girl. Don’t let them tell you it was wrong.

But it was wrong, and Sam knew. Even if she didn’t feel like it, she knew— it was one thing to attack in self defense, another to stab a man’s body until he was unrecognizable. She knew it, because she was not stupid, but still her hand shook with the need to grab a knife and stab that man again, until Billy finally left and you woke up.

“I don’t fucking care,” Tara said. “Sam, what you did—”

“I did what I had to do to protect her,” she said. She wasn’t sure if her tone was too harsh, but given Tara’s flinch she guessed it was. “Just as I’d have done with you.”

“Fifty-eight times,” Tara said.

“I know,” Sam said. There was shame and regret in her voice, and it was not faked. She really felt bad, but not for what she did; she simply regretted making her sister see her in such a state. “I know. I know. God, I fucking know, Tara,” she looked into her sister’s eyes. After she had discovered her mother’s secret, Sam had spent hours looking at Tara’s face to find some similarities between herself and her. She loved that their eyes were the same. “I don’t know what happened.”

“I get it,” Tara said, softly. She was trying to help her, Sam knew, but she was doomed; no one but you could understand her. “But you need to know that’s not normal.”

“Gosh, Tara,” Sam said, looking away from her. “Of course I fucking know. But don’t tell me he didn’t have it coming.”

“He did,” Tara whispered. It almost looked like she was scared of Sam. “But… Sam, it looked like you weren’t there. Like… like you’ve disappeared for a moment. Your eyes…”

“My girlfriend was bleeding out on the floor and the man who harmed her was going to hurt her again. Was going to kiII her,” Sam said. She needed Tara to understand. “I would’ve done anything to make sure she was safe.”

“I know,” Tara said. “But… promise me when she’s okay, you’d consider therapy? Please?”

Sam looked into her eyes again, pleading and desperate. She nodded. “Of course,” She said, and then laughed. “I’m gonna need so much fucking therapy I might need another job.”

“Fuck. Me too,” Tara laughed with her, resting her head on Sam’s shoulder. The older woman had sighed in relief.

“One thing, though,” Sam said after a moment of comforting silence.

“What?”

“Don’t tell Y/N about this,” Sam whispered. “Please. I… I know what I did was wrong, but… It was the adrenaline. And I’m going to get help, alright? I— I just don’t want her to leave me over this.”

“Okay,” Tara nodded. “I won’t.”

“Thanks.”

━━━━ • 𖥸 • ━━━━

And so you woke up, and Tara kept her promise. 

You managed to finish your exams while you were still in the hospital, and decided to spend your summer vacation with Sam and her sister in Woodsboro, where you planned on moving into New York with them after the universities acceptance letters began to arrive.

Your parents weren’t too happy about it, but they were glad you were at least going to a good college and that moving in with people you knew instead of strangers, especially after what happened (your mother was honestly just glad you weren’t going to stay in Woodsboro, so when you told her you had gotten into Colombia, she clapped her hands and told you how happy she was through the phone)

And so New York it was. Sam found a nice apartment for the two of you and Tara; it had three bedrooms, so with time, Tara proposed a roommate.

That was when it all began again— that burning feeling in Sam’s chest that screamed at her to keep you safe, to take you away from everyone and ensure you were okay. Every time Tara interviewed someone for the room, Sam stayed in the shadows, looking at the person and imagining them in Richie’s place, stabbing you until you stopped breathing.

She couldn’t stand it. She wanted to— she wanted to kill them.

And then Quinn moved in. Tara liked her, and you as well. She was funny, kinda crazy, easy to talk to and an extrovert. The perfect roommate, Tara had said, since she was barely at home.

Yet Sam hated her. She hated when she would walk into the kitchen and see you laughing with her, close enough for your elbows to touch. Sam hated it, especially because she was being irrational— you loved her, and you would never cheat on her. If she were to talk with her therapist about it, he would tell her that she was feeling intrusive thoughts, and would prescribe her more pills to keep her mind at ease.

But she wasn’t crazy. She knew Quinn liked you. She could feel it in the way her eyes traveled down your body when you were going to the kitchen after dinner to grab a bottle of water, her intense stare on the skin your pyjama shorts didn’t cover.

“She’s trying to take your girl,” Billy would whisper in her ear once you two were in bed. “Are you gonna let her?”

No. No, she wouldn’t. She would die if she saw someone stealing you. She needed you like air, dependent on you like a fish relied on water.

And so in October, when the streets began to fill with Halloween decorations, she saw it. Ghostface’s mask.

With shaky hands, she pulled her wallet and bought it. She hid it in her backpack, and only took it out the next day, when you and Tara were in class. The silence of the house soon filled with Billy’s voice.

“That’s right,” he said, standing over the doorway. “Put it on, kid. Own who you are.”

Sam looked at the mask. It was cheat, made of thin plastic, nothing like the ones the other killers had worn, but once she put it on and looked at herself in the mirror, a thrill went down her back.

Excitement, a rush of adrenaline so addictive Sam almost felt lightheaded. She hadn’t felt like this since she had killed Richie.

“Now go kill that bitch,” Billy said, standing behind her. For the first time since he had irrumpted her sanity, his presence made her feel glad, happy, even.

She couldn’t just kill Quinn, of course. She wasn’t stupid. She had to wait for the perfect time, and once she had it, she would take it and make that woman rue the day she laid eyes on you.

She wasn’t going to be like her father, she was going to be so much worse.

━━━━ • 𖥸 • ━━━━

The time came a few days later. Quinn was going to a party with Tara, and you were going to stay in with Sam, as a small date.

She enjoyed the quiet night together. You made her dinner, and despite the lasagna being a little burnt because you two had been too busy making out on the couch to take it out, she loved it. You watched a movie together, cuddled on the sofa, and then, feeling adventurous, she carried you towards the bedroom as if you were a bride on your wedding day. She made love to you, and pretended to fall asleep beside you, but once she had made sure you were sleeping, she had gotten up and grabbed her backpack.

Sam had left the house then, as quietly as she could, and once she was outside in a place without cameras, she had gotten the mask out, alongside the black robe. She had put on the mask, and the robe, with the backpack underneath out of fear someone might find it and track the crime down to her. She had to be careful— she couldn’t be put into prison. She had to be with you to ensure you were safe.

“Do it, kid,” Billy said when she had grabbed a hunting knife she had stolen in a store. “Go kill her.”

“Shut the fuck up,” she said, turning around. “Leave me alone.”

Her breath was heavy as she blinked and the man left her. Sam shook her head; she couldn’t waste time on this. She needed to be quick; you usually woke up at midnight to go to the bathroom.

Gripping the knife, she made the small walk towards the house. Halloween was still a week away, but college students were already throwing Halloween parties. No one looked twice at the woman in disguise, thinking it was just another party-goer.

She waited on the front door of the apartment, and bid her time until Quinn appeared. The redhead smoke, so it wasn’t too long until she appeared, cigarette in her mouth, probably kicked out by the owner of the apartment. She was wearing a red dress and small wings, in what she had called a slutty demon. Sam hated the way she had particularly asked you if you liked it, even though you were too distracted with preparing dinner to really look at her.

With that memory alone, she was once again taken by anger. Not letting the woman time to light up her cigarette, she walked towards her and stabbed her in the back.

Quinn screamed in pain, her lighter falling to the ground as she tried to run. But Sam was fast, tripping her over and making her fall to the ground face first. Quinn screamed for help, but the few people around were too drunk to understand the girl was in actual danger.

It was almost too good to be true.

Feeling enlightened by her screams, Sam turned her over, slamming the knife into her abdomen over and over. Her arm seemed to have life on its own, swinging back and forth. Sam breathed hard against the mask, laughing when splashes of blood flew out of Quinn’s mouth and into the piece of plastic covering the brunette’s face.

“Please, please,” Quinn was begging. Her entire face was covered in the blood she was choking on, and Sam stopped the stabbing to admire the sight beneath her. It was beautiful, the red mixing in with the dress. Two shades of red coming together so perfectly it almost looked like nothing had happened to her.

But it had. Oh, it had. Sam cleaned the bloody knife in the robe and raised up from Quinn’s body. The girl sighed, thinking the stabbing was over. She was already reaching out for her phone, which she was keeping in the pocket of her dress. When Sam saw it, she slammed her boot against the hand. Quinn screamed again, and Sam stepped on the hand until she heard the bones cracking. Only then did she kneeled beside her.

“This is what happens when you try to take my girl,” she whispered, as close to her ear as the mask allowed it. Sam saw recognition flash over her face, and with a smile, she raised the knife and stabbed her in the face until the girl stopped moving.

The walk back home felt almost like a dream. Sam had to look at her bloody gloves a few times to make sure if she really had done it, or if it was all a fantasy. But the red against the black answered her question every time.

I did it, she thought. I killed that bitch.

She was chuckling when she took off the mask and stared at it, the white tainted with splashes of blood. She liked the sight of it.

Sam could barely remember going back home, or hiding the backpack with the mask, boots and knife underneath one of the loose floorboards of the living room. She wasn’t even aware of her erratic breathing until she got back into bed. She wrapped her arms around you and you turned around, cuddling into her neck. Only then did she finally take a deep breath, smelling the scent of your vanilla shampoo.

Safe, she thought with a sight, pressing you closer into her body. Safe and mine.

Tara woke the two of you up a few minutes later, running into the room and talking about ghostface. Sam rubbed her eyes and complained about being awake even though it wasn’t true, and allowed Bailey to take her into the police station to interrogate her. It was a perfect alibi, just as she had planned; you had told them everything that had happened the night before, recalling how Sam had fallen asleep before you. Tara had also told the blonde how she had been the one who had woken the two of you up after she had talked to the police.

Sam was innocent. They had nothing against her.

The routinary questioning stopped pretty soon, and you waited for her outside the police station as Tara called Mindy and Chad. She caught up with them, and they agreed to meet up in your apartment.

Sam walked away a few minutes later, hugging you tight. She pretended to freak out with Tara as they talked, aware detective Bailey was still watching. She even feigned getting scared when a police officer ran towards her, handing you your phone which you had forgotten in the station. She kept Tara and you close on the way home, pretending to be scared of getting attacked. She held you close to her on the sofa, putting you on her lap when Tara began to tell the others about the night before.

She almost wanted to tell you not to be afraid when you two went up to your room after Mindy and Chad left. She hated seeing you scared. She had done all of this to make sure you were safe.

“Hey,” she said, when you started to really freak out. “Hey, baby,” she grabbed your face, kissing your forehead. “Don’t worry, baby,” she whispered. When she saw tears forming in your eyes, her thumbs whipped them. “I’ll keep you safe, okay? I’ll always protect you.”

Sam hugged you, allowing you to cry into her shoulder. She whispered sweet nothings into your ear, promising nothing would happen to you.

You told her she couldn’t promise something like that when Ghostface had come back, but she just shook her head, kissing you. She knew, but she couldn’t tell you.

So she just held you close, basking in the warmth of your body close to hers. The warmth was sweeter and more innocent than the blood that had splashed from Quinn’s dying body, and she closed her eyes.

Sam didn’t regret it one bit. She would do it again if someone tried to take you away from her. She would do it over and over until it was only the two of you, alone in the world.

[monabee-draws]

And if I say Emmrich if he becomes a Lich?

[rivilu]

One side effect of the autistic sense of justice for me is going insane over justice and vengeance as concepts in themselves whenever applicable in media.

Which unfortunately means that thinking about justice dragon age for too long (especially with the post inq takes on spirits) makes me want to rip my hair out.

[anonymous-ace72]

I don't wanna cosplay Caligula.

But the p a r a s i t e s in me want to cosplay Caligula.

I feel like it's a little weird, even though this is a fictionalized version, he was still a historical figure that actually lived.

But the parasites, the D E M O N in me... it wants to cosplay Caligula

[ruidusmoon]

i absolutely lack the brainpower to put my admiration for this mini arc into words but holy shit this was beautiful.

i love how complex the gods are, the relationships between them are so deeply loving and so broken. their family is prioritized over many things, mortals, promises and other families. even though they hurt each other that family tie is more important than almost everything else. they didn't want to hurt their children but they did it anyway for each other. at the end of the day they will cast aside their children in favor of their kin. the line is between those who matter and those who do not.

[dykesapphics]

IT'S ALL SO FUCKED

[autisticcole]

Heheheheheho I have gotten some of the Dragon Age books (🏴‍☠️) and this is gonna really let me dig into some stuff, especially my favorite guy Cole, cause now I can read his OG appearance, I want to see how much stuff Cole says, especially during his quest actually makes sense, and how much is in-universe "both sides are right"ing about not listening to what Cole wants to do.

I am mainly talking about Spirit!Cole thanking Inky for not making him change... Despite the fact that thoughout Cole's quest Solas ignores what Cole wants (Like being binded) & wants to do (Kill the guy who beat beyond beating a 12 (at most) year old (most likely, it isn't outright stated (to my memory) the Templar who fucked up the paperwork was also one of the ones who physically abused him, but I feel it's a pretty safe assumption) & got that child killed due to neglect & faced no consequences) but ultimately the choice that causes Cole to thank the player for not changing him is the one where you listen to Solas over Cole (Or well Varric, who also doesn't let Cole do what he wants but is closer to what Cole would have done if he had went alone for the confrontation) & in this route I would say Cole's character changes a lot more, especially as he forgets the original Cole, which... Rubs me wrong, but I'll save my more detailed thoughts for 1. After I fully read Asunder & 2. Either a full Cole analysis or a detailed post about my thoughts on his quest & routes (& maybe how I'd rewrite them, as a Autistic person & a ally to the aroace community)

Anyways my point is that I want to see how true it is characters rejected or wanted to change Cole, I want to see what leads him to feel that having two men argue & tell him who he is supposed to be & do only to have a third person decide out of those two's options for what he should do is remotely a situation where he's been accepted.

[twilightcunt]

I’ve been rewatching Person of Interest and I’ve finally reached that episode in season 3. I can’t believe they fucking kill her 😭😭😭😭😭 It’s been haunting my mind since halfway through season 2 and now I’m gonna have to see it all over again.

[lith-myathar]

.

[mikkolas]

i’m confused by your last posts — nick cousins is not on the team? he’s an unrestricted free agent and there’s no reports he’s in talks for a new contract with the panthers… even if we wanted to being him back, we spent the cap? there’s no money to resign him, that’s why we couldn’t bring tarasenko back either (obviously he’s more expensive tho)

no, like. functionally I don't expect him to come back, obviously, but it's just deeply frustrating to see so many good people leave and for him to still not be signed somewhere else yet. it's upsetting! so I'm mindlessly complaining about it, lol. basically getting the last jokes I can out of him to make myself have some sort of mild comfort as everyone I hold dear is being taken out back and shot, yanno?

[quantomeno]

The Gilded 7 Casino

This song is clearly influenced by Take 5. Or at least I want to think it is. I discussed time signatures in my previous song analysis, but like I said then the most common time signature is 4 4 (it's even called common time). It's 4 crotchet beats per bar. If you can dance the Macarena to it, it's 4 4 time. If you can dance a waltz to it, it's 3 4 time. Take 5 uses a very unusual time signature: 5 4 (5 beats per bar). Take 5 also always makes me think of casinos, even before I played this game.

Now, the Gilded 7 Casino also has a relatively uncommon time signature, but it sadly hasn't got the number 7 in it. This felt like a massive missed opportunity but it would have also been quite odd to write so I can accept it.

Anyway, to the actual analysis: the song is written in 6 8 time. Note that both numbers are different from usual. The unit beat is different: instead of a crotchet (quarter note) it's a quaver (eighth note). This is known as compound time. It's the time signature used for songs such as Greensleeves or INXS' Never Tear Us Apart.

It is my favourite time signature.

A waltz has the accent repeating every three beats (1, 2, 3, 1, 2, 3 for an example see this video at 1:22), and so does 6 8 (but it's more like 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6). You have to imagine it like two beats played per bar, and those two beats are split into thirds.

The easiest way is to say 'coventry' two times a bar.

Take a listen. Note that the tempo is quite slow relative to each 'coventry' (it's almost one coventry a second, I think it's 48 a minute), but because it's three little beats per each two big ones, it feels quite fast.

(Note that I've seen people write sheet music for it using 3 4 time. I think this wrong, but if you change the tempo the two time signatures are virtually indistinguishable, so who knows.)

So, why 6 8 (or 3 4 even)? What does this bring?

Let's take a step back and look at the rest of the song first.

It's rich. The piano feels weighty, with nice, heavy chords punctuated by deep, low notes which anchor us to the beat. You have that warm, arco violin paired with that husky-voiced saxophone. We have that constant heartbeat of the piano along with a walking bass in the back that fills out the sound nicely. It is a thick texture that is veritably thrumming with life, yet... there is still something not quite wholesome about it, isn't there?

My sources tell me it is written in D minor. This accounts for part of the discomfort it engenders. The minor key brings a sinister atmosphere to the piece; you feel like something bad is happening, if not evil than at least something dodgy. Exactly how it feels to be in a casino, surrounded by all the money being thrown around and the shady dealings going on. The casino is a Family-run business after all.

(D minor to me is also an elegant and rich key, that evokes deep purples with touches of crimson. It's because of the D being the tonic. It just is OK.)

The dynamics are decidedly loud, again creating a bustling atmosphere. I feel it is pertinent to note here that the first time we hear this song (correct me if I'm wrong but I distinctly noticed this last time I played) is during the slot machine gun scene. Unless you voluntarily choose to go back to the casino afterwards, this cutscene is the only time you'll hear the song. This piece is designed to evoke a sense of chaos and thrill.

And now, we reach the rhythm.

6 8 time. It evokes a waltz or a ballroom dance, which aids in building that elegant, luxurious vibe, but, being 6 8, it is notably quicker than a normal waltz would be. It gives the piece a briskness, but since each fundamental beat (the 1 and the 4 I pointed out earlier) is quite slow, it doesn't lose that languid, almost bloated feeling.

Then we have the violin and sax. The violin tends to jump between playing short, detached, strongly accented notes (e.g. at 0:52) and longer, smooth notes, but never really losing any intensity (e.g. 0:41). The saxophone is much the same (listen from 1:20 to 1:43). Again we have this contrast between the stateliness, the weighty feeling of wealth, and the buzz of the casino. It's a bit like the ostentatiousness of the nouveau-riche compared to old money: the casino has cash and it's showing it off. The elegance here is all bought and as a result it ends up feeling tawdry. It also helps with the action-packed scene that it features in. This is further evoked by the sax's tendency to add ornamentation to its longer notes: little flitterings of notes at the start of the drawn-out ones. It feels like it's trying to impress you.

Also, big shout out to the percussion: that cymbal crash really brings out the bam! and could be a bit of a play on the sound of coins falling. The drum beat enters quite late, at the same time as the sax. It doesn't quite work to keep the beat, however, if anything it seems to land on off beats, opposing the regularity and pacing of the piano. Once again, we have a song that brings out unease but also bewilderment and hustle and bustle. The song feels fun, it just has a dark undercurrent.

Exactly how the casino should feel.

It is not Layton-esque, and it highlights how future London has become a seedy city ruled by criminals. Recall that Layton, a man of simple elegance and refinement, who appreciates the craftmanship of a simple lacquered stool, is now (supposedly) the owner of this den of iniquity.

It evokes all the things Layton patently isn't and in doing so encourages a sense of revulsion that things could become so bad. The whole casino makes me feel sad, because it stands opposed to everything Layton believes in, and the thought he has changed so completely he would forgo those values hurts.

[fortes-fortuna-iogurtum]

sometimes you read something for a fandom you were crazy over years ago and you encounter one of the ships you loved back then and you just think “yeahhhh…. this is still great :) way to go younger me you were so based about this actually :)”

[franeridan]

nearly done with my op reread and for the longest time my theory was that the d marked the descendants of the people native of the island that eight hundred years ago fought the twenty nations, but rereading the part about lili I thought maybe it's more lax and it marks everyone who opposed the current government in general, not just those from the island - she was the queen of one of the twenty kingdoms after all, and imu didn't seem to know the nefertaris had a d in the name as well, but before the war there would have been no reason to hide it? so i think it's something they added to their names later, maybe to recognise each other as allies? or something? the kozuki were obviously allied too and don't have a d though, so I can't say this theory makes a hundred percent sense. also i find interesting how law is hiding the water part of his name too together with the d, i wonder if that has any further meaning? another interesting thing is that there seems to have been some form of prophecy or prediction about what's currently happening in the manga, since oden knew he had to wait twenty years and the sea monsters in the oden flashback on fishmen island were talking about it too... maybe a prediction about a war? since oden wanted to unleash pluton. I wonder what exactly they found out on laugh tale that made them all laugh when the events the wg is keeping secret seem to be this tragic... also, i think i never even noticed during my first readthrough of egghead but there's someone offshore with blackbeard's flag? a small boat, it seems, but I think atm we know all blackbeard pirates are either on the pirate island or fighting against the hearts (;;;) so I wonder who exactly that is? also, I didn't catch this either first time around but I feel like the germa might just be heading there as well right now lmao the thing with kuma returning to mariejois happening so soon after vp talked about the ancient robot attacking mariejois and no one knowing why is also suspicious to me, I wonder if vegpunk used data from that robot to turn kuma into a cyborg and that's tied to why he returned there for apparently no reason...?? anyway I thought rereading would help me clear up some questions but instead it left me with even more kkkk should have figured

[fakecrfan]

I know most people on here don't like to go to the gym because you're all gay nerds. I like to go to the gym. For the purpose of understanding this post please try to imagine that you, too, enjoy going to the gym so that you can empathize with my point here.

Anyway, so imagine you are going to the gym. You're pumped about the concept of getting some muscle on you. Plus, the gym has this "lift weights every day!" challenge with a feasible plan to slowly and safely increase the amount of weight you can lift by the end of the month. Cool!

So anyway you go there, and you're having a good time. But then you notice something. Some people are coming in with these guys in shirts that say LIFT FOR HIRE. You're curious, and you notice over time that some people are actually paying these guys to come in and do the lifting challenge for them.

"Huh," you say to your mega hot, muscled gym buddy. "That's so weird. What's in it for the people paying these guys?"

"Dunno," says your friend, mid bicep curl.

"Um, actually!" says the gym owner. "Some people are disabled, so the only way they can lift weights it to pay LIFT FOR HIRE, inc."

"But wait," you say. "They still aren't lifting the weights though? Paying someone else to lift for you doesn't mean you've lifted the weights."

The gym owner gasps. "How could you SAY that?"

"Because... it's true?" you say. "Uh, if you pay guys to lift your weights, that's probably really good for the guys you are paying. But it's not going to develop your ability to lift at all. Your muscles aren't going to grow, you're just going to lose money and get no results."

"That's ABLEIST," they say. "How DARE you! Some people are LITERALLY paralyzed, did you think of that?"

"Well, yeah, some people are, and that means definitionally they can't lift weights," you explain. "And paying someone else doesn't change that. Maybe if they wanted to like, move something in their house it would make total sense to hire these guys! But if you hire them to do your workout you get nothing, because the purpose of a workout is personal development. I'm not morally condemning people who do it, but it seems like a waste of money when this event is, again, about improving one's personal abilities."

"This is absolutely DISGUSTING, CLASSIST rhetoric!" the gym owner roars, and then turns to one of the LIFT FOR HIRE guys, "Pay no attention this disgusting person, dear sponsor, we support your business and we totally want you to keep funding our gym!"

"Sponsor?" says your hot muscled friend who was way too busy actually doing their workout and getting gains to engage in dumb discourse. "Oh, now it makes sense."

"Shut up, you don't understand our love!" says the gym owner, before sloppily making out with a LIFT FOR HIRE guy in front of you.

Anyway, that's what learning about the whole AI nanowrimo controversy was like for me.

[luckyashes]

having music be a muse/motivation to draw is so silly because sometimes it makes one tweak out and violently need to draw the most insane shit ever

[redjennies]

me talking to Martin Bauer in Act III: